by Mark Tilbury
‘Why?’
Because I tried to bite his dick off. ‘I don’t know.’
Another whack. This time a slap around my cheek. It throbbed like a dozen bee stings. ‘What did I say to you?’
For half a second, I was tempted to tell him to jump off a cliff. Turn around and run for my life. But, it was too cold. I’d probably only survive for a few hours out here wearing nothing but my flimsy jumper and threadbare trousers. ‘Sir?’
‘Yes, sunshine, sir, and don’t you forget it.’
I made a mental vow not to. Mistakes bloody well hurt. ‘No, sir.’
‘Where’s your stuff?’
‘My stuff?’
‘Are you an imbecile? Has your eighteen months with the Davieses addled your brain?’
‘No, sir.’ My eighteen months with the Davieses had done far worse than just addle my brain.
‘Then why do you seem so confused by the simplest of questions? How old are you, boy?’
‘Fourteen, sir.’ It was hard to be sure; I hadn’t had a proper birthday since my mother had died.
‘So why are you acting like a snot-rag, who doesn’t even know his times table yet?’
Because you scare the shit out of me. ‘Sorry, sir.’ By now, my teeth were rattling hard enough to break fillings.
‘Where are your belongings?’
‘I don’t have any, sir.’
‘What do you mean?’
Now who was a dumb fuck? ‘I’ve only got these clothes, sir.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
I didn’t. ‘It’s true, sir.’
He pulled the end of his nose as if trying to stretch it. His eyes seemed lost in the folds of flesh beneath them. ‘I’ve had reports of your insolence, sunshine. The way you can lie at the drop of a hat. The way that you steal.’
I almost blurted out I only stole food because they sometimes refused to feed me when I wouldn’t do as Mr. Davies asked. Something in Fat Man’s eyes stopped me. A storm about to brew. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You ought to think yourself lucky you don’t live in Victorian times, Tate. They had the right idea, chopping off the hands of thieves.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Bastards like you would have been working in the mills and shimmying up chimneys in that Golden Age. You don’t know how lucky you are, much less appreciate it.’
I wanted to go inside. Get out of the freezing cold weather. It felt more like the North Pole than North Oxford. ‘Yes, s-sir.’
‘Have you had a shower?’
I shook my head. The Davieses didn’t have a shower. Just a bath. The only time I’d been allowed anywhere near it recently was to clean it in return for scraps of food. I’d never forget fishing their disgusting pubic hair out of the plughole and scrubbing the inside of the bath with Vim to get rid of black tide marks.
‘Have you got lice?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know much, do you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Here’s the problem we’ve got, sunshine. We can’t let you go inside when you might be infested. You do know what infested means?’
I nodded.
‘We don’t want you giving lice to the other boys, do we?’
I imagined a nice hot shower, water cascading over my battered body, soothing my aching muscles, maybe some soap to cut through the scum on my skin. ‘No, sir.’
‘Good. Follow me. And look smart about it.’
I followed him along the front of the red brick building, past huge glass windows in chipped and peeling frames. It must have stretched for about fifty feet either side of the central structure. And now, I remembered what horrors lie behind those windows. The senior block, home to kids aged between eleven and eighteen. The toilets and showers block – possibly the most dangerous place on Earth. Junior block. Kalvin Kraft’s office and study – the second most dangerous place on Earth. Boiler room and boot room. Unwanted memories invaded my brain. Some of them made Mr. Davies seem like a kind and generous man.
We turned around the corner of the building, past the huge brick-built coal shed, the bright yellow salt locker for de-icing the pathways, and to the huge playing field which stretched out to Bluebell Woods and beyond.
Kraft stood on the path, and sniffed the air, like a fox sensing prey. I stopped a few feet away from him. I was now shaking all over; part fear, part weather.
‘I like the fresh air. Do you like the fresh air, Tate?’
Best to just agree. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘A good winter kills all the bugs. Gets rid of all those nasty diseases.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He looked at me as if inspecting a turd. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m cold.’ A lie. I was frozen to the bone.
He grinned, exposing two large yellow front teeth. ‘Cold?’
I nodded and tried to lock my jaw to stop my teeth rattling.
‘Don’t you worry about that. You’ll soon warm up.’
Again, I imagined a nice hot shower. ‘Th-thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, Tate. Now, strip.’
At first I thought I’d misheard him. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘Deaf as well as dumb?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then get to it. Take off all your clothes and leave them in a pile on the path. I’ll get Hodges to burn them.’
