by Nathan Davey
Anyway, that’s why it was no surprise to me when it turned out to be Simon who threw the ball. I turned away, faced the front and tried to ignore him. Then I felt a paper airplane fall into my hood. Then next came some spit wads. Then rubber bands swacked my face. I stayed still the entire time. I’ve learnt, over the many years I have been in contact with Simon, to not react in anyway to stuff like this. Reactions are what they want. If you don’t react they’ll get bored and eventually stop. They did stop, thankfully, and I was then again left with Mr Bertgill droning on about nothing of any importance.
“To close this year’s assembly” said Mr Bertgill, finally finishing his cringe worthy speech, “we are to be presented with this year’s GCSE drama exam piece. I now pass you over to Mr Derry.”
Mr Derry came out in his tweed jacket, waistcoat and trousers. The sound of his brown brogues clacked loudly on the wooden stage. Mr Derry was an extraordinary character. He was tall, his face was broad and covered in warts. His hair was grey and thinning. When he spoke he sounded like a mixture between Stephen Fry and Simon Callow.
Mr Derry was famed around school for his dry witty humour. He actually was quite funny. Not Mock the Week funny, more Carry On funny. The Drama Teacher wrote the school pantomime every year and it was always a cracker. He was a great fan of puns and word play, classic old school comedy. I still don’t know how a man could store so many jokes in the same head. It seemed he had millions of these jokes in there, ready to whip out when the opportunity came about. It came as no surprise when Mr Derry walked to centre stage and began his speech with one of these jokes.
“Before John Campbell invented lubricating oil” he began with a sly smile, “he was just squeaking by!”
There was a collective chuckle among the audience. Even I laughed. It was corny but funny all the same.
“Our drama students” said Mr Derry, in his posh Shakespearian voice, “have worked unbelievably hard on this year’s piece. It was a hard subject, the sinking of the Titanic, but all of the facility in the Drama Department, feel that it has come out extremely well. So, without further ado, here is 11BW’s drama piece”
Mr Derry disappeared from the left hand side of stage. On came the drama class afterwards. They were all dressed in black. The class brought on large black wooden boxes to use as scenery. The style of drama they were studying meant that they had to use the boxes for as many uses as possible. At one point it was a balcony, then the captain’s desk, then a lifeboat and so on. Blimey, the acting was awful. It was like watching the mental health hospital’s annual production, performed by the ward of patients who believed they were Daleks.
At the end they all lined up and bowed. The audience applauded like they’d just seen The Beatles play for them. I remember sitting there, listening to everyone cheer on that rubbish we just saw, losing my faith humanity. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just being a miserable sod.
Mr Bertgill came back on with the expression of a man who’s about ready to blow his brains out with boredom. His eyes flickered as if he was half asleep. Everyone knew what this meant: the Head Master’s been at the whisky again. He must have hid the bottle backstage somewhere. This wasn’t the first time he’d come out drunk, so we weren’t surprised by the whole thing.
“Right everyone” he said a little louder then usual and slightly slurred, “You can go home now, because I’m going to Mars with David Attenborough!”
With that he slumped off stage. Not to be seen again by myself, as this would have been my last day at St.Ians. It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t happy about leaving. I had enough of Teachers and bullies alike making me feel like a wad of gum they’ve just stepped in. I was ready to go. Even though it would have been better academically for me to stay on, I didn’t have the grades to do so. That’s not to say that it affected my eagerness to get out of the place. To move on and plan my next move, whatever that would turn out to be.
Finally the school bell rang and we all filed out in the same way we came in. I made sure I was at the back of the line, to avoid contact with Simon as much as possible. I shuffled out of the hall, climbed up the stairs into the foyer and went outside to meet up with Lizzie.
When I came out onto the playground I saw Lizzie already waiting for me. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking as pretty as ever. I walked down the stairs and met up with her. When I got there I noticed something interesting going on at the other side of the playground. I could see some younger boys, who seemed to fancy Lizzie, pointing towards her and thrusting violently. It was funny, but I was in no mood to see the humour in it. I just looked on at them coldly.
Just to annoy the boys, I put my arm around Lizzie and we walked away together. I quickly glanced over Lizzie’s head to get another look at the boys. They looked rather disappointed. They were dreaming of getting laid by a pretty girl. I burst that bubble real quick. Just like the millions upon millions of bubbles, containing hopes and dreams, that are burst everyday.
CHAPTER THREE
We walked out of the school gates and down a thicket path with streams of dim, cloudy sunlight shining through the gaps in the branches. The ground was covered in the remains of used condoms and littered pieces of gum. It was quite cold, being that it was always cold in England at all times of the year. That’s one of the annoying things about weather in England, it’s completely unpredictable. It doesn’t care whether its winter, spring or summer, it’ll do whatever it wants. It was towards the end of July and it should have been sunny, but no, it was freezing cold. A little bit out of order, but we can’t exactly control the weather now can we?
