by Kate Sten
‘Is Nanny Grace annoying you? Has she said something?’ I asked, my face more upset.
‘No it is not her. I just cant get my act together. My hands are like butter today. And since when did you start calling Doctor Salter Nanny? I have barely started dating her boy and she hasn’t earned that yet. So don’t you go beating the gun with the Nanny thing,’ Molly admonished me.
Molly washed the mug out and made another coffee. Her eyes stilled and fixated on the small keg of milk in front of her. She seemed to be at a crossroads and her hand tugged on one of the two straps that held her dress up. I knew all her faces and the one I was seeing was the somebody-get-me-out-of-dodge face.
‘Problem, Molly?’ I coughed behind her.
‘The milk! I cannot work out how much milk she likes to have in her coffee!’ Molly slapped her thighs and groaned.
‘Why don’t you just ask her?’
‘She would just turn that into an opportunity to nitpick at something. You know what she is like. For Pete's sake, she has been in your head.’ Molly rubbed her eyes.
‘Well, I have seen her pour three or four tea spoon fulls of milk - never a drop more,’ I scratched my head, as I spoke to Molly.
‘You are a lifesaver, John. Thanks for that.’ Molly gave me a big slobbery kiss on the cheek which I was so inclined to wipe off with my sleeve.
After that stint of unpleasantness, Molly lethargically trotted towards the corner of the living room area where doctor Salter was sat with her son. They exchanged jokes and Henry giggled harder than either of us had seen him giggle since we had had the pleasure of knowing him.
It was clear that the rapport between mother and son was more than cordial - they sort of where an uncanny carbon-copy of what Molly and I were like at our best of times.
‘I have the tea. Shall I set it down?’ Molly asked, her eyes scanning doctor Salter's face for any slightest hint of disapproval.
‘No need. Just hand it to me. I like to feel the warmth of the tea radiate through me while I wait for it to dip to just the right temperature,’ Doctor Salter reached out to receive the warm mug from the saucer Molly had rested it on.
Molly turned to walk away, assuming that she was not required and would have been a third wheel in their rather high-spirited discourse. There were slight hums behind her - voices getting slightly louder but mostly indistinct.
‘Molly!’ Doctor Salter raised her voice.
‘Yes, Doctor Salter - I mean, Grace. Is there something you want?’ Molly made a sharp turn so that Doctor Salter was in her full view.
‘I would like you to join us. Come, sit yourself down and talk to me. I would like to know more about you. I have barely seen much of you since I got here,’ Doctor Salter insisted.
‘Well you would be utterly disappointed. There isn't really that much to tell. I am not the most complicated of people. I am just what you see before you,’ Molly sighed, her face facing her feet.
‘Nonsense, Molly. Everybody has something to say. Everyone has a story whether they are conscious of it or not. You shouldn't prejudge yourself before you even give yourself the chance to have a go at doing something. My boy used to be like that. But he soon discovered the error of his ways and found something he was tremendously gifted at.” Doctor Salter eyeballed her son, beaming proudly at him.
Molly shrugged and sank into a seat beside Doctor Salter, her face turning a deep shade of dirty red. ‘We cant all be Banksy-famous artists can we?’
‘I wouldn't quite go that far as saying my boy was Banksy-famous, But Henry does give Michelangelo a good run for everything he is worth.’ Doctor Salter simpered, cradling the warm mug between her thighs.
TWENTY THREE
JOHN
The birds had gathered here, that gray unassuming Monday morning, their beady eyes ever sentient and beaks steeped in red. A canvas of black had enveloped a small patch of concrete road.
The cawing and screeching noises drove chills through my limbs as my eyes watered at the thought of what could have lain behind the swirl of crows that were scrapping over whatever they had been indelicately feasting on.
I did not mean for this to happen. It could not have been my fault. My poor poor friend. He ran ahead of me and I trailed behind. I had fastened his lead to his collar. I knew I had double checked his lead to make sure that there wasn’t any hitches with the connecting parts.
