When the Sky Falls

by Phil Earle

  He stopped momentarily and looked to the parents. Joseph wondered if he was expecting applause for his stirring words, but when none came, he moved swiftly on, telling both the children and adults to sit, which they all promptly did.

  ‘We will start with mathematics. Twenty questions, each targeted at your child’s individual age, and twenty minutes in which to finish them. Parents, Miss Doherty has copies of the sums for you to peruse.’ Miss Doherty scuttled between them, distributing textbooks, until she had only one left in her hand. Presumably, from the embarrassed look she gave Joseph, this was meant for Mrs F.

  ‘Twenty minutes, then, class,’ Gryce barked. ‘You may begin.’

  Joseph did just that, relieved in some ways that they were starting with maths. He was even more relieved, when he scanned the questions in front of him. They were no different to the sorts of algebra and geometry puzzles he’d solved many times for Miss Doherty before. He was careful though, not to whizz through them too quickly and draw Gryce’s attention to him. Gryce was prowling around peering over shoulders, tutting, and no doubt making every child and their parents incredibly nervous. Eventually he told everyone to stop and put their pens down.

  ‘While Miss Doherty marks the mathematics, we will move onto reading. Oration builds confidence and character, and that is what we need these days more than ever, is it not?’ he said, clicking his fingers at Tim, one of the younger children, to summon him to the front of the class.

  Tim, head down, approached the front tentatively, as Gryce sat on a chair, making his gown billow with a whip of his wrists.

  Joseph watched, keen to see how long each student would be tested for, but it seemed to vary. What he did notice was that Gryce grew bored if someone read well, waving them away quickly, which heaped further pressure on Joseph. Start badly, or nervously, and he ran the risk of making Gryce stretch it out. Do that, and he knew he would eventually be exposed.

  He decided not to watch, hoping it would ease his nerves, and his gaze fell to Miss Doherty, who upon seeing him, lifted his maths book up discreetly and mouthed ‘Brilliant,’ at him. The word soaked through his skin and warmed him, if only momentarily.

  But eventually, his time in the spotlight came. Bert and Jimmy had blundered and stalled, but passed with a stern look and promises of ‘greater application’, while Syd was second-to-last, commanding the space with her normal poise, which seemed to bore Gryce, making her read for what seemed to be little more than thirty seconds. He tapped Clarence weakly on the desk, as close to an ovation as he could muster, before sending her away.

  ‘Palmer!’ Gryce boomed, ‘I believe this leaves us with you. If you would be so kind?’ He beckoned Joseph forward with Clarence, which did little for his nerves.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Gryce asked as he arrived.

  Joseph hadn’t a clue and panicked. Was he supposed to thank him, or bow? What had he missed?

  ‘Your book, boy! How on earth are you expecting to read without your book?’

  The short walk back to his desk was a shameful one, but he took a small amount of solace from Syd’s supportive smile as he passed.

  ‘I’m ready, sir,’ he said, when he finally stood beside Gryce.

  ‘Well, start at the beginning then,’ the headmaster replied, and stood for the first time, moving in front of Joseph, like he had bought the most expensive seat in the theatre, at the expense of the view held by anyone else.

  Joseph peeled the dog-eared book open, moistening his lips with his tongue. You can do this,he told himself. You know the words, you do.

  ‘The night was dark,’ he began, quiet at first, but getting louder for fear of being told to start again. ‘And the clouds hung low and heavy.’

  He took it slow, allowing the words to come back to him, but at the same time working hard to not be too fluent, just like Syd had said. He used his finger as a prop without actually looking at the words, pretending to trace the phrases as he read.

  Five lines in, though, and he made the mistake of actually focusing on the words instead of his finger, and felt the nausea rise as they spun and rolled, forcing his tongue into what felt like a knot that he could never untie.

  He felt eyes on him, saw Gryce stop prowling and tap Clarence’s tip on his calf, just once. Joseph wiped at a stray bead of sweat on his nose, nodding slightly as he saw Syd do the same, encouragingly.

