Edward recovered most of his faculties en route to hospital. Once he had been treated and stabilised in the casualty department, Helen and Michael were allowed in alongside Tom and his mother.
“Take a seat please, Mr and Mrs Regis,” said the senior registrar. Edward’s guardians did as instructed while Tom regarded him nervously from behind the privacy screen.
“Look at him! Is he going to be OK, doctor?” exclaimed Helen.
“From what Edward told staff, he was having a bit of rough and tumble with his good friend, Master Osbourne over there. Edward stumbled into a bed post and struck his side. This was operated on after the crash last year, I take it?”
Helen sobbed gently while Michael threw a disapproving look at Tom, who sought refuge behind his frowning mother.
The doctor sensed the tension and carried on. “We sent him for a CT scan and the good news is there’s no lasting internal damage, beyond what he sustained from the collision last year.”
The relief on everyone’s face was palpable. From the end of the bay, Tom piped up. “So he’s going to be alright then?”
“The blow was enough to open part of the wound that hasn’t fully healed yet. All that blood on his shirt makes it look worse than it is in reality. We reckon he caught a nerve and this led to him feeling sick and fainting.”
“At least I got to have two dinners,” chipped in Edward.
“What now, doctor?” asked Helen.
“We’ve redressed his wound so it shouldn’t leak so badly again. We’ll give him antibiotics in case bugs managed to find their way in, and another course of his painkillers. Do not take any more than normal Edward, do you understand? Your dose is already higher than for most adults.”
“Don’t forget bubble wrap for the bed frame,” Edward remarked. He winked at Toshy, who felt confident enough to step closer to Edward’s bed.
“We would like to keep him overnight for assessment, then discharge him tomorrow morning, assuming everything is hunky-dory,” the doctor concluded.
His parents agreed, signed the paperwork and thanked Tom’s mum for coming to Edward’s aid.
“Lucky it’s Friday. Means I can bring your homework and you have the whole weekend in bed to do it,” teased Tom on his way out, whose smile wavered when his mother glared at him.
“We can’t be friends again then,” said Edward drily. They both smiled at each other again and parted company.
“It’s been an eventful day for you, hasn’t it Edward,” said Michael, who had risen to readjust his belt. “First your appointment with the counsellor and now this.”
“Of course, how did that go Edward? I was meaning to ask,” Helen added, her voice quivering on the brink of hysteria.
“Oh you know, it was interesting,” Edward replied, shrouding the details of that visit in a cloak of apathy. “Pretty much as I expected to be honest.”
X
The peace in Dr Wells’ room was broken only by the ticking of her wall-mounted clock.
“Good grief Edward, that looks sore. What happened?” she asked eventually.
He frowned and stared at his feet. “This is my first session in like six months and that’s the first thing you ask?”
“It looks like a very large gash across your scalp, so I think it’s a fair question. I can take a closer look if you want me to,” Dr Wells offered. As Edward sat on the chaise longue, she peered at him from behind her reading glasses.
“No thanks, it’s fine,” was the reply.
Nothing had changed in Dr Wells’ refined appearance from Edward’s last visit, many moons ago. Her burgundy cardigan and full-length lace skirt implied experience and wisdom beyond her years.
“I prescribed you more tablets at the end of our last chat,” said Dr Wells. She sifted through an ordered pile of papers on the armrest of her chair. “Blimey, we are going all the way back to January the ninth.”
“I told you since we first met that I didn’t want them, so I didn’t take them,” Edward countered. He was restless, fidgeting from side to side out of habit.
“It was only our third session, and I remember your parents agreeing with me that it was the best course of action,” said Dr Wells. Her voice was neutral but Edward perceived an underlying criticism.
“And you wonder why I didn’t want to carry on with these sessions,” he replied irritably.
“We were at a critical point. We had just got to the stage where I began to understand the problems you were facing. Don’t you remember, I gave you some tablets for post-traumat—”
“Fine, whatever. Yes, I did take them. All of them, like you said,” said Edward, reaching the end of his tether.