There weren't - not on that day.
Molly had made sure to buy him a new collar and lead because the old one malfunctioned and he often escaped from the safety of its hold.
‘Who is a good boy? Who is a good boy, Rufus?’ I remembered stroking his head fondly.
He licked my face and growled softly. The warmth of him on the sole of my palms put a glow on my face. I had thought about how handsome he looked as he trotted along, my grinning face as proud as I could be of him. There had not been a single misstep, nothing that would have made me question my judgement about letting Rufus out.
We were in the confines of the park soon. Convinced that the vast spread of green was safe, I rid him of his entanglement, allowing him to sprint into the soft breeze. His fur lifted and his nose sniffed at the dirt beneath cropped blades of grass.
He was happy. Happier than he was on most days.
‘Come on boy! Do you want this? Do you, Rufus?’ I raised one of his chew toys - the one that was shaped in form of a bone.
He came running, bounding through open space, and tearing through the grass beneath him, ears swaying in his face and tongue hanging out of his panting mouth. He came to a halt in front of me, those brown expectant eyes beaming gleefully at the pretend bone in my raised hand.
‘Yeah! That's it! Fetch!’ I yelled, before posturing to volley the chew toy into the air.
It went some distance and he chased after it. I watched him gnaw on it for some time. He seemed to be pretty occupied with pushing and nipping at the fake bone. I thought it was prudent to pat him for being such a good dog. I had barely moved a few paces towards him when the soft, happy barks turned into a warning growl.
His eyes got tighter and his lips widened, baring the fangs underneath them. The happy countenance faded into menacing growls. He didn’t look as if he wanted to tears strips out of me. Rufus didn’t have a history of biting. Molly had checked and double-checked with the vet to be sure of that before she caved in and allowed me to keep the once stray dog.
His dog chip had said that much - no history of violent behaviour.
I remember my breath getting deep and my eyes rolling shut. Whatever happened next was blanked from my memory. When I opened my eyes again, my yellow jacket was covered in streaks of red and clumps of canine hair.
I did not know what to make of that. I knew the blood wasn’t mine because I didn’t feel any pain and I couldn’t find any cuts on my arms. My immediate concern was for my only friend - the dog I was supposed to be looking out for.
He was gone. There was not a trace of him anywhere near.
‘Rufus! Rufus! Come boy!’ I whistled loudly only to be met by a frosty wall of silence.
I stopped talking, my tongue glued to my palate when I noticed something ominous in the distance. There was a trail of blood a few feet away from where I was stood with the leash still hanging from my hand.
I walked to the stained blades of grass and noticed some paw prints ahead of the small pool of blood that had covered the brown clumps of loose soil.
My head nearly exploded with all sorts of macabre thoughts. I hesitated for a few minutes and was unsure whether I wanted to see what the trail was going to reveal. But I thought of my friend Rufus. I thought of him being hurt and alone and in need of help. So I shook off my doubts and followed the trail.
I wish I hadn't. What I found at the end of it, behind the murder of crows that had gathered just outside the park was something that would be vividly imprinted in the back of my skull for the rest of my existence.
Rufus laid still, his white and brown coat covered in r
ed. His eyes had been taken and his belly hollowed out by the merciless scavenging birds that had ripped into him. His entrails hung precariously from the gaping hole in his side.
I could not bring myself to touch his broken body. I could not do anything but burst into tears and hurl the contents of my belly unto the side of the road.
When I had finally come to my senses and regained a modicum of composure, I remembered that there was a phone in my pocket - the one Henry had given me in case I ever needed to sort a problem.
I called him. He didn’t judge. He just came down and shoved the carcass of my beloved friend into a black bag, zipped it up and swung it over his able shoulder.
‘Chin up, young man. We all have to go through stuff like this. It may hurt like hell, right now but it does get better.’ He slapped me reassuringly on the back.
‘Really? Does it?’ I wiped the tears from my eye.