  He started the line again.

  He was doing a good job, good enough surely, and he allowed himself to look up briefly, seeing Miss Doherty willing him on like a proud parent.

  Two lines later, though, and Joseph felt the tension rise again. How long until Gryce called him off? He must have read for longer than anyone else.

  But finally, eventually, as Joseph neared the end of what he had rehearsed and considered how quickly he’d have to move to outrun both Gryce and his cane, the headmaster finally said something. It wasn’t aimed at Joseph, though his stare most definitely was.

  ‘Miss Doherty.’ Gryce smiled thinly. ‘You are to be congratulated. Such fluency and understanding in our newest student.’

  Joseph felt his blood swirl. He hadn’t expected praise from Gryce, so he didn’t trust it either.

  ‘I enjoyed your performance so much, Master Palmer, that I wonder if –’ he moved behind Joseph, his bony finger coming into view – ‘that I wonder if you could possibly read this line again for us.’

  His finger landed midway through the page, around six lines from the top.

  ‘Why, sir?’ Joseph dared ask, though he knew he shouldn’t have. Challenging the man was never going to make him change his mind.

  ‘Because you read it so beautifully. With such colour and eloquence, I think we would all benefit from hearing it again.’

  Joseph’s stomach capsized. He hadn’t a clue what the line said.

  ‘Come on, Master Palmer,’ Gryce said as he circled endlessly, finally stopping at Joseph’s left shoulder.

  Joseph’s head was chaos, recapping the story, trying to recall what the right line might be.

  ‘Quickly now, boy. Come on!’

  He felt sweat force itself free across his forehead before he could wipe it away.

  ‘READ!’

  So he did. He made a guess, a wild stab in the dark, knowing full well that it would take a miracle of biblical proportions to see him start in the right place.

  And of course, there was no miracle. No parting of the sea or water into wine, just a boy exposing himself for what he was: a chancer and a cheat.

  These were the words that Gryce bellowed at him as he ripped the book from his hands and tossed it to the floor.

  ‘You’re not reading this at all, are you? You’ve simply memorised it, to hide the fact that you cannot read! Did you really think you could fool me with this charade?’ he roared. ‘You should be ashamed. Pretending to read like that. To mock not just me, but your teacher. The teacher who expected and frankly deserved much more.’

  Joseph’s panicked eyes fled to Miss Doherty, her shocked expression, hands at her face. It wasn’t clear if she were appalled at Joseph or fearful of what would happen to him next. She wasn’t alone. The parents looked like they would rather be anywhere else than here.

  ‘Well, let me tell you something, boy,’ Gryce went on. ‘If you dare to make a fool of me, I can promise you that you will never, EVER, dare do it again.’

  He felt the headmaster grab at his wrist, turning his palm skywards, and then saw Clarence arc its way up.

  Joseph braced. Not just his hand, but his entire body. He knew what was coming and how it would feel, but feared it anyway, and did not try to hide the pain when the cane tore at his palm, shockwaves shooting to every part of his body.

  He lifted his head to the ceiling, managing to see the others through his tears, their faces uncomfortable, wincing.

  But J
oseph knew that wasn’t it. Gryce was merely warming up, and it took every inch of courage he owned to raise his palm back up, and swallow hard, ready.

  But the next blow didn’t come. Clarence didn’t sing as he tore through the air. Instead Gryce’s arm remained at the top of its arc, held not by the strongest of arms, but by the most powerful of voices, that demanded from nowhere: ‘What on earth is going on?’

  34

  As timing went, this was close to miraculous. What was also wonderful, to Joseph’s eye, was how powerful Mrs F seemed, from the second she came into view.

  Somehow, she seemed to tower over Gryce, stopping him and Clarence dead in their tracks. Whatever her reasons for being late, at that moment, Joseph forgave her.

  ‘I think that will do, don’t you?’ she said to the headmaster. It was a demand, not a question.

  Gryce didn’t know how to react.

