by Rhys Jones
Ellie swiveled around to glare at him.
“What?” Skinner replied, in his usual thick-skinned way. There was no real harm in Skinner, he just had no control over what came out of his mouth.
“There are many, many children who would benefit, but all I’m asking is that we help one,” Miss Arkwright continued.
“Why have they lost their limbs, miss?” asked Dilpak.
“Well, some through disease, but mainly it’s through violence. My doctor friend has been working around the Great Lakes of West Africa. It’s an area ravaged by war. Some children have stepped on buried land mines while out playing, or worse, where there is still conflict, they may have suffered from direct attack.”
The class had gone very quiet.
“So, what do we all think?” Miss Arkwright asked brightly.
There was a general buzz of approval from the class. But then Skinner put his hand up.
“Can we write our names on it, miss?”
The back row sniggered.
“No, that will not be necessary, Kieron. But I will write a class letter which we can all sign.”
Then Jenks chipped in. “Thing is, miss, my brother says that it’s no good giving money and stuff to these people, ’cos they really need to help themselves. I mean, why don’t they make their own artifical limbs?”
“Probably because they haven’t got the equipment, Lee. I’m sure they would help themselves if they could.”
“How do we know they’re not going to just melt it down and sell it for scrap?” Jenks persisted.
“Yeah, so that they can buy iPods and stuff,” Skinner added.
Several people had turned to look at them.
“Well, you never know,” grinned Skinner who was, as usual, enjoying the attention.
Miss Arkwright, looking slightly exasperated and with eyebrows raised, said, “These prosthetics are not made of tin. Besides, I’m sure that this charity ensures that such things do not happen.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know miss, do you? I think I’ll keep my money if it’s okay, miss,” Jenks said.
But before Miss Arkwright could answer, someone else did.
“What for, Jenks? To buy another rubbish ringtone for your phone?” Ellie had turned almost one hundred eighty degrees in her seat and her sudden outburst took everyone by surprise. “And how can you make jokes about this, Skinner? How can you say you’d like an artificial limb?”
“Kieron would be brilliant at Paralympics. In fact, there’s a chance he’d get in as he is,” Jenks smirked.
The cronies laughed. Skinner grinned uncertainly.
“And anyway, who asked you, Messenger?” Jenks added with a sneer.
Oz could see Ellie’s colour rising. Now he knew why Miss Arkwright had spoken to her before she’d mentioned the collection for charity. He suspected that she’d even asked for Ellie’s approval. Being sensitive was Miss Arkwright’s way. And there was good reason in this instance, since Ellie’s little brother Leon had been born with a hand and part of his forearm missing. Not that you’d know that Leon had any problem at all; he was a great football player and almost as fast a sprinter as Ellie. It didn’t seem to affect him much, except for the stares he sometimes got.
Yet it was one of the reasons Ellie was so intolerant of people who didn’t make the best of what they had. Oz wasn’t sure how many of his classmates knew, but with Jenks’ malicious skill at baiting people, there was always the nagging doubt that he was yanking Ellie’s chain. And Oz knew that she wasn’t about to sit there and let him do that.
“You—” she began. But before Ellie could say any more, Jenks went to his shirt pocket and brought out the red-coloured card he had kept for Ellie-type confrontations since their last soccer match. He brandished it in her face, while his own contorted with spiteful glee. There were roars of approval from his cronies.
“Yeah,” Skinner said, joining in again, “get off the field, Messeng—”
But he didn’t finish. Suddenly, Ruff was on his feet, eyes blazing with some unnamed emotion at the two class wannabbe clowns. When he spoke, his words rang with a fierce anger.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What’s the cost of a first class stamp? 60p? You have no idea how much that’s worth to some of these people.”
“Oh, and you do, do you, Adams?” Jenks drawled, waving the red card at Ruff.
“No, I don’t. But my brother does. Unlike yours, he’s actually been there.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jenks mocked, but a little note of doubt had crept into his voice.
