by J. A. Baker
The hour passes quickly, Alex too engrossed in the nuances of J. B. Priestley’s characters to notice Dane’s body language and whether or not he engaged with the lesson.
It’s as they’re leaving that Mr Rose nods to Dane to indicate that he needs a word. Stepping to one side, Dane waits behind while everyone else files out, the rest of the class too busy to notice that he has been singled out.
Alex waits behind, hoping to team up with his friend and offer some moral support but feels himself guided out by the surprisingly strong hand of Dominic Rose. He is propelled forwards and the door pushed closed behind him. Through the glass pane he watches as Dane is asked to sit, Mr Rose also lowering himself into a chair opposite and staring at him with a steely look of determination in his eyes. Alex swallows and waits.
24
Dominic thanks God for glass inserts in classroom doors. Dane Bowron is the kind of kid who would think nothing of making a false allegation, claiming Dominic abused him in some way. He has given this boy so many chances but last night’s intrusion was a step too far. This type of behaviour has to be stopped one way or another. He simply cannot allow this boy to get the better of him. Bowron is the son of a man who would gladly see Dominic rot amidst the ruins of a fabricated accusation that would tear his life apart. Now is the time to step up to the plate and show them he isn’t about to be bullied by a youngster who can barely string a sentence together. He’s better than this. He’s better than the Bowrons. No more the victim. Those times are behind him starting from today.
‘Do you have anything to say to me, Dane?’ He has thought long and hard on how to approach this, running through various scenarios in his head late into the night and again on his way to work this morning. He concluded that there is no easy way to have this conversation aside from letting the boy take the lead and allowing him to become trapped in his own web of lies. Dominic will let him speak, will allow him the sensation of being in control rather than cornering him; and then he will make his move and strike. Boys like Dane don’t take well to figures of authority barking commands at them. He needs to tread carefully.
Dominic observes the lad slumped before him, assessing his body language; the slight twitch of his jaw, the dipped eyes, the heavy breathing. They are all indicators that he is stressed, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. He could lie, deny that it was him in Dominic’s house last night – but they both know that his friend, Alex, will immediately capitulate if questioned, admitting that they have been hanging around Dominic’s property and trespassing on his land, thinking of different ways to annoy and scare him. This boy has a history of loutish behaviour and isn’t eloquent enough to defend himself when placed under pressure.
Dane shrugs and twists his body away, his chin tucked neatly on his chest.
‘I think you would be better speaking now when there is just the two of us, rather than waiting, don’t you? Ask yourself this: do you really want your head of year, your form tutor and the head teacher present to hear what it is you’ve got to say? Or would you rather we sorted this now, just you and me? I know which I would prefer if I were in your position.’
Dominic tries to stem his erratic breathing, to slow down the bursts of air that are firing out of his lungs in rapid succession. He can do this. He just needs to appear controlled even if he doesn’t necessarily feel it. Why does this boy have such a hold over him? The Bowron family have been the bane of his life for so many years now and it’s time to put a stop to it. All he wants to do is educate this boy and yet it seems that he and his father are doing everything they can to put barriers in the way.
He has no idea how these people think and has no desire to find out, to climb inside their heads and discover what drives them. They are worlds away from his own ethics and beliefs but even knowing the chasm between them, he is willing to give this lad the chance to own up. Even now, after what the boy has done, he is going easy on him, giving him the breathing space that many others wouldn’t especially after he entered Dominic’s home uninvited, rampaging through the house, even having the audacity to peer into his mother’s bedroom. It’s appalling behaviour. Completely unacceptable.
‘Sorry.’ The word is a low mumble, a scratch in the emptiness around them but it’s definitely there. Dominic isn’t mistaken. Dane Bowron has just admitted his guilt and apologised.
A streak of air passes over Dominic’s skin, cool and comforting. He pulls at his collar and tries to appear nonplussed at this unexpected response. He was prepared for surliness or silence, even the odd swear word. He wasn’t prepared for this.
‘Okay,’ he replies softly, his heart hammering out a dull thudding sensation beneath his layers of clothing. ‘That’s a good start. I accept your apology on the condition it will never happen again. Do you understand?’
Dane shrugs, his usual indifference still apparent as he slumps farther down into the chair. Even now the boy still can’t quite bring himself to yield completely. Still the defence mechanism is present, a solid wall between them, keeping them apart.
‘I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.’ Dominic waits, the atmosphere charged with expectancy, fear and anticipation heating his blood.
‘Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.’ Another shrug. More shifting and twisting in his seat. That dark-eyed look from under a furrowed brow.
‘My mother is a frail old lady. You could have hurt her.’ Dominic wants to bite off his own tongue. That last bit of information wasn’t necessary. He was winning. There was no need to say anything, no need at all. The less this boy knows about his private life, the better. He’s a pupil and a healthy distance should be maintained at all times.
Dane doesn’t reply. His body remains in the same position, his legs jutting out in front of him. Dominic isn’t even sure the kid is listening anyway.
‘So, I won’t be seeing you or your friend anywhere near my house ever again?’ He waits for a reply, angling his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the lad’s reaction to his question.
