“We need to leave. I don’t think us standing in this fucking road dissecting what just happened is going to help anyone.” We all nodded in agreement. “Brandon, mate. I’m here if you need me. Call me tomorrow or whenever. You know where I am.”
I slapped him on the back and then said my goodbyes. Just as I opened the passenger door to Harper’s car, Finn spoke up.
“We are not a reflection of our fathers. We make our own impression in this life. Remember that. The chain can be broken.”
Zak frowned at him like he was speaking a foreign language, but I got it. I knew Finn better than anyone else. I also knew what he was telling me. It was time for me to break the chain. Time for my life to move on.
Six months later
“Okay, find a space and let’s practise some cool down exercises.”
I watched their little legs run around trying to find a space, and after a few seconds, I realised that without spots for them to stand on on the floor, they were struggling. I’d need to add that to my list for the next time I did a session like this. I pointed to a few places and helped them to scatter out as best I could, and Harper chuckled and joined in. She wasn’t supposed to be taking part, but this was her school, and the kids really listened to her.
I was impressed that they’d all paid attention and copied me as well as they did. The night before, I’d had a nightmare that the school gym had erupted into total chaos with kids climbing the walls, breaking out into fights, and ignoring every damn word I’d said. But they didn’t. They were hanging on my every word and every one of them was giving it one hundred percent, pushing themselves to be the best.
After a few minutes of cool down, I called them all over to sit with me. This was the first boxing and self-defence class I’d done in a primary school. I say boxing, but we’d marketed it as an anti-bullying workshop, incorporating physical training with the exercises my college course had taught me on dealing with all aspects of childhood trauma.
When I’d walked out on Pat Murphy and my dreams of making it as a boxer all those months ago, I thought my skills would be useless. I resigned myself to the fact that I’d forever be stuck on some building site somewhere, doing manual labour, and if I was really lucky, somewhere down the line, I’d get to learn a trade. But Harper woke me up to the potential that was out there for a man like me. She was the one who’d come up with the idea of starting the boxing lessons. I asked at my local gym, the one I used to work at, and they agreed to let me rent the space for an hour, twice a week. I didn’t think anyone would show up that first night, but they did. And soon the fees covered the cost of the room and then some.
The boxing lessons soon turned into self-defence classes as more and more people joined. I’d asked them what they wanted to learn, and I took their feedback on board. They wanted to know how to look after themselves. They wanted to feel powerful.
One day, I had a young lad come into my class. Fifteen years old, and I knew right away that he was suffering. I could see it in his eyes. I helped him as best I could through exercise, but that kid broke my fucking heart, and after every session with him I went home to Harper and told her how helpless I felt. She did her research, found a course at the same college Ryan went to, and the following week, I enrolled in a child counselling course. Never thought I’d see the day when I was excited about going back to school, but I was. I loved it. And after finishing with a distinction, I went on to take the advanced course.
It’d been Harper’s idea to expand the business. Reach out to schools and use what I knew and what I’d learnt to help younger kids. Harper had scored my first gig at her school, and seeing as she was due to return to work in a week’s time, they’d agreed. Other schools in the area signed up too after I spoke to her headteacher and told him what I did. I was fully booked up for the next month and I fucking loved it. Had to watch the language though. F bombs weren’t great for business when you were teaching five-year-olds.
I hadn’t spoken to Don Lockwood since that night when he’d begrudgingly admitted he was my father. Funnily enough, a week after the whole showdown, a brand new black Range Rover was delivered to my nan’s house, registered in my name.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want to accept anything from that bastard, but Nan and Harper had been with me when it came and they both disagreed with me. Nan said I should keep it and run him over with it. But Harper told me to sell it. Use the money for something I really wanted. As she pointed out, he owed me that much. So I did. I sold it back to the dealership and used the money for a deposit on the flat I now shared with Harper. It was the best move I ever made. Waking up with her in my arms was like every birthday and Christmas I’d never had growing up.
I sat with the kids on the floor of the school gym and I talked to them about ways they could improve their health. I explained what their mental health was and how their mind was just as important as their body. Then I touched on some deeper subjects, telling them that words could hurt just as much as punches. I called a kid over to stand next to me and handed him a tube of toothpaste. They all laughed when I told him to squeeze it all out into my hands. He did, and his giggle warmed my heart as he piled the white stuff into my outstretched palms. He thought this was the funniest thing to ever happen to him.
“That’s a lot of toothpaste to clean your teeth with,” one of the girls at the front said, widening her eyes as she took it all in.
“You did good, mate.” I smiled, looking down at the mess he’d made. “Now put it all back into the tube.”
His little face fell, and the rest of the class covered their mouths with their hands as some gasped and others chuckled.
“Don’t panic,” I reassured him. “I don’t expect you to get it back in. But what I wanted to show you was that words are kind of like toothpaste. Once they’re out there, once they leave your mouth you can’t put them back. It’s impossible. So, you always need to think about how you use your words. Your words could make someone’s day, or they could ruin it. Use your words carefully.”