  ‘Mrs Farrelly,’ he said, with an expression he normally saved for Joseph. ‘If your timekeeping wasn’t so tardy, you would know exactly what I was doing. Rightfully punishing this boy for an act of deceit.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s decapitated the king, I can see that you’ve already struck him once, and once is clearly enough.’ She turned to Joseph. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the boy,’ Gryce said. ‘He’s proved today he is more than resourceful. He is, in fact, a devious schemer.’

  ‘Well, thank you for pulling him apart so publicly.’ She looked at the other parents, who seemed to stare quickly at their shoes. ‘Perhaps I should ask them what happened?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s necessary, do you? If you’ll follow me to my office, I’ll be delighted to recount the whole despicable event.’ And Gryce made to leave, gown swishing to maximum effect.

  ‘Or, you can tell me right now. Just in case I need to check with Joseph’s teacher here.’

  Miss Doherty had been fidgeting at the back of the class, such was her level of discomfort, but this new woman appeared so strong that it galvanised her too, lifting her shoulders and chin higher than usual.

  ‘If your wish, my dear, is to humiliate your boy still further in front of his peers and their parents, then yes, of course, I’ll tell you here and now. Joseph is a cheat and a liar. He has made it his priority to ridicule both myself and his teacher, simply for his own amusement.’

  On he went, talking at great length, about how Joseph had weaved a ‘web of lies.’

  Mrs F listened and looked uneasy, though she waited patiently until Gryce finished his rant.

  ‘Well, if there’s anyone to blame for Joseph’s lying, then it’s me.’

  It was an admission that brought puzzlement to Gryce’s face.

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘That’s right. Joseph came to me, weeks ago now, and explained what was going on with his reading. That when he tries to read, the words don’t stay still on the page.’

  Gryce scoffed loudly. ‘Ridiculous.’

  ‘So it’s my fault it’s come to this, not his. I should’ve come to you about it.’ She took a deep breath and switched her attention to the boy. ‘I’m sorry, Joseph. I really am. And as for you,’ she said, swinging her attention back to Gryce, ‘what you need to hear is that Joseph isn’t lazy, or evil, or stupid, or any of the things that you’ve branded him. It’s clear to me, to anyone who really knows him, that he’s none of those things.’

  Joseph stood, stunned. Her words, her belief in him, dulled the pain that he felt in his palm.

  ‘What he is,’ Mrs F went on, ‘is different. He speaks his mind, granted; sometimes more than he should, but at least I know where I stand with him. What he isn’t, is thick.’

  ‘That’s right. He isn’t,’ came a voice from the back of the classroom. Miss Doherty stepped forward, voice louder than ever before and clutching Joseph’s maths book. ‘He is exceptionally bright. His mathematical abilities are of someone two years older at least.’

  ‘That is enough, Miss Doherty,’ Gryce snapped.

  ‘No. No, it isn’t,’ she replied. ‘Not until you actually look at his work.’ And she thrust the open book into the headmaster’s hand.

  Gryce looked, and looked again, but said nothing, which allowed Mrs F another window of opportunity.

  ‘This boy would be more than happy to read, delighted to, because, first and foremost, it would keep you off his back. Problem is, he can’t. Doesn’t matter how hard he tries, or how many times you or I spell things out for him, the words on that page will not – stay – still. Now, I have no idea what that means, or what the hell to do about it, but I will work it out. Just like I should’ve done weeks ago when he told me. I’m sorry, Joseph. I am.’

  It was impossible for Joseph to meet her gaze. Impossible because it was alien to him, the idea that anyone would ever apologise to him.

  ‘Well,’ said Gryce. ‘This is all incredibly touching, and I thank you for your input. But the facts remain the same, the boy lied, and the boy cheated. And in my school, these are virtues that must be punished.’

  This brought Mrs F further onto the offensive. ‘So if Joseph had come forward, and told you, right from the start, that words dance on the page and stop him reading, then you would’ve believed him?’

  ‘Well, I...’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The boy has proved himself to be trouble from his very first day. And boys that cannot behave, then they need to be—’

  ‘What? They need to be what?’

