“You’ll see he’s paying more attention to me than he is to the dross you’re watching.”
“I’m hungry,” Edward piped up from behind his comic book. “When’s dinner ready?”
“You and your appetite! The chops will be another ten minutes, then I need to make the mash,” said Helen.
“What are you reading there Ed?” asked Michael.
“A comic – you wouldn’t understand. But look,” he answered, pointing intently at the magazine’s front cover. “I really want this colour for my room,” he added.
Helen jerked her head towards Edward in a manner that elicited a disturbing crack from her neck. Her fears were realised as he aimed his finger at a rather conspicuous shade of purple.
“Why did you have to suggest he could choose the colour?” she hissed at Michael, who threw his hands up to protest his innocence.
“Look, all I said was he could help me do the painting in there,” he insisted.
Ignoring her husband, Helen turned to Edward. “Sweetie, don’t you think that’s a bit lurid?”
“I know, I love it too!” he squealed.
Helen treated Michael to a prolonged look of withering contempt. “How about a nice pale blue, darling. Or a cream colour like we have here in the lounge?”
“But it’s my room,” Edward moaned. “Cream is boring anyway.”
“Oh would you look at that, it’s time to mash the spuds,” Helen snarled. Her husband wrung his hands together out of self-humility, then followed her at a distance into the kitchen. Edward, left to his own devices, was content to sit back and change the TV channel.
He ate what he could of his supper, called it a day and went to bed. That night was marred by an affliction hitherto unfamiliar to him. He was in his hospital bed, cables and cannulas attached to his body. Either side of him lay his parents, Dwayne and Linda. Their chests rose and fell gently. Only the background din of ventilators and monitors broke the eerie silence. It was just the three of them, broken but together. And alive.
While he lay there, two figures dressed in nurses’ outfits entered the room and split up. One of them, a short and stout man, approached Dwayne Kreus’ bed. The second, a petite woman, strode towards Linda’s bed. Edward felt at ease, until the ‘nurses’ pulled off their protective face masks and began violently choking their prostrate victims. Edward squirmed and tried to cry out but not so much as a squeak came from his mouth. He lashed out. The beeping and alarms from the machines grew louder. The intruders removed Linda and Dwayne’s oxygen masks. Edward tossed his head frantically from side to side; it was a dark ward but he could make out the widened eyes of his father as he struggled to fight off his attacker. On his right, Linda clawed at the female assailant’s arm, but the hand lost its grip and slid down. Her arm dangled off the edge of the bed. It swung for a few moments, then forever lay still. The man throttling Dwayne was now blocking Edward’s view of his father’s fight for survival.
Edward’s own life support machines were going into overdrive, but he did not care. He wanted to help his stricken parents. There was nothing he could do, and there was no time for grief or fury, because the two frauds had him in their sights next. They converged on his bed from both sides. Still trapped, he did his best to call out. Their faces were slightly blurred so he couldn’t identify whom were the ones intent on murder. His cries for help were replaced by a kind of whistling crescendo – an interminable ringing sound. This high-pitched noise amplified until, with a yelp and a start, Edward jolted himself into a semi-conscious stupor.
His pyjamas clung to his skin. Underneath the duvet, he realised the bed sheets were damp from his having wet the bed. He staggered to his feet but struggled to gain his bearings in the dim bedroom. He wasn’t even sure that his terrors were over. Thirst was the main obstacle to overcome, so he tip-toed out of his room to get a drink.
In the hallway, he was aware of animated discussion taking place on the other side of the living room door. Edward reasoned this may explain why no one came running when he called out after waking up. With minimal creaking of floorboards, he sidled up to the door and listened. He pressed his ear and fingers against it and could make out a pair of angry voices on the other side.
“Me, get a backbone? What else do you suggest then?” hissed one gruff male voice.
“I don’t bloody know, there isn’t a lot we can do now.” This, a woman’s terse response.
“I told you we shouldn’t have rushed into this.”
“You don’t think this is the best for him?”
“That’s not—” Michael paused and Edward’s ears strained not to miss anything. “That is not what I’m saying, Helen. Would you please get your head out of—”
“Don’t take this out on me! You knew what we’d be up against when we signed up with the council.”
“I’ve been barren almost as long as we’ve been married. You’re the one who’s desperate for kids.”
“No, no! I will not have this argument again. If you didn’t think we could cope—”
“If he says yes – just imagine for a minute he agrees – we’re left, what? Financially speaking? The schools here—”
“I’ve told you I’m on the Board! We’ve done everything right so far with Edward and I will not take parenting advice from you!”
“All I’m saying is we’re going to struggle to cope!”
“You’re only going to wake the poor lad up.”
Their dialogue became more hushed and indistinct. Edward could not make out any more of what they were saying. Throughout the exchange, he felt latent rage festering. Like the pressure building in a shaken can of soda, he could take no more and barged into the lounge. Swinging his arms and yelling, he threw himself between the flustered grown-ups. In his mind were competing thoughts: whether to kick up a frenzy or hug them for dear life.
Helen and Michael, unsurprised they had woken him, relented from arguing and closed in on him. Edward was initially uncomfortable with this, given the way his nightmare played out. However, the ceasefire, the silence and the warm embrace placated him.
