Beginnings

by Debbie McGowan

  “Yes. It means they are gone forever. My mum died when I was very little. Are you a teacher, Sir?”

  “I used to be.”

  “And this is your job now?”

  “Yes.”

  “You talk to children about death?”

  Mr. O’Malley smiled. “Not always. Sometimes I just help the children to learn better.”

  “How?”

  “Erm, well, some children find it very hard to read and write. I help them to find a way that works for them.”

  “Like Adele?”

  Mr. O’Malley didn’t answer.

  “It’s OK,” the boy said. “I won’t tell anyone.” He picked at the cuff of his left sleeve. “Shaunna’s grandma died last year, and she came to school with no plaits. Her hair is orange like fire, and she had to lift it up so she didn’t sit on it because it is so long.”

  Mr. O’Malley watched and listened.

  “Shaunna is very nice. Sometimes, she sits next to me at reading time. She doesn’t like reading or writing, but she is very clever. She says when grown-ups die, the other grown-ups forget to plait your hair and stuff like that, but they still love you, even though they are sad.”

  “Are you sad?”

  “Not today. Can I go now, Sir?”

  Mr. O’Malley nodded and smiled. “Of course. Would you like to come and see me again?”

  The boy shrugged. “OK.”

  ***

  “All right, fellas, sit down.”

  The three boys lined themselves up along the couch, shoving each other in the sides with elbows.

  “I said sit!”

  They stopped fidgeting and sat down. Their stepfather handed over to their mother.

  “I’ve got to renew the passports, so I was thinking that to save confusion, it would be easiest to change your surname—”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “Hang on!”

  All three glowered.

  “And with you going to high school in September, Michael—”

  “No!”

  “Your dad’s fed up with people calling him Mr. Jeffries.”

  “He’s not my dad.”

  “Not mine, either.”

  “Or mine.”

  “Enough!” Their mother folded her arms crossly. “It’s not like your father gives a monkey’s. When did you last see him? A year ago. So what’s your problem?”

  Michael got up and left the room.

  “Get back here,” their stepdad shouted.

  “No!” He ran up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door. The other two remained on the couch.

  “Well?” their mother tried again.

  They shook their heads in unison. “No.”

  And that was the end of that.

  * * * * *

  A New Boy

  “Good morning, children,” Mrs. Kinkade greeted her class of eager-eyed eight-year-olds.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Kinkade,” came the response of twenty voices, to the accompaniment of metal legs scraping against tables as they lifted down the tiny grey plastic chairs and positioned them at their desks.

  “If I could just have a moment of your time.” She waited until all of the children came to attention and turned their heads in her direction. A Mexican wave of whispers rushed around the room.

  “A new boy.”

  “A new boy.”

  “A new boy.”

  “A new boy.”

  “A new b—”

  “This is George,” Mrs. Kinkade announced, her hands still resting on the shoulders of the child standing in front of her. “Now, George, as you can see, there are lots of free chairs. Where would you like to sit?”

  Several of the children automatically spread out to claim ownership of the space beside them. George looked around, bewildered, and pointed at the square formed by two tables to his left.

  “Excellent. Off you go, then. Joshua will show you where to find everything, won’t you, Joshua.” She watched as George cautiously approached and stood behind the chair diagonally opposite the only other pupil at the two desks—a small, fair-haired boy with milky-white skin and huge blue eyes framed by lashes so blonde that were it not for being caught in a ray of sunlight they would have been completely invisible. For several seconds, the boy studied the new boy studying him, and then blinked rapidly and cast his eyes downwards to his hands clasping the back of his chair.

  “Sit down, please, children,” Mrs. Kinkade said.

  The children did as instructed and immediately opened their drawers, pulling out maths books and the required tools. George watched his tablemate, unsure what to do.

  “Joshua, could you get George a maths book, please?” Mrs. Kinkade prompted.

