by Alan Gibbons
That brought a sharp response.
‘No, you don’t. You can’t even imagine.’ Anthony imagined the pinched lips, the knuckles whitening with anger and despair. ‘I lost a child. Nobody understands what that means, not until it happens to them.’
Anthony heard the breath shudder out of his mother’s lungs.
‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong. What they did to her was evil.’
‘You fight evil, Mrs Broad. You do something about it. That’s why I came. Your son can help me get justice for Rosie.’
‘He can’t. He left before the violence began.’
The words sounded hollow even from Anthony’s hiding place in the bedroom.
‘I don’t believe you. I got emails. They came anonymously, but they said he was still there when the attack on Rosie and Paul started. He saw what they did.’
‘And you believe them? Those emails were anonymous. Doesn’t that tell you something? This is malicious tittle-tattle.’
‘You know better than that. They were scared, the same way you’re scared now.’
Anthony tensed. It took a moment for his mother to speak.
‘Anthony cooperated fully with the police. They said there was no need to see him again.’
The silence seemed to go on forever before she spoke again.
‘You need to understand my position, Mrs Morrison, our position as a family. I separated from Anthony’s father some years ago. A while afterwards I met a man in a pub. He was handsome, charming, funny.’
‘Where’s this going? I don’t see what this has got to do with Rosie’s murder.’
‘Just hear me out. That man was called Roy Mosley. I made a mistake moving in with him. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He was brutal, manipulative. The relationship became abusive.’
‘He hit you?’
Anthony held his breath. He relived every slap, heard Mosley’s every snarled threat.
‘Me and Anthony, but that wasn’t the half of it. Most of the time it wasn’t physical violence. It was worse than that. The bruises he inflicted were psychological. He stripped me of any sense of self-worth. Anthony and I never knew when he would fly into a rage. It was like walking on eggshells. We escaped. We finally got away. We can’t do anything that might give him a chance of finding us again.’
Something in her words seemed to spur Mrs Morrison on.
‘Is your son here? I could speak to him.’
Anthony listened to the tick of the kitchen clock, the gurgle of the central heating.
‘Imagine if this had happened to your son, Mrs Broad.’
‘I can’t. You’ve got to believe me, I feel for you. It was the most terrible, wicked thing . . .’
‘Those are just words. There were people in the park. Why have so few come forward?’
‘They were scared, I guess. Just like Anthony and I were with Roy. A matter of weeks after I got involved with Roy, I was desperate to get out.’
Mrs Morrison broke the silence.
‘Mrs Broad, I can’t persuade you now. You need time to think about what I’ve said to you.’
‘Anthony can’t help the police any more than he already has.’
‘We’ll see. This is my number. Call me any time, night or day. I want justice for Rosie. I want those animals put away so they can’t hurt anyone else. Please.’
‘You’ve been through a terrible torment. So have I. We’re on the run. We’re in fear of our lives.’
‘There’s only one way to stop these sort of people. You won’t have peace while they walk free. You have to bring them to justice.’
‘That’s exactly it. You think Anthony saw more than he did. He left the park before a blow was struck. You must believe me.’
‘Anthony can help the police. I know he can. Think about it. I will call again.’
‘There’s no point.’
‘You’ve got my number.’
That was the last thing Anthony heard before the footsteps on the stairs and the slam of the outside door. He started to sob loudly, his chest rising, falling, convulsing, tears spilling down his cheeks.
HAPPY NOW?
Monday, 3 March 2014
It started when we saw Anthony walking into Mrs Christie’s room for registration.
‘So it’s definite,’ Jess said. ‘He’s been moved. It’s because of your mum, isn’t it? What’s going on, Eve?’
I remembered the state Mum was in when she got back from talking to Anthony’s mother.
‘Just leave it, OK?’
The argument continued into registration.
‘I will not leave it.’ She tugged at my sleeve. ‘We’re supposed to be friends. Are you going to tell me what you’ve got against Anthony?’
