The Unexpected Gift of Joseph Bridgeman (The Downstream Diaries Book 1)

by Nick Jones

  I’m aware that I still haven’t answered him. I’m just staring at the clock on his office wall. Each minute that ticks by adds to the unsettling quietness of the school corridors. My heart is racing along at double speed. I need to get out of here; it isn’t safe. Mr Wild is a decent man but he can’t protect me, no one can. I’m screwed, knackered, buggered…

  ‘Joe, listen,’ he walks from behind his desk and perches on the edge, facing me, ‘I will not tolerate bullying, whoever is doing this to you will be punished.’

  He’s making reference to the bruises. Rammage the Damage has been taking out his frustration on yours truly and it’s beginning to show. Rammage was smarter to begin with – he just went for the body and the occasional swirly or wedgie for added flavour – but since the incident, when I told him a few home truths, things have become much worse.

  I fucking hate myself, and more than ever hate my stupid ability. Viewing. Will it ever be a good thing? Will it ever help me or others? I can’t see how. All it ever does is show pain and then deliver me my own. ‘Sir,’ I manage, voice weak with fear, ‘I’m fine. I’m clumsy and I fall over a lot.’

  Mr Wild looks at me suspiciously, with a kind of ‘Really? That old chestnut’ expression. ‘Mrs Bayliss told me about your sister,’ he says carefully, ‘that must have been… hard for you.’

  I search for a response and the room starts to spin, the ticking clock suddenly deafening. Hard for me? What the hell? I stare at him, speechless. Losing Amy took everything, blew my life to pieces, but I have a more pressing concern, which means our little heart-to-heart – or whatever it is he’s doing – is going to have to wait. He folds his arms and looks at me with a mixture of concern and confusion. The leather patches on his blazer creak.

  Right, that’s it. Sod this.

  Something snaps in my brain and I begin edging towards the door. I glance at the clock. The second hand ticks backwards, I swear, backwards! Arggh!! Doesn’t he realise that if I don’t get out of here soon I’m dead? Rammage will be waiting and if everyone is gone and the playing fields are empty, there will be nothing to stop him.

  ‘Joe, I haven’t dismissed you yet,’ Mr Wild stands, ‘where do –’

  I don’t let him finish. I’m out of his office and running. He calls after me but I’m gone, I’m done. It’s nearly four o’clock and I need to plan my route quickly. If I cut behind the maths block I can sneak around the side of the playing fields. It will make my walk home nearly an hour longer but needs must. Running makes me feel good, like I’m somehow back in control, but after a while my ribs hurt. Guess who snapped one the last time he used me as a punch bag. Oh well, ribs heal.

  My eyes are everywhere. The halls are empty, just the odd cleaner. I make it outside. So far, so good. In the distance I see a small crowd of people surrounding a group of lads in rugby kit. They’re warming up for an after school game. Apart from that it’s quiet and my route across the field looks clear. I just need to stick to the hedge and keep my head down. Mum will wonder why my shoes and trousers are so muddy again but whatever, she’s the least of my worries.

  I’m running, the air harsh in my lungs. The playground is behind me and I’m half way across the field when something catches my eye, a sudden movement. Two figures emerge from the hedgerow and I recognise them immediately. Darren Griffiths and Elliot Coleman. Or Grifter and Coley. My nickname depends on the day. I stop running and begin panting like a rabid dog. Where is he? I glance behind and see him blocking my path. Rammage. He blows a cloud of smoke into the air, flicks his cigarette away and smiles. I see that clearly, how happy this makes him.

  My rib throbs as if on cue and I’m convinced I’m going to puke before the beating even starts. That would make a change at least. I feel a sudden burning pain flare up in the centre of my back. I’m pushed to the floor. I realise that while I was distracted Grifter took his opportunity and kneed me to the ground. I scramble up but he grabs my arm. ‘Come on, gay boy,’ he sneers. ‘No point struggling.’

