‘Locked up no doubt, locked up same as the rest of the crap.’ He left the confines of the doorframe and stepped off the porch in a stretch. ‘But I’d say that int where your worry is right now.’
Trey thought about the nothing things he could do without and the family things he couldn’t and he was glad of the photo folded neatly in his back pocket.
‘You know where my bag is?’ he asked again and the demon told him to stay put until he got what was his but the man had turned his back and he shouted for him to follow as he walked towards the yard with the bunkhouses all around.
‘This is Tavy house, one of four bunkhouses as it stands. Tavy, Tamar, Lynner and Plym. The kids call them what they want no doubt but Tavy is this one’s name and the name stays.’
Trey stood at the open door and peered through the wall of heat that punched tipsy from the room and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the change in light.
‘What you think?’ The man laughed.
‘It’s hot.’
‘Course it’s hot. Rain’s stopped and sun’s out, init? Hottest summer since forever and it int even begun and here we got a metal roof and the walls is metal so what you reckon, it’s hot.’
Trey stepped into the room and he looked over the rows of beds so close together there was barely room for squeezing.
‘Any questions?’ the man asked.
Trey shrugged.
‘You gotta have questions.’
Trey racked his brain but every question seemed out of bounds and instead he asked where he should put his things.
‘What things?’
‘Clothes and stuff?’
‘Clothes go on the shelves above. Stuff stays locked up until such time as you earn it.’
‘What do I do to earn it, sir?’
‘Search me. Preacher’s the one who makes the rules, I just keep you in line.’ He looked at Trey and his eyes settled on his wrist. ‘And you can hand that over while we’re at it.’
Trey looked down at his wrist and he told the man the watch was his dad’s. He wanted to explain that it was a present from Mum on their wedding day and had their initials and the date inscribed on the back and everything. He looked up at the man. More than anything he wanted to tell him Dad was dead. Maybe if he told him he would let him keep it.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Hand it over.’
Trey rubbed his thumb over the glass face of the watch, but he knew he couldn’t risk telling about Dad and Mum and so he bent the clip and undid the clasp and handed it to the man.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll get it back, spose you will anyway.’ The man laughed and when he jammed the watch into his pocket the demon inside of Trey warmed from this fuel and fuel was good; they needed it for their fire.
Trey stood small-boy fierce in the room of hot air and when they heard the sound of voices approaching the building the man told him to choose a place to sleep.
‘And hurry up. Int unusual for newbies to sleep on the floor.’
Trey looked around him and sat on the nearest bed to try the bounce and it was nothing much except a thin roll of padding and board beneath.
He thought about the best bed to choose given his situation and he walked the small corrugated room and every corner was as hot as the next.
He heard the skid of wheels in the dust outside and caught the fine scent of diesel and he picked the bed nearest the door despite the scatter of clothes on the floor and he wrote his name at the top of the form that clung to a clipboard at its foot.
Outside he was glad to replace the claustrophobic heat with the heat of day. The sun was coming good and making flint-splits in the clouds and he joined the whip trail of dust and exhaust fumes that headed downhill away from the bunkhouses.
A group of boys walked up ahead and there was something about their lived-in swagger that told Trey to hang back.
He wasn’t like these other boys. His life had been set upon by circumstances beyond his control. He wasn’t bad for the kick of things; he’d grown bad like bacteria on foul meat.
He took his time to circle his way to wherever it was they were meant and he kept his head down to keep from looking at anyone the wrong way.
Midday was approaching and with it came a pinch of pain at the back of his neck that could only be the slow nip of sunburn and Trey rubbed it with his hand and wished he had the smarts to have hooked his cap from out his bag earlier.
He kept his eyes on his clumsy feet and tried to ignore the footsteps that almost clipped his heels from behind.
‘You’re gettin burnt,’ said a small voice and Trey ignored it.
‘Bubblin right up it is, like pizza.’
Trey sped up despite the lads up ahead and all their footsteps fell in line like marching men.
