The Drowners

by Jennie Finch

  There was a pause as the three men looked at Alex, a silence broken by PC Brown. ‘Please, Alex, help us out here. We really need to know – anything you can give us might help. Don’t let this stuff get a hold. We don’t want anyone else to die.’

  Alex realized she was about to cry. Darren had been a royal pain in the arse, if the truth were told. He’d been sly, difficult, defiant and rude yet still – he was one of hers. A young life, given into her care and now lost. She wanted to be anywhere but here, under the eyes of these men, judging her every action. She wanted to be back in the workshop with Darren’s friends, recalling his best moments, his rare triumphs, making his life worth something. She began to rise and Garry’s voice cut through the ever-expanding silence.

  ‘Sit down please.’ There was a pause and then he addressed the police. ‘I am sure we will have some useful information to help you soon.’ He rose and they followed, somewhat reluctantly, shaking hands as they left.

  When the door closed he returned to his place behind the desk and for a moment contemplated Alex, seated before him in utter misery.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Your injury is due to an assault by a client. An unreported assault.’

  ‘I slipped,’ said Alex. There was silence in the room as both sat, waiting for the other to speak.

  Finally, Garry said, ‘Slipped?’

  ‘I slipped in between them to stop them fencing with the pool cues. It was stupid and it’s my own fault.’ She sat upright in the chair, her eyes focussed on a spot just behind Garry’s right ear. She might have to listen to him but she didn’t have to look at him as well.

  ‘Am I to understand you suspected they were under the influence of an illegal substance at the time?’ Garry asked, his voice deceptively calm.

  ‘I had no proof of that,’ said Alex. ‘They were a bit lively but that’s nothing new. Their eyes looked all right and they’d not been drinking. It’s not that easy to tell sometimes.’ She stopped as she realized she was slipping into defensive mode. Garry had that effect on her and she was increasingly determined not to fall into the trap of explaining her every action. As it was, she needn’t have worried because Garry was not in a listening mood.

  ‘So, you decided to ignore the warning signs despite receiving a serious injury,’ he said. ‘You thought you knew better and once again you went your own way without any consultation or consideration for the consequences. Well, the direct result of that is the untimely death of a young man. A young man we were supposed to be helping and who we have failed.’

  ‘That is grossly inaccurate!’ Alex said, fury bringing tears to her eyes.

  ‘If you had taken some action at the time, Darren Foyle would probably not be dead,’ snapped Garry. ‘We have a duty of care towards our clients and that does not mean we should tolerate law-breaking or ignore dangerous behaviour just for our own convenience!’

  Alex was stunned by the force of his anger. There had been differences of opinion with Garry before but nothing like this. The sound of loud, angry voices floated into the room from the courtyard below and Garry flicked his fingers at her in a dismissive gesture.

  ‘Go on, take some control over your clients. I can hear they have arrived.’ He turned his attention to the folders on his desk, ignoring her as she got to her feet and walked to the door. Outside in the corridor she leaned against the wall for a moment trying to catch her breath. There was a faint red mist floating across her vision and her heart was hammering in her chest. Her progress down the stairs was slow and careful, hand tight on the rail as she struggled to keep her balance. She could not recall ever feeling as upset, hurt or humiliated as she did at that moment.

  The afternoon was supposed to be given over to literacy, a weekly struggle to get something readable (or even legible) out of her group. Alex had felt reservations about the class from the beginning and her inexperience as a teacher became increasingly apparent as the sessions dragged on. They needed a proper tutor, she thought, not someone like me who doesn’t know what they’re doing. She shouldered the door open and walked into the main hall, drawn to the smaller classroom off to one side. From the sound of it the class had made their own way in and were moving the tables around again. Striding across the room, she flung the door wide and was greeted by the sight of Brian balancing on the back of a chair, arms out and laughing whilst the rest of the group stood on the tables clapping and cheering him on.