The other adults in the room gave me a little clap and the children followed suit. One lad at the front asked me if he could eat the toothpaste. I told him no. Harper was right, teaching kids was like being a zookeeper at times. But I loved how unpredictable they were. This session had been the most fun I’d had in ages.
“You have a lot of tattoos,” another girl said, staring at my arms like she was mulling something over.
“I want to colour them in,” her friend piped up and they both laughed.
“Are you Miss Yates’s dad?” a little lad in glasses asked me, and I threw my head back, laughing.
“How old do you think I am, mate?”
“Seventy?” he answered, nodding to himself like he knew he was right.
“Miss Yates has gotten really fat,” a rough-looking kid at the back said.
“Tommy, that’s rude!” the teacher said to him sternly.
Ah. So, this was the infamous Tommy.
“I’m not fat, Tommy. I’m pregnant.”
The other teachers all smiled at her while she rubbed over her little belly. I was surprised she was showing as much as she was at three months. But then again, I suppose you did get bigger with twins.
Yeah, we weren’t doing things by halves. There were two little bundles of joy in there and we’d found out last week that it was two girls. The guy who’d spent half of his life being totally clueless about women was about to be surrounded by them. God help me.
Her parents hadn’t been happy about her being with me, but after hearing about the pregnancy they were slowly coming around. I knew they’d probably always harbour a resentment towards me, and I could deal with that. As long as they treated my girls right. That was all that mattered to me.
“Are you the daddy?” Tommy asked me outright. I liked him all ready. He had no filter, I could tell.
“Yeah, mate. I am.”
“My daddy says you’re the best boxer in Sandland. He said
you could beat anyone.”
Yeah. I liked him.
“Does he like boxing? Your dad?”
Tommy’s face fell and he started to fidget in his seat.
“He doesn’t hit other men like you, but he can hit. Really hard too.”
I saw the change in expression on every adult’s face in the room. One of the teaching assistants stood up and started ushering the children out, making sure they said thank you to me as they left. But Harper, the teacher, and I kept our focus on Tommy. He didn’t move. Just stayed rooted to the floor.
“Does Daddy hit anything in particular?” Harper asked on a whisper as she struggled to kneel down on the floor. I went over to her and sat down with her.
“Mummy. He hits Mummy.”
I put my arm around Harper as I saw the tears well up in her eyes.
“Tommy, does he… does he…” She couldn’t speak, and the teacher, Mrs Turley, had started to cry behind him. So, I jumped in to ask the question she couldn’t get out.
“Mate, does your dad hit you?”
“Sometimes. But I’m tough. I can take it.”
He shouldn’t have to take it.
“That’s not right. Your dad shouldn’t be hurting you. You haven’t done anything wrong, okay?” I made sure to look him in the eye so he knew what I was saying was true.
“He doesn’t hurt my brothers though. Just me and Mum.”
“You did the right thing today, telling us this.” I heard the door open behind us and I saw the head teacher walk in. “Do you think you could tell Mr Farnsworth too? He can help your Daddy. He can help all of you.”
Tommy nodded and when Mrs Turley held out her hand for him, he took it.
“Mr Mathers? Will my daddy go to prison?” Tommy asked me over his shoulder. My throat clammed up. I couldn’t lie to him. I could never lie to a kid like that.
“The police will need to speak to him, Tommy. But they’re the good guys. Remember that for me, yeah? They want to help you. Don’t be scared to tell them the truth.”
He seemed happy with that answer and he went off to face whatever hurdles he had coming his way. Five years old and he was already facing problems that most adults would struggle to cope with.
“It’s no wonder he always lashed out. He must’ve gone through hell,” Harper said on a sob. I pulled her onto my lap and held her close. “We always suspected there was something going on at home. But that’s the first time he’s ever opened up to anyone. You did that, Brandon. You helped that little boy. He’d have never asked for help if it wasn’t for your workshop and the trust you built up with these kids today.”
I buried my face in her neck as I let her cry.
“I fucking love you,” I whispered, making sure the f-bomb was for her ears only.
“You’re going to be an amazing daddy.” She lifted her head up and the smile she gave me through her tears tore my heart open.
She knew I was apprehensive about what sort of a father I’d make. I hadn’t had a Dad growing up, but I’d seen how good Sean was with Ryan and his brothers, and that’s who I wanted to be like. Whether I’d achieve that remained to be seen, but I wanted to be the best that I could be. The fact that Harper believed in me meant everything. With her by my side, I felt like I could do anything.
“Don’t worry about Tommy,” I said, as I brushed her tears away with my thumb. “The school know now, and they’ll help. I don’t want you worrying.” I rubbed over her stomach and smiled. “We have our own two to think about. We can help where we can, but we can’t save the world.”
She sighed and then nodded her agreement, placing her hand over mine. I stood up and then helped her up too. We gathered the equipment we’d used and I chattered away about how I needed to invest in spots for the floor and some other things to make the next workshop even better.
