Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  To John. A little gift to ensure that you are never lost for words. Fondest regards. Michael Delaney.

  I smiled up at him. ‘It’s beautiful, Father. Thank you.’

  Christmas morning to me was a feast of reading with no interruptions. I lounged in the television room, smoking, reading, completely lost in a world of make-believe.

  When it was lunchtime I was amused at the sight of matron serving dinner in a ridiculous-looking paper hat. She smiled a warm welcome and placed a huge turkey dinner on the counter. I hadn’t realise how hungry I was and managed to eat every mouthful. I had brought my book with me to the dining room and ate and read at the same time. I was still reading my book at the table when matron returned and gave me a steaming bowl of Christmas pudding and custard. I went back to the television room feeling absolutely sated and relaxed. So far this Christmas was the best I had ever known.

  Teatime consisted of two hot mince pies, a large piece of fruit cake and two turkey sandwiches. I decided to take it all up to bed with me. I had my own little picnic laid out in front of me as I rested my head against the headboard and read my book. When I had finished eating I lit myself a roll-up and puffed on it contentedly. It was as though I was in a different world. At nine o’clock I turned off the light and slept the most beautiful sleep I had ever experienced. Life was certainly being good to me.

  Boxing Day was as good as Christmas Day. I finished The Day of the Triffids and started reading The Chrysalids. It took me some time to work out what era the book was set in. I came to the conclusion that it must be a long time in the future, possibly two or three hundred years hence. Something bad had happened in the world because the Canadian government was wiping out people who had mutated. David, the hero of the story, has a hidden mutation; he is telepathic and can send thought messages to his friends, who are also telepathic.

  I had to keep stopping and trying to work out what was happening. The book was totally absorbing and I used Father Delaney’s gift quite often. After much thought I decided that there must have been a huge war and most of the world had been destroyed. David’s sister makes contact with a land called Zealand, which is across the sea and filled with people just like them. To get there they have to escape from their own country and go through the fringes. The fringes are an area filled with dangerous mutations of humans, animals and plants. When I put the book down to go to sleep I found that my mind was still trying to absorb all I had read. I must have been awake for an hour or so before sleep at last came.

  ‘What sort of Christmas did you have here?’ Bernie asked.

  I could tell by his face that he’d had a special one. Janice must have been a regular visitor.

  I told him of all the things I had done and how I had even lain in bed smoking.

  He was amazed that I had been left with no supervision. ‘Surely they came round to check on you some time during the day?’

  I told him that I had seen no one apart from Matron at mealtimes. I don’t think he believed me as he said, ‘They wouldn’t do that. They know you would have smoked if you had been on your own.’

  I grinned at him. ‘Take my word for it, Bernie. I was left alone.’

  I took Bernie over to the locker room and showed him where I had hidden the packet of cigarettes Father Delaney had given me. He opened it and saw that there were only three left in the packet. I then showed him the ounce pouch of tobacco he had given me and there was only enough left in the packet for maybe six or seven thin roll-ups.

  ‘Jesus, John, you must have smoked a lot.’

  I smiled. ‘I had a great Christmas. I did what I wanted and nobody bothered me.’ I followed Bernie over to a bench and slumped down lazily.

  ‘I have to tell you about my Christmas. When I got home Janice was already there. I must have fucked her at least a dozen times during my holiday. She’s great. One day we did it three times.’ He reached in his pocket and produced a photograph. He handed it to me. ‘That’s her.’

  A pretty blonde girl stared back at me. She looked young but well developed and she posed in the photograph so that her breasts seemed to be trying to bust out of her blouse. It looked very provocative.

  ‘Who took the picture, Bernie?’

  ‘I did,’ he said proudly. ‘I’ve got a load more at home. One of them, she’s in the nude.’

  ‘Bollocks. You’d never get them developed. They’d hand them over to the police.’

  ‘I know that,’ Bernie said smugly. ‘My dad has a darkroom and develops all his own pictures. It’s his hobby. He developed my film.’

