by Phil Earle
‘Is that what you think?’
Mrs F shook her head. ‘I don’t know much, but I do know this. Men like Conaghan don’t enjoy seeing women like me anywhere but in the kitchen. Seeing me at the zoo, regardless of what happened to his boy, well, it offends him, threatens him, I reckon. Though whether it’s enough for him to do anything about it, we’ll see in time, won’t we?’
Joseph nodded. He was in little doubt that the man would follow through on his threats. After all, his son had.
‘Do you think there will be more funny business at school? With either of the boys?’
Joseph made a gesture that was hard to read, something between a shrug and a shake of the head. There’d be hard stares and puffed-out chests from both sides, he was sure, and it was difficult to give each other a wide berth with so few in the classroom.
Both sides held weapons. Bert knew how much Joseph struggled with his reading, but Joseph, well, he’d seen Bert wet himself for goodness’ sake, so Joseph was unsure as to who would reallyhave the upper hand.
‘You’ve still not told me about what really happened, you know. About what went on to make them even come to the zoo.’
Joseph shrugged, just as he had every time she’d asked. He knew she was getting more exasperated every time he deflected, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it. ‘What’s the point?’ he said, deadpan.
‘The point, Joseph, is that if things don’t ever get talked about, then they never get out, and things have a way of burrowing down inside you. And as they do that, they spread, they spread and they fester without daylight or air. Sometimes, without you ever realising, it’s reached every part of your body, so every step, every breath, every decision you make, it’s made up of that thing, that thing that was too horrible to talk about in the first place. It takes you over. Believe me, it rules you. Is that what you want?’
‘No.’
‘Then look at me as you say it.’
He lifted his head. ‘Course not.’
‘Then for goodness’ sake, talk to me about it!’
He looked at her as his head raced to think of how to explain it. Tell her like you told Syd, he said to himself. You managed it then, didn’t you?
But this was different. She’d judge him, make him feel even thicker than he already did.
Mrs F looked at him expectantly and he grimaced.
Say he did talk. Say he told her everything that had happened and how it had made him feel. What good would it do? Could she turn back time and make it not happen? Stop the boys from calling him out, or pin back their arms to stop the blows? No, she couldn’t. She was powerless. It had already happened, so what was the point in dragging it out?
The only problem was, Mrs F was as stubborn as he was, so if he wasn’t going to talk, she was going to ask questions.
‘Syd says they went for you as soon as you walked in. That right?’
He nodded.
‘Says it was only one comment that upset you.’
A shrug this time.
‘Something about you being thick.’
‘Why don’t you just keep asking Syd, instead of giving me the third degree?’
‘Believe me, Joseph, I’ve tried.’
‘Maybe you’re not trying hard enough?
‘Or maybe she’s just protecting you.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Beats me. I can never usually shut her up.’
‘Maybe it’s not worth knowing.’
Mrs F was on her feet. ‘Not worth knowing? I’ve had you top to toe in bruises, a complete stranger of a boy almost ripped limb from limb in my zoo, and the threat of our most precious animal, our only precious animal, being put to sleep. All this because of something happening which isn’t worth me knowing?’
She paused, her face as angry as her wild hair. Joseph knew this was the point he was meant to come clean, but still, still,he could not find the words.
‘Then, if you’re not going to tell me, all I can do is make a guess. So, here it is, here’s my guess. That boy in the classroom, he offended you. He saw something in you, the second you walked in, and thought he could have some fun at your expense. Get under your skin. So he did. He called you thick, a dunce. Told the teacher you couldn’t read or write or even spell your name. And you, because you are the most pig-headed child... no, person I have ever met in my life, you refused to prove them wrong. Because it’s easier for you to be angry and use your fists, than choose to engage your brain and try for once.’
‘I did try, all right? I’ve tried all my life. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking the same as everyone else. That I’m just thick or lazy, but I’m telling you, I’m not. I know about the alphabet, I can tell you about the vowels as well, all of them. But soon as I try to read them off the page, they start dancing.’
‘What do you mean, dancing?’
‘They won’t stay still, the words. They move about. Every time I think I recognise one, it moves to a different place, like it’s floating or something. Drives me mad, it does.’
She’d never heard anything like it. She wanted to believe him but had no idea if it was actually true. The boy was no liar and his eyes were blazing as he spoke, but it sounded so... ridiculous. Like the ramblings of a madman.
‘And it happens every time you read? No matter how big the writing is?’
‘Yes.’
She exhaled, thinking for a second. ‘Then we should get you to the doctor. Maybe it’s your eyes, maybe you just need glasses.’
He remembered the indignity of Syd’s aunt’s pair. ‘Or maybe they can slap the straitjacket on me there and then. Cos I know, I know what you’re thinking. And I know there’s hospitals down here for people like me!’ He was on his feet now, blood pulsing, fingertips gripping the table edge, nails digging into wood.
