Barry just sat, looking glumly ahead of him. He hadn’t thought about the situation enough, but now he was beginning to realise the enormity of the problem.
‘Oh, don’t be so sad,’ said Thomas, with a teasing tone to his voice. ‘We’ll all still be here and you’ll have enough time to catch up.’
Barry was pretty despondent for the whole weekend; not much to do; not many people to do anything with. He just thought of his school and wondered what life would be like. He would have to just wait and see.
The final two weeks passed fairly quickly with nothing happening to his body to make him think that the Centre could do much more to help him. In the last week he was given several tests to find out about his health - both his body and his brain. The doctors concluded that he was as fit as he could be and that any further improvement would only happen very slowly. They told him to try and stretch the Achilles tendon in his right leg that was still impairing his gait but Barry was not too keen on this as it was a very painful exercise, but he would try it and see if the ankle improved at all.
Barry’s discharge day came and his mother took some time off work to collect him and his belongings. As they drove away, Barry was pleased that that part of his life was over and somehow he was even beginning to look forward to starting again at George Hopkins High School.
Monday morning arrived when he was off to start his school life again. He prepared himself but found that a pen was the only thing he could take to start with as all his books were already at school.
Barry’s father had offered to take him to school as he used the same route to get to work so Barry had to walk half a mile and wait for him at a road junction at 8.30 am, so at 8. 15 am, he set off. As he walked, he thought about the lift he had accepted. It would be useful but his father had a two-seater sports car and, as his wife worked with him, it would be a squeeze. Barry hoped that he would not be made to get in the back!
Barry reached the spot and waited. He had grown used to covering the three miles to school in about eight minutes first on his moped, then his motorbike. If he was not getting the lift, then it would be back to the forty-minute trip on three buses -- so slow! Barry was beginning to become agitated as he waited for five, ten and then fifteen minutes when suddenly, the car came around the corner. It drew up and Shirley, his father’s wife, jumped out.
‘Sorry we’re late but the traffic is so busy this morning,’ she said, breezily.
‘Morning Barry,’ said his father. ‘Are you ready for school?’.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said Barry and they drove off.
‘Are you all right in the back?’ asked Barry.
‘If I hold my breath I am,’ joked Shirley. “You’ll be getting out soon so don’t worry.’
The car purred up to the school gates.
‘Are you okay or shall I come in with you?’ asked his father, with a serious look on his face.
‘No, no - I’ll be okay,’ said Barry, scared of being seen with his parent when he was eighteen. ‘I’ll go into the sixth form building and sort myself out.’
He jumped out of the car and walked to the building. It was all coming back to him now - the sights, the smells and the people. The ground floor housed the art room and the domestic education centre - somewhere that he had never been before. He had just rounded the corner of the cloakroom when he met Mr Dolen, the teacher in charge of the sixth form centre.
‘Well, hello Barry,’ he said, with a big smile on his face. ‘Welcome back to George Hopkins. I shall be looking after you and organising your entry into the lower sixth so you will attend my economics class from now on and not Mr Smith’s.’
Mr Dolen was one of the two economics teachers at the school and as Barry had been taught economics by the other teacher before the accident so he didn’t know what to expect of this new man, although he seemed pretty decent.
‘Thank you Mr Dolen,’ said Barry timidly.
‘You will be allowed to have the morning free to get used to the place again; get a locker; meet your friends; make new ones and then get to work this afternoon. You’re studying for German and RE A levels as well as economics and, this afternoon, you’ve got one German lesson and a double RE.’
Barry’s face dropped slightly at the thought of a double lesson on his first day back and Mr Dolen saw this immediately.
‘I’m sure you’ll get back into the swing of things quickly,’ he said, trying to encourage Barry to look forward to the day. ‘If you want anything, anything at all, them come and see me - okay?’
‘Yes, Sir, thank you,’ said Barry and then Mr Dolen strode off to the staff room.
Barry was standing alone for a moment in the cloakroom wondering what to do when he heard the roar of motorbikes going behind the science wing of the building downstairs. It was a useful part of the building because it put the motorbikes out of harm’s reach as no one seemed to use it except the bikers. Barry limped downstairs and went to see who had arrived and it turned out to be Mark and Ben, who had Beverley on the back. Mark was still riding his Kawa 350 and Ben was on his Yammy 200.
‘Wotcher Barry. How’re you doing?’ asked Mark.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Barry.
‘Aren’t you pleased to be back,’ sniggered Beverley, with what seemed to Barry to be a humorous wind-up.
‘Yeah, love it - just love it - you know.’
They got off their bikes and walked into the school.
‘Oh dear, you’ve got to stay here another year and a half. Never mind, you’ll get to like it.’
Beverley’s humour was getting rather stale and Ben realised that Barry was not amused so said, ‘Beverley, keep quiet,’ in an aggressive way.
‘Oh, it’s okay,’ said Barry trying to feel nothing. ‘I’ll have to get used to things again here.’