“He was a volunteer last summer in Tanzania. The photos he brought back to show me and my mum and dad…” Ruff paused to swallow. It sounded loud in the suddenly silent room. “There’s disease and unexploded bombs and mines and kids who even get their legs bitten off by crocodiles because they have to wash in rivers. They have nothing. If we all gave a quid it would mean someone our age or younger might be able to walk for the first time. You’re an idiot, Jenks. And an IPOD?” Ruff shifted his blazing glare to Skinner. “Most of these places don’t even have electricity. What planet are you from?”
Skinner hesitated and then babbled, “Five-nil,” obviously thinking that reminding Ruff of his team’s defeat at the hands of the Skullers was a devastating insult. Unfortunately, no one except Ruff had any idea what he was talking about.
There was a moment of total silence as a flummoxed Skinner looked around at his classmates in exasperation. Jenks, meanwhile, appeared so stunned by Ruff’s outburst that he couldn’t even speak. All he could manage was to frown at Ruff, his mouth working in a way that suggested that whatever it was he wanted to say had got stuck on its journey between his brain and his tongue. But Oz saw, too, that the only pair of eyes more shocked than Jenks’ belonged to Ellie, who was watching Ruff in totally bewildered awe.
Miss Arkwright broke the silence by clearing her throat.
“A good point well made, Rufus,” she said, smiling at Ruff, who suddenly did an impression of a boiled lobster and sat down quickly. “So, shall we put it to the vote?” Miss Arkwright continued. “Who would like to donate their stamp money?”
Thirty hands, including, much to Jenks’ astonishment, Skinner’s, shot up.
“I will look forward to your donations on Monday, then,” Miss Arkwright said. “And I will get IT to sort out an e-card for us to use, instead of posting one. Thank you, everyone.”
* * *
Oz was still thinking about Ruff’s outburst when he got home. So much so that he hardly noticed the funny mood his mother was in at teatime, until she dropped a plastic salad bowl for the second time in as many minutes.
“Mum, you all right?”
“Me?” she said, in a high-pitched, flustered sort of voice. “Yes, fine, absolutely. It’s just that there’s someone calling this evening that I want you to meet.”
Oz had just finished a yoghurt and was opening his second. “Oh? Who?”
“An old colleague of your father’s. She’s just dropping by for a chat.”
Oz nodded. People were always dropping by for chats, although there were far fewer now than when his father was alive. Usually that meant that he was expected to say hello, listen to comments on how much he’d grown and how much he looked just like his dad and then, after a few polite minutes, he’d make his escape with homework or football as his pretext. So, when his mother called to him at seven o’clock that evening, he saved the page he’d found on the Internet which explained all about dor beetles and headed down to the living room. There, Mrs. Chambers introduced him to a plump woman with orange-tinted glasses and mousy hair that needed a wash.
“Oz, this is Dr. Mackie.”
“Hi,” Oz said.
Dr. Mackie was so fat, she had to push herself out of the chair with both hands and not inconsiderable effort. She extended a sausage-fingered hand to Oz.
“Oscar, it’s nice to meet you.”
Oz took her hand, and it felt cool and a little clammy.
“Fine,” Oz said.
“Good, now we all know each other,” fussed Mrs. Chambers, and Oz couldn’t help thinking that she still looked a bit flustered. “Why don’t you two sit down and I’ll fetch some tea.”
She left the room and Oz watched Dr. Mackie lever herself heavily back into the chair. “So,” she said when she was finally settled, “Gwen tells me you’ve moved schools this year. How’s it going?”
“All right,” Oz said.
“Can be difficult, moving up. New challenges. All those new people. It’s often quite a stressful time.” Dr. Mackie regarded him through her orange glasses with a calm smile. “But Gwen tells me that you have some good friends.”
Oz nodded. He did, indeed.
Dr. Mackie leaned forward and several already-stretched seams strained in protest. “Oscar, I ought to explain to you that I am more than just an old friend of your father’s. I work in the psychology department. Gwen asked me to come here this evening because she thought you and I ought, perhaps, to have a little chat.”