‘Jess, I can’t.’
‘I’ll ask Mrs Rawmarsh what’s happening.’
Jess raised her arm. She was determined. I made a grab for her, but she shrugged my hand away.
‘Miss, where’s Anthony?’
Mrs Rawmarsh stared past Jess, at me. That only fed Jess’s curiosity.
‘He was in our set. Why’s he been moved?’
I was aching for Jess to drop it, but the more I ducked her questions, the more determined she became.
‘Jess, he has moved to another tutor group. Sometimes we put students in a form temporarily. We move them once they’ve settled in.’ The next sentence was clearly an afterthought. ‘It’s a numbers thing.’
Not for the first time, Mrs Rawmarsh was looking my way. After a few moments she consulted the sheets of paper on the table in front of her.
‘There are just a few notices this morning. Anyone going to Martendale for Year 11 football should see Mr Hurst. He has the transport details. You’ve got to have your permission slip back by end of school tomorrow. Auditions for Shackleton’s Got Talent.’
Loud guffaws and catcalls engulfed her. She stared down the disruption. She was Head of Music and the competition was her baby.
‘Auditions for Shackleton’s Got Talent are lunchtime in Music Room A.’
The announcement triggered groans. When they subsided Mrs Rawmarsh shook her head and waved her charges away.
‘Off you go, people,’ she said, ‘and you two . . .’ She pointed at Jake and Connor, the pair who had greeted the announcements with mocking laughter. ‘Try not to drag your knuckles on the floor, gentlemen.’
I didn’t stay to hear their reply. I was chasing Jess down the corridor.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see Anthony.’
‘Jess, don’t. Please.’
‘Tell me why not.’
What could I say? Why the hell couldn’t Anthony go away?
‘Well?’
Mum would never forgive me if I did anything to prevent Anthony making a statement to the police. I dropped my arms by my side in a helpless gesture.
‘OK, I’m going.’
‘Jess . . .’
But she was already out of sight.
Anthony heard the opening chords of Don’t Dream It’s Over and stopped by the music room door. He found himself peering inside. He recognised the guitarist from his new tutor group and darted back, hoping he hadn’t been seen, but the boy spoke.
‘It’s Anthony, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Charlie.’
‘I know.’
Charlie tossed the guitar away in disgust.
‘What’s up? Having difficulties?’
‘I was going to play it in the auditions,’ Charlie said. ‘Can’t get the damned thing right.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve tried sticking my tongue out and everything.’
Anthony warmed to him.
‘I don’t think that really helps.’
‘Tell me about it. My tongue’s aching and I’m still playing bum notes.’
Anthony held out a hand. He perched on a tall stool and started to fine-tune the guitar.
‘Does this mean you play?’ Charlie asked.
‘A bit. You’re rushing it. Try to
stay loose. Listen.’ Should he be doing this? ‘I’ll show you if you like.’
Charlie listened as Anthony played.
‘Hey, that’s perfect. What are you performing in the auditions? You’ll blow them away.’
Anthony ran his fingers down the strings.
‘I’m not here for the auditions. I was just passing.’
‘You should go in for it. Straight up, you’re good.’
‘I don’t have my guitar.’
Charlie gestured to the one in his hands.
‘You can use mine. The state of my playing, I’m not going through.’
Anthony felt a rush of panic. The last thing he needed was something drawing attention to him. He had to go before people started to arrive.
‘No, I can’t. I’m not prepared.’
‘Something tells me you don’t need much preparation. You in a band?’
‘Was. Look, I’ve got to go.’
The room was filling, blocking his escape. People were arriving for the auditions. Charlie waved his hand in the air.
‘Hey, listen to this guy play. Go on, Anthony. Show them.’
Anthony shook his head and started to climb down from the stool.
‘Oh, come on. Show everybody what you can do.’
Some of the others joined in.
‘Yes, show us what you’ve got.’
