by Phil Earle
Immediately Joseph wanted to feel it again, that trust, and he reached into the bucket for something fresh, choosing a head of broccoli. Would it work? He hoped desperately that it would.
Nervous again, heart pounding, Joseph dropped his head as he offered his arm slowly to the bars. There was a beat, a moment when he thought Adonis might not be interested, but it was merely that, a second, as the ape’s hand moved as slowly as the boy’s. Joseph held his breath in his lungs, not daring to let it out, but as Adonis’s fingers met his a second time, he thought he might explode with joy. For, this time, it was more than a brush of the fingertips.
Joseph watched with eyes widening, not daring to blink as Adonis’s open hand enveloped not only the broccoli, but Joseph’s entire fist, squeezing gently. Adonis’s palm was warm, the pads of his fingers both soft and calloused in places. The force slowly increased. Forgetting the script, Joseph lifted his head and looked Adonis squarely in the eye, the ape meeting him with the same intensity. And there they sat for seconds that lasted on into minutes, until the ape pulled away, sliding the broccoli from Joseph’s grasp, leaving his fingers cold once more.
Joseph remained on his haunches, head raised high, and watched as Adonis feasted on his prize.
Rain started to fall, a storm from nowhere, plastering the hair to their skins, but still, neither of them moved, until both the bucket, and the clouds, were empty.
32
Insomnia, it seemed, was contagious.
Mrs F wasn’t sleeping, that was clear. Maybe she felt she was constantly on duty, waiting for the bombs. They came often enough, after all. But Joseph reckoned it was more than that. Even when the siren didn’t sound, he still heard her slippers night after night, padding softly down the stairs in the darkest hours, the sound of the poker, teasing the sleepy embers awake, and the less subtle sounds of Tweedy, excited to see his mistress unexpectedly.
But he was always awake long before she was.
His head was constantly full, too.
There was Gryce’s monthly exam looming desperately close now, and the fear of his plan being exposed.
There was his anger that Mr Conaghan had followed through on his threat, and that his son had come to the zoo that day; but also that Joseph’s own actions, his own stupidity, had led to the fight in the first place.
He was angry about the noose tightening slowly around Adonis’s neck. True, he had spent the first weeks not just fearing but hatingthe beast. But then if it wasn’t for the ape’s intervention, Bert and Jimmy would have beaten him to a pulp. And after feeding the ape at such close quarters, Joseph was now more convinced than ever that Adonis had meant to help him. That the ape was sticking up for him. And that meant something to Joseph.
If this wasn’t enough, there was Mrs F to think about. She hadn’t wanted him here, in her home or her life, she’d said as much, and there had been her hot temper and cold words. But on the other hand, she’d stuck up for him over Bert, and she hadn’t laughed or pointed or called him thick like others had when he’d told her about his reading. He’d felt himself relax around her as a result, ever so slightly. For years now, as long as he could remember, he’d been a knot that other people had tied, a knot so complicated and off-putting that no one stuck around long enough to unpick it.
But she hadn’t given up, not yet. She’d picked at the edges, loosening them ever so slightly, but in an unexpected way. Her manner was rough and crude, but no matter how loudly Joseph shouted and pushed her away, there she was, still in his eyeline. Giving back as good as she got. Unlike the others, she hadn’t walked out, or away.
And now? Now, she needed help: that much was clear.
He stood at the top of the landing; hand on the banister, left foot making nervous circles, wearing out the carpet. She wouldn’t want him to appear before her, but his legs took him down the stairs and through the door before the rest of him had time to stop them. The words fell from his mouth before his feet stood still.
‘I want you to read me the letter again,’ he said, steel in his voice.
‘What are you doing up?’ she said, startled. ‘You’ve your test thing tomorrow, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Yeah I know, but...’
‘But nothing. You should be asleep.’
‘So should you, then,’ he said. ‘Or are you not coming now?’ He wasn’t exactly sure if he wanted her there or not.
‘Yes, I’ll be there. Now, get yourself back to bed.’
‘Not until you read the letter again to me. From the council. We must be missing something. Or understanding it wrong. You can’t let them do this.’
But Mrs F said nothing. She was sitting at the table, alongside the tin from the shelf, with the same faded documents and creased photographs scattered in front of her.
Like the last time he’d disturbed her, she gathered the papers up, only this time with less urgency and more sadness. She pushed them into a neat pile and slid them back inside the tin, before passing a letter towards him, bearing the same official insignia that he’d seen at the zoo.
He creased his eyes, forcing them onto the words, willing them for once in his life, just to sit still, but they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. It didn’t work like that, and they danced and swirled around the page, threatening to slither onto the hearth rug.
Joseph fought the urge to scrunch the sheet into a ball and propel it into the fire. Mrs F put the tin back on the shelf but she turned and saw the anger written large on his face. She walked to his side, her tone kind and patient.
‘It’s another one,’ she said. ‘Arrived today. Final warning. Want a line drawn under it, apparently, before it happens again.’
‘Again?’ Joseph spat. ‘Wouldn’t have happened in the first place if Bert had stayed out.’
She said nothing, sadness weighing her down so entirely that it seemed difficult to even raise her head.
‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘Bert’s hardly likely to come back again, is he?’
‘Well we’ve a week now,’ she said. ‘And if I’ve not arranged a new home by then, they’ll be back, to put him down.’
It wasn’t an image Joseph wanted to linger on.
‘So what are you going to do? It’s all so unfair!’ he said, the power in his voice shocking him. ‘I mean, Bert shouldn’t have been in the zoo, should he? Or so close to the cage? Did you tell them that? That he’d broken in?’
‘Of course, I told them. In person and in a letter.’
‘Then why won’t they listen?’
‘Because they’ve already heard what they want to hear. They’re not interested in an old monkey—’
‘He’s an ape!’
She smiled, sadly. ‘I know that, as do you. But to them, in the grand scheme of things, he’s just another thing to cross off their list, and they’d sooner put a bullet in him than listen to the truth. That’s what this war does to people. The bombs are so loud that it makes them deaf as well as stupid.’
‘Then we find him a new home. Write more letters. Telegrams. Zoos must have telephones, too. Or we start a petition. People won’t let him die.’
She was looking at him funny. It wasn’t normal. Her eyes weren’t creased or scowling. It felt like she was looking at someone else. Like he was Syd. Or Adonis, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. It made him uneasy.
‘Do you not think I’ve thought about all this?’ she said.
‘Then we have to do it!’
‘I’ve tried. I have. But the other zoos already can’t cope. They’ve barely enough to feed the animals they have, and as for people round here? Everyone’s clinging on to what they have, and even that’s slipping away, every time the siren goes.’
‘So that’s it? You just give up? I thought the place was important. I thought Adonis was everything to you. That’s what Syd said. But I guess I was wrong.’
H
e spat the last word. He hadn’t meant to, but then again, he hadn’t meant to say any of it, or come in the room in the first place. But he had made a lifetime habit of saying and doing the wrong thing.
‘You have no idea what he or that place means to me,’ she said, angrily. ‘You’ve not been here two minutes, so don’t think you know what I’m feeling, or what I’ve lost. I’d appreciate it if you kept your ideas to yourself in future.’
‘Maybe I will,’ he said. ‘And don’t bother coming to school tomorrow, if that’s the way you feel.’
‘Joseph Palmer, take yourself up to bed right now. I don’t want to hear from you or see you until tomorrow. And if I want to come to school tomorrow, I ruddy well will. It will be my choice.’
That is where the conversation ended. She swept the tin up from the shelf and left the room without even slamming the door behind her.
Joseph didn’t follow her. Instead he poked the fire back into life, watched the flames, and thought long and hard.
33
They could smell the burning from miles away. On every step of their walk to school.
‘Do you think there’s anything left standing over there?’ Joseph asked, peering at the smoke that clung to the horizon.
‘Hard to tell,’ said Syd. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘I can smell it,’ Joseph grimaced. ‘Even from here. What bit of the city is that?’
‘The docks. Auntie says they’ve bombed it to stop supplies getting in and out. Says Hitler won’t stop till we’re on our hands and knees, begging him to.’
Joseph felt himself bristle. No way he’d be doing that.
‘What’s she like, your auntie?’
Syd took an unusual amount of time to answer. ‘She’s all right,’ she said, pausing again. ‘She’s just not my mum.’
Her response made Joseph pause too. He understood what she meant but had no idea how to say anything that would help.
‘You should see her run to the underground station, though, when the siren goes. I told her she could win a gold medal.’
‘You not got a shelter in her yard?’
‘There’s no room. Plus, the tube station is only at the bottom of the road.’
‘Must be weird down there at night.’
‘No weirder than being underground at the bottom of the garden. Plus, there’s other people there to keep us company. People bring playing cards, or sing. If you were down there, we could practise your reading, make sure you passed Gryce’s test every month!’
It didn’t raise a smile, so she went on. ‘It’s different to being in a small shelter, that’s all.’
‘Enough space to hide a gorilla down there?’
Syd laughed. ‘Don’t think so. Unless we put him in a frock, give him a shave and teach him some manners first. It’s packed down there. Not just people sleeping on the platforms and in corridors. They sleep head to foot on the tracks as well.’
‘So how do you hide a gorilla?’ he asked. He would have smiled at the absurdity had it not been such a pressing, troubling question.
It stumped Syd.
‘That’s just it,’ he said, when she said nothing. ‘You can’t hide him. And I’ve thought about it. Whether Mrs F could move him to a different cage, build a smaller one somewhere secret, like in the cellar under the aquarium, but even if she could – and she can’t – how would we even get him down there? He’s hardly likely to hold my hand and follow us, is he?’
‘If you could get hold of bananas any more, I reckon he’d follow you anywhere.’
‘Well, we’ve got to come up with a plan soon. Clock’s ticking, isn’t it?’
‘I’m just pleased you’ve changed your mind about him,’ she said. ‘I mean, I don’t want to sound cruel or harsh, but you hated Adonis at the beginning. First time I met you, you were chucking stones at him.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘But you don’t hate him now?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Why, what?’
‘Oh for Pete’s sake, Joseph, stop being so flipping difficult. If you don’t hate Adonis now, then tell me why?’