“Psychology?” Oz said.
“You know what that is?”
Oz nodded. “Stuff to do with how your head works.”
Dr. Mackie smiled again, and once more Oz was struck by how unreal it was. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see her eyes behind the orange tints, but the smile looked as if it could be turned on and off by a switch, while the rest of her face didn’t seem to shift at all.
She reached into the bag at her feet and took out a writing pad and a pen. “Gwen told me all about your maths test.”
“What about my maths test?” Oz asked, suddenly quite unnerved.
“Well, I know that you were called to see your year master today and that it’s clear that you are very capable of doing maths, am I right?”
Oz nodded. For some reason, the saliva in his mouth wouldn’t go down his throat.
Dr. Mackie wrote something down and then looked up. “The more interesting question, from my point of view, is why you felt you couldn’t do the test the first time around.”
“I didn’t feel as if I couldn’t do it,” Oz said heatedly, “I just couldn’t. It was like trying to translate Latin.”
There was another plastic smile. “You’ve been through a lot these last few years, Oscar. Losing a parent at such a young age is very traumatic, very upsetting. How old were you when Michael died?”
“Eight and a bit,” Oz said, and felt suddenly very irked that this woman was talking to him about his father at all.
“We often do not appreciate fully the effect something like that has on us. It causes very deep scars and we’re always left wondering why such a terrible thing could happen. Sometimes, we even think it’s our fault.”
Oz kept quiet. This was worse than one of Miss Arkwright’s “little chats.” He even began wondering if they knew one another.
“Have you ever felt like that, Oscar?” Dr. Mackie continued to probe.
“No,” said Oz, wondering where all of this was possibly leading.
“Sometimes misplaced guilt can cause the mind to play all sorts of wicked tricks.”
Oz frowned. “Are you saying that I couldn’t do maths because my dad died?”
Dr. Mackie continued to press home her point in a calm, slightly irritating voice. “Perhaps Mr. Boggs, your maths teacher, reminds you of your father. Perhaps you wanted to punish him for leaving like he did.”
This was such a totally mad idea that Oz burst out laughing. “Badger Breath is nothing like my dad.”
“I know it may seem like that to you, but under the difficult circumstances of Michael’s death—”
“Look, I can explain the maths thing,” Oz said quickly. “It’s the way Badger—Mr. Boggs—teaches it. It’s just taken me a bit longer to understand it, that’s all…”
But Dr. Mackie wasn’t really listening. She was writing on her pad, talking as she wrote. “Close family members are often very resentful in circumstances like those surrounding your father’s death.” She looked up and leaned even further forward, her voice dropping low. “I knew Michael very well, and how the insurance company could even begin to suggest that he was suicidal is frankly laughable, but—”
An ice-cold needle pierced Oz’s stomach and he jerked upright.
“What did you just say?” he breathed.
The look on Oz’s face seemed to have paralysed Mackie. All she could do was return his horrified stare, all pretence at a smile long gone.
“You didn’t know, did you?” she said finally, and didn’t wait for an answer before adding quickly, “Oscar, listen to me, there is no proof. It was just a question asked at the inquest which the insurance company latched on to—”
“My dad’s car crashed,” Oz said through gritted teeth. “He died in an accident.”
“There’s no doubting that, Oscar. And there was no note, but the alcohol…”
Oz’s mind was doing cartwheels. The icy needle in his gut kept up an incessant stabbing. This explained everything. It explained why Arkwright was so protective, and it explained Pheeps’ sick little games. Oz stood up as a wave of sickness spread over him.
“Oz, sit down, please,” begged Dr. Mackie.
But Oz couldn’t. The floor was like marshmallow under his feet as he staggered to the hall and yanked the kitchen door open. His mother was arranging biscuits on a plate.
“Oz,” she said, startled by something she saw in his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Oz said thickly. “All this time you’ve known, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?” said Mrs. Chambers, but in her eyes Oz could see that she knew very well what he was talking about.