Barry spent the rest of the morning looking around the school and going for crafty fags in the toilets and behind the school, near the bikes. He met most of his old friends but immediately felt like a stranger because he was not involved with them any more. An outcast? Not quite, but just as remote. He had never really considered himself as being disabled since the accident for no one had ever discussed it with him properly. Thomas had always tried hard to make Barry think that he was totally normal again, so he was slow to realise that being even slightly disabled made people wary of him - almost treating him as a stranger. This would make finding friends almost impossible in the Lower Sixth, but Barry would just have to try.
The afternoon arrived and Barry entered a small classroom in the centre, for his German lesson. The teacher was a curvaceous young blonde who tried to seem pleased to have Barry back in her class. The lesson began and she gave Barry some textbooks that they were using. She started to discuss the homework set the previous Friday and, during the lesson, tactfully tested Barry’s memory of the language.
‘Barry, can you translate the first line of the sentence into English for me?’
‘Err, err, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can,’ said Barry, as he stared at the book, ‘Is it - the girl was, um, walking...?’
‘No, no, it’s all right, Barry, just listen,’ instructed the teacher.
The lesson continued and, towards the end, she tried again.
‘How about the next line? Can you think how to say it in German?’ Barry was having great difficulty. He was only just learning how to express himself in English again, so German was impossible.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t translate it yet. I’ll have to do some studying at home,’ Barry said, trying not to look too ignorant in front of the class.
Just then, the bell rang.
‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow morning,’ said the teacher and the class was dismissed,
As Barry was walking to RE, he was thinking of the problems he was having with the German language.
> ‘Hello, Barry. Pleased to see you back,’ said Mr Batts, the RE master.
‘Oh, thank you Mr Batts,’ said Barry. He entered the classroom to find a class full of girls and he sat down feeling rather strange because before the accident, his RE classes had had two other boys in them. He wasn’t used to being surrounded by females because the school was single-sexed until the sixth form.
The lesson finished with Barry acting more as an observer than a participant. He still couldn’t write with his right hand so had to scribble notes with his left and this took twice as long as usual, so when the teacher went onto another subject, Barry was only halfway through the first. This meant that the notes could never be written in great detail and were also affected by Barry’s bad memory - he couldn’t remember every salient point to write down.
Barry felt quite tired as he made his way to the bus stop. He had to get his brain used to working hard again - not something that was easy at the moment.
The next day, Barry was beginning to get used to the run of things. Double economics was followed by double German and he was going to try his best at both subjects, he had told himself.
At the end of the German lesson, Anne Hexell - the teacher asked Barry to wait behind after the others had gone.
‘Err, Barry, we must discuss the German language as one of your subjects,’ she started, in a voice of authority. ‘Now, you have been away from school for five months and you seem to have come back with a poor memory of the language.’
‘But, Miss Hexell,’ said Barry. ‘I think that I can get the knowledge back if I try hard.’
‘Well, let me put it like this - you have two other difficult subjects to study and I don’t think that you have time for a language. It needs a good memory of vocabulary and grammar and, from what I’ve seen in your lessons, you can’t remember enough. A level is a high standard and I think it would be a waste of your time to continue with German.’
She was quite right. Barry’s accident had left him with a very poor memory for immediate events. He could easily remember his past, before the accident, but things which had just happened went straight out of his head. He also had difficulty in putting some sentences together when talking. He would occasionally start a sentence and get halfway through it and then forget how to finish it, then for some reason he had to wait, rack his brains, and after about five minutes, he would remember the ending. By that time, of course, the person to whom he was speaking had finished his sentence for him, which infuriated him. The point was that his brain was expecting to work as before, but the speech and memory centres were unable to do this. In a language subject, speech was important and if Barry could not speak English properly, how could he speak German?
‘Okay. Miss,’ said Barry reluctantly. ‘Here you are, you can have your textbook back. I won’t he needing it.’ He gave her his only book and turned to leave.
‘Good luck, Barry,’ said Miss Hexell, but Barry was deep in thought. He left the room and went to find his packed lunch.
It was when Barry started back at school that he thought of selling his repaired motorbike. He was about to put an advertisement in the local paper when Rob Nally came to see him.
Rob was in the upper sixth and was looking for something better than his Honda 125.
‘Say, Barry, I hear you want to flog your bike. Is it okay if I come and see it tonight?’
‘Sure, come over after school and... err..., Barry forgot his sentence again.
‘... have a look. Okay Barry, I’ll see you at 7’.
Have a look - that’s what I should have said, thought Barry.
Rob arrived that evening and had a look at the gleaming Yamaha 200.
‘Yeah, it’s been in a few smashes hasn’t it?’ said Rob, beginning the bargaining and not realising - or caring - that Barry didn’t have enough vocabulary or speed of thought for a fair session of it.
‘It’s been in a few accidents, yes,’ said Barry, wishing that his brother, who was standing nearby, would come over and help him, but he was frightened of seeming incompetent if he asked for help. ‘It’s had a new frame, though,’ he said, hoping to make a point in the sale.
‘Yeah, well, how much do you want for it?’
‘£300 said Barry.