  ‘You lucky fucker,’ I said. I took another long look at the photograph and handed it back to him. ‘You should have brought the nude one back with you.’

  Bernie laughed loudly. He said, ‘Yer, that would be great. I’d really be happy seeing you staring at Janice’s tush.’

  We both laughed at that remark.

  David Jones was a new boy who had only been in Vincent’s a couple of months but had somehow acquired a reputation as a bit of a hard case, despite the fact that he had never had a fight in the school. He was sixteen years old and quite tall, with white-blond curly hair and a pronounced nose. He had been given the nickname White Wog because of his curls.

  ‘What can we do for you, David?’ I asked as he approached Bernie and me in the locker room one day.

  He put one of his feet on the seat of the bench and leaned forward so that his arms rested on his knee. I stood up and stepped a few feet away from the bench. He took his foot off the bench and turned to face me.

  ‘Me and my friend Hodges are taking over the baccy trade in this school. I’ve come to collect all the fags and baccy you two have got.’ He clenched his fist threateningly. ‘Don’t say you haven’t got any as I wouldn’t believe you. Connors has just returned from holiday so he’ll have brought back plenty.’

  ‘He brought back stacks,’ I said. ‘We’ve got enough to last us for ages.’ I stepped back out of punch range. ‘But you’re getting fuck all out of us.’

  Bernie jumped out of his seat and came to stand next to me. Jones spat on the floor and signalled to Hodges to come and join him. Peter Hodges had been a thorn in my flesh for over a year. He was sixteen years old and fat. He must have weighed at least 15 stone and used all of this weight to push people around. He sauntered over to stand next to Jones and looked at me and Bernie with contempt.

  ‘Fenton’s said we’re getting fuck all off them,’ said Jones.

  ‘Are you sure about that, Fenton?’ Hodges moved a little closer to me. ‘You know you’re fuck all and I can take what I want off you.’

  ‘I know you’re a fat cunt,’ I said. ‘Do you think that just because you’ve palled up with the White Wog,’ I pointed at Jones, ‘we’re going to hand over our baccy? Kick it off, fatty, and let’s all go up to the small dormitory.’

  Jones nodded at Hodges and started to walk towards us. I had never seen Jones fight before so I didn’t know what to expect. I feinted with my left hand and saw that he jerked his head hard to the right. I stepped back out of range and watched him warily as he came towards me. Bernie was standing close to Hodges but neither of them was making any threatening moves. They were watching Jones coming at me. I feinted again with my left hand and again Jones jerked his head to the right but this time as he jerked his head I kicked him hard on his left shinbone. I knew that I had hurt him because I heard the kick collide with his shin in a sickening thud. He grimaced and sat down heavily on the floor holding his leg. That was all I needed. I ran in quickly and kicked him as hard as I could in his face, then I stepped back, unable to believe it had been that easy. I thought this arsehole was supposed to be a hard case.

  Bernie hurried over and pushed me in the direction of the locker room. ‘The fight wasn’t seen. Let’s get out of sight before Jones has to get treatment.’

  ‘Did you see that wanker, Bernie?’ I asked. ‘He didn’t have a clue.’

  Bernie nodded. ‘I saw it, John, and so did the rest o
f the boys. You did yourself no harm in finishing him as quick as you did.’

  He took one of the last three cigarettes out of the packet and lit it. We smoked in silence, each of us wrapped up in our own personal reverie. I was thinking of Hodges. Would he want to continue the argument? I hoped he wouldn’t as he was definitely a strong and heavy lad and not a mug like Jones. We heard the sound of a commotion coming from outside the locker room and opened the door to see what was happening. Several of the boys were attacking Hodges and Brother Ambrose was having difficulty in stopping them.

  Bernie grinned at me. ‘It looks like we weren’t the first ones threatened by those two. Now that they know Jones is just a prick, they’re having payback.’

  We squeezed our way past the mêlée and went to sit on a bench that gave us a good view of what was going on. Eddie Lawson and Tom Banks ran past us and in a very short time seven boys were on the way to see De Montfort. Jones was sitting against the wall with a dazed look on his face. He had a huge swelling on the side of his head and a bruised and bleeding shin.