  ‘Five, six, seven …’ They noticed her in the doorway and hurriedly scrambled down on to the floor. Brian’s head jerked round and he lost his balance, crashing to the ground and narrowly missing the corner of a table.

  ‘Oh hey, fuck – that were girt close’, he said, rolling to his feet completely unabashed.

  Something snapped inside Alex, some final thread of self-control. Ignoring all protocols and legal restraints she seized Brian by his ear, hauled him to his feet and dragged him towards the new whiteboard in the corner. Brian shrieked, a high-pitched sound reminiscent of a small, trapped animal and Alex finally let him go, to slump on to the floor clutching at the side of his head.

  ‘Shit, shit, you’m crazy!’ he shouted. ‘You can’t do that you mad bitch. I ’ent puttin’ up with it neither …’ He shut up the moment Alex stepped towards him and levered himself in to a chair.

  ‘And the rest of you,’ snapped Alex, and the youths scrambled for places as far away from her as possible, seating themselves in a loose semi-circle around the whiteboard.

  ‘I have had enough of this,’ she continued, prowling back and forth and stopping occasionally to stare one of them in the eyes. ‘From now on there will be respect shown in this centre. Shut up and put your hand down,’ she added without turning her head. The youth at the far end lowered his hand and glanced uneasily at his next-door companion who shrugged, a ‘Who knows?’ gesture.

  ‘This will be a two-way process,’ Alex continued, working her way down the line of chairs. ‘I will show you as much respect as you deserve – which is precious little at the moment. You will behave with respect towards me, towards the staff in the office and towards one another. Is that clear?’ There was a faint scuffling from the group that she chose to interpret as assent.

  ‘This will be demonstrated through your behaviour, your appearance and your language,’ she continued. There was some surreptitious eye-rolling behind her back and without turning she added, ‘I mean it so there is no point in pulling faces.’ She swung round and glared at the culprits. ‘Understood?’

  Shocked by her apparent ability to see through the back of her head several lads sat up a bit more, nodding like a couple of donkeys.

  ‘Right. You will behave in a safe and polite manner at all times. You will arrive on time, wait quietly if your supervisor is not ready for you and you will sit up properly on the chairs.’ She swivelled round and slapped the back of one chair, startling the occupant upright from his slumped position.

  ‘You will keep your feet on the floor and not put them up on the tables or other chairs.’ There was a muffled stamping as several young men complied before she could get to them. Denied her prey she resumed prowling, stalking behind them and watching as they swivelled their heads like a row of baby owls, trying to keep her in sight. She was just beginning to wind down and feel a little calmer when someone muttered a remark to his neighbour and there was a hastily smothered laugh from the bunch within earshot.

  ‘In particular,’ she said, storming round to the front and glaring at the sniggering youths, ‘you will moderate your language! You!’ She pointed to one lad at the end of the line.

  ‘Wasn’t me, honest,’ he protested.

  ‘I don’t care if you said it – you obviously thought it funny and sadly half of us missed the joke so go on, share it with us.’

  ‘Don’t remember, Miss,’ said the youth, staring down at his dirty boots.

  Alex crossed over to the pristine white board and picked up the nearest pen.

  ‘Well, I would figure it a safe bet that it con
tained this word,’ she said and wrote ‘FUCK’ on the board in large, red letters.

  There was a collective gasp and a voice said, ‘You can’t write that!’

  ‘Oh yes I bloody well can,’ said Alex calmly, and added ‘BLOODY’ to the board. ‘Well, gentlemen, I think we will explore this fascination you have with certain words and see if we can perhaps learn something. Now, what can you contribute to this list?’ She looked at the row of stunned faces in front of her and quashed a desire to grin at their shocked expressions. ‘Anyone? Well, it is strangely silent in here. Let me help you get started.’ She turned back to the board and wrote ‘SHIT’ in large letters. ‘There, everyone’s second favourite word at the moment I think.’

  The silence lengthened until finally Brian cracked and held up his hand. ‘Bum!’ he said defiantly.