Anyway, we were walking along and for the whole time we were rather quiet. This was because we were completely wrapped up in our own thoughts. Both of us were failures in the eyes of the Powers that Be. I only got the one GCSE in Art and Lizzie got the same in Maths. We were both thinking about what to do next. Find more schooling? Try and get a job? What was to be done with failures like us? Nothing, that’s the answer, sod all and maybe the occasionally trip to the job centre.
Lizzie rested her head on my shoulder. She often did this when she wasn’t quite feeling herself. She was quite small, even though she was the same age as me, so she was just about the right height to place her head on my shoulder. I rested my head on hers affectionately, as I knew just how she felt. We kept on walking in silence, as our affectionate gestures said more then words possibly could.
Lizzie and I were neighbours, which was convenient being how well us two got along. That’s where our friendship started. We first began to see each other when our Mums would get together for a cup of tea and let us play in the garden. Sometimes my Mum went over to Lizzie’s and other times Lizzie’s Mum came over to our house. Either way this meant we saw a lot of each other and were soon BFF (Best Friends Forever). We even got some bracelets which said so, that we still wear to this day!
We saw a lot of the other students walking by as they headed home. They walked around us like we weren’t even there. The better off students would pass and look at us as if disgusted before walking on. It was a pain in the arse to hear so many blokes talking about how well they did in their exams. Others were talking about plans they had for College and some were even talking about University! Must be nice to have it all planned out, then again how boring would that be?
We saw Simon Grant walk by and he was now accompanied by his full gang. The gang were kitted out entirely in the iconic black hoodies. One boy by the name of Adam was riding on a bright yellow Moped. That baby was beautiful! Imagine the scrambler bike Steve McQueen rode in The Great Escape, now imagine it being yellow and that is exactly what Adam’s bike looked like. I loved it so much. That nasty brute Adam didn’t deserve such a thing. Of course I had no say in the matter as it wasn’t any of my business. The gang walked along and turned a corner towards their usual spot, which was the car park of the Outdoor Recreation Centre.
We came out at the other side of the thicket. We walked through the Church
yard, through the busy town and started to walk through the market. St.Ians was famous for its Monday Market and I was never really sure why (before you ask, I also think it’s odd that our school year ended on a Monday). Whenever I walked through the Market, it was just full of useless junk that no one would want
We also went past another famous landmark of St.Ians: the pubs. St.Ians has an unbelievable amount of pubs: The Black Heart, Nelson’s Foot, The Seven Husbands, The Little John, The Golden Badger, The Tap-dancing room, The Pilot, River Tavern, The Strawman, The Man’s Arms, The Royal Pine, The Drawing Room and The Cyclopes. Each place had unique characteristics and tended to different kinds of people. Intellectuals go to the Tap-dancing room, football fans go to the Man’s Arms for the large television and musicians go to River Tavern to perform. Sixth Formers with nothing better to do go The Drawing Room, where there always seemed to be a Sixth Form party going on (when I say party I actually mean a games night including sessions of: “how far can you chunder” and “bet which girl will get their boobs out first”).
In fact, we were so well known in our beer guzzling ways that we even appeared in an episode of Binge Britain. This was a programme that was on the television not so long ago and would document binge drinking culture throughout the UK. Each episode was dedicated to a different location. These locations included London, Manchester, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Belfast, Cardiff and many other large cities. Nonetheless little St.Ians found its way onto the programme, officially stating to the nation that St.Ians has drinking problems.
Oh St.Ians, you’ve brought me up on a diet of violence, drinking and wavering tension between the lower and middle classes. We like to think that we’ve moved on from the class system, but we know very well that it’s still there and causing many issues in society. The main issue is the hateful way that people like me are treated, just because we were brought up differently to them. I don’t think I should go too much into politics and that. I don’t want to annoy you with my political views, the last thing I want is you shouting at the book and sending the publisher “stern letters”. I think it’s best to keep this book as neutral as possible.
We passed through the Market, out of the Town centre and walked on by some housing areas. We walked along down pathways, past the Police Station down Pig Lane (brilliant init?) and were soon walking by Northfield Primary School. This was where I used to go as a kid. In fact, both me and Lizzie went to this school as kids and had a lot of fun there.
That was the last place where I could remember being innocent. Having a clean mind and not worrying about sex, murders, diseases and such dark aspects of modern life. Playing within the confines of that wired fencing, I could see the world as a beautiful place full of opportunity, love and adventure. I wish I could go back and tell little old me not to get too excited, as my expectation out lived the reality.
We passed on by, went over the road and came to some traffic lights at the main road. This was the long route to get home, as it should only take a few minutes normally. I and Lizzie have discovered that its best to avoid the routes that Simon and his gang takes, just for our own safety, which meant that we had to take this longer route. At least it kept us fit. It’s much better then going down the quick route, to have the boys beat me up and grope at Lizzie’s bum. Hasn’t civilisation progressed so much over the years? Mmmm . . . sarcasm is hard to put down in words, oh well, I’m sure you get the message.
The symbol of the walking man lit up bright green. The cars stopped and we crossed the road. When we come to the other side we turned to the left and carried on walking. We went past houses, gardens, corner shops and crossings until eventually we made it to our two houses.