‘S’pose not.’
The steady tick of the wall clock and the occasional grunt from the teenager sitting opposite boom in his head. At what point does he accept that the boy is going to stick to his promise and allow him to leave? He has to do something to cement this moment in this youngster’s head, to make him ever so slightly fearful of further repercussions should he decide to go back on his word.
Dominic’s chair scrapes over the floor tiles. His skin puckers at the sound of metal against plastic. He shuffles forward some more and lowers his voice a fraction, an inflection in his tone that’s just enough to convey his simmering anger at having Dane enter his home. ‘Do it again, and I’ll hurt you. I’m not talking a slap here. I’m thinking a big bullet straight between your eyes. Do you get it now, Dane Bowron? Do you?’
The teenager looks up startled, shock creasing his face, those dark unforgiving eyes stripped of their perpetual simmering fury, replaced now by panic and a creeping look of distress.
‘And of course, what I’ve just said never happened. You and I have spoken in a civil manner about your behaviour and what is expected of you when you are in my classroom. Just so we both understand one another, yes?’
No reply. Nothing.
Dominic tries again. ‘Yes?’ Firmer this time, harsher. Not loud. Authoritative. Imposing.
It works. Dane nods, his face colouring up, a flash of crimson spreading over his sallow skin. The web creeps across his throat, resting there. A glowing spread of humiliation that warms Dominic’s heart. He is willing to bet that this lad has spent his whole life being pandered to, getting exactly what he wants and never knowing the pain and indignity of being spoken to in such a manner or being denied anything he desires. This will be a new experience for him, being put in his place and told that for once, life isn’t going to go his way. He had better get used to it because Dominic isn’t willing to relent. His home is his sanctuary and nobody, especially this young offender that is slumped in fr
ont of him, is going to get close to it ever again.
A warm sensation shifts across Dominic’s belly, an unfurling spread of heat that inches and edges its way around his body, settling deep in his bones. It’s a pleasant feeling, exerting his authority, being a dominant force and showing this young slip of a lad that he is the one who is in charge around here.
‘Get up. And remember what I said, if I see you again near my house, you’ll know about it.’
Dane jumps up as if burnt. He spins around, unable to orient himself to his surroundings.
‘Right, young man,’ Dominic says lightly, striding towards the door and opening it wide, ‘as I was saying, your work is definitely improving. You just need to give that extra ten per cent and you’re on course for some half decent exam results at the end of the year. Well done. Good to see you putting in that extra bit of effort. I’ll be sure to pass this great bit of news on to your form tutor. And your parents of course. I’m sure your mum will be delighted to hear from me.’
Dane staggers out of the door and into the corridor where his friend, Alex, is still waiting. Alexander Winston-D’Allandrio. A pupil Dominic thought he knew. He was so sure he had that one all worked out. How wrong he was. Alex is just another jumped-up little shit who cares only about himself. They’re all the same, these kids. Selfish thoughtless arrogant bastards, every last one of them.
‘And well done to you, Alexander. You gave some sterling answers today. Keep it up.’ He nods at the awkward looking youngster and gives him a half smile. Alex returns the gesture, his eyes twinkling with delight at the unexpected bit of praise that is being thrown his way.
‘Thanks, sir. It was a really good lesson. I like An Inspector Calls. One of my favourite texts.’
Dominic leans against the door frame as the two lads saunter away, their voices echoing in the stairwell. He hears the pound of their feet as they make their way to their next lesson and heads back into his classroom, thankful that he has a free period to mark books and tidy the classroom and steady his breathing. That was easier than expected and yet adrenaline is still whistling around his system making his head swim. He hopes that Dane takes this seriously, remembering his threat.
The odd thing is, Dominic isn’t so bothered about the boy running off and telling somebody about what he has just said – he would simply deny it and with an impeccable record compared to Dane Bowron’s abysmal history of surliness and rude behaviour, he knows who everyone would choose to believe – no, Dominic is more bothered by the fact that the boy will ignore his threats and continue visiting his house and terrorising him and his mother. After a day spent at the chalkface, he needs time away from this place, not be faced with that boy’s presence in and around his home.
He spends the next hour marking books, planning lessons and tidying the classroom although his efforts at smartening up the place seem to have little effect. With blinds that are hanging by a thread and windows that haven’t been washed for as long as he can remember, the room has all the appeal of a prison cell. He makes a mental note to approach Pat, the deputy head, to ask for some new blinds and to enquire after the services of a half decent cleaner who can get rid of the grime that covers the glass. The pupils in this school deserve better. He deserves better. He has given over forty years of his working life to this school and it’s about time they recognised that fact. Making this a pleasant environment in which to learn is the least they can do. He’s not asking for anything palatial, just surroundings that are clean and comfortable.
By the time lunchtime comes around he feels fired up, brimming with energy and ambition. It’s been a good morning – eventful and successful. He pushes his papers into his briefcase and makes his way downstairs.
‘It’s a school, Dominic, not a hotel. Kids are here to learn. They don’t come for a spa day at a luxury resort.’ Pat Miller, the deputy head, is sitting behind her desk, a small pot of yoghurt set in front of her. To her right sits a framed photograph of her family. Behind her is a large picture window affording her a grime-free view of the hills in the distance.
