by Phil Earle
Instead, he pulled himself to his feet and bit on the inside of his lip, trying to distract from the pain in his ribs.
For so long now he’d been adept at hiding his pain. But here, in this new city, it was getting harder and harder to keep it from view.
Two words formed in his head. They were not words that he gave thought to often, and rarer still did he say them out loud. But tonight, in front of the cage, they needed to be said.
‘Thank you. I owe you one.’
26
Joseph moved stiffly onto the bench and let the icy wind numb him more effectively than any medicine could.
He watched as Adonis calmed. It didn’t take long: within a minute he’d grown tired of playing with what remained of Bert’s coat, and had taken to scouring the floor of his cage for food.
‘You should be hungry after all that,’ Joseph said. The ape didn’t give Joseph a second glance. Instead, he ferreted out what he could find on the floor, before adopting his normal position, gaze fixed as ever on the entrance. It was like nothing had happened.
‘What are you up to?’
It was Syd. Joseph tried to sit normally so as not to give his injuries away, but in doing so realised he was shaking, badly.
‘Have you not thought about putting more layers on if you’re cold?’ Mrs F, this time. ‘We can’t have you up wheezing and coughing all night.’
He tried to get up. It hurt, the pain in his ribs so sharp that he felt faint, his arms buckling as he slumped in front of the bench.
‘Joseph?’ The voices now were different, concerned, four feet dashing to him, four arms lifting him.
‘Careful now. Gentle, gentle...’
They lifted him back on to the bench. He wanted to lie on it, but they wedged themselves either side of him, holding him upright, the interrogation starting immediately.
‘What happened?’
‘Did you fall?’
‘Was it Adonis?’
‘What hurts?’
‘Do you need a doctor?’
The questions came so fast and the pain was so thick that Joseph wasn’t sure who had asked what.
‘Who did this to you?’ Mrs F asked.
He thought about how to answer but could find no reason not to tell the truth.
‘Bert and Jimmy,’ he said, through cracked lips.
‘Who?’
‘Two boys from school,’ interrupted Syd, not that Joseph minded. He hadn’t the energy to explain. ‘They’ve taken a dislike to Joseph, right from the word go.’
Joseph didn’t look up at Mrs F, but imagined her face was hardening as she tried to work out what he had done to start off another war.
‘It wasn’t his fault though,’ Syd went on. ‘They’ve been really horrid to Joseph. All he’s ever done is stick up for himself.’
‘And they were here, these lads?’ asked Mrs F. ‘How did they get in?’
‘Over the wall I think.’ Joseph shrugged. ‘Must’ve been them making all that noise at the gate.’
‘And they did this to you?’
He nodded. ‘You should see the state of Bert, though.’ He tried to smile, but it hurt too much, so he settled for calling Bert exactly what he was.
‘I’ll be adding to your bruises if I hear that word again,’ Mrs F snapped, ‘and I hope you didn’t respond with more fisticuffs.’
‘I didn’t touch him. Couldn’t, could I? Jimmy was holding me most of the time, or Bert. I couldn’t tell, in the end.’
There was a brief silence before Syd chipped in again. ‘But if you didn’t fight back, why is Bert in a mess too?’
He didn’t answer at first. It demanded energy that he didn’t have. Couldn’t they just let him sleep?
‘Joseph!’ One word snapped him back and had him point his finger at the bars.
‘Adonis...’ he said.
Mrs F was on her feet in an instant: on her feet and marching to the bars.
‘Adonis did what? Joseph, listen to me. What did Adonis do?’
Her eyes flicked between the boy and the cage, checking that the ape was all right, that he hadn’t been attacked too, but Joseph could see that she was scared. She knew about the beast’s temper and what he was capable of.
‘Joseph, I know you’re in pain, but this is important, you need to tell me, now. What did Adonis do?’
‘Bert got too close to the cage. Had his back to it, ready to punch me. And Adonis grabbed him.’