‘What we got ’ere?’ laughed one of the boys. ‘Where the other five dwarfs?’
Everyone laughed and Trey turned to look at the tall, fat boy beside him.
‘You come as a pair?’ The boy continued and he lifted his fringe to get a good look at Trey. ‘Only it looks like you do. A pair of circus freaks, I’d say.’
Trey shrugged at the nothing joke. There were worse things to be called than small. He looked at the other boy who, unlike Trey, was thin and brittle and he moved off to keep association at bay.
‘I’m Larry,’ said the reedy boy and he followed Trey towards the clearing that surrounded the tent.
Trey nodded and when he saw others sit down on the scatter of rough-sawn benches he did the same and he hoped the thin boy would go away. A boy like that was sore-thumb trouble, he knew that as fact. Trey wanted more than anything to ignore the yappy boy. He knew all about incarceration from his stint in young offenders, knew that you should avoid the needy like the plague; their weakness could rub off and on to you. He glanced at the boy and something inside felt sorry for him. He hated that.
‘I said my name’s Larry.’ The boy waited for Trey to reply and when he didn’t he elbowed him in the ribs.
‘What?’ asked Trey.
‘I’m talkin to you.’
‘And?’
‘Least you can do is talk back.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘High and mighty, int you? Thought you could do with a friend out here in the middle, make it easier bein the newbie and all.’
Trey ignored the boy. He wasn’t bothered about getting along with anyone for the sake of company. He had all he needed in memory and fantasy combined.
‘You’re new,’ the boy continued. ‘I know you’re new cus I know all the goss in this place, just bout anyway.’
The boy leant forward to look at Trey and he was a long time looking. ‘You gonna tell me your name then?’ he asked.
Trey shrugged. ‘Tremain,’ he said. ‘Tremain Pearce. Most call me Trey.’
‘I’m Larry but I told you that, in any case all call me Lamby.’
Trey glanced at the boy and he had ‘odd’ sugar-rock written right through him. ‘What name you like best?’ he asked.
‘Does it matter?’
Trey shrugged and sat back to watch the boys and a fistful of girls settle to the circle of benches and he asked the boy what was happening.
‘Intros, rules and regs,’ the boy continued. ‘Usual show for you newbies, which today is just you. It’s all bull.’
‘How many new kids you get a month?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘How many got out last month.’
‘How many was that?’
‘One, only one. That’s why it’s just you. Anyway, all you got to remember is don’t and double don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Speak, think, ask questions, that sort of thing.’
Trey sat expectantly, examining the men that stepped up on to the stacking-pallet stage in front of the tent but nothing about them reminded him of his parents’ killer.
‘What church them all from anyway?’
‘Dunno proper. Don’t think them a
ll’s from a church in the conventional sense. None of that nicey, like you’d think, them stricter, I spose. The Preacher is the head, set it up backalong.’
‘So it’s his church?’ asked Trey. ‘He made it up?’
‘Spose.’
Trey watched the three men on the stage fiddle with a megaphone and he kept his eyes stuck to them despite the stinging sour smoke that meandered through the camp.
He had a million questions to ask but when he went to speak the boy held up his hand and looked back at the stage.
A man that called himself camp chaplain had taken to the stage and Trey watched the old man attempt to quieten the crowd and he tried to concentrate on his voice. Frail or no, Trey could not risk letting anyone fall beneath his radar.
He closed his eyes and turned his ear to every note and sound, but as always his mind took to wandering and he realised his finger-picking had again drawn blood. He pressed the small wound against his thigh and when the bleeding didn’t stop he asked Lamby if he had a tissue and when the boy ignored him he asked again. Trey was slow to realise that the chaplain had been replaced by McKenzie and the crowd had fallen silent with everyone sat turned in their seats, forty plus pairs of eyes looped and settling on Trey. McKenzie coughed for attention and he asked him to tell the others his name. He told him to stand on the bench and shout it. Trey stood and stepped up and he shouted loud and his voice cracked with embarrassment.
