Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  For several seconds he stood staring at me. ‘I suppose you think you’re a tough guy now,’ he sneered. ‘Take a look in the mirror. You look like a clown.’

  I took a step forward and laughed contemptuously as he backed away. ‘You look in the fucking mirror,’ I retorted. ‘You look like chicken shit to me.’

  He turned around and stomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard it made Gran’s ornaments wobble precariously on the mantelpiece. I listened as his footsteps went back up the stairs.

  Mum’s relief that nothing violent had happened was evident. She took me by the arm and sat me down at Gran’s table.

  ‘I’ll go and get you something to eat while you tell the others about all the things you’ve done since the last time you saw them,’ she said and, kissing me again on my forehead, hurried off into the kitchen. As I watched her leave I noticed how much older she looked than the last time I had seen her. Her hair was greyer and the lines in her face had become more pronounced. I closed my eyes to shut out the image and prayed quietly that the evil bastard lying in bed upstairs would drop dead.

  I checked my appearance in the mirror and was definitely pleased with what I saw. My mother had bought all my clothes but had let me choose them. I was wearing a pair of light-blue jeans, a white T-shirt, a short black leather jacket and a pair of black suede chukka-boots. I had modelled myself on the clothes that Bernie wore as I had always envied the way he looked when he went home. I strutted into the living room and smiled at my mother.

  She laughed. ‘I can’t believe how you’ve grown up. You’ve chosen to dress really modern and it suits you.’

  She was wearing a flowered print dress and a new pair of sandals she had bought at the same time as my clothes. While she went to the kitchen to make tea, I relaxed comfortably on our living room sofa, puffing contentedly on a cigarette. Suddenly I heard a great crash of falling crockery and a distinctive sob. I rushed into the kitchen and found Dad pushing Mum’s face down into the sink. Without thinking, I grabbed a dirty saucepan from the draining board and smashed it into the centre of his face. He let go of my mother and slipped over backwards onto the floor. I kicked him viciously in his ribs and watched him double up in pain.

  Before I could do anything else Mum grabbed me by my arm and pulled me out of the room. Her nose was bleeding and the blood was dripping down her chin onto her lovely new print dress. I broke free from her grip and rushed back into the kitchen. My father was struggling to get back up off the floor and I noticed that the hit in the face with the saucepan had broken his glasses and had given him a large swelling over his left eye. I stood over him menacingly and said, ‘The next time you hit Mum I’ll really do a job on you. I’m not the same boy I was when you put me inside and I’m more than your match now.’

  I watched him warily as he struggled to his feet. We stood facing each other for several seconds until he staggered over to the sink and inspected the damage done to his face in the small mirror hanging above the taps. He tentatively touched the swelling over his eye and then turned to face me. His eyes betrayed his hatred. He looked over my shoulder to where Mum was standing behind me and said, ‘Are you proud of your precious son now? He’s turned into a vicious thug. Look what he’s done to my glasses.’ He held out his broken glasses for Mum to take but she totally ignored his outstretched hand.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘At least I hit a man and not a woman. You’re a gutless piece of shit and deserved everything you got. You’re no better than those cunts in Vincent’s.’

  ‘At least I don’t use disgusting language in front of them like you do.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, you’d rather punch them in the face and make out you’re some sort of hard case. Well, you’re not. You’re a nasty, wicked old man and I hope you die so my mum can have some happiness in her life.’

  He stepped past me and out of the room. As he put on his work coat he said loudly, ‘I’ll be writing to your school and telling them how you call them disgusting names. They’ll know how to deal with you. You won’t be so brave then.’

  I laughed loudly. ‘They frighten me as much as you do. All the Irish are wankers and De Montfort and his bunch of arseholes are the biggest wankers of all. So do what you fucking like.’