It seemed, by virtue of staring at him intently for several seconds, Dr Wells was aware of his deceit. Not that he cared.
“For what it’s worth Edward, this is your fourth session with me. I understand you weren’t keen on carrying on with our sessions since the new year. What brought you here today?”
“It’s a long story,” he muttered.
“I encourage you to be open. You know that you don’t have to tell me any—”
“So, it happened on Monday. I’ve told you before about that psycho nutcase Simon?” His voice rose in fury with each word. “Things got a bit tasty.”
“This week was the end of term as well. Who started it?”
“Tom.”
“Tom?” she repeated. “Oh I remember, you mean your friend Thomas?”
“Yes, him. Well, obviously it was Simon’s fault but Tom started it. I guess, well maybe it was Tom’s fault for not telling me in the first place.” Edward looked up and caught the puzzled psychiatrist’s eye for the first time since sitting down.
“I’m not going to lay blame here Edward. I’m interested in what happened and the role you all played.” Dr Wells smiled and Edward lowered his eyes to observe his trainers, still spattered in blood from earlier in the week.
◆◆◆
The end of the school year was approaching, and Edward was relishing the prospect of time off to indulge in the things that mattered most to him. Six weeks of reading, gaming, cycling, writing and going out with friends. A semblance of normality, to replace the grim memories of a past better off forgotten.
It was the final week of the summer term and Edward gleefully clutched his end-of-year report. He knew his parents would have been proud, and assumed his ‘parents’ would be proud when they receive a copy in the post.
He was making his way towards the next lesson. Before he reached the lift, a pretty girl squeezed through the milling hordes of pupils and headed towards him.
“Hi Eddie,” she said.
“Hey, Lottie,” Edward replied. He looked at his feet for a fleeting moment, feeling his cheeks flush.
“How’s it going?”
“Yeah, not bad. How did you find the maths homework?”
Edward was enamoured by her quiet confidence, and smooth voice. Her broad smile drew him in. He wanted to run his fingers through her long hair, with its lustrous shine, and touch her delicate skin. But that would be weird.
“I couldn’t get the last two questions. I’ll ask my dad, he uses a lot of maths for his work,” he said after realising he had been silent for an uncomfortable length of time.
Again, Lottie beamed; a genuine, radiant smile that creased the corners of her blue eyes. Edward wondered if homework really was at the front of her mind.
“Well, let me know if you figure it out.”
In a flash, her smile faded. No longer was her expression kindly and amiable, now it bore a look of pity, perhaps tinged with sadness. “You sure you’re OK?” Sensing Edward’s confusion, she went on, “About what Tom said earlier?”
Edward narrowed his eyes, interrogating Lottie without responding straight away. “Er, yeah, sure,” he said hesitantly. “Whatever.”
Lottie looked at the floor between them and suppressed a chuckle. “Come along to mine next week. A load of us are going to have a barbecue and watch
a film in my mum and dad’s new conservatory.”
They shared a look of warmth, now both smiling once more. Edward happily accepted the invitation.
“Cool,” Lottie said casually. “I’ll catch you later maybe?” Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she turned away from him.
As Edward said ‘bye’, he watched her grace the corridor towards her next class.
The lift took its time depositing him on the second floor. Oddly, when the elevator doors opened, the corridor ahead inexplicably cleared of students. It was as if a mysterious, invisible fog had descended on the walkway and caused the pupils to filter out of sight. A curious phenomenon, leaving Edward feeling isolated. And chilly, rather chilly.
And there looming in to view, right on cue, was Simon Wainwright, flanked by two of his buddies.
“Alright mate? Why have you stopped, lost your way?” he asked innocently.
Edward was unnerved; he had had no qualms with Wainwright since that incident back in October. Maybe their timetables prevented them seeing each other in classes. Or perhaps Simon feared Edward’s best friend.