‘Tremain,’ said the man.
Trey nodded and he dangled with the demon coiled inside.
‘Don’t look so scared. Int you bin told we’re one happy family?’
Trey was not sure if it was a question he had been asked and he looked down at his feet with the fall-apart trainers and they wanted to run.
‘Well?’ asked the man.
Trey shrugged. His head spun with the right/wrong words to say and the demon shouted something that made it hard to hear. He looked up at the man and shrugged again and the other kids gasped at his insolence.
‘I’ll see you later, Rudeboy,’ said McKenzie. ‘Sit down.’
Trey sat with the red of stupid burning in his cheeks and his neck almost in flames. He watched the sea of heads snap to attention and he wished for a hole to open up and suck him in. He flicked the blood from his dripping finger on to the stubborn earth and he looked the crowd over to see if anyone was bold enough to still be turned his way and there was.
A girl who looked about his age sat half bent towards the stage and she looked at him with curiosity and it was as if there was something between them that was a known thing. Trey looked away and was quick to glance at his hands for the refuge and he listened to the man who thought himself boss big himself up and he sat as stiff as the boy at his side.
Trey had been pinned hard to the ground and he knew it, pinned and tied and labelled with a stupid name and all because of something and nothing much. He didn’t fall in with things the way other kids did. He had too much chat in his head; some days he couldn’t hear much more than what went on in his mind. He wished he could set fire to his thinking, blow the ash into the cluttered corners like a spring clean and start over.
He rubbed his eyes and set them to the stage where the chaplain had taken to the deck for prayers and Trey listened to the good-god words and said them over when asked because he really did want to fit in.
His eyes sought out DB and Dad’s watch stuffed any-old in his pocket and he reminded himself that he would be a good boy, a better boy than any of the other boys. If he was to have any chance of finding out the truth he had to keep to the rules and gain the masters’ trust no matter that he hated them all; trust meant an open road to revenge.
When their names were roll-called into houses they were told they had ten minutes of loose time before lining up and Trey stood because he thought better that way.
‘Isn’t this great?’ grinned Lamby. ‘We’re in the same house. Imagine that. Begsy the bed next to you.’
Trey shook his head and said ‘Whatever’ and he looked over to where the girl had been sitting.
‘Spose you think this place is strict,’ said Lamby.
‘Not really.’
‘Don’t lie, anyway they can’t afford to have it any other way. Lost boys, we are. Int that what they call us, society I mean?’
Trey didn’t care what ‘they’ called them; he’d given up on society in the same way that it had given up on him and those like him a long time ago, but he guessed the boy was right.
A ragtag line of damaged kids running crazy across the nation’s terrain just about described them, a layer of loose sediment free falling.
‘Spose I don’t care long as I learn a trade, do my time.’ He looked at the boy and shrugged. Lying came easy to him.
‘Really? You serious?’ Lamby laughed but stopped when he saw Trey’s expression. ‘Is that what you bin told? Learn a trade and get a qually and a job?’
‘Maybe.’ Trey turned his back. There was something slippery strange about the boy and he wondered why he insisted on shortening every other word down to nothing.
‘Good luck in any case,’ the boy shouted after him. ‘Maybe you’ll be a lucky un, who knows?’
Trey hoped he’d still be allowed to do farming like he’d been told and a little good nature came to him and it went just as fast when he saw McKenzie beckon to him from across the clearing.
‘Rudeboy,’ he shouted.
Trey kept quiet. He knew it was best.
‘Rudeboy, answer me.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Trey nodded some kind of truce.
McKenzie looked him up and looked him down and he rubbed what hair he had with a whip of excitement.
‘You got a problem with authority, boy? Cus your social worker dint say nothin bout that.’
‘No, sir.’
‘No, sir, what?’
‘No, sir, I int got a problem with authority, sir.’