  I’ve reached the point where I don’t care anymore and no longer say any of the sarcastic comments that fill my mind either. I just keep my mouth shut and that is perhaps the most frustrating thing of all. You see, I know things about these boys that I shouldn’t, because their constant attention means I’ve started to view them in my dreams and what I’ve seen isn’t fun. It’s what led to this latest string of attacks, to the incident. I viewed some of Rammage’s life and it wasn’t for the faint-hearted. I have no time to think now.

  I am dragged to Rammage like a prisoner of war. I just about manage to adjust the books I’ve pushed down into my shirt, a kind of make-shift body protector before I am pushed to my knees. I look up, awaiting my sentencing.

  ‘What did you tell Wild?’ Rammage growls, cracking open a fresh can of coke.

  ‘Nothing.’ I say simply.

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘I didn’t tell him anything, I swear.’

  Rammage grins, ‘You shouldn’t fucking swear, it’s bad for your health.’ His two henchmen laugh obediently. I notice Grifter flicking something between his fingers. It glints in the sunlight. My chest tightens. It’s a blade, a butterfly knife. They toy with me, asking questions that have no right answer and then, slowly it starts; a push and then a kick. I brace myself for the onslaught.

  But then, unexpectedly, the most wonderful, most magnificent thing happens. Out of nowhere, a shadow descends over us, over all of us. I look up, half expecting it to be the world, finally come to swallow me up and I see him.

  Mark D’Stellar; the most popular kid at school. Next to him are a few other lads wearing rugby kit and behind them a small crowd of concerned onlookers. Rammage and his cronies must have caught their eye and ultimately their interest.

  ‘This doesn’t concern you D’Stellar,’ Rammage says, but there is a new, fantastically weak quality to his voice. I gulp, fully expecting the conversation to continue, but it doesn’t. Mark D’Stellar, it seems, isn’t one to muck around. He steps forward and in one single motion punches Shane Rammage off his feet. The sound reminds me of my Dad tenderising steak with a wooden mallet, except this time it’s Rammage’s face getting softened. My nemesis hangs in the air for a moment, just long enough to see the pathetic, scared expression that has overcome him. Then he smacks to the ground. He isn’t knocked out but he’s dazed and he’s whimpering.

  D’Stellar turns his gaze on Grifter and Coley who are standing, literally with their mouths hanging open. ‘And you two can piss off,’ he orders.

  They run, leaving Rammage crawling backwards on his hands and knees like a wounded crab. The on-looking crowd aren’t like his fair-weather sycophants. These kids are silent and serious. They actually look concerned. D’Stellar stares at Rammage and then back at me. ‘You okay?’ He reaches down and offers me his hand. I take it and am hoisted up.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I’m alright. Thanks for –’

  ‘No. Don’t thank me,’ D’Stellar says, checking his watch as if the whole thing was just a mild distraction. Rammage is up, seems unsure if he should just turn and run. D’Stellar helps him along. ‘Listen to me you cowardly piece of shit. This ends. Now. You go anywhere near this kid again,’ he points at me and I beam with pride, ‘well, then we all get involved.’

  Rammage’s tear filled eyes scan across the four biggest members of the school rugby team. His expression suggests he gets it. He sucks in a breath and for a moment I think he’s going to retaliate but then something deep down in his thick skull computes the reality of his situation, this new world order. He flashes me a look but my usual response of fear is absent. Standing next to me is Mark D’Stellar, Mr Cool himself and he’s defending me, he’s telling Shane Rammage what’s what.

  Rammage eventually backs away, rubbing his jaw and cursing. A girl I don’t know asks if I’m hurt but it’s all a blur. D’Stellar is being called by his team mates to warm up and, just like that, my bullying is over. There is a moment, just before the group break w
hen Mark steps close to me and looks me straight in the eye. I speak first. ‘Thank you,’ I say, even though I know he’s already asked me not to.

  ‘That dick head deserved it.’ D’Stellar nods.

  I’m just starting to get my head around what happened but there’s a big question, one that I have to ask, ‘Why would you do that? Why would you help me?’

  ‘Because now you owe me.’ He turns to walk away and for a horrible moment I wonder if I have just replaced one bully with another but then he adds, ‘You play keyboards right?’

  10.