  I heard the front door slam and knew that he was gone. I put my arm around Mum’s shoulder and led her into the living room. The great day we had had was now a fading memory and we were back into our normal way of life. She was softly weeping into her handkerchief and Jennifer was standing by the door looking petrified. I’d wanted to get back at Dad and be able to protect Mum since I was a young boy, but once I’d done it the satisfaction was somehow hollow.

  Fuck him, I thought.

  The next few days I stayed close to home as Mum wouldn’t go out sporting the bruises of her latest altercation with my father. The atmosphere in the house was tense and I waited listening by the living room door every time she went into the kitchen.

  I heard him moving around the house but he never came into the room where I was and that was OK by me. I worried about her all the time. She had to be in his company when she was preparing meals and my ears strained to catch every noise. I hated this way of life. It was worse than Vincent’s.

  Jennifer stayed close to me and Mum and looked nervous whenever one of us left the room. She was only nine years old but I realised that she was suffering as much mental torture as my mother. How many times she must have seen or heard violence in our house didn’t bear thinking about. I tried to reassure her that nothing was going to happen while I was at home but she still looked a nervous wreck. I decided that I would take her out to the pictures and give her some respite from her miserable life.

  The trip to the pictures was a success and Jennifer talked excitedly about the film all the way home. Because she had enjoyed herself so much I promised to take her again in a few days’ time. When we arrived home I was relieved to find Mum busily preparing tea and looking untroubled. Today was turning into the best day of my holiday.

  I had started reading David Copperfield and every night Dickens would draw me into his imaginative world. I loved Dickens novels and although it took him twenty words to say something that could have been said just as easily in five, I was an avid reader. All his characters lived in my mind: ‘umble’ Uriah Heep made my flesh crawl and irresponsible Mr Macawber became one of my favourites. While I was lost in reading Dickens, all my troubles vanished and it was as if my father didn’t exist. I briefly thought about how wonderful it would be if I could just read and read and never need to be aware what was going on around me.

  When I finally put my book down, I couldn’t sleep. I was aware of every small sound in the house and could even discern Mum’s gentle snoring coming from her bedroom. I must have dozed off for a while as I suddenly woke with a start. In my confused state I thought I was back at Vincent’s and Jimmy Wilkinson was assaulting me again. I screamed and began thrashing my legs around and it was only when my mother rushed into the room to see if I was OK that I fully regained my senses. Sweat was pouring down my face and body and the bottom sheet was cold and wet.

  ‘What’s the matter, son? Are you all right?’ She wrapped me in a comforting hug and my fears dissipated like mist on a sunny day. ‘You’ve just had a bad dream. You’re safe now.’

  Safe. I will never feel safe again. Wilkinson had made sure of that. I clung to her and said, ‘I’m fine, Mum. It was just a stupid dream.’

  She pushed me gently back down into my bed and kissed me. ‘Do you want me to stay with you until you drop off to sleep?’

  I shook my head. ‘Go back to bed, Mum. I’m not a baby.’

  I listened as the house settled back down and once again I could hear gentle snoring coming from Mum’s room. I knew that I would get very little sleep as I had suffered this dream so many times. It always left me wide awake as I battled in my mind with my shame and humiliation. Tonight was no different and I was still awake when Mum got out of bed i
n the morning.

  Two days later Jennifer was pestering me to take her to the pictures again. As we left the house, a group of lads aged between twelve and fifteen were playing football in the road. They stopped playing as Jennifer and I walked past. I had known two or three of the older boys when I had been in St Gregory’s and noticed how they smirked to each other as we walked past. Paul Hurley, my biggest tormenter in those days, who had left St Gregory’s and was now at St Benedict’s High School, said loudly, ‘I bet you he’s still wearing girl’s knickers under his trousers.’

  I went cold. It was like the pages of time had been turned back and I was in the classroom again. I stopped walking and turned to look at him.

  ‘Be careful!’ Jennifer warned me in a whisper. ‘They’ll beat you up.’

  I laughed and told her that a St Benedict’s boy couldn’t hurt even the youngest of Vincent’s boys.