McKenzie put his hands in his pockets and jangled his chain and keys in a mix.
‘Gonna like workin with you, boy. I reckon I’m gonna enjoy ropin you in. What work you say you fancy?’
‘Farm, sir, lookin after livestock.’
‘Like that, would you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
McKenzie started to laugh. ‘I’d use the term “farm” loosely if I were you. Trenches and fences with cattle thrown in is nearer the mark. Sure you don’t wanna do slaughter? Could do with a stocky lad like you down the slaughterhouse.’
Trey smiled; there was no shame about it.
‘Good boy, Rudeboy.’
Up close the man smelt of cigars and cheap-seat aftershave and Trey searched his childhood memory for anything of him. They were all holy men after all. They all belonged to the same fanatical church.
‘Well run along, there’s a good boy.’
Trey returned to the crowd and he allowed himself a little flicker flame anger to rise up within and he wished for one brief moment that he had something to burn and blow outright for the hell of it.
‘Slaughter’s as bad as it sounds if you was wonderin. You wanna stay away from slaughter.’
Trey stopped and scanned the surrounding faces until he saw the girl and his head spun with the panic and complication brought on by sudden beauty.
‘I wanted to do farm,’ he blurted. ‘Who’d I have to see?’
‘I was told to introduce myself by the chaplain, so here I am introducin myself. I’m Kay, I do farm.’
Trey nodded and she told him that the chaplain was the only master worth anything and to remember that.
‘I int thought much of the others, that’s for sure.’ He smiled and asked her what house she was in.
‘Lynner, all ten girls is Lynner. Boys is Tamar, Tavy or Plym, them named after rivers.’ She shrugged for the ‘whatever’ and Trey shrugged too.
‘Don’t worry, McKenzie was just windin you up. If you was assigned farm then that’s where you’ll be, for now anyway.’
They walked the crowd and found Lamby
without looking and soon the idling time was up and they were told to get into their house groups.
‘Rudeboy,’ laughed DB outside Tavy. ‘I like it and I dint even make it up.’
Trey nodded. ‘I’m called Trey,’ he said and he tried to smile and he bit down on the stupid name and the stupid rules.
‘Int gonna cry over it like some mother’s boy, is you?’
Trey swallowed hard to keep the demon in. ‘No, sir, I int no mother’s boy, sir,’ he lied.
‘Well int that good to hear. Now go get your clothes.’
Trey nodded.
Outside the tin hut dorm he waited to receive the shabby camp-issue garments. Two T-shirts, two vests and a shirt, all grey, plus cap, grey.
‘Is this it?’ he asked the boy who stood guard over the open suitcase.
‘Why, what else you want? You can wear what you like on your legs, big swishy skirt if you want.’
‘You’re funny.’ Trey rubbed his fingers over the cheap material and what was left of nail caught in the fabric.
‘So are you,’ sneered the boy. ‘Now do one.’
Trey went into the bunkhouse and threw the clothes on to the bed he’d picked and he lay among them and wondered if he might ask for work boots because the second-hand trainers that stuck to his feet had seen better days. He linked his hands behind his head and he wished Mum was around to give him some indication of right from wrong so he could set his mind to what he needed to know.
‘Why you loungin bout?’ asked Lamby. ‘This int free time.’
‘I thought it was long as we stayed in our house groups?’
‘Outside,’ giggled Lamby. ‘Free time long as we stay in our house groups outside. The masters like to keep an eye on us.’
‘I wanted to rest.’
‘Well you can’t cus we gotta go barbecue. It’s one o’clock, dumb-poke.’ Lamby reached out a hand to pull him to his feet and Trey ignored it.
‘Camp’s just bout the best fun a kid can have,’ Lamby continued. ‘One big happy family apparently.’
Trey stayed put and he kept his fingers locked behind his head a moment longer. He closed his eyes and for one shutter second he pictured the four of them on the beach.
The Light That Gets Lost (Shakespeare Today) Page 2