‘Because... because...’
‘Go on...’
But he didn’t know how to explain it to Syd without sounding soft. How it felt when he touched his hand, how good it was to know Adonis had tried to save him from Bert and Jimmy.
‘Come on, Joseph. Tell me...’
‘Just feels like... I dunno, like there’s enough death going on without adding another one.’
It wasn’t a lie, he felt it, believed it, and it was easier to think that than trying to order all the other thoughts zooming round his head.
‘There HAS to be something we’re not thinking about,’ she said. ‘A letter, maybe, to the newspaper. Yes, that’s it. Because adults like that, don’t they? Stories about children and animals. We can tell them all about you, about how Adonis has been your only friend since you got here – well, apart from me, but we don’t have to tell them that bit. Artistic licence, they call it. It pulls at the heartstrings. Gets everyone writing letters to the editor at the paper, dozens of them, hundreds, even, and before we know it, the government will have to listen. There’s no way they’ll touch Adonis, not then, when everyone’s happy for once. What do you think?’
Joseph had thoughts, and plenty of them. But the speed at which she spoke meant that he needed a little bit of time to catch up. And besides, they’d reached school, just as a shrill ringing started.
‘There goes the bell,’ he said, realising that his big moment with Gryce was just hours away. He traipsed into class, his mind no longer on Adonis, but on Clarence instead.
An apprehensive mood hung over the classroom all morning. Joseph was aware not just of his own tension, but everyone else’s too. Even Miss Doherty’s. As the morning progressed, she made her way around every child, including Jimmy and Bert. Joseph watched as she bent over them, drilling them on their sums, which made him feel momentarily better. She stayed with them for some time, too: it was clear that whatever she was teaching, they still weren’t grasping it.
Finally, she arrived at Joseph’s shoulder, tentatively, as always. ‘Now, Joseph,’ she said, gently, ‘I know this is the first time you’ve sat one of Mr Gryce’s tests, and you may be, well, nervous. But I wanted to tell you how proud I am of the work you’ve done. Your maths is... well, phenomenal. And I’ve told Mr Gryce that he should look at that carefully, especially in light of... well...’
‘My reading?’ Joseph offered.
‘I realise you don’t find it easy...’
‘I’ve been practising.’
‘You have?’ She seemed surprised and relieved, touching him lightly on the shoulder before realising what she’d done. ‘That’s wonderful. Would you like to practise some more with me now?’
He shook his head. He didn’t want to get it wrong and expose his plan before the headmaster arrived.
‘S’all right, Miss. I’ll do it on my own,’ he said coolly, relieved when she moved onto preparing Syd (not that she needed it).
He concentrated hard, rehearsing the lines in his head. He could hear Syd in his mind, the endless advice she’d offered him.
‘You don’t just have to read the words, remember,’ she’d said, on more than one occasion, ‘you have to act them. Make Gryce believethat you’re reading them fresh off the page.’
‘Do I look like an actor?’ he’d asked her.
‘I don’t mean you have to be over the top, or polished. It might actually be more believable if you stumble over a few sentences. Read too well, and he might well smell a rat.’
The thought of it made him anxious. It was one thing to do this as he sat by Adonis’s cage, and quite another to do it under pressure. What if Gryce wanted to grill him on more than he’d learned? He really wo
uld be in trouble then.
By lunchtime, he was beyond nervous.
‘Try thinking about something else for a bit,’ said Syd, but that just led him back to Adonis and an anxiety of a different kind.
She tried again. ‘Try eating, then.’ But every mouthful tasted like he was chewing sand.
Syd saw he was in a dark place, and wisely chose to stay out of striking distance until the bell called them back into lessons to face Gryce’s judgement.
The first thing that threw Joseph when he walked back into class was the parents. They’d arrived and were milling around at the back of the classroom as Miss Doherty clucked and fussed and told them how well their children were doing. She looked flushed, apologetic even, presumably as she knew Gryce’s methods caused unnecessary stress for everyone. Joseph scanned the faces present, relieved that there was no sign of Bert’s father anywhere.
The second thing to affect Joseph was Mrs F’s absence from the group. It was clear very quickly that she hadn’t come. It wasn’t unusual for an adult to let Joseph down, yet she’d been adamant that she’d be there. He felt a ridiculous mixture of disappointment and mild relief because she knew him better than Gryce, and as a result was more likely to see through his plan.
‘No Mrs F?’ whispered Syd, as she waved at her aunt, a mousy-looking woman, as seemingly meek as her niece was bold.
‘I knew she wouldn’t come,’ Joseph said.
‘She’ll be here. I prom—’
But there wasn’t time to reassure him any further, as through the door swooshed Gryce, with Clarence twitching and flexing in his hand.
‘Good afternoon, everyone!’ said Gryce. There was a different tone to his voice, a theatricality, presumably for the parents’ benefit. ‘I’m delighted to see so many of you here again. As you know, it’s important that in these difficult and uncertain times your children have the normality of school to fall back on. But more than that, that they continue to flourish. After all, the only way we will beat Hitler is through application, dedication and knowledge.’