  ‘Did you know that you’re becoming a hard case?’ said Bernie. ‘A lot of the younger lads think you’re their hero.’

  I scowled at Bernie. ‘I’m no fucking hero. I’m just trying to look after myself. It’s been my plan ever since I decided to learn how to fight. I remember telling you that I would never get bullied again without fighting back. Well, I’ve done just that and I think I’m reaching the position where people won’t even attempt to bully me. It certainly doesn’t make me a hero. It means that I’m my own person and nobody can force their will on me. It means that for once in my life I can be proud of what I am and not ashamed.’

  Bernie said, ‘You’ve never had anything to be ashamed about. You’ve always been a good friend and the whole school knows that you’re loyal to your family. You were the only one who told Arnold that you weren’t going to accept him calling your mother a whore. You lost your holiday and even that didn’t affect you. No, John, you’ve never had anything to be ashamed about.’

  But I was still ashamed. I would always feel ashamed about the Wilkinson incident. I stood up and went to the toilet. I needed to be alone. Every time I thought about what happened that awful night I felt like crying and I would creep into a shaded corner to hide my shame and guilt. Today was no different and I sat silently in a toilet cubicle, remembering, shivering and wishing I could turn back the clock. I didn’t know that all my wishes would soon be answered.

  Chapter 20

  January 1960

  The 4th of January 1960 was a date I would remember for the rest of my life. It started just like every other day in Vincent’s and at midday Bernie and I met up to have our usual smoke before lunch. Bernie lit the roll-up and handed it to me to have the first couple of puffs. He waited for me to hand it back before he spoke.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard about Wilkinson?’

  ‘What about him?’ I asked. ‘Have you got some good news like he’s dead or something?’

  Bernie laughed. ‘No. He’s not dead. He’s had his licence revoked and is seeing De Montfort now.’

  Just for a second it felt as though my heart had stopped beating. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All my prayers were being answered. ‘Are you sure he’s back?’

  ‘I’m sure. I saw him walk across the yard earlier with Brother Francis.’ He grinned and said, ‘He looked really pissed off.’

  I needed to be alone. I had to think. Bernie was staring at me. ‘You’ve just made my year,’ I told him. ‘It’s the best news ever.’ I started to walk away. My mind was racing.

  Bernie called after me. ‘John, where the fuck are you going? What’s wrong with you? You went as white as snow when I told you about Wilkinson.’

  I looked back and smiled. ‘I’m fine, Bernie. I just need to go to the toilet before we eat.’

  I was alone in my cubicle again. My heart was racing and a nervous twitch in my leg made my foot tap. Wilkinson was back. I was being given a second chance to get even, a chance to cleanse my mind and eradicate the memory. Was I ready? Could I get justice for myself? What would I do if I lost? My mind was in turmoil with all the unanswerable questions. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. I had to calm down. A voice in my mind kept telling me to stay focused. I had to keep the memory of Wilkinson’s penis between my legs. If I could manage to do that then my hatred would see me through. I stood up and head-butted the cubicle door so hard that a long crack appeared in its entire length. I stared at the damage I had just caused and wondered why I had done it. I didn’t mean to; it just happened.

  Bernie was waiting for me at the top of the steps as I walked out of the toilet and back into the yard. He took me by the arm and pulled me over to a quiet place by the carpenter’s workshop, staring at me intently. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on? I know something’s up, John, so why don’t you tell me about it?’

  Bernie was a good friend. He’d helped me through many difficult times in Vincent’s and he never flinched from giving me honest criticism when I deserved it. I owed him more than anyone could ever repay. You can’t put a price on friendship. But as much as I honoured and loved him as a friend I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth about Wilkinson. I was too ashamed. I looked at him staring at me, waiting for me to explain myself, and I felt guilty at having to deceive him.

  ‘This might seem stupid,’ I said, ‘but I know I’m going to fight Wilkinson. I hate the bastard. I’ve never hated a person more than I hate him.’