  Gryce stood, ramrod straight, and as if by force of habit, snapped Clarence upon his own leg. ‘To be shown the right path. And if that is by punishment, then so be it.’

  Mrs F had seen enough, and without hesitation, she strode forward, and whipped Clarence clean out of Mr Gryce’s grip.

  ‘There’s enough punishment going on already these days,’ she said. ‘Inside these walls and out.’

  Gripping the cane at each end, she brought it whipping down, one final time, across her knee, snapping it into two glorious jagged pieces.

  There was a cry. Joseph was unsure if it came from Gryce or Clarence himself, then a further noise, as the useless shards of birch clattered to the floor.

  ‘Joseph,’ Mrs F said, still looking the headmaster straight in the eye. ‘Fetch your things. You’ll not be coming back.’

  Joseph did as he was told, feeling ten foot tall as he followed her out of the door.

  ‘Where are we going now?’ he asked.

  ‘To the zoo,’ she replied, face grave. ‘There’s things we need to talk about.’

  35

  Mrs F was quiet as they walked. There was no celebration or elation. The pace was brisk enough to make breathing the priority through the busy streets.

  People queued patiently by shops, clutching their ration books; small children picked through debris and sat on doorsteps that were no longer attached to a home.

  Joseph watched as a milkman approached a destroyed house with a full, creamy bottle, scratching his head, trying to work out whether to leave the milk or not. He put it on the step and stared at it, before realising it was ridiculous. If anyone had been in there when the bomb dropped, they’d have no need for milk any longer.

  Joseph’s mind was racing. Gryce’s face as Clarence splintered before him playing again and again. Oh, the joy! His only regret was that he hadn’t had the guts to do it himself.

  ‘For a while there, I thought you weren’t coming!’ he said to Mrs F. ‘Thought you’d forgot. I’m glad you did though. Did you see his face? And did you hear how Miss Doherty stood up to him? She’s never done that before. Not once!’

  He looked at her, wondering why she wasn’t feeling the same adrenaline rush he was. Did it not feel good to her too? He hoped she wasn’t regretting her actions already.

  Negativity and doubt raced quickly through him. What had
he been thinking? He knew better than that, to be seduced by someone’s words. Perhaps she’d said them just to make herself look good.

  Round the thoughts sped, quicker with every rotation, larger and more distorted, so fast that once Mrs F pushed the zoo gates open, he could barely keep them inside him. He needed to have this out with her, right now.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Because I don’t understand. All that stuff you said back there. So, come on. Tell me.’

  She said nothing, just paced on, Joseph in her wake, snapping at her heels like Tweedy. It wasn’t until she arrived at Adonis’s cage that she finally stopped moving, though she didn’t turn round, looking through the bars with a fixed stare.

  Something was wrong. There was no sign of Adonis: he was not in his normal, mournful spot. This wasn’t right – where was he? Joseph walked the length of the cage, up close to the bars, pace increasing.

  ‘Where is he?’ he barked without looking at Mrs F, his eyes still roaming. ‘They haven’t been, they can’t have. It isn’t time. Mrs F?’ He turned. ‘Please, where is he?’

  Finally, the woman broke her gaze with a single nod of her head, offered at a slight angle, to the far-left corner of the cage.

  And there, from behind his hut, Adonis stalked imperiously, wearing every battle scar he had bravely collected, but thankfully no new ones.

  He was alive. Relief coursed through Joseph.

  ‘I thought they’d come for him!’ He beamed, grabbing Mrs F by the arm and pulling on it playfully. ‘I thought it was all over.’

  But Mrs F wasn’t in the same mood. Tears weren’t far from her eyes.

  ‘There’s something we need to talk about, Joseph.’

  ‘Come on.’ He smiled. ‘Whatever it is can wait, can’t it? I mean, you broke Clarence in half! And you ripped a strip off old man Gryce. Plus, now I’ve got no school, we can come up with a proper plan for Adonis. With both of us on it, there’s no way anyone’s putting a bullet in him!’