  I wake and rub my eyes. I’m surprised. After seeing Mum yesterday I thought I might view Amy, but viewing often has its own agenda. I stretch and attempt to re-attach my mind to the present. Rammage still has a power over me, even after all these years, I guess bullies always do. People who say school days are the best years of your life don’t know shit and definitely never went to my school. It’s too late now; it’s been knocked down to make way for luxury flats, but still, best years? I think that really depends on who you knew, and how popular you were. School was more like a prison sentence for me. But in life, occasionally – and often unexpectedly – the planets seem to align and something happens that tips your world on its axis. It’s almost as if the hand of God reaches down and touches a moment, blessing it somehow. These moments, in my experience, are extremely rare. They carry a lot of weight and by that I mean they resonate with some kind of importance. How else do you explain ‘David’ by Michelangelo? Or ‘The Bends’ by Radiohead? Yep, occasionally the planets line up and magic happens and so it was that I met Mark D’Stellar.

  The day he came along and saved me was a pivotal moment in my life, a moment so blessed and perfect I still can’t quite believe it happened. After that, things improved beyond recognition, at school anyway. Mark D’Stellar was by far the coolest kid I had ever met. He was the lead guitarist in the best rock band in Stratford, was good looking and mature for his age (he dated 18 year olds) and needed a keyboard player. Lucky or what? I never quite found out whether it was the only reason he intervened, but I didn’t complain. After an audition in which I was so nervous I could hardly play, I became the first and only keyboard player in ‘The Dark Angels’. We mainly played rock covers, most of which I hadn’t heard before, but I didn’t care. I went from total loser to absolute cool in a matter of weeks. No one messed with me again, I suddenly had friends (decent ones too), girlfriends (yes, more than one), and kudos. Christ, I even grew a few inches. It was almost as if the weight of the universe had been stunting my growth and was suddenly lifted. Amy wasn’t coming back of course and things at home were just starting to get really bad but I finally had an escape. The band were a good bunch of lads. We smoked, played loud music and laughed a lot. I grew up about four years in four months. I found out later that Steve the bass player had heard me playing piano after school one night. I used to hide in the music block occasionally, and that chance encounter was all it took to change my life. Luck shines on everyone at some point.

  I decide to grab a shower and start to plan my day, when it comes back to me. The incident, the reason Rammage’s beatings increased and the main reason why Mark’s intervention was so timely. I can laugh about it now – I was dumb beyond belief – but back then it was scary shit. As you have probably gathered, my viewing isn’t something I control. It drops me into moments from my own past but also into the lives of others, into the private corners of their memories like a grenade at bedtime. And, as I have learned over the years, that can only happen if I get close. It also explains how Mark and I drifted apart, but that story is for another day. Sticking with Rammage, his routine beatings created a horrific but powerful bond between us. I began viewing his life and his past and was convinced for a while that it would drive me mad.

  It won’t surprise you to hear that Rammage’s bullying was a reflection of his own suffering. His Dad may have been three times as big and missing all his teeth but, other than that, he was a carbon copy of Shane. In other words, a complete and utter bastard. During the day I was living in fear and getting beaten up by Shane. Then, in my viewings at night – as sharp and real as the butterfly knife in Grifter’s hand – I was Shane, getting the crap beaten out of me by his Dad. That’s fucked up, right? It was no wonder I had bags under my eyes and no flesh on my bones. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle I’m still here, but then an even weirder thing happened. I ended up feeling sorry for the evil little shit. You see, Shane Rammage had a secret, he was routinely abused by his father, but also gay and falling in love with Coley. It was a confusing time for all of us but you can triple that for Shane Rammage. His feelings for Coley were – so far anyway – not reciprocated, he was confused and getting close to doing something about it. Oh yes, I saw all of this in my viewings and it very nearly broke my poor, innocent little brain.

  Now, for absolute clarity, love and desire take many forms and I am cool with all of them, but for an early teen in the late nineties being gay wasn’t something you just owned up to. Also, let’s not forget this was Shane-bloody-Rammage. Complicated. Kapeesh?