Hands flew to mouths and eyes opened wide.
‘Sweet Lord. The boy. What happened to him? Where is he now?’ Her eyes roamed everywhere. She knew he couldn’t be pulled through the bars, but she looked anyway, and that’s when she spotted the rags of his coat.
‘Is that his?’
Joseph nodded. ‘He was lucky. Adonis grabbed him, but only his coat. His mate, Jimmy, did a runner, so I... er... I...’
‘What? What did you do, Joseph?’ He heard the panic rising in her.
‘I helped him, all right? I didn’t hurt him. I helped him get his coat off so he could wriggle free. That’s how he escaped. I helped him.’
He felt himself sag, both inside and out. But he didn’t fall sideways off the bench as he felt his shoulders being held, gently but firmly, by Mrs F.
‘That... that was brave. Incredibly, incredibly brave... But unbelievably stupid. What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed. Both of you. Don’t you understand that?’
Joseph knew this. How could he not? But he didn’t have a chance to tell this to Mrs F because her attention was yanked away by more commotion at the main gates. Shouting. Lots of it. Shouting and rattling gates. Someone was demanding attention. Now.
‘Stay here. Don’t move. Do you hear me?’ And she walked, briskly, towards the main gate, Syd following.
Joseph sat. Just for a second. Before realising he couldn’t stay here. He knew that the racket at the gate must be linked to all this. And if that was the case, then his place was there too. Holding his ribs, and catching his breath, he pushed on after them.
27
It was a strange sight that greeted Joseph at the zoo gates.
Its bars acted as a cage in themselves, dividing two parties, both bristling and shouting. There was so much anger bouncing around, it was difficult to say which of the animals involved was the wildest.
It didn’t take Joseph long though, to work out who was trying to get inside.
The large man shaking the gates had to be Bert’s father. There was the same cruelness in the eyes, the same power in the forearms. He was a bear of a man, much bigger than Joseph’s own father, and he couldn’t help but wonder why such a huge, fearless-looking person wasn’t doing the same as his dad. Risking it all, somewhere in France.
If there was a physical reason why Mr Conaghan couldn’t fight, then he was doing an excellent job of concealing it: he shook the gates with such ferocity that the hinges were under threat, and this wasn’t lost on Mrs F.
‘I’ve already been told I may lose these gates to the war effort, but until they melt them down into bullets, I’ll thank you to leave them alone.’
‘Well, if you’d let me in to have this out properly, I wouldn’t have to lay a finger on them.’
Mrs F sighed. ‘The zoo has been closed for months now. Not my choice, but it has. That’s why the gates are locked. To keep people out – for their own safety.’
‘Well from what I hear, there’s animals inside and outside the cages.’ He pointed at Joseph.
His words didn’t hurt Joseph. He’d heard worse than that. He was surprised to see that Bert had come along for the ride, though, hiding behind his father’s heft. He might have changed his wet trousers, but he still wore the same expression, a mixture of hatred for Joseph, and overwhelming fear of what he’d experienced. His eyes kept moving over Joseph’s shoulder,
in the direction of Adonis’s cage.
‘If it’s animals you’re wanting to talk about,’ said Mrs F, ‘then let’s have that conversation, shall we? It’s clear there’s strife between your son and Joseph, and boys will be boys after all, but I do know this: from the second Joseph walked into that school, your boy made a beeline for him. He looked to belittle and humiliate him in front of every kid there.’
‘Well, he would tell you that, wouldn’t he?’
‘No, he wouldn’t. And he didn’t. Stupidly, he didn’t say a word about it, which is a shame. First I heard of it was minutes ago.’
‘And were you told your boy punched my Bert?’
‘I wasn’t, but it doesn’t surprise me either. And to be clear, Joseph here, he’s not strictly my boy, but I am happily responsible for him. So if he ever, ever came to me and told me about bullies like your Bert, then I’d tell him to do exactly what he did do. Stand your ground. Stand your ground and if you have to, fight.’