‘Only things you need to know, Joseph Palmer, are these: one, I believe you. Two, there might well be doctors, but there’ll be no straitjackets and no bloomin’ hospitals, neither. Not while you’re with me. And three? I don’t care if you can’t read. No matter what the reason. There’s plenty that can’t, and I don’t judge them either. What I do care about is this temper of yours. It’ll land you in way more trouble than not knowing your A-B-Cs ever will. There’s so much anger in you, too much for my liking. But I’ll tell you something else, it doesn’t outweigh the good in you, not by a long chalk. Look at what you did to help that bully at the zoo? Despite what he’d done to you?’
Joseph furrowed his brow and shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot.
‘Oh, I know you keep it well hidden, but I see it, Joseph. You can’t hide anything from me. So, from this point on, I’ll be asking a lot more of you, and if you do something good? I’ll tell you about it, just as I will if you do something that makes my hand itch.’
Joseph took her words in. Well, he took in what he could, and it had been quite a speech. What he hadn’t noticed was that he was no longer gripping the table. And his fists weren’t fists either.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said, the devil still very much in him.
‘You can.’
He pointed at the mantelpiece. ‘What’s in your tin?’
But she didn’t answer. As like a boxer, she was saved, though not by a bell, but by a siren. It was announcing the end of this round, and the beginning of a new one.
Their eyes leaped skywards even though they were indoors.
‘Right, get yourself down the shelter, pronto.’
‘Not with the Twyfords,’ he groaned. ‘They hate me.’
‘Don’t take it personally. They hate everyone.’
‘Don’t leave me with them, then.’ He knew they were short on time, so he had a better chance of getting his own way for once. ‘I can come with you again. To the zoo. After all, you don’t want to leave Tweedy with them next door, e
ither now, do you? They hate him even more than me.’
Mrs F sighed, sagging as she reached for their jackets.
‘All right, then. But you do as I say, when I say. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘And you wear the balaclava I knitted you.’
‘Deal.’
‘And these.’ She threw him a pair of knitted gloves. ‘I finished them earlier.’
They were pink. Joseph’s face told her what he thought.
‘No gloves, no zoo. It was the only wool I had. Now. Hurry up, before Adolf comes knocking.’
For once, Joseph did as he was told.
30
The post-school walk to the zoo wasn’t a long one, but the day after an air raid, everything felt more tiring, and as with most things these days, Hitler was to blame.
The bombings were at his insistence, and when they came, they came thick and fast. They left their mark on the landscape and on the people too. Joseph was definitely feeling it, despite his bruises slowly healing, a week on. Constant, disrupted sleep in a bed that wasn’t his, plus night after night at the zoo, had left him exhausted, and as Syd was about to find out, even grumpier than usual.
It made everything he saw and heard an irritant: the way gravel crunched beneath everyone’s feet (even though his boots made the same noise), the way Syd managed to talk on a constant loop without ever filling her lungs, even the way people took their solace in the aftermath of the bombings got under his skin.
‘Look at that,’ he snapped.
‘At what?’ Syd wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, or himself.
‘That!’ He pointed a stabbing finger towards a boy, clambering on top of a large pile of rubble.
‘He’s only climbing,’ she said, confused. ‘You did it the other day.’
‘I didn’t have a stupid ruddy flag in my hand though, did I?’
Syd looked again and saw in the boy’s hand a clenched Union Jack flag, attached to a jagged wooden pole. As the boy reached the top of the rubble, he stood, wobbled, and held his makeshift flag aloft, before ramming it into the debris. The material fluttered (pathetically, in Joseph’s opinion), drawing a round of applause from those below, Syd included.
‘What are you clapping for?’ Joseph demanded.
‘What do you mean?’
‘ ’S ridiculous. I mean, what’s impressive about ramming a flag in a load of bricks. Does he think they can see it all the way from ruddy Berlin?’
‘What is wrong with you?’ Syd said, stopping dead. ‘Can you not see what he’s trying to say?’
‘What, apart from “I’m an idiot”?’
‘He’s trying to say they won’t beat us. That they can drop as many bombs as they want, flatten as many houses as they can, but they won’t win. That we won’t let them.’
Joseph harrumphed something under his breath, irritating Syd still further.
‘Joseph, what is wrong with you today?’
Walking on, Joseph clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the conflict he felt pulling at him. He needed help, Syd’s help specifically, but to ask for it? Where did he even start?
Fortunately, Syd found a way to make him say the words.
‘Right,’ she said, striding ahead. ‘Well, if you’re not going to talk, then neither am I. Goodbye, Joseph.’
‘Wait!’ he shouted after her, the word scratching at his throat on its way out. ‘I need your help, don’t I?’
He may have let his voice drop at the end of the sentence, but it was loud enough for Syd to hear. She stopped, and turned. ‘No problem. What with?’
Joseph stared at her. He’d expected her to laugh or make him beg, and maybe she would yet, but so far, all he could see was a girl with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to continue.
‘You mean you’ll help?’
‘As long as it’s not checking your hair for nits, yes.’
‘No chance,’ he huffed, knowing he had to just say it now. ‘It’s Gryce, isn’t it?’ He felt the fear bubble as he heard his own words. ‘And his stupid monthly test. It’s not far away now. And I know what you’re going to say about my maths being good, but I still can’t read, can I? Still can’t tie the words down onto the page. I’ve been trying, but it’s no better.’