  “Yes, Miss,” Joshua replied quietly. He lifted his chair as he moved it back, so that it hardly made a sound, and silently crept over to a cupboard against the front wall, from which he extracted a single, yellow exercise book that he delivered to George.

  “Thank you,” George said, taking the book and watching the other boy return to his side of the table, where he sat down and opened his own exercise book, carefully flicking through to the first clean page.

  The prior silence of the classroom had filled with the quiet hum of children’s voices, their work for the next hour gradually forming before their eyes, as Mrs. Kinkade swooshed back and forth in front of the board, the tiny, white numbers appearing from her hand almost as if by magic.

  George continued to watch the other boy as he leaned forward, squinting to read what the teacher had written, and set pencil to paper, repeating this action several times over the course of a couple of minutes, before he acknowledged his observer.

  “You just do those sums,” he told George, indicating with his eyes. George turned his head and examined the board.

  “I haven’t got a pencil,” he said.

  The other boy reached across the table and gave him the one he had been writing with a moment before.

  “Now you haven’t got a pencil.”

  The boy pulled out his drawer and put his hand inside. George heard the sound of multiple pencils rolling together. He closed his drawer again and held up the replacement pencil as evidence.

  George nodded his understanding. “Did she say your name is Joshua?” he whispered. His companion nodded to confirm this was so. “Joshua what?”

  “Sandison,” Joshua replied. “And I don’t like being called Joshua. That’s what my grandma calls me when I’ve been naughty.”

  “What do you like to be called? Josh?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK.” George turned away and read the board. He turned back and began to write.

  “What’s your name?” Josh asked.

  “George Morley.”

  The two boys quietly worked on, although other children were doing less well in that regard. Mrs. Kinkade brushed her palms together to dust off the chalk, and turned her attention to the two pupils sitting directly in front of her.

  “What seems to be the problem, girls?”

  “She’s got my pencil sharpener, Miss.”

  “Have not.”

  “Have too. Miss, it’s in her desk.”

  Mrs. Kinkade raised a hand to silence them. “Shaunna?”

  “I haven’t got it, Miss.”

  Mrs. Kinkade examined Shaunna through narrowed eyes and decreed it to be the truth. “Daniel,” she said, holding out her hand to await the return of the aforementioned pencil sharpener.

  George watched a dark-haired boy amble to the front of the classroom, his shoelaces flopping dangerously before him. He slammed something down on the desk at the front and then stomped his way back to his own desk. He had just reached his chair when Mrs. Kinkade spoke again.

  “Come here, Daniel,” she commanded.

  He about-turned and automatically headed for the door, passing George and Josh on his way, waiting with downturned face, until the teacher arrived, and she and Daniel left the room. Everyon
e in class stopped what they were doing so they could listen to the ticking off, which followed the same scripted form as always. Don’t interfere with other children. Keep your hands to yourself. If I have to tell you again, I will be calling your mother.

  Daniel returned to his place and slumped in his chair, thumping his elbows on the desk.

  “Adele, face this way, please,” Mrs. Kinkade said to the other little girl sitting at the front.

  George swivelled around as far as he could in his seat. He studied the two girls for several minutes while they scribbled furiously with pencils, occasionally glancing at the board, pretending to work. He turned back to his own book, catching a glimpse of Josh as his head bowed. It was all too confusing, but at least he understood how to do the sums, so he carried on working in silence, occasionally chancing a glance across the table. He wanted to talk to Josh, like the other children were talking on their tables, but he was concentrating so hard.

  When the bell for morning playtime sounded, Josh put his things away and was gone. Now George would have to face the playground alone.

  ***

  “George!”

  A voice called him from the far side of the yard. It was the boy from class—Daniel, Mrs. Kinkade had called him—and another boy who looked just like him. George didn’t really want to be friends with Daniel, but what could he do? Spend playtime on his own? He went over.

  “George. I’m Dan. This is Andy. He’s my brother.”

  George looked from one to the other of the two boys.