“Sorry for waking you Ed,” Helen said. Her shrewd expression held firm until Michael apologised as well. Both their faces loosened, relieving their frustration with each other.
“We’re just having a grown-up conversation and things got out of hand,” Michael began. He gripped Edward’s sodden pyjama top. “Blimey Ed, you’re soaked. What on Earth’s wrong?”
To Edward, Helen’s reaction seemed to be one of understanding. Regardless of the wet flannel-like texture of his clothes, and irrespective of the glossy beads of sweat trickling over his skin, she tightened her clutch around him.
“Let’s get you out of those clothes. Nasty dream was it dear?”
“I’ll get a towel love. Shall I put the kettle on, Ed? Hot chocolate and mini marshmallows?”
Edward sniffled and nodded in assent.
“Want to talk to us about it?”
“No, it’s just…I need a drink.” Edward yawned, extracting his face from Helen’s lap and releasing the folds of their clothing he had grasped. The warmth of the cuddle and end of his parents’ conflict made him drowsy.
Gradually, his recollection of the nightmare dissolved into the fetid swamp from where it had spawned. Michael offered to bring the snack to his room.
“What do you think, Ed?”
The twelve-year old sat up in his bed later, with his refreshments secure on his lap. Like him, the bed had been changed to remove any trace of his earlier cerebral betrayal. “Edward.”
Michael apologised. So did Helen, for no reason that Edward could tell. “What do you think, Edward?”
“Think of what?”
“Well, you return to the care home tomorrow. Do you see yourself moving in with us for good? I mean, we would both love to have you stay, if that’s what you want.”
Edward munched his biscuit and sipped his hot chocolate. It was only lukewarm, but he enjoyed the sticky pink and white
strands of gooey marshmallow swirling on the drink’s surface. Something about the power he wielded in determining his own fate satisfied him too.
His indifference unsettled the adults. The void left by the brooding silence needed something to break it.
“Sleep on it for a few days,” Helen suggested. “Let Rosie know what you’d like to do. We will all be so happy just for you to be happy. Honest.”
V
At some point, all good things must come to an end. Edward was oblivious to the prospect of a new school year, encroaching from the horizon like the rolling clouds of a bleak mid-winter’s day. In all his youthful naivety, he took no notice until the week before term was due to start.
School had fallen by the wayside since the crash. His recovery, worsened by social services’ incompetence, had pushed his right to a meaningful education down the list of everyone’s priorities.
Ideal then, that the now-thirteen-year old was no longer beholden to the whims of Rosie and the rabble at his former care home.
“Edward, try these on would you,” instructed Helen, one evening in the run-up to the start of term.
His reluctance would have been clear from outer orbit, but not to his adoptive mother. “They won’t fit me.”
“Nonsense, you’re a tall lad so I made sure to grab your size.”
“Can you go away until I’ve put them on?”
With a huff, she stepped out of his bedroom and waited to be allowed in. When this invitation was not forthcoming, she opened the door anyway. A pitiful sight awaited her; of Edward kneeling on the floor with his head buried under his duvet. His shirt was unbuttoned, trousers unfastened, and tie strewn on the floor behind him.
Helen crouched beside him and placed a hand on his back. “Edward, I know it’s not a nice feeling going to school, especially after such a long break and not knowing anyone there. That’s why we’ve spoken to the head teacher and he's offered to meet us and give you a tour of the school.”
She could tell her words were not having much effect. She pulled the bed cover off his head. He was hyperventilating and sweating profusely. His black hair was frazzled and his cheeks puffy.
“Edward, honey,” Helen soothed, “we worry about how you’ll cope with your new school. Michael and I want only what’s best for you. Don’t forget I work on the board of governors, so if there’s anything that bothers you, just come to me and I’ll sort it.”
Michael had joined his wife in his bedroom, keen to chip in. “And remember how much you love sport and reading and writing. You’ll do brilliantly, and you have so many interests that you’re bound to make loads of new friends.”
“Everyone starting secondary school will be in the same boat as you. You’re not going to be alone, we promise. Me and Michael have been there, we know what it’s like.”
Edward sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He choked out a garbled sound that might have been an ‘OK’ or a ‘Go away’.
“We have the appointment on Thursday morning. Your dad will be working so I’ll take you. It will be good for you,” she maintained while rubbing Edward’s back. “I promise.”
◆◆◆
Hatherleigh Academy was a compact secondary school just outside the town centre. It was not situated in the most salubrious location; the “rough-and-ready” catchment area was testament to that. The main building was a tall, round structure beset with garish colours – a disingenuous effort to detract from its poor reputation. The reception lobby and classrooms were furnished with a range of sophisticated technology, including projectors, widescreen monitors and a modern PA system. Sports grounds round the back of the school buildings were predominantly asphalt or artificial turf. ‘Prison’ or ‘airport terminal’ were Edward’s first impressions.