‘I know. And I tried to help, didn’t I? But I don’t know what else I can do.’ She looked worried for him. ‘Has Gryce invited Mrs F, like all the other parents?’
Joseph nodded. ‘Says she’s coming, too.’
‘But she knows about the problems you have with the words, doesn’t she?’
Joseph looked embarrassed. ‘Yeah, I told her. But she can’t do anything about it either, can she? And I know what will happen. She’ll side with Gryce. Think exactly the same as him. That I’m doing it cos I’m lazy. Either that or they’ll say there’s something wrong with me.’
‘She’d never do that to you!’ Syd looked genuinely shocked. ‘Look at what she’s doing for you. What she’s done for me, too. She gave me a job, didn’t she, after my parents died. She didn’t have to, but she did, because my auntie told her how sad I was. And it’s not just the job, either. She listens to me when I need to talk, she cares about me. Just like she cares about you.’
Joseph tried to stop his face from giving anything away but failed miserably.
‘Joseph, it’s true. Why can’t you see that?’
‘Do you want to help me or not?’
‘I’ve said I will, haven’t I?’
‘Good. Because I don’t... well I can’t trust Mrs F but, well... I’ve got an idea. It might sound ridiculous though, and it probably won’t work.’
‘You’re really selling it to me here, Joseph...’
‘Look, my reading’s rubbish, I just can’t do it, but what I have got is a pretty good memory. And the book Miss has given me to read to Gryce, well, it’s not exactly Shakespeare, is it? I mean, there’s not many words in it.’
‘So... ?’
‘So I want you to read it to me, over and over again. As many times as you can bear. Cos if you do that, I reckon I can start to remember it. Learn it, word for word.’
‘You think you can really do that?’ Her eyebrows were as high as her voice.
‘I do,’ he replied forcefully, hoping it would help him believe it. ‘It’s got to be worth a try. Beats being humiliated. And caned.’
‘Then I’ll help. I still think you should talk to Mrs F agai—’
Joseph shook his head determinedly and Syd sighed, while smiling sadly.
‘Then we’d better get to the zoo as quick as we can, so you can show me just how good this memory of yours is.’
What followed could have been excruciating. For both of them. But while it wasn’t without tension and flashpoints, it became clear that both Joseph and his plan were better than first expected.
His memory wasn’t bad at all, which fed both his confidence and Syd’s patience. In fact, what she saw over the next hour, as they sat on the bench by Adonis’s cage, with the ape keeping guard, was how Joseph’s stubbornness was also his greatest strength.
‘Tell me that line again,’ he said.
‘The sky was full of clouds. It looked like rain,’ Syd said, slowly, but not so slowly that he’d feel patronised.
‘Isn’t that what I said?’
But Syd didn’t have time to answer, as there was a loud grunt from inside the cage. The two of them turned to see Adonis, shaking his head vehemently.
‘He doesn’t think so,’ Syd laughed. She couldn’t help it. His timing was too perfect.
Joseph felt himself blush. Even a silverback was telling him he was getting it wrong.
‘You don’t really think he was shaking his head about my reading, do you?’
Syd shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe? I don’t know. Do you?’
‘Nah, he’s an ape, for God’s sake. But then I don’t know, do I? I mean, he got hold of Bert when he attacked me.’ He felt silly for saying it, but at the same time he had wanted to see what someone else thought. ‘So maybe he was protecting me.’ He instantly felt embarrassed. ‘Forget it. It’s ridiculous.’
Syd didn’t hesitate. ‘No it’s not. Maybe he just likes you. Ever think about that?’
‘I think you should tell me the line again, so I get it right,’ said Joseph, as ever the expert at evading subjects. So she did. For as long as he had the will. Over and over again, every time he fluffed one or lost his way. He took his mistakes well enough, not once threatening to quit, swallowing his temper every time he felt it bubble up. They tackled the words in the book a line at a time, half a line, if the sentence was a long one: Joseph repeating it several times before allowing himself to move on. Once he’d memorised the next line, he went back to the start and tried to piece it all together.
‘Do you think this can really work?’ he sighed. ‘Or am I just fooling myself?’
‘Do you think you have a choice?’
Joseph shrugged. ‘Not really. If I try to con Gryce and he sees through it, I get caned. But if I don’t try and tell him why I can’t read, he’ll cane me anyway.’
‘And it might work. If you read it with enough passion, he might only ask you to do a page.’
‘He might.’
‘So stick at it, then. I mean, you’re doing better than I thought you would.’ Syd realised this didn’t sound much like a compliment, adding, ‘Way better!’ before Joseph’s face crunched in disapproval.
On they ploughed, though it took an increasing amount of concentration on Joseph’s part in particular. He wanted to trace the words on the page with his finger as Syd read them, as he’d need to do the same when in front of Gryce, but of course this invited the dancing words, the usual nausea and inevitable frustration as they slipped and slid around the page.
As hard as he fought, the irritation that grew inside him eventually became too much to hold in, and he slapped the book shut on the bench.
‘It’s all right,’ offered Syd, considering patting his back before deciding otherwise. ‘Rest your brain now. We can come back to it later. See how much of it has stuck.’