  Hurley was grinning and enjoying heaping further misery onto my shoulders. I strolled casually over to where he was standing and looked into his eyes. I said very quietly, ‘I’m not the same silly little boy I was in Gregory’s. I think you want to give me an apology.’

  His grin got bigger and he looked at the other lads and laughed. He reminded me of all the other bullies I had encountered over the last year or so. I smiled back at him and like a serpent’s strike my left hand shot out and grabbed him by his windpipe. His face contorted into a grimace as I pushed and shoved him by his throat towards a holly bush alongside one of the houses. With all my strength I shoved his face deep into the depths of that prickly mass of leaves and branches.

  When I released him my hand was covered in scratches from the barbs I had shoved his head through. He screamed in agony as he tried to disentangle his head from the bush that held him prisoner. I looked at the other lads and noticed they had all backed away and were looking at me with fear in their eyes. I smiled. I knew that it would be a long time before any of them ever passed another derisory comment in my direction. I took hold of Jennifer’s hand and carried on down the road.

  When we returned from the pictures I was greeted by the sight of Paul Hurley and his mother sitting in our living room. His face had several deep scratch marks on it and he looked a sorry sight. Mrs Hurley stood up as I entered the room and just for a moment I thought she was going to hit me. She pointed at her son’s face and shouted loudly, ‘Look what you’ve done to Paul’s face. I’ve a good mind to call the police.’

  Mum was visibly upset. ‘Why did you do it, John?’ she asked. ‘Why did you hurt him so nastily?’

  ‘You tell them, Jennifer,’ I said. ‘Tell them who started it.’

  Jennifer related the earlier little fracas and left out no details. While she was speaking I kept my eyes on Mrs Hurley and noticed that her expression changed when she heard how her precious little boy had taunted me as I walked past. I saw her glance in her son’s direction. At the end of Jennifer’s account she looked apologetically at Mum.

  ‘I don’t condone bullying,’ she said, ‘But I’m sure Paul is sorry about what he said. He must have meant it as a joke.’

  I shook my head. ‘It was no joke. He meant every word. When I was at Gregory’s I had to wear my sister’s old knickers as my mum couldn’t afford underpants for me. He and his friends made my life a misery when they discovered what I was wearing and he tried to do the same again today. The only difference today was that I’ve grown up since then and made him pay for trying to make me look stupid.’

  Mrs Hurley gestured for her son to stand up. ‘Before we go,’ she said, ‘you’re going to say sorry to John.’

  He shook his head angrily and ran out of the room. I heard the front door open and close.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I’ll get his father to deal with him when I get home.’ She gave me a thin smile and hurried after her boy.

  I looked at Mum to gauge her reaction to it all. ‘Just like you told me to, Mum. I don’t get bullied. I fight back.’

  She came across the room and hugged me. ‘I’m sorry about making you wear knickers when you were younger.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s a long time ago. It really doesn’t matter.’

  I reached for Dickens. It was time to shut out the day and go back in time and read about other people’s misfortunes. I slumped into my armchair and opened my book.

  The next three days passed without incident and much to my delight I didn’t see any more of my father. Mum was trying to be cheerful but I knew that she was dreading the moment when I had to go back to Vincent’s. At every opportunity she would kiss me on my forehead or stroke my arm. I could see the sadness behind her eyes and wished desperately that I could have stayed with her. As I was preparing to leave she could keep her feelings in no longer and started to cry. I hugged her tightly and found that I too had tears streaming down my cheeks.

  I walked slowly away from home and kept turning around to see Mum standing forlorn by our back gate blowing me kisses. I knew she was still crying. I blew her a kiss and ran round the corner so that I wouldn’t be tempted to go running back to her. I looked up to the heavens and said a silent prayer to Jesus to keep her safe.

  The bus journey to Ealing Broadway Station took very little time and before long I was getting onto the Dartford train at Charing Cross. I settled myself comfortably into a corner seat in my carriage and opened my bag to take out my book. Sitting on top of my belongings was a brown paper package. I wondered when Mum had slipped it in without me seeing it. I pulled it out and carefully opened it.