“Let’s show you our favourite short-cut,” he sneered. “You gotta get to English now, right?” Edward backtracked but his legs felt leaden. Wainwright advanced. His stooges caught up to grab him by either shoulder and frog-march him into a nearby disabled toilet.
“There fellas, that’s grand,” Wainwright grinned as he ordered his henchmen to pin Edward against the wall. Despite putting up some resistance, he was going nowhere. “Long time no speak. We haven’t chatted for a while.”
Edward was barely taking notice. He was frantically trying to think of an escape route out of this hell. One of the sidekicks ripped his report letter from his hand; the other wrenched Edward’s backpack off his shoulders. Both objects were tossed towards his nemesis.
“Aww, now this is sweet. With your iddle school report and your lovely iddle shirt tucked into your neat iddle trousers. Like a good iddle arse-licker.”
There was not much of a height difference between them; indeed, Edward’s superior posture made him slightly taller. Wainwright’s stocky build and two lackies outweighed any advantage this may have presented.
“Now, see, I like to play a little game with ‘willing’ volunteers. I call it ‘Simon Says’.” He brandished a pair of long scissors from his back pocket. Edward could only fathom these must be used for trimming overgrown hedges, rather than cutting bits of paper.
With all his might, Wainwright prised the two blades apart. He threw one half onto the floor in front of Edward. “Go on, pick it up,” he encouraged him.
The accomplices relinquished their grip and Edward hesitated before stepping towards the blade. Maybe Wainwright just wanted to play a harmless game of Duel. Before he managed three paces, he was knocked to the floor with uncompromising ferocity.
“Tut-tut, you really don’t seem to get the rules of the game do you,” Wainwright mocked. “Here, let me try again.”
Edward was manhandled back against the wall.
“Simon says, get that blade.”
Edward didn’t move but was shunted forward by Wainwright’s mates. One was lanky and pockmarked with curly hair. His distinctive eyebrows, thick and domineering, resembled fuzzy caterpillars competing for space on his square forehead. The other was heavy-set, with beady black eyes sunk deep into a pasty face. Sweat patches crusted up his shirt, under the arms.
Edward bent down to collect the scissor blade and was met with an almighty whump from behind. This sent him sprawling across the tiles.
“No, no, no! Again, you’re fucking shit at this mate,” Wainwright mocked. “See, I wasn’t talking to you, was I?”
“He was talking to us now weren’t he,” grunted the scrawny youth to Edward’s right.
“You want to pay attention, like you do in class you little pleb,” piped up the other boy on his left, without a hint of irony.
Together, the pair of them reminded Edward of two-dimensional children’s TV characters. His exuberant mind-play had caused him to chuckle under his breath. It proved to be his downfall.
Wainwright swung his arm, scissor blade in hand, left to right at shoulder height. Swift, broad sweeping motions, stepping slowly closer towards his victim.
“Zshoom, zshoom. Nee-yow, nee-yow.” Imitating a demented helicopter-cum-police siren, his outstretched blade-wielding hand reached Edward, who froze stiff as the it scuffed the top of his hair. “Find this funny now, do you?”
“What’s the point, Simon? What’s the point?” Edward cried out. The grip on his chest tightened. He was choking, in search of more air.
“I was chatting to your bestest buddy, Tom. Or, w-w-wait, hang on.” Wainwright cracked into an obscene grin and looked from one of his chums to the other. “What is it you call him – Toshy, right? Are you kidding? Toshy! That’s got to be the most pathetic fucking nickname since…” he trailed off in search of a comparison.
“Ever!” offered the fat lackey.
“What d'you want from me Simon?” demanded Edward. For this, he received a firm punch to the leg, crippling him.
“Don’t be so impatient, Kreus,” said Wainwright. “I was saying how I was talking to Toshy – aha, ‘Toshy’ – and he told me the same thing he told you.”
“He’s not told me anything lately,” said Edward.