‘Trust me. It does,’ He replied, his voice firmer and more direct.
I still felt knotted in my stomach, and mad at myself for not being there when Rufus needed me. But his words were like a calming balm that soothed some of the hurt. The feeling of fraternity coursed through every cell, every atom inside me and it made some of the bad feelings a bit palatable.
We drove to a serene spot, on a hill, just outside Eastwood. There was a shovel in the back of the truck. I watched him dig a hole in the ground. I was handed the bag which contained what was left of Rufus. I couldn’t bring my self to say anything coherent so I just dropped him in the ground for the worms and the bugs to digest and return to the earth. At least, that was what I had learned from science class.
The dirt went over the bag, over Rufus's cold and mutilated remains. I locked both of my hands and bowed, silently saying one last goodbye to the once boisterously animated puppy called Rufus.
‘Good bye, Boy. Don’t let the bugs bite,’ I whispered softly into the breeze, as Henry shoveled more dirt over Rufus, hoping that he could hear me wherever he was now.
TWENTY FOUR
JOHN
Another school day. I had been suspended without a determinate time limit from my old school. A couple of weeks had rolled by and Molly had not heard back from them - not by phone or post. It was obvious that they were not keen on keeping me on at my old school.
Brampton Primary School was the next available one. Actually it was the only one that was willing to give a problem child with history a shot at changing their stripes. It was either Brampton or a Pupil Referral Unit. Those places just sucked the souls out of unwanted kids and spat them out even worse than they were when they got in.
Molly wasn’t keen on the idea of dumping me in a place like that, hence the relief on her face when a torrid internet search had yielded fruit. There were no words that could quite describe the quiet jubilation that must have been going on inside her head.
‘John! Get down here!’ Molly thundered, her eyes buzzing with excitement.
‘Yes, Molly,’ I groaned, unenthusiastic about whatever she was about to say to me.
I had just buried Rufus the day before and wasn’t quite keen on doing anything besides lazying around in the house in my pyjamas.
‘You will not believe this but I have just been on the phone to someone from Brampton and they are okay for you to start today. Isn't that just amazing?’ Molly tapped me on the shoulder, her chest swelling with excitement.
‘That is okay, I guess. Do I have to go in today?’ I sighed, my tone lowered and disinterested.
‘I understand that you have just lost Rover.’ Molly came closer to me, and hugged me closer.
‘Rufus! His name was Rufus!’ I protested, cranking up the decibels.
‘Yes, sorry. Rufus. You just lost Rufus. But you cannot make yourself sick wallowing in grief. I think a little bit of mingling with other kids might just be what the doctor ordered,’ Molly took me by the hands, letting her pleading eyes do more of the convincing.
I was in school soon enough. Molly got Henry to drive us there. She got me all signed up in the head teachers cosy little office. She was a portly lady with barely any edges and the bulk of her could barely squeeze into the leather chair that she was sat in.
‘Welcome to Brampton. I am sure your ward will love the meadows and our playgrounds. The art class has been known to engage children with certain challenging needs.’ Mrs Baxter coughed, clearing her throat.
‘Yes. I am sure he will.’ Molly flashed a broad smile at her.
Ink wet on the paper, Molly signed the guardian consent form and that was that. I was ushered into a classroom full of faces that I did not recognize. I easily spotted a vacant seat and occupied it. My ears stood erect and ready to receive the golden nuggets of knowledge that Mr. Hinds was imparting.
He was a thin man, tall and a bit hunched at the back. The centre of his head was as barren as a witch's crystal ball and the voice that emerged from him was mousy and unedifying for someone of his gargantuan stature. His palms were as big as my head but yet he squealed like a mouse.
I was puzzled - how could anyone not have bothered to pick up on that? Or how some trouble maker had not taken it upon themselves to make his life a living hell on account of his mouse-like voice?
His voice washed over me. I could not wait to get out in the open, into the stretch of fresh green outside the window. It seemed like such a distant thing, just within reach but time crawled sluggishly stretching the distance further and further.