On the day he met the headmaster, only the staff were present for a pre-term briefing. The head, Edward and Helen sat in a vacuous office where floor-to-ceiling windows covered two sides. Glass partitions separated it from the adjacent library and administrative department. To Edward, the ceiling appeared high enough to be out of reach of most cherry-pickers. A vast desk, comically large, took pride of place at one end. The remainder of the floorspace was covered in gaudy carpet, with beanbags and games consoles occupying another corner of the room.
“As I’m sure you’re aware Helen, we believe that harsh punishments are better off replaced with more appropriate sanctions to improve discipline,” the headmaster reasoned.
“Quite right too,” Helen concurred.
“This is the detention room?” asked Edward.
“Not detention Edward, ‘time out area’.”
Edward longingly eyed the setup at the other end of the room. “I could do with being late next week,” he remarked.
His cynical comment was disregarded by the two adults.
“Such a cheeky, bright lad for his age!” exclaimed the principal. “You’ve made an extraordinary effort to take care of him, Helen.”
“Thank you, Tony. It’s a team effort with the husband. He’s working, so can’t make it today.”
They shared in more small talk that Edward didn’t care about. He sat on his chair, restless. His wayward thoughts were brought back to the present as his ears burned at the mention of his name.
“Huh?”
“Tony – Mr Forester, I mean – agrees that it would be wrong to hold you back in primary school for a year, when you’re clearly capable enough to be put in with other students of your age here in the senior school.”
“You mum’s right, Edward. Wouldn’t you prefer to be a small fish in a big pond rather than a big fish in a small pond? One is cruel to the fish; the other approach gives the fish a chance to thrive and aspire to great things.”
The analogy swam over Edward’s head, but he nodded politely, wishing for the meeting to end.
“There we are. Now, let me take you and Hel— your mother — on a tour of our facilities. I promise you won’t be disappointed. We’ve already walked through the entrance foyer and library, so let’s see some of the classrooms.”
Fifteen minutes was enough to sow a little confidence in Edward. They took a lift to the top floor, pausing on a walkway that circumvented the classrooms. Edward caught his breath and tried in vain to peer down from the edge. The railing was too tall even for the adults to fully lean over.
“I see you’ve implemented the raised partitions here. To stop kids jumping or being pushed over, I recall?” Helen surmised.
With an air of indifference, the head replied. “Actually, it was designed to stop pupils spitting onto people walking on the ground floor.”
After a moment or two in quiet contemplation, the principal spoke to Edward. “Your new family have expressed concerns that you haven’t sought any counselling following the, hmm, tragic accident last year. What are your thoughts on that?”
“No,” declared Edward flatly.
“I thought the school had full-time pastoral tutors and access to counsellors,” Helen said.
“Oh, we absolutely do. They are finding themselves a bit, uh, stretched for want of a better word.” He caught Edward’s eye. “In any case, I don’t think they are quite qualified or experienced enough to handle problems of Edward’s magnitude.” He chuckled. “Bullying, teenage pregnancies and parents in prison we can deal with. Edward’s situation is a whole other kettle of fish.”
What is it with this guy and fish, pondered Edward. “No, thanks. I don’t need any help,” he repeated.
“It’s something we can consider further down the line,” Principal Forester said, but as they walked on towards the exit, Edward shouted out to them.
“No!” Wide eyes and fingers splayed by his sides, he continued with a quiver in his voice. “I don’t need any help. I don’t want any help. Just leave me the hell alone!” He turned and stormed away, kicking out at the glass partition on the landing. His eyes burned, as a fire swelled in his belly.
Helen quickly caught up with him and held his arm as he tried to wriggle free. “
Edward, listen. Come on, look at me sweetie,” she pleaded.
“Get off.” Edward swung his arm out of her grip.
“It’s OK Edward, nobody is forcing you. Always remember though, Tony – er, Mr Forester here – will be able to help you if things get too much here.”
The furious inferno that had singed the walls of Edward’s stomach receded. The impulsive rage gave way to a more grown-up perspective on things.
Where was I even going to run off to?
Calm restored, the two of them returned with Mr Forester downstairs to the mezzanine where they said farewell. The adults awkwardly hesitated between shaking hands and rubbing each other’s shoulders at the same time. Helen declined the offer of staying to wait for the staff meeting to conclude, and with Edward in tow they set off for home.
In the car, Helen asked her son about his early impressions of the academy.
“It was fine, I guess.”
“Are you pleased you walked around the school?”
“I suppose, it wasn’t so bad.”
“You’ll have to get the bus in because it’s too far to walk. For the first week though, I'll give you a lift in because I’ll be working at the school each day. Alright dear?”
Edward did not respond. He stared blankly out of the window as the midday sun flooded onto the road and houses. Sensing her son’s disinterest in elaborating, Helen fell silent and turned on the radio for the remainder of the journey.
He frowned and turned the stereo off. A sharp pain in his right arm spoiled the journey. Underneath his pullover, the ‘legacy wound’ flared up. He held his tongue and did what he could to take his mind off the hot, throbbing feeling. These techniques failed to take the edge off. There wasn’t a lot he could do until he got home and could reach for the painkillers. Even these were often ineffective.
◆◆◆
Edward’s shooting pain dissipated over the intervening days. It was replaced by a deep apprehension about what to expect at the start of term.
Screams of Thy Neighbour Page 3