I picked up all our things and grabbed my mobile phone out of my rucksack as we headed for the door. Instantly, it vibrated with an incoming call and I saw Ryan’s name flash up.
“You alright, mate?” I answered, as I balanced my phone on my shoulder and carried the two bags full of equipment through the back doors of the school gym and headed towards the car.
Things had been stressful for them since Emily’s dad had been sent down. He got sixteen years for fraud and manslaughter. It’d hit Emily hard, harder than we thought it would, but we’d all been there to support her. It was what we did. We were a family.
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you non-stop.” He sounded out of breath.
“I’ve been doing that workshop at Harper’s school. My phone was on silent. Why? What’s up?”
I saw Harper pull her phone out of her bag and turn it towards me to show the thirty odd missed calls from Emily and a string of unread text messages.
“You need to come to the hospital.” My stomach lurched. “It’s Finn.” Sickness washed over me. “He was found early this morning at the back of a bar in town. He’d been badly beaten, and he was unconscious.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m on my way. Is he going to be okay?” I couldn’t even hold the car keys to open the door, my hands were shaking that badly.
Harper came to take them off me, and she pushed me to go round to the passenger side. I threw the bags into the boot and wandered round to the other side of the car in a daze.
“They don’t know yet. He’s in for tests. Mate, it was fucking bad.”
I stood back as Harper opened the passenger door from inside.
“I’m on my way.” I shut the call down and jumped in. “We need to go straight to the hospital. It’s Finn. He’s been hurt.” She didn’t press me for answers, just started the car and pulled off.
I had a bad feeling about this, so I opened my Google app and typed his name in. The first link that came up was about the court case and then a link detailing his early release.
Fuck.
“What is it?” she asked, picking up on my tension.
“Let’s just say if you thought my childhood was brutal, it was nothing compared to Finn’s. I don’t think I can tell you any more than that, angel. It’s not my story to tell.”
But I knew it.
Every dirty, sordid detail.
I was the only one he’d told, to my knowledge, anyway. We’d been there for each other, back in the days when there were other people who held all the power in our lives. I’d experienced hell on a daily basis, but Finn, he’d fucking lived there.
“Should I call Effy? Emily said in her texts it was just her and Ryan at the hospital. She’ll want to know.”
Harper had got friendly with Effy over the last few months, and I knew she was just looking out for her friend, but so was I. And I didn’t think he needed any more stress at the moment.
“No. Don’t. He won’t want her seeing him like that.”
He won’t want anyone seeing him like that.
“But she’ll want to be there. I’d want to be there if it was you. She loves him.”
I didn’t doubt that. But he needed to focus on himself. He didn’t need to take on her grief too. Effy wasn’t strong like my Harper.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” she snapped back.
“He can’t love her until he can learn to love himself. He wants to, but now isn’t the right time.”
“I don’t agree. I think now is the perfect time. He needs her.”
“He needs her to be safe too. Please, Harper. Don’t push me on this one.”
She bit her tongue and dropped it. And I tried to focus on how I was going to be there for her and my best friend, because he was going to need me. He was tough, but what he was facing was enough to destroy anyone. His nightmare had returned from the dead and this was a battle he couldn’t face alone.
Hurt one and you hurt us all.
Only these scars ran deeper than the flesh wounds I had. They were burned deep into his soul. Tattooed into his heart and branded across his brain.
There was a rea
son my best friend didn’t speak very often; why he chose his words so carefully. The things he’d seen had rendered him speechless. The life he’d endured had drained him of hope. He’d learned to stay in the shadows, to be quiet for his own good.
But I wouldn’t stay quiet.
I’d be his voice if he needed me.
The war that was started when he was left behind that bar to bleed out on the cold, dirty pavement was a war I would finish.
I might not have been able to help him like I wanted to back when we were kids, but I was more than able to now.
I was ready to burn this town to the ground, smoke the evil fucker out of his hiding place, and show everyone what a low-life scumbag he really was for hurting Finn.
It was time for Finn’s voice to be heard.
Time for his retribution.
The broken boy.
That’s what they called me in school.
I didn’t speak.
I couldn’t.
What was I supposed to say?
Words wouldn’t help me.
Nothing could.
I lived a life of chaos, but on the surface, I was a picture of calmness. Serenity. Silence.
Kind of like a swan. Everyone sees the perfection, the grace. No one thinks about the effort it takes to keep that up. The work that goes on below the surface to maintain the illusion.
My life was full of illusions.
The loving parents who couldn’t figure out why their son wouldn’t talk.
The puzzled professionals who tried everything in their journals and research to try and coax me out of it.
I was a riddle they couldn’t figure out. And after a time, nobody wanted to.
I was the tree that fell in the middle of the empty, barren woods. Nobody heard my branches break because no one wanted to acknowledge the real problem.
I was the forgotten boy.
Until them.
The Renaissance men.
They accepted me for what I was. They didn’t push me to be anything else. If I wanted to draw fucked up shit that would’ve had my Mum screaming and running off to the nearest psychologist, they let me. There was no judgement. I could finally be me.
Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland Book 2) Page 31