  Alex nodded. ‘Good, “bum” will do for a start. Here you go.’ She held out the pen and he recoiled as if she had offered him a live snake.

  ‘Oh no, I ’ent writing nothing on no board.’ He shook his head and hunched back in his chair.

  ‘What did I say about sitting properly?’ said Alex and Brian straightened a little but still made no move to get up.

  ‘I’m left handed,’ said Alex, ‘and this wrist makes it very hard for me to write anything, especially on an upright surface like this.’ She gestured towards the board. ‘So you will just have to do it yourselves. Anyway, you’re happy enough to scrawl on other people’s walls so you can damn well do it here. And there’s another – come on Brian, no-one goes home until we’ve finished, which means you will miss the free bus and have to spend your travel expenses on what they’re intended for, just for once.’

  Brian slid out of his chair and lumbered over to take the pen. Then, with a sigh that was almost theatrical, he wrote the word on the board, in tiny letters down in the right-hand corner.

  ‘Awright?’ he said, staring at Alex angrily. There was a collective snigger from the rest of the group.

  ‘Pathetic,’ said Alex dismissively. ‘Totally feeble. Is that the best you can do? Anyone would think you were scared of a word.’

  She turned her back to him and walked away to the other end of the line leaving him holding the pen. This time the sniggering was aimed at Brian and he flushed, furious at the insult. Scrubbing the corner clear with his sleeve, he wrote the word in large red letters in the middle of the board, dropped the pen on to the rack underneath it and flung himself back into his seat.

  ‘Where’s Darren anyway?’ came a voice and the group looked around, searching for their partner in crime.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Brian, ‘He’s got girt neat writin’ has Darren. Reckon he should be here to do this.’

  Alex froze on the spot, mouth dry and her pulse racing. They didn’t know, she thought. None of them knew about Darren. What, she wondered, was the protocol for telling a group their friend had died and none of them had realized until – oh, maybe a week had passed? She made a snap decision. She would tell them – but later, when the session was over. They were still too wrought up to take it calmly and she couldn’t dismiss them half way through this particular exercise. It wasn’t ideal but it was the best she could come up with.

  ‘Darren’s not here so we’ll have to make do with your efforts,’ she said, her voice sounding even and calm. There was some grumbling at this but several of the group were beginning to get rather intrigued by what she was doing and almost immediately several suggestions for new words were called out. As the board began to fill with an interesting and imaginative selection of words they grew bolder, delving deeper into their vocabularies, but whatever they came up with, Alex calmly handed them the pen and stood by as they wrote it out. As the afternoon wore on they became restless, especially when they realized she was not going to be shocked or react in any way except to show mild interest. Then some bickering broke out between Brian and Timmy, a young man who showed some promise but was too easily led to do anything with it.

  ‘Is not swearin’. Is different,’ said Timmy.

  ‘I reckon ’tis though. If it en’t swearing then what is it then?’ Brian retorted.

  Alex hastened to intervene. ‘What isn’t swearing?’ she asked Timmy, who scowled at Brian as he answered.

  ‘Spas,’ he said. ‘If I calls him “Spas” he’s likely to go mental, same as if I call him a …’ He stopped abruptly, actually blushing at the word he did not utter. Alex hid a grin. They had finally got to the point where she could move on to the next stage.

  ‘Right, so now we look at what these words actually mean and why many people find them so offensive,’ she said, flipping the board over and ruling three columns on the blank surface.

  ‘What’s that then?’ Brian asked pointing to the centre column.

  ‘Scatological,’ said Alex.

  There was a long pause before Timmy finally plucked up the courage to ask, ‘Where’s that to, then?’

  ‘It means having an obsession with excrement,’ she said.

  There was a longer pause before Brian ventured, ‘Like shit then?’

  Alex nodded, ‘Yes, exactly like shit.’

  The group pondered the board for a moment before one of them asked, ‘So we’ve got relig … religious, sexual and scat … scat … shit, right?’