Mr Conaghan didn’t like that, not a bit. He seemed to grow several more inches, hate filling every cell as his chest expanded and his fists squeezed the bars.
‘And if he’s too cowardly to do that, then get your pets here to do it for you – eh?’
‘Mr Conaghan, please—’
‘Don’t you “Mr Conaghan” me.’
‘Then don’t spout such ridiculous comments in my direction. Do you honestly think Joseph could train a silverback gorilla to attack your son? Adonis isn’t a dog. He’s a wild animal, which is why the gates here are locked. Unfortunately, your son chose to ignore this, and in doing so put his own life at risk.’
Mr Conaghan didn’t like what he was hearing, but he was learning that there was little you could do once Mrs F was in full flow.
‘If these boys want to fight, then there’s precious little that you or I can do about it. But I’ll tell you this, he won’t do it in my zoo. Not again. Not without me contacting the law.’
But as she drew breath, Mr Conaghan swooped in with a rant of his own that seemed to knock the air from them all.
‘If anyone’s contacting the law, it’ll be me. And I won’t be waiting, neither. I’ll be doing it now, today. But it won’t be about that ruffian of yours. It’ll be about your ape. Wild or otherwise, closed or otherwise, a woman, especially one like you, shouldn’t be left in charge of such dangerous beasts. And if I get my way, and I will, then it won’t be for much longer. I’ll see that ape of yours ended, so he can’t do any more harm. I’ll even pull the trigger myself, if I have to. Happily.’
‘Have you finished?’ Mrs F blurted back, but there was a change in her tone. She sounded weakened: there was suddenly tension in her shoulders.
‘Mrs, I haven’t even started. But I will soon enough. I’ll be seeing you. All of you.’
And with a final glare, he left, Bert skittering afterwards.
No one said a word. Mrs F stood motionless until they disappeared, before gathering herself and turning back towards Adonis.
28
Sweat clung to Joseph’s face as he rocketed upwards, pulling his bed sheet with him. It was swampy and cloying. He gasped, not once or twice, but several times, as if emerging from the coldest of rivers.
Joseph was not usually a dreamer, whether awake or asleep. He’d never had any patience for it: why daydream when the next bad thing waiting was only round the corner?
This probably explained the grip that this particular dream held over him.
It had been night, and they were at the zoo, bombs falling, thick and fast, too many to count, way too many to stop. There was no sign of Mrs F, but the rifle was somehow in Joseph’s hands. Not that it was any use: there were no bullets no matter how many times he pulled the trigger.
The thing that made the dream strange was that it wasn’t Nazi planes releasing the bombs: they were being hurled by people, huge godlike figures peering round the darkest of clouds, laughing and leering as they propelled the explosives towards the ground. There was Bert and Jimmy, old man Gryce, and Mr Conaghan too, screaming for revenge as he rained his weapons down.
Joseph saw them in the greatest of detail: their faces all completely recognisable to him, but there was one face which was not. Its features were hazy, vague, at times obscured by cloud, and no matter how hard he tried to focus, Joseph could not make out who it was.
It was a woman. He knew that much. Her arms were long and slender, yet they weren’t gentle, far from it. They hurled destruction with abandon, double the number that the others could. And when the others’ arsenal ran out, she went on, throwing bombs faster and faster, leaving Joseph to scrabble on hands and knees, feverishly catching each and every one.
But in the end, it was just too much, even for him. With sweat blinding and hands cut to ribbons, Joseph made one last, desperate lunge, but the bomb was too big, too fast, ripping the sky in two.
As it hit the ground, it did not make a sound. Only Joseph did, letting rip with a deafening cry. But it was not loud enough to pull him from the dream; only the response from the woman could do that: ‘Shush now, my darling. Don’t cry for Mummy...’
He tried not to cry. Desperately holding his breath, trapping the wail deep in his lungs. He wanted to please her, to keep her, to stop her from walking away again. He’d be good this time, he promised. Do whatever it took just as long as she stayed.