‘New boy! Do you mind lending me your eyes?’ Mr. Hinds frowned, his two fingers gesturing in front of him.
I juddered in my seat, almost falling off it. I did not know what to say in response to him. I had been completely blindsided by him calling me out the way he did, in front of the whole class. If I was trying to keep a low profile, that would certainly not be a good start to achieving that singular aim.
I struck my pen against the paper, raised my head, and pretended as if I had not been chastised for wrongdoing in the first place. Water off this duck's back - I thought to myself as I sat there, rigid and unperturbed.
Mr. Hinds promptly returned to scribbling on the board behind me, occasionally doing the odd 190 degree turn to scour the entire class from the lofty vantage point where he was stood. No doubt, he had hoped to root out some unruly pupil who had dared to pass a note or perhaps engaged in hushed conversations.
I had soon begun to see why the class felt more like a silent graveyard than somewhere meant for young minds to be educated. Mr. Hinds and his hawkish eyes terrified the hell out of any one that dared to step out of line. His class; his rules - everyone got that. Nobody was keen on challenging that notion.
Finally, it was break time. The bells rang, and everyone stepped into a single file, trooping out of the class without as much as a squeak out of anybody.
Yep - his superpowers were his eyes.
I clutched arms in my hands and avoided looking him in the eye, as I went past his table. The outside was massive. There were all sorts of good stuff. The swings swayed back and forth under the weight of the giddy girls that had mounted them, their infectious laughs piercing deep into my ears.
‘Do you mind giving me a push?’ a soft female voice permeated my ears.
‘Sure!’ I responded without much forethought, turning to see her sun-beaten skin and spotted face looking shyly at me.
‘I am Amber. What do they call you?’ She raised her voice slightly, a friendly arm already stretched out.
‘John… I am called John.’ I cleared my throat, my knees a bit weakened by the presence of her.
This was the very first girl that had shown an interest in me. I had never been talked to by a real life actual female who wasn’t a mother figure of some sort. I had so much I wanted to offload into her ears all at once but the words all sounded foolish when I gave them second thought.
‘Yes. You look like a John. Your eyes are nice and blue like my marbles. Very nice.’ She remarked, her eyes staring into mine.
‘Thanks.
I guess.’ I croaked, shifting my gaze away from her intent stare. ‘Do you still want that push?’
Her response to that was to plant herself on a vacant swing, her thumb raised, signaling me to give her a shove with a big broad smile that ran across her face.
‘Okay. Here goes.’ I drew air deep into my lungs before thrusting gently against the back of the swing, sending her swaying forwards, feet kicking the rushing air.
Gentle shrieks filtered through her shiny row of teeth, as her twin ponytails swung either way, in the breeze. Her shrieks soon exploded into loud ecstatic laughter as I pushed harder and faster, and her knees reached taller, above my shoulder height. I hadn't thought about much else while I was deep in play, doing the things children should do.
The little girl with the ginger ponytails hadn't made me feel like the odd kid on the playground. I wasn’t just another weirdo to be leered at to her. I dared to believe that she considered me to be friend material. Not that I assumed that this was the case with absolute certainty.
‘So why did you not ask the other girls to push you? Why me?’ I pressed softly against my chest, willing my heart to stop racing.
‘They are always mean to me. They stick gum in my hair and call me names afterwards. Denise, Roxy and Claire are not nice. Even the boys know not to cross them,’ Amber snorted wiping her nose with an old sock she had pulled out of her pocket.
‘I used to get picked on at my old school. The other kids thought I was weird. I knew everyone talked about me behind my back, whispering about, you know, bad things they thought I had done to my parents. My real parents, anyway.’ I dug my hands in my pockets and stood erect before her, my eyes unmoving.
‘Well, they are just pigheaded small people with nothing better to do with their time but make up nasty lies about other kids that seem a bit different. I think they are just full of bull mostly.’ A wrinkle formed on her nose as she nudged me playfully on the stomach.