‘You can’t go now. Charlie’s whetted our appetite.’
‘Play us something.’
Anthony wavered. It was at this moment that Mrs Rawmarsh arrived.
‘What’s going on here, guys?’
‘We’re trying to get Anthony to play. He’s really good.’
‘Anthony?’
He felt like a fish on a hook.
‘Look, I’m really not.’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
Anthony was still searching for an escape route when he saw Jess drift in from the yard. She looked surprised to see everybody crowding around him. The kid on the edge was suddenly at the centre of things.
‘Well,’ Mrs Rawmarsh said, ‘let’s hear you. Somebody’s got to get things rolling.’
Anthony protested for a moment or two then settled back on the stool and started to play. There were nods of approval as he went through the opening chords, and broad smiles when he started to sing.
‘Well, you’re definitely through,’ Mrs Rawmarsh said, ‘only you might want to pick something more up to date for the real thing!’
Anthony nodded, handed Charlie the guitar and made for the door. Jess put a hand on his chest as he tried to make his escape.
‘Well done you!’ she cried.
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t run off,’ she said. ‘I’m going to listen to the rest. Why don’t you stay?’
Her hand was still on his chest. A voice told him to go, leave, get away. No good was going to come of this.
‘Please don’t go.’
Her eyes were dazzling. Her touch was warm.
‘OK, you’ve persuaded me.’
Jess smiled.
‘Cool.’
Jess left the performance and headed for the assembly hall. Why did Eve have to be so stubborn? Was she jealous of Anthony? Was that it? That didn’t make sense though. Eve had been hostile from the very beginning. Then there was the way Mrs Morrison had turned up at school before Anthony was moved. It couldn’t be coincidence. Jess sat next to Eve in the hall. They’d been friends for years. They weren’t going to fall out over it.
‘Are we speaking?’ she asked.
‘Of course. What makes you ask?’
Jess didn’t like Eve shutting her out, but what could she do? Mr McKechnie walked to the front.
‘Thank you for coming to order so quickly,’ Mr McKechnie began. ‘As you know, we have reached the semi-final of Shackleton’s Great Debate.’
Jess had her gaze fixed on Oli. He had made it to the last four speakers. She could tell he was nervous, playing with his hair, brushing bits of probably imaginary fluff from his knees. Seeing him up there, looking anxious and vulnerable, made her heart go out to him.
‘The subject for the final stages, the semi-final and the final is: Has political correctness gone too far?’
Oli caught Jess’s eye and she gave him an encouraging smile. The first two speakers didn’t seem to say that much. Though they were on opposite sides of the debate, they both seemed to spend most of their speeches explaining what political correctness was rather than saying anything about it. Connor gave a loud yawn that earned him a disapproving glare from the staff. Next up however was Simon Gore, an opinionated sixth former who seemed to revel in setting himself apart from his peers.
‘Here he is,’ Jess said, grimacing, ‘Gore the bore.’
Simon was anything but boring this time. He cut straight to the chase, launching a withering attack on rules that, in his opinion, curtailed free speech.
‘Everybody has rights,’ he said as he got into his stride. ‘Nobody has responsibilities. If you say there is too much immigration you’re racist. If you call a girl “love” you’re sexist. If you comment on somebody liking the Pet Shop Boys or Judy Garland, you’re homophobic.’
Some members of the audience swapped frowns. What was he on about?
‘They talk about Islamophobia and say Muslims are the victims of attacks. They don’t say most of those attacks are verbal, not physical.’
There was a snort of protest from Shabina Begum.
‘There you go. If you don’t like what I say, you try to shout me down.’
Shabina rolled her eyes.
‘Shabina didn’t shout,’ Jess protested. ‘He’s being ridiculous.’
Eve shrugged.
‘He’s getting a reaction. I think that’s his plan.’