Dominic makes a point of staring at it then averting his eyes back to hers.
She sits ramrod straight, her long manicured nails spread out on the wooden surface, but has the good grace to lower her gaze, a small look of embarrassment obvious in her features. ‘Look, I’ll see what I can do. My office, as you know, also doubles up as a meeting room for governors and visitors. When I’m not in here, I also teach in a room like yours. Money is tight. Our budget has been slashed. As I said, I’ll speak to the bursar and see what she has to say about any spare cash we might have.’
‘I would be very grateful for that, if it’s not too much trouble. I’m sure you’ll agree that a decent learning environment makes all the difference.’ He wants to say more, to remind her that she teaches for just five hours a week, the rest of which she spends in here, in this spacious, impeccably clean and beautifully furnished room that gets dusted and polished every single day, whether it needs it or not. Her flushed face and inability to look him directly in the eye say more than words ever could.
Dominic turns to leave, resentment bubbling through his veins, suppressed anger leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
Making sure he closes the door with just enough force to let Pat know what he thinks of her office and her privilege and her lack of commitment to the pupils of this school, not to mention the staff, he shuffles along the corridor, his stomach slowly sinking to his boots, his feelings of earlier buoyancy abandoning him, then does something he never ever thought he would consider and heads out to the car park, his latent anger building, burning and scorching him, an unstoppable furnace flickering and combusting deep within him. He opens the boot of his vehicle and stares inside at the bag that has been lying there since last week. The one he forgot to remove. He picks it up, slings it over his shoulder and heads back into his classroom.
25
Things have turned sour. And Nina is the one who has soured them. She has done this. Nobody else. Just her. She could have just let things be, waited for this affair to burn itself out. Just like the others. But she hasn’t. She has taken decisive action and is now questioning her decision. Maybe she should have let things be. Or maybe this course of action is long overdue.
She sits with her hands tucked between her knees to stop them from trembling. This is the first time she has ever done anything like this and hopes it will be the last. Temptation got the better of her and now she is sitting in her car watching for signs of her husband through the small windows of the pub. He’s here. She knows he is here because she followed him, keeping two cars behind, making sure she kept herself tucked in and out of sight. Rob isn’t one for watching others anyway. He’s too wrapped up in himself to notice anybody else. For once his selfishness has served her well.
She turns off the radio, savouring the silence. Before he left, Rob’s voice had bellowed through the house, complaining that there wasn’t enough food in the cupboards. ‘What the fuck do you do with yourself all day, Nina?’ he had bawled, his voice like the cry of a spoilt child who has been denied sweeties.
She didn’t reply and instead salted herself away in the bedroom, myriad thoughts whirling around in her brain. A million ways of killing him kept her entertained until she decided that following him would be easier and far less painful for both of them. Spending the rest of her life in prison terrified her, although it flashed into her mind that such an existence would not be too dissimilar to the life she is currently living.
He had showered and got ready, the odour of his pungent cheap smelling aftershave filling the house. At over £100 a bottle, Nina thought it should at least smell a little less noxious, perhaps containing traces of an appealing musky aroma but instead, Rob left the house smelling like a crusty old sock and now here she is, sitting in her car, wondering what he is up to in there, visualising who he is with. Is she younger? Blonde or brunette? How big are her tits? Because Rob is shallow enough to be attracted to the ob
vious bimbo, somebody who will satisfy his immediate needs and massage his ego, making him feel like the big man that he isn’t. He will have dropped hints about how rich he is, how big his house is, how successful his business is. That’s what drives him. Money makes him amorous – it’s his aphrodisiac. Without it, he is nothing.
She is here out of curiosity more than anything else. Although the thought of leaving Rob and starting out again on her own terrifies her, she knows now for sure that she feels no love for the man. She will stay for Dane, not for Rob. They are very different people. He has his life and she – well she would like to say that she too has her own life, but that would be a complete lie. She exists. No more, no less. Apart from Sally, she has nobody. No life worth speaking of. Her parents have both passed away which in itself is a blessing. They didn’t live long enough to see their predictions about her doomed marriage come to fruition. She also has the house. The house. The big glossy ostentatious building that is her home, but even that, with all its modern gadgets and top-of-the-range comforts, is something that is designed to trap her and keep her in place to serve Rob and Dane. It’s not a home – certainly not her home. Homes are places full of love and warmth.
Last week when she was in town, her eyes had been drawn to the high-rise maisonettes towering over the main shopping precinct, homes that fill many local people with horror at the thought of living there. She had stopped, her breath trapped in her chest as she realised that moving into one of those poky damp flats was more appealing than going back to her soulless house and loveless family.
A flicker of movement draws her eye back to the pub. Next to the entrance she sees a woman, dark haired and slim. She slides out of a car, this woman, this confident looking woman, decked out in high heels and a red tight-fitting dress with a matching bolero jacket. Nina’s heart leaps. She knows instinctively that she is the one. It’s her. She can sense it – Rob’s latest squeeze. The most recent notch on his bedpost.