‘I can only give you £240,’ said Rob, expecting Barry to lower his price slightly.
‘Okay then, £240,’ said Barry, not remembering how to bargain.
‘What? err, thanks,’ said Rob. ‘I’ll bring the money over at the weekend. Thanks a lot!’
He scampered away with a joyful grin on his face, happy with his good deal and Barry just stared at the bike - still in love with it and wishing that he could ride it away again. He wasn’t too bothered about the money; there was not much he wanted to do with it so the loss didn’t hurt too much.
With the bike out of the way, there was nothing to remind Barry of his past, he had a future to look forward to, that’s what Thomas kept telling him.
Thomas had kept in touch with Barry and his family after the end of Barry’s hospitalisation and this had kept Barry’s mother’s hopes of a relationship alive. She seemed to have forgotten that he was significantly younger than her and that he didn’t seem to have any interest in older women so it was probably his commanding, dominant personality that still attracted her. Thomas was often at Barry’s house and Barry was often down at Thomas’ favourite drinking hole.
Easter came and Thomas asked Barry if he wanted to go with him to see his mother, who lived in the north-east and as Barry had never been north of the capital, he gladly accepted.
Barry’s mum seemed a bit edgy as Barry was waiting for Thomas to arrive on the Thursday that they were going.
Well, I hope you have a nice time,’ said Patricia, offhandedly.
‘It’s just for a few days - more car driving than anything else,’ said Barry, trying to make her feel better.
‘Just make sure you don’t go too fast. I don’t want any more accidents in this family.’
‘Well, you’ll have to tell him that - he’s doing all the driving.’
Thomas, as usual, was late, but when he did arrive, he expected everyone to jump.
‘Okay, come on then. Stop hanging around,’ he said.
‘But we were waiting for you,’ exclaimed Barry.
‘Yes, well, I’m here now so look lively!’
Barry carried his cases to a rather dated Escort, loaded them in and then they got in the car.
‘Right, see you on Tuesday, Patricia,’ said Thomas and with that they took off through the crowded streets of London.
They made good time and were at Thomas’ mother’s by the evening.
‘What do you want to do here, then?’ asked Thomas.
‘Well, I don’t really know what’s around, apart from the sea and the funfair,’ said Barry.
‘I don’t know. You get me to drive you all this way and you haven’t any idea what to do when you get there?’
Thomas was using his method of gaining psychological supremacy over the other people he was with by making them feel embarrassed at their stupidity but, so that he didn’t seem too overbearing, he had a small grin as a back-up. Barry knew this style of Thomas by now, so he just smiled and waited for Thomas to take control of the situation.
‘Okay, we’ll stay in tonight and have a look around tomorrow. I suppose I’ve got to have a chat with my mother.’
Barry lay in his bed that night, trying to feel what it was like to be ‘up north’ but, of course, it was no different to being ‘down south’. He fell asleep, looking forward to the next day.
The sun rose early to herald the start of a tremendous Saturday. Barry, and Thomas got up and quickly ate breakfast to get out and see the sights. They went all around the city and ended up having some fun on the rides at the funfair. Barry w
as enjoying it more than Thomas and he had a feeling of surprised glee as Thomas visibly shrank when they were going down a steep slope on one of the rides.
‘I’m not going on that again,’ said Thomas, jumping off quickly. ‘And I think we should leave now and visit a place that is more hospitable.’
‘Oh, come on, we haven’t been on half the rides yet,’ said Barry.
‘I know - and I don’t want to go on those dangerous monstrosities,’ said Thomas, sternly.
‘Oh, come on, just one more,’ said Barry, walking towards the biggest ride.
‘Well, you go on your own and I’ll wait on the ground in safety,’ said Thomas, and that was that. He refused to budge and watched - with a disapproving air - as Barry climbed aboard. The ride did not have slopes as steep as the last, but Barry did go through a water splash, which was exciting. He didn’t enjoy it as much as he would have done had Thomas been there - it’s never as much fun on your own but he didn’t worry. When the ride had finished, he joined Thomas who quickly took him away for some sustenance - beer.
They found a pub quite near the funfair and proceeded to spend a good part of the evening there. Thomas could drink quite a lot and still seemed relatively sober. This was because of his manner of speech for he still kept his quick, authoritative way of speaking when partially drunk, which made him seem in control. It was only when he’d really overdone it that he would become very tired and out of control and this was one of those occasions.
‘Thomas,’ said Barry, who had not drunk nearly as much. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough now?’
Thomas had always brought Barry a drink when he had had one so there were four untouched pints on the table.
‘Do you think so?’ slurred Thomas, his eyes half closed. ‘I think I can finish these off if you don’t wanna!’ Thomas tittered. C’mon, help me with these, c’mon.’
‘No, I don’t think I should,’ said Barry for he knew that, since the accident, after two pints, he became drowsy and after four, he could not walk properly. He didn’t know which part of his brain had been damaged that controlled this, but he knew he had to be careful. He was also worried about returning to a stranger’s house.
Would You Believe Him? Page 7