Encouraged by the interruption, Simon pressed on. ‘Well, I say, sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. The moment you start telling people what to say or think, you are on the road to dictatorship. Fascists and communists ban free speech. I say democracy is about the right to offend people. If somebody says something you don’t like, don’t whine about it. Don’t go running to the council. Stand up for yourself. It’s a free country. If we put up with political correctness gone mad, it won’t be free for much longer!’
Simon Gore wasn’t the most popular boy in school, but he sat down to strong applause. Oli was the last speaker.
‘I think Simon overstates his case,’ he said. ‘Laws against discrimination are about protecting people from prejudice. It is ridiculous to say it leads to communism and fascism. Nobody wants to interfere with anybody’s free speech.’ He seemed to falter. ‘But bigotry is real and so is prejudice. Stephen Lawrence was murdered because he was black. Mosques and Islamic schools have been fire-bombed. Violence against women is common.’ There was another moment’s hesitation. ‘Some of us provoke hostility because of our sexual orientation.’
There were a couple of giggles. You didn’t hear the word sex in assemblies, any more than you heard tit, bum or fart. Jess was sure the snorts of derision came from Connor and Jake. Mr McKechnie faced them down with an icy stare. Connor was now on his second warning.
‘Yes, some of my friends already know, but I am going to say this before all of you. This week I told my parents that I am gay. I am proud of the way I am, as all of you should be of the way you are. So I want to say that all of us at Shackleton, male or female, black or white, straight or gay, have the same right to respect. To oppose prejudice and discrimination is not an attack on free speech. It is not “political correctness gone mad”. It is a necessary protection of the rights of all citizens regardless of colour or creed, gender or sexual orientation.’
There was a moment’s silence before a few murmurs broke out. Then there was a louder, warmer ripple of applause. Jess looked along her row. A few faces were turned her way.
There was a ‘no way’ and a couple of whispers of ‘you kept that quiet’.
The rest were hard to read.
Oli returned to his seat while Mr McKechnie stepped forward.
‘Thank you Oliver and thank you to all our other speakers. You will all receive a voting form in the next few days. Two speakers will be eliminated, leaving our finalists to fight it out in a few days.’
As everybody filed out, Jess noticed Jake and Connor staring at her.
‘What?’
‘Nothing much,’ Jake said, ‘just that we never had your brother down as a shirtlifter. Don’t tell me you’re a lez.’
‘The way you’re always with Eve,’ Connor chuckled, ‘makes you think.’
Jake leered. ‘Can I watch?’
Jess’s cheeks were burning. She snarled her defiance.
‘One of your fantasies, is it? Get a life, you pathetic moron.’
She suddenly started to struggle against the human tide flowing out of the hall and battled her way through to where Oli was standing talking to his friends. In front of maybe half of her fellow students and the remaining teachers, she hugged him. He laughed.
‘What’s that for?’
She had tears in her eyes.
‘For being the best.’
‘Anthony’s walking it.’
I did a double take, suddenly aware of Jess waiting for me to reply.
‘Sorry, what did you say, Jess?’
‘Daydreaming again?’ Jess asked. ‘You’re always away in your own little world lately. I said that Anthony’s the best in the competition. Anyway, do you want to do something this evening?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ve got homework to finish.’
Jess rolled her eyes.
‘Eve, at your age you’re not supposed to sit at home moping.’
‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’ I demanded. ‘Moping? Jess, moping is what you do when you lose a favourite possession or your puppy is sick. I’m trying to get over a murdered sister.’
Jess was sorry, but not horrified at herself the way she had been the last time we’d talked about it.
‘It wasn’t the best choice of words, but life goes on.’ She saw that I was trying to interrupt. ‘No, please Eve, you’re my best friend. I love you to bits. Hear me out.’ She checked nobody was eavesdropping and whispered the rest. ‘I’m not being callous. You can’t bury yourself with her. If you give up, those thugs haven’t just taken Rosie away. They’ve destroyed you and your whole family. Eve, you’ve got to go on living.’