  There in all its glory was a beautiful leather-bound copy of Dickens’s Great Expectations. I opened the first page and read my mother’s inscription. It said simply ‘Thank you for a wonderful holiday. Lots of love, Mum.’ Tears sprang to my eyes as I thought of how much it must have cost her and how little she had. Also in the package were four one-ounce packets of Golden Virginia tobacco and three packets of cigarette papers. Nobody has ever had a better mother than me.

  I was still feeling slightly morose as I walked up Temple Hill and back into the grounds of St Vincent’s. I wondered when I would see my family again. I would have liked to see them on the next first Sunday but I knew that would never happen. I sneaked into the chapel and hid my tobacco before reporting back to the duty brother.

  It was Brother Arnold and as soon as I saw him it was as though my holiday had never happened. I let him search my bag then wandered out into the yard and across to the recreation room.

  Chapter 17

  Bernie and I were partners at Vincent’s and being partners was like being married without the sex. What it amounted to was a solemn agreement that no matter what happened you would share everything and defend your partner if he was involved in a confrontation with more than one person. Most of the boys in the school had this sort of relationship with their best friend and it was treated as a solemn oath. Bernie and I very seldom had a serious argument about anything. I would get pissed off with him when I saw him take a smack and not hit back, but I think in all honesty that the thought of being caned frightened him. I never insulted him by asking but I am quite certain that was the case. As well as that, he disagreed with my tactic of taking on the bullies; he thought life was easiest if you kept your head down and avoided confrontation whenever possible, but that just wasn’t in my nature.

  One day Bernie was taking a roll-up out of his sock and rolling it expertly between his fingers until it was in perfect shape. He lit it and sucked in a lungful of smoke, blowing the smoke downwards in a thin blue stream. He looked furtively around the yard to see if he had been spotted, but Brother Michael was looking in the opposite direction. He was about to take another long drag when suddenly he was punched in the face and the roll-up taken out of his hand. Standing in front of him were Jimmy Fuller and Trevor Hicks. Hicks was smirking.

  I had seen the whole thing as I walked towards Bernie to meet him for our midday smoke before dinner. Both Fuller and Hicks were arseholes who loved to throw their weight aro
und with the younger boys. I didn’t much fancy fighting either of them as they could definitely look after themselves and were more than a year older than me but I gritted my teeth and kicked Hicks just above his ankle. He let out a yell and spun to face me. He grinned when he saw it was me.

  ‘Fenton,’ he said, ‘you’re such a wanker.’ His left hand flashed out and punched me straight in the centre of my face. I tried to kick him again but he easily avoided it. However, he didn’t avoid my right fist that was thrown at him in the same motion of the kick. It landed right in the middle of his lips and I knew that he would have cuts on the inside of his mouth. He was now annoyed to the degree of being reckless and ran at me with both arms flailing. I retreated under the barrage and was relieved when Brother Michael grabbed Hicks and pushed him against the wall. He held Hicks tightly by his neck and signalled for me to come closer. I cautiously walked forward and received a hard slap around my left ear.

  ‘You’ll both see Brother De Montfort later.’ Brother Michael sounded slightly out of breath. He pushed Hicks away. ‘Get over to the other side of the yard. Don’t you dare come over this side.’ He switched his attention to me. ‘And you stay over here.’

  I watched as Hicks sauntered away and Brother Michael took up his position again in the centre of the yard. I didn’t keep an eye on Fuller, though, and he walked up on my blind side and smacked a perfect punch into the side of my head. It really hurt me and I staggered sideways. Fuller jumped on me and luckily we both fell on the floor. This movement gave me the time I needed to clear my head and I managed to get one of my arms around his neck and pull his head underneath my arm. He was much stronger than me and was pulling his head loose from my grip when Brother Michael separated us. Again, we got the customary slap around the ear and were sent to different locations in the yard.