  “We’re not twins,” Andy said.

  “Oh,” George responded. He didn’t know what else to say. They seemed so grown up, like men. Like his dad.

  “Want to play football?” Dan asked him. “We’ve got two five-a-side teams, and we play for The Cup.”

  “The Cup?”

  “Yeah.” Andy nodded meaningfully. “It’s not a real cup, or anything.”

  “Um. OK.” George followed the two boys over to a group of seven others, all heavily debating who was on which team. Some of them were from their class, most were older, from second and third year. George liked playing football—he was good at it—but his mum said he wasn’t to scuff his new shoes because she couldn’t afford to buy him any more. She told him not to grow, too.

  One of the older boys had short, blonde hair with two lines shaved into it above each ear. He was saying that he was going to be captain, and Dan was cross. George continued watching, fascinated by how the older boy’s chin stuck out further when he was explaining why he should be captain. Dan, who was shorter, was bouncing on his toes and standing right up against the other boy, who suddenly shoved him away. George instinctively backed off. He could fight if he had to, but he was sick of fighting and was pleased when Andy stepped in between his brother and the other boy and they moved apart.

  “Aitch can captain the blues. You captain the greens,” he told Dan.

  Dan accepted his brother’s suggestion, and they got to playing a bit of football, with George, as the new kid, playing in goal, as he’d expected. He didn’t much care, and anyway the bell sounded soon after, to signal the end of playtime. He followed the other boys’ lead and lined up along the side of the building, ready to go back inside. The two girls from their class were standing just behind him, and one of them poked him in the back. He turned around.

  “Hi, George,” the red-haired girl smiled at him.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “You’re very good at football,” she said. The other girl giggled.

  “Thanks.” He felt his cheeks start to burn.

  “You made some great saves,” the girl said. “We were watching, weren’t we, Adele?” She nudged the other girl—Adele.

  George smiled nervously. The queue had moved on without him noticing, and the two girls skipped past, holding hands. Later, he found out they were best friends.

  ***

  Back in the classroom, it was time for art. Josh beckoned to George to follow him to a cupboard at the back of the room, where all of the art supplies were kept. On the blackboard were the words ‘Stained Glass Windows’; George collected one of the kits from the top of the cupboard and returned to his desk. Josh arrived a moment later, a heavy frown on his face. He deposited his art materials and went over to Mrs. Kinkade, who was policing the return of a glue stick to Dan. Josh said something to the teacher, and she shook her head.

  “I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Joshua,” she said and shooed him back to his seat.

  George watched him return, trying to get on with his own work at the same time. All of the other children had started their stained glass windows before he came, but he wasn’t worried and was looking forward to it. He’d done something a bit like this last Christmas, at his old school, where they each made one side of a lantern, using black card with diamonds cut out of it, onto which they positioned various colours of tissue paper to cover the holes. The teacher hung the lanterns in the windows so the light could shine through them.

  What he had to do today was the same sort of thing, but the design cut into the card was quite complicated. His was a hot air balloon, and he was already planning out which colours to use for the different parts of the balloon. He couldn’t see what Josh’s was, but he could tell he wasn’t having fun. He’d laid out all of his things across the desk and was now picking up the different pieces of coloured tissue paper and examining them one at a time, holding them against the black card.

  George turned his attention back to his own project and started cutting the paper to size. He was so lost in what he was doing that the next time he looked up was to reach for the scissors. He had just one piece left to stick down, and it was a bit too long. As he picked up the scissors, he happened to look across at Josh, and started to laugh. Black fibres were stuck to Josh’s fingers, along with multicoloured scraps of tissue paper. He looked very unhappy.

  “I can’t do it.” He sighed.

  “You can. It’s easy.”

  Josh tried again to secure a piece of blue tissue to the card, with the end result of the tissue being stuck to his hand instead. He flopped back in his chair and scowled.

  “It’s stupid anyway,” he said, rubbing at the glue sticking his fingers together.