“This stuff about Dad crashing his car on purpose.”
“Oz,” said his mother, suddenly ashen-faced, “it was the insurance company. They wanted to investigate. They’d do anything to wriggle out of paying—”
Dr. Mackie appeared in the doorway behind Oz. “Gwen, I assumed…”
Oz ignored her, anger driving him on. “But is that what people are saying? That he did it on purpose? Is it?”
“There was a smashed bottle, and whiskey all over the seat next to him,” Mrs. Chambers spoke in a kind of trance now, uttering the words, oddly emotionless. “There was some in his stomach, but none in his blood. He wasn’t drunk. He must have taken some just before the crash. I couldn’t explain it then, and I still can’t now, because he hated the stuff. But the insurance company wrote to all his colleagues, asking them if they’d noticed him acting strangely in the weeks before…” She shook her head and whispered desperately, “No one except the insurance company believes he did it on purpose, Oz.”
“I bet Heeps does,” Oz spat. “I bet he’s spread it all over the university.”
“Your father’s colleagues have been very discreet,” protested Dr. Mackie.
“Dr. Heeps’ daughter hasn’t been,” Oz said, his voice getting louder.
Mrs. Chambers stepped towards Oz and held out her arms beseechingly. “I am so sorry you had to find out this way, Oz. But it’s something I knew you’d eventually have to deal with.”
Oz took a step back. “What does that mean? Are you saying that you think he might have done it?”
“Oh, Oz,” Mrs. Chambers said, and started to cry.
Oz rounded on Dr. Mackie. “I didn’t pretend to be rubbish at maths to bait Badger Breath, okay?” He looked from the psychologist to his mother again. “I don’t care what any insurance company or inquest says. My dad didn’t crash that car on purpose. I know he didn’t. And anyone who thinks he did needs their heads examined. But not by you!”
He shot Mackie a furiously defiant glare and ran up to his room.
Chapter 9
Garret and Eldred’s
Oz locked himself in his bedroom, head throbbing with anger at what he had just heard. He strode blindly from one side of the bedroom to the other, looking at the games and books and the flotsam of his life all around him, but not really seeing any of them. His brain was whirling like an out of control helicopter in a crash descent. Why had his mother or Caleb or someone never told him? Did they think that he was still a child that needed protecting? Didn’t they know that it was far, far worse hearing it bandied about casually like Dr. Mackie had just done than hearing it from someone who cared? Didn’t they know that other people would have been discussing it, like teachers and all of his dad’s colleagues and friends, so that they treated Oz with that awful pity he hated so much?
And Pheeps? His skin crawled when he now thought of Pheeps and the truly horrifying nature of her snide, supercilious sneers. Humiliation and fury fought a battle in his chest and threatened to erupt like a boiling geyser. That she was poison he already knew, but this… His ignorance just made things a hundred times worse and made him suddenly want to roll up into a ball and howl. He groaned, threw himself down onto the bed and buried his head in the pillow, concluding with the utmost certainty that all adults were completely mad. He toyed with ringing Ellie and Ruff, but then began wondering if they had known, too. Known and not said anything in case it upset him.
Some time later, he heard his mother knocking gently on the door and heard it open. She called his name softly, but Oz had his back to her, so he didn’t move and pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want to speak to her. Not yet. He wanted to get things straight in his head. So he kept very quiet, and after a while she went away.
Oz wasn’t sure how long he lay there with his eyes shut, trying to quell the images racing around in his head, but sleep was a long, long way off. The discussion with Dr. Mackie had opened up wounds that had only ever partially healed. The idea that his dad had deliberately crashed the car was just insane. He was as certain of that as he was that the sun would come up tomorrow. But in the dark, small hours, Oz could not help reliving the horror of that night. The tension in his mother’s expression as they waited for his dad to arrive home, knowing that he’d left the airport four hours before. The excuses she’d used to pretend that all he’d done was run out of battery on his mobile and stopped at a service station for a bite. The horror he’d read in her face as the blue lights of the police car pulled up outside.