But as he reached his arms in her direction, she turned quickly and disappeared.
No, he cried, don’t go. I’m sorry.
And that’s when he sat up, awake now, searching for someone who patently wasn’t there.
As reality and sleep merged and twisted, leaving Joseph disorientated and whimpering, he heard another voice, another woman, her tone clipped, but reassuring.
‘Joseph. Joseph now, come on. It’s a dream. A dream. That’s all it is.’
He leaned into the voice, feeling the pain in his ribs for the first time since waking.
‘Open your eyes now. It’s all right. That’s enough.’
He peered through sticky eyelids to see Mrs F perched in front of him, shocks of greying-red hair flailing in all directions.
‘Well,’ she said, levering his hands from her. ‘I don’t know what that was about. Maybe it was what happened earlier, with those boys. And you shouldn’t feel bad about that, you know, if it’s upset you.’
Joseph allowed himself to fall back to the mattress, embarrassed by what had happened. He really didn’t want to talk about it.
‘I’ll not be sleeping for a while,’ she went on. ‘So if you want some company, you’ll find me in the kitchen.’
Slowly, knees creaking, she stood, yet her eyes remained fixed on the boy, head tilted to one side, even as she moved to the door. ‘It’s up to you.’
The offer surprised Joseph, as did her act of leaving his door ajar. She usually closed it with a bang, like she wanted to seal him within the four walls. Not tonight, though.
After a few minutes, feeling his chest rise and fall with a degree of normality, Joseph climbed gingerly to his feet, feeling every jolt of pain, and descended the stairs on jelly legs.
It was vaguely warm in the backroom. The stove was lit, just: a single flame trying to welcome him as he quietly shut the door behind him. Mrs F was sitting at the table, her back to him, shoulders rounded, poring over something laid out in front of her.
‘We don’t have any milk, do we?’ he asked, his voice not loud, but startling enough to see Mrs F jump to her feet and clumsily bundle a pile of documents towards a battered tin that sat open on the table. ‘No, no we don’t,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Right.’ He pointed at the papers. ‘What are they?’ He could see old photographs, and letters, some handwritten, others formal and faded, yet he couldn’t make out any detail. She’d moved too hurriedly for that, which interested him. The only time he saw her flustered lik
e that was when the siren sounded.
‘None of your business, that’s what they are!’ she said, once the pile was back in the tin. ‘And I’ll thank you not to sneak up on me like that again, Joseph.’
‘You told me to come down. Do you want me to go out and knock?’
‘What I want, is you not to put me in an early grave by sneaking up on me. I’ve enough grey on this head without you adding to it.’ And she moved past him briskly, putting the tin on the lintel above the fireplace, well out of his reach. She even partially hid it behind an empty vase, as if obscuring it would wipe any memory of it from his mind.
‘I thought you’d gone back to sleep,’ she added, filling a glass from the tap.
‘Don’t think that’ll be happening for a while.’
‘It was clearly quite a dream you were having. What was it about?’
‘Can’t remember now,’ he muttered. He didn’t want to give it a second’s thought, nor risk her judgement when she heard how strange it was.
‘Maybe that’s just as well,’ she said. ‘Still, there’s plenty we can talk about, isn’t there? Water?’
She slid a glass in front of him, and waited for Joseph to speak.
29
They were out of coal, so had resorted to damp wood found amongst the street’s rubble. It hissed and crackled angrily in the stove.
Joseph said nothing. He was still pondering the contents of the tin, vainly applying his best X-ray vision to the mantelpiece. He only stopped when Mrs F followed his eyeline and clocked what he was looking at.
‘So,’ she said, not really aimed at anyone or anything.
‘Aye,’ he replied. His glass was empty now, but his palms still gripped it. ‘Do you think he’ll be back?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
‘Bert’s dad.’
‘Who knows?’ she said. ‘People like that can be difficult to understand. All mouth and no trousers, some would say.’