  And guess what? In his infinite wisdom, Dumbo Jumbo (that’s me) decided to try and help Shane and his wretched soul through his troubles. Oh yes, you heard me correctly. In a quiet moment I confided in Rammage. I explained that I knew about his Dad and suggested that his feelings for Coley were nothing to be ashamed of. I told him that I understood why he was taking his anger out on me and offered my help and friendship.

  You can probably guess how that went.

  By the way, two of my best friends in college were gay – so please don’t accuse me of being homophobic – but let me tell you what I learnt that day. Bullies need punching hard in the face and you should never, ever, tell them you know they are homosexual – even if you do – and definitely don’t tell them that you understand.

  Funnily enough, I saw Shane Rammage years later. I think I was about twenty-five. He was with his boyfriend and seemed happy. He had mellowed, almost beyond recognition. He’d finally grown into his teeth and that mop of hair was down to a gravel-like stubble. He actually looked pretty good, all things considered. Honestly – and this is going to sound really weird – but Shane couldn’t have been nicer. He was all smiles and bought my mates and me a round of drinks. Beneath the surface, there was still a latent something (beaten kids don’t get over it) but he attempted a number of times to play down what he did to me, tried really hard to make me say it was alright.

  I didn’t, because it wasn’t and never will be, but I don’t hate him. It wasn’t totally his fault, and it led me to Mark and a better life and I guess even toughened me up. Hell, who knows? What I do know is that whilst I don’t hate him I still despise what he did. I guess that’s why I intervened with Liv and why it still hurts that Mark and I can’t be friends.

  The viewing of that fateful day at school clings to me and is also sparking other memories and thoughts. I think of Amy and my family, of my Mum in that home, and I know what to do. Thirty minutes in the shower and I’m cleansed. Dwelling is for losers. I accepted a while back that life is just shit sometimes, and that can often be quite a freeing realisation. I’m surprised to find I actually feel pretty positive and can’t shake the feeling that something good is about to happen.

  Optimism? Moi?

  Never.

  11.

  Side two of ‘Revolver’ by The Beatles is awesome. Good Day Sunshine blasts out as I blend my second smoothie of the day. Outside the sun is shining but I feel as though it’s all coming from inside me. I feel awake, alive and energised. I understand that my mood is like some kind of demented yo-yo, down one day and flying high the next, but who cares? I take the good days when they come along. They’re rare and I know I will be back to my old self soon enough.

  When my antiques business was doing well I would spend a good portion of my day photographing, cataloguing and uploading new items for sale onto my website. I could do most of my work without seeing anyon
e. Just the odd white van man and occasional phone call. It suited me, and although I usually had a ‘to do’ list as long as both arms, it gave me a purpose. Well, today for the first time in ages I make a real ‘to do’ list and you know what? It feels good. It feels positive, with none of the dark inventiveness of my depressive side.

  I move through the house, opening all the curtains and spend the next few hours working up a sweat. Bin bags, rubber gloves and elbow grease. It feels good to be cleaning. I actually want to tidy up the crap that’s been accumulating for years. I still have my warehouse, although I haven’t been there for a few months and now have a living room filled with bags and boxes to take there. I just need to scrape together some cash for a courier. Tidying the house was top of my list. I tick it off and move on.

  Deciding if I am going mad is the second thing on my list. I think back to Other Joe as ‘Got To Get You Into My Life’ fills my sunlit lounge. I focus in on the fact that he was here, in this house, in my life.

  I smile and shake my head. It isn’t possible. I must have imagined it.

  There was no Other Joe. He was definitely some kind of hallucination bought on by hypnosis. I grab the phone and check the time. Mid-morning on Saturday. I call Alexia Finch’s office, expecting to leave a message and am kind of surprised when her receptionist picks up. She explains that Finch is away on a course this weekend but assures me that my appointment on Tuesday at 5:30 p.m. is booked in. I don’t plan on letting that woman anywhere near my brain again and almost cancel the appointment, but then I change my mind. I do want to talk to her about what happened and, at the very least, think she needs to know the damage she’s inflicted. I keep the appointment, thank the squeaky girl and hang up.