Wainwright dismissed this. “Basically,” he said, “all I’m doing is taking the piss and rubbing salt in the wound for you. Consider it a public service of mine. You won’t be charged for it—”
With a crushing thud, Edward swung a clenched fist into the face of Wainwright’s skinny friend. He followed this with a vicious elbow strike to the other thug. In a split second, Edward threw himself at his primary tormentor and cleated him in the midriff. It stunned Wainwright but was not forceful enough to do major damage.
Edward landed on his back once he had delivered the flying kick and found the discarded portion of Wainwright’s scissors lying beside him. Picking it up, he leapt to his feet and engaged in a scrappy duel. Edward managed to prise the other half of the scissors from Simon’s grasp and propelled it into the toilet bowl.
“Why don’t you fish for that,” Edward hissed between heavy breaths.
The stunned pair of Wainwright’s associates came to. They were blocking the exit from the bathroom.
“Why don’t you suck my dick, fag-boy,” was Wainwright’s considered response. He gripped Edward’s shirt with both hands and thrust him towards the other two thugs. All three then spared no time in getting to work on the helpless boy.
“Watch you don’t get his weaker right side, lads. I’m not getting fucking done for GBH ‘cuz of this twat-faced bastard,” growled Wainwright. He sat on Edward’s legs and delivered most of the strikes while his associates were content to restrain their victim.
Edward squirmed to break free. He was hardy but the pain was becoming unbearable. Blood began to trickle down his face. He had to do something drastic. Fortunately, he’d eaten lunch a relatively short time ago. He had enjoyed it, but it had left him feeling a bit full. Bloated, even.
The smell wafted into the bullies’ sinuses and within moments they were gagging.
“Holy – no, get out of here boys,” Wainwright spluttered from behind his hands. “Leave the knob-jockey to lie in his own stinking fucking shit.”
The trio fled, hacking and coughing as they went. The bathroom door swung shut upon their departure.
Edward lay prostrate on the cold linoleum of the toilet floor. Blood was already starting to congeal on his face. It was the pain in his limbs and upper body that started to take its toll. He panted and aimed to focus on his breathing, despite the unedifying odour. He tried holding his breath as long as he could, but soon erupted into a fit of haughty giggles. Simultaneously a stream of tears rolled down to the floor.
Crying tears of humour. Chuckling with hopelessness. It was all the same to him.
◆◆◆
Following
his recollection, Dr Wells hastened to scribble some more notes in her booklet. She had not interrupted him once, letting him recount the chain of events without stopping.
“I’m impressed,” she said finally. “You got rid of them by farting.”
Edward was half-surprised at her audacity to use the F-word. “Silent but deadly,” he shrugged.
“Indeed. And, that was the first time Simon attacked you since October?” she asked.
“He was a bit of a nob sometimes, but mainly he just laid into other people. Like, there was this one time he put a tack on a teacher’s chair and dimmed the lights before she came into the room. You could hear her yelp from the other side of the school. He had kids fishing in dirty toilets for the lunch money he’d taken off them. There were times when he’d walk behind homeless people or random old folks and pretend they’d farted and embarrass them in front of everyone in town. He would buy cheap padlocks to chain up loads of bikes, and demand like a ransom before handing over the key. And then he’d conveniently ‘forget’ where the key was.
“I always stuck with Tom and when we stood up to him, he just said it was ‘banter’,” Edward explained.
Dr Wells took off her glasses and sat plaintively. Edward was unsure what to do, opting to kick his feet back and forth until she next talked to him.
“I think you and Tom make a great pair of friends,” she said.
“He’s not my only friend. There’s Lottie; she invited me and some others to her house next week.”
His doctor nodded.
“I have other mates. You haven’t even met Tom,” Edward snapped back.
Dr Wells said nothing at this point. Eventually, she lowered her notebook. “Didn’t you plan on taking up boxing classes with Tom?”
“We have, and they’ve been OK. But I gotta take it easy ‘cause of my, you know…”
“Legacy wounds. Sure.” She then asked him if there was anything special about Tom.
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean—”
“I mean nothing, alright? I don’t like him now and I wish I never met him.”
Screams of Thy Neighbour Page 7