  Bernie was incredulous. ‘Why, John? Why the fuck do you hate him so badly? What the fuck has he done to you that he hasn’t done to everybody?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. It’s personal. It’s between him and me.’ I could see that Bernie was upset I didn’t trust him. ‘I can’t tell you anything, apart from the fact that there will be a fight.’

  Bernie shook his head. ‘You’re being stupid. You know he’s a hard bastard and will more than likely kick seven bells of shit out of you. So why do it? Just ignore the prick and he’ll be gone again before you know it.’

  ‘I can’t ignore him. I hate him and I want to fight him.’

  Bernie shook his head again. ‘Well, if you’re intent on going through with it there’s nothing I can do to stop you.’ He took a roll-up out of his sock and lit it. ‘When’s it going to happen?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I haven’t a clue. It could be tomorrow, next week or next month. I just know it’s going to happen.’

  Bernie handed me the roll-up and I inhaled a mouthful of smoke. It attacked the back of my throat and made me cough. ‘What the fuck are we smoking?’

  Bernie laughed. ‘Boar’s Head. It’s ten times stronger than Golden Virginia. I brought an ounce of it back from home for us to try.’

  I handed the roll-up back to him. ‘You smoke that shit; I’ll stick to the usual.’

  I walked into the recreation room to line up for tea. I still hadn’t seen Wilkinson and I scanned the four lines of boys trying to catch a glimpse of him. I didn’t have far to look. He was standing in the line next to mine. He saw me looking at him and sneered contemptuously. I turned my head away; I’d seen enough, he was back. A long stream of saliva hit the side of my face. I looked at Wilkinson and wiped the spittle off my cheek with the sleeve of my jumper.

  ‘Fenton, you’re a bastard,’ he sneered.

  Bastard was the worst swear word you could use in Vincent’s. It implied that your mother was a slut and you were born the wrong side of the blanket. Wilkinson knew what he was saying.

  I looked at his sneering face and smiled. I said, loud enough for the whole school to hear, ‘The difference between you and me, Wilkinson, is that I might be called a bastard, but you were born a bastard.’

  I spat a large globule of phlegm at his face and was disappointed to see it land on the shoulder of his jumper.

  Wilkinson couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He pointed his finger menacingly at me. ‘Aft
er tea,’ he said. ‘I’ll shut your mouth after tea.’

  I smiled at him and puckered my mouth as if blowing him a kiss. ‘I’ll be here, you queer bastard,’ I said.

  I couldn’t believe I had handled the situation so well. I wasn’t frightened at all and I had been icy cool with my responses. I think it may have been because I had pictured this moment a thousand times in my mind. I closed my eyes and remembered my shame and humiliation and how I had promised myself that one day I would have my revenge. Well, that day had come, and now it was all up to me.

  Bernie was waiting for me when I came out of the dining room, and we went and sat on the backrest of the nearest bench with our feet on the seat.

  ‘Well you’ve made certain there’s going to be a fight,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard what you said to him. What brought it on?’

  ‘The wanker spat at me and called me a bastard. He likes me as much as I like him.’ I looked down at my feet and noticed that one of my work boot’s laces was coming loose. I leaned forward and tightened it. I couldn’t afford to have my boot flapping about when Wilkinson and I fought. I suddenly had a disturbing thought. ‘Do you think he might use a weapon?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. That arsehole is capable of anything. You must be careful, John. You could get seriously hurt.’

  I smiled at the stupidity of the warning. Did Bernie think I hadn’t thought about the consequences of fighting Wilkinson? I’d gone over all the possible outcomes a thousand times in my imagination. ‘I know that, but I’ll just have to take my chances.’

  I was so wrapped up in my conversation that I didn’t check on Wilkinson’s whereabouts. He had sneaked along the side wall, clambering over benches out of my line of vision, until he was virtually standing next to me. Suddenly my hair was grabbed and my head pulled downwards onto a fist coming in the opposite direction.