  George walked around to the other side of the table and picked up Josh’s card. It had a cutout of a kite and was in a dreadful mess, with some parts covered by tissue paper, some not.

  “What you’ve got to do—” George sat next to him “—is put the glue on the card. Like this.” He picked up the glue stick and rubbed it around one cutout section of the kite shape. “Then you get your tissue paper—” He held up a pre-cut red triangle and awaited approval. Josh nodded. “—And you press it down, like this.” George laid the tissue on the card and pressed down gently. “See?”

  Josh sat up straight and picked up the glue stick. “Thanks, George,” he said. He smiled.

  “It’s OK,” George replied and went back to his own side of the table.

  Across the room, Adele had glue in her hair. Shaunna didn’t put it there, but once again, she got the blame at first. Adele knew who had put it there. He did it on his way to the bin and then went back to his table. Now he was pretending he was innocent. Her mum was going to go mad. Last week, she’d had to cut her hair because the end of one of her plaits was suddenly, and for no reason at all, shorter than the other. The week before that she needed a new cardigan. Her mum came in to complain to the headmistress and passed Daniel Jeffries’ mum in the foyer, where she was telling the reception lady about having to replace his shirt because someone had cut a hole in the back.

  “Daniel!” Mrs. Kinkade said his name so loudly that all of the class stopped what they were doing and turned, first to look at her, then to watch him, as he pushed his chair in with force and huffed. He walked towards the door. “Where do you think you are going?” Mrs. Kinkade snapped in the same loud, teacher voice.

  “Outside, Miss,” Dan replied, a little confused, but still indigna
nt.

  “Come here,” Mrs. Kinkade commanded. He turned and walked back towards her, his face to the floor, hands dangling at his sides.

  George rotated in his seat and watched Dan stomp past, sticking out his tongue at Adele on the way.

  Mrs. Kinkade breathed out loudly through her nose. “Go and get your work, Daniel, and sit here.” She patted the corner of her vast desk, whilst scanning the rest of the class, who were yet to return to their work. “Please continue, children.”

  George watched a moment longer, and she signalled with her hand for him to turn away. He did as he was told, but with head cocked, listening as she spoke to Dan in a quiet voice.

  “Now, Daniel, this must stop,” she was saying. Josh leaned across the desk.

  “He’s always getting into trouble,” he whispered. “He teases Adele all the time.”

  George nodded. He’d seen this much for himself.

  “I think he wants to be her boyfriend,” Josh added.

  George looked up through his eyelashes. “Why?”

  Josh frowned. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought about why. It just seemed that this was the reason for Dan and Adele’s naughtiness. That’s why the older boys and girls did it.

  “Who’s that?” George asked, pointing at Shaunna and immediately gaining her attention.

  “That’s Shaunna Hennessy.” Josh watched her; she was studying George, staring at him, thinking. She smiled, and he smiled back. “She has very, very long hair,” Josh said earnestly, his fascination evident in his tone.

  George lifted his arms and shrugged. “So?”

  “That’s not fair,” Dan shouted and got up from his chair. He picked up his art work and stormed to the front of the class. Mrs. Kinkade watched him over the top of her glasses. He dropped it into the bin.

  “Spellings, Daniel,” she instructed.

  He sneered at her and started searching clumsily through the neat pile of small, red exercise books and, having found his own, extracted it, leaving the rest in a messy heap. He stomped back to her desk and shifted his chair noisily. Josh started fidgeting.

  “What’s the matter?” George asked.

  “I’m classroom monitor. I have to keep the books tidy.”

  George glanced at the pile of books and nodded his understanding, trying very hard not to laugh. This class was fun, but the children were so strange. In his old school, the boys and girls were forced to sit next to each other, and most of them misbehaved, like Dan was doing. They didn’t have classroom monitors, or neat stacks of books. Everything was locked away in cupboards that only their teacher could open.