  ‘And we will find most swear words fall into one of these three categories,’ Alex continued. ‘But first I need a whole lot more words from you.’ She copied the first offerings into their appropriate column, spun the board again and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

  It was a very subdued class that trailed out into the drizzle of the late afternoon. After forcing them to say, write and define a wide range of bad language they were wretched and exhausted and she was reconsidering her earlier decision to delay telling them about Darren but it was too late. She could not send them away and have them find out on their own, realizing she must have known all along and hadn’t even bothered to mention it. Quietly, calmly she told them a body had been found on the beach up the coast and the police were waiting for formal identification but it looked like Darren. There was a long silence as the lads gazed at the floor, several with their hands clasped together as if in prayer, a couple with their eyes shut as if, by not seeing her deliver this news, it might not be true. Finally, they stood and shambled out, a dispirited group with a great deal to think about, or so she hoped.

  ‘Brian,’ she called, as he moved towards the door, ‘may I have a word?’

  He crossed the floor, tall and sullen with wary eyes watching her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wondered if you had any information you could share with me, to help stop this happening again to someone else.’

  ‘Was not I,’ he said, but she grabbed at his arm to stop him leaving.

  ‘I didn’t think it was,’ she said. ‘The police think he’d taken something – maybe something new, stronger than he was expecting, and it gave him hallucinations. I don’t think you gave it to him but I wondered if you might have any idea where we could look to find who did.’

  Brian stared at her, his eyes flat and bright in the neon lighting. His tongue flicked across his lips and for a moment she was reminded of a snake about to strike.

  Finally, he said, ‘Reckon you should ask Simon the Spas. Yer favourite, he is. Maybe you should be askin’ him, not me.’

  He turned away, slamming the door back and leaving a dent in the nice new plasterboard from the door handle. Simon? Strange, quiet Simon Adams with his imaginary lorry? Alex felt her remaining faith in rehabilitation drain away. If Simon were involved in this then her ability to judge another’s character was nonexistent. She had experienced too many shocks in the past few days. Her mother had shown strength of will previously unknown, Darren’s death, horrible as it was, could well lead to the end of her career if Garry had his way, and now Simon had been fingered as a drug dealer. Her head was pounding and she realized her vision was starting to blur. With watering eyes she looked around the room and focussed
on the white board, still bearing the evidence of the afternoon’s session. Grimly she wiped it clean of every insult and obscenity before turning off the lights and closing the door behind her. She was in the main reception area, signing out to go home and lie down when she remembered her office was still unlocked.

  ‘You look right awful,’ remarked Lauren.

  ‘Migraine,’ said Alex, trying not to screw her eyes up against the light. ‘I’ve forgotten my office. I’ll just go back and lock up and I’m off.’

  ‘Give that key here,’ said Lauren, holding out her hand. ‘You get off now. I’ll make sure is all closed up proper.’

  Alex handed over her keys and gave a deep sigh. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘You going to be alright walking home?’ Lauren asked, studying Alex’s chalk-white face. Alex nodded and winced as a bolt of pain shot through her head. ‘Well, you give me a call, soon as you’s there.’ She watched as Alex walked slowly to the front door and made her way down the steps, one hand on the side rail to steady herself.

  ‘What was that about?’ said Pauline’s voice behind her.

  Lauren held up the keys and said, ‘Alex has been taken ill. I said I’d lock up for her.’

  Pauline nodded. ‘She’s still not over the meningitis,’ she said anxiously. ‘I’ll have a word with Sue and see if she can get her to rest up for a few more days. By the way, would you pop in to see me when you’ve finished please? I’d like to discuss the allocation of officers with you if you have a minute.’

  Lauren managed a sickly smile as she climbed down and hurried past her senior to the entrance to the day centre. Time was up, she thought with a sinking feeling. She had to decide about the new job, and despite all the evenings she had spent worrying about the problem she still didn’t know what to choose.