They weren’t anything particularly special. The two houses were conjoined into one large, white square. The windows were few and perfectly square . . . and that’s about it really. Lizzie lived on the left side and I lived on the right. We went our separate ways as Lizzie walked up to her front door and went inside. I walked up to my front door, but I didn’t go inside straight away. I had a lot on my mind.
My exam results were in a brown envelope in my bag. I was trying to decide whether to show my Mother the paper or not. She was an over protective woman, the kind that’s so over baring that she’s just plain mean. I know she meant well, but she could become nasty and went ballistic easily. “Ape-shit” I believe is the right term to describe it.
After a few moments of thought, I decided to keep the envelope to myself. There’s no point starting an argument when I wasn’t in the mood to have one. Sometimes in life, its best to keep some things secret if it’s for the best. That’s the only instance in which I could encourage lying, as sometimes the truth can cause more trouble then its worth.
I entered the house and closed the door behind me. Inside everything was a basic white. The council who owned the house limited you on what you could and couldn’t do, so we just went for the basic whitewash and tiled vinyl floor. The house was always clean as Mum was always home and liked to fill the time between clients.
My Mum was a home hairdresser. Her clients would come to the house at their pre organised appointments and have their hair cut in the living room. The clients were mainly older women who liked having their hair cut by my Mum. They could chat and gossip about celebrities while watching Loose Women on the television. There was always a trash mag handy that the women would read during their appointment. So most of the conversations were sparked off by something they’d read about some talentless pleb’s love affair, or something daft like that.
When I came in I could hear my Mum in the living room, clicking away with those scissors. I peered into the living room to see who it was today. There were rarely any new clients, so over the years I had come to know them all quite well. Today was Barbara.
Barbara was a lovely lady no older then thirty-five. She had bleach blonde hair, long pink finger nails, a huge pair of fake breasts and she was always covered unevenly in fake tan. She was originally from Essex before moving down here with her husband Richard (who was from St.Ians) and has been a client to my Mum ever since.
She was a beautician at the local parlour in town. It was a massive black building, opposite the pound shop, that had windows covered in posters of glamorous models. You know the kind, the ones where you stare at them and think: “She must be hungry”. Barbra worked in there and did nails, hair, tanning, piercings and such like. She had the ability to cut her own hair but enjoyed my Mother’s company, so she came here instead and gossiped until the sun went down.
She was flicking through the pages of a magazine. My Mum was standing behind her cutting expertly at her long blonde hair. I walked past the room, as they hadn’t noticed me and I wanted to hide the test results in my room before Mum had the chance to see it. I climbed up the stairs, past the banister and walked into my room.
My room was small, but it was enough for little old me. My bed was in the left hand corner where above hung posters of Cheryl Cole, Tulisa Contostavlos and members of The Beatles. The Beatles are my secret pleasure. If Simon got news that I was into the Fab Four, he’d never let it go and would fuel him for some more taunting. I have every one of their songs on my MP3 player and I have DVDs of their films: A Hard Day’s Night, Help!, The Magical Mystery Tour and Yellow Submarine. We all have our guilty pleasures.
I flung my backpack onto the bed before falling backwards onto the spongy mattress. I had one of those memory foam deals, the ones that leave an imprint of you when you get back up. It was lovely and comfy as it allowed my weight to sink right into it, until I was about halfway immersed in yellow sponge. I wriggled around for a bit before lying still, staring at the ceiling.
I liked doing that, just staring at the ceiling. It helps me think. I’ve learnt that if I try and think with my eyes shut I just fall asleep, and then I’d wake up and forget what it was I was thinking about, so pointless. My ceiling was made of that plaster like stuff that’s been made into many circles. It hadn’t been done that we
ll, as there were blotches and balls of plaster splattered around everywhere. When I’m having one of these thinking sessions, I like to count all of these circles as it sometimes helps me to concentrate.
I was thinking about the future. A bit deep I know but it was only then that I really begun to worry about it. I couldn’t really get a job with the grades I had. I’d be stuck with me parents for the rest of my life. Yeah, that’s romantic init? Bring a girl around after a date before warning her to be quiet, as to not wake up my folks! Blimey, this was going to be a sad existence.
I lay there quietly for a while, before kicking my bag aside. Soon I climbed myself into the bed properly and fell asleep almost instantly.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was woken up by my Mum, who was shaking my shoulder violently. She was also shouting at an incredible volume. I was still half asleep when this happened, so at first I had no idea what it was she was going on about. Through my sleepy eyes she was nothing more then a screaming blur. All I could make out was her face, her hair and a piece of paper that she was waving in my face.
Then it finally clocked in my mind. She must had gone into my bag and found the GCSE results. My vision cleared and blimey she looked mad. Her face had gone bright red, she was covered in sweat and her eyes looked like they were about ready to explode from their sockets.
“What is this?!” she exclaimed with unbelievable fury, “Explain yourself Aaron! Why did you fail all your subjects but one! Why didn’t you study harder! Why didn’t you listen to a word I said?!”