I studied his eyes for signs of teasing. They remained hard and cruel. Slits sleeping in folds of flesh. ‘But—’
‘But, nothing, you little shit-pike. Get out of those filthy clothes and drop them on the path. And that includes underwear.’
‘But, why?’
A mistake. He stepped forward. Reached me in two strides and punched me in the stomach. A ball of flame erupted in my belly. I bent double, holding my stomach, head almost touching my knees. Tears blurred my vision.
‘Stand up straight.’
I summonsed every ounce of strength I possessed to do as he asked. I could now see two of him. Twin evil. I wanted to puke. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream in his face he was the world’s biggest cunt, that he made my dad seem like a saint, but, I didn’t dare to do any of those things. I was only brave in my head.
‘You were only here for five months before Mr. Davies and his wife were kind enough to take you in, weren’t you?’
How could I ever forget? ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You were a runty little shit then, and you’re a runty little shit now, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There are three types of people in this world, Tate. Firstly, we have good honest hard-working people, who dedicate their lives to serving their country. Those who work for the greater good. You do know what the greater good is, don’t you?’
I didn’t, but I didn’t want to give him another reason to belt me. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘But, scum like you don’t appreciate such people, do you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Wrong answer. I was treated to a flat-handed slap to the side of my head. My brain lurched to one side of my skull and back again. ‘Don’t lie, you little shit-pike. You don’t appreciate anything. You’ve proved that much with your lack of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Davies.’
Respect, my mind screamed. Respect for those evil bastards? ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘You will be. By God, you will.’ He seemed lost for a moment, and then said, ‘Which brings me onto the second type of person. Those who see the error of their ways, get their act together, and put themselves on the straight and narrow. Tainted, but nonetheless worthy of praise. God likes a trier, Tate.’
As far as I was concerned, God also seemed to like a psychopath. Other than my mother, Rachel, and Aunt Jean, all women, incidentally, everyone else seemed like they’d come straight from hell.
‘And then, there’s the likes of you, Tate. The low-life and the scum. The worthless shits of the world. The ones all the good people have to take care of because they’re too useless to take care of them
selves. Breeding like rabbits in their dirty little hutches and expecting the state to wipe their backsides when it all goes wrong. The drinkers. The gamblers. The murderers. The philanderers. Ring any bells?’
It did. My father. I opted for silence. I was too cold and hurt to make any more mistakes. At least that’s what I thought, before Kraft cranked his evil ways up a notch.
‘Yes, Tate, you might well look at the floor in shame. You recognise your own worthless father in that lot, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Look at me when I talk to you.’
I peered up into that twisted sneering face.
‘This world would be a much better place, if runts like you were wiped off the face of the Earth. Stop the cycle. Sterilise the women at birth and stop them breeding like whores.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But, until the state comes to its senses, we have to take care of you. Does that sound fair to you, Tate?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Bloody well right it isn’t. But, here we are. All I can do is serve my country and make the best of a bad lot. So, you strip out of those clothes and put them on the path like I asked you. Now!’
I peeled off my jumper and the thin vest and dropped them onto the ground.
‘I’ve seen more backbone on a snake.’
I no longer cared what he was saying. I was too cold to think. The wind whipped around my skeletal body as if sensing premature death. I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of the trousers. I watched his eyes roam all over my naked body as I stood shivering in my baggy white underpants.
‘There’s no hope for you, is there?’
‘No, s-s-sir.’
‘Do you think it’s acceptable to be a liar?’
‘N-n-no, s-s-sir.’
‘A despicable little thief.’
I shook my head and wrapped my arms around my chest.
‘I can’t hear you, Tate.’
‘No, s-s-sir.’
‘You’re damn lucky you’re not in borstal after what you did. We’ve got your cards marked.’
‘Y-y-yes, sir.’
‘Now, get out of those underpants. What part of strip don’t you understand?’
‘It’s f-f-f-freezing.’
‘It’s a good job it is. Kill all your disgusting germs. Unless you think infecting the other children is a good idea, do you?’
‘N-no.’
‘You’ll soon warm up.’
Again, I imagined a lovely hot shower.
‘This field is the best part of three quarters of a mile around the perimeter, Tate. I’m going to give you a little sum to do. I want you to tell me how many times you would have to run around the field to complete three miles?’
I tried as hard as I’d ever tried in my life, but my brain refused to play any more games. It had, quite literally, frozen. ‘I d-d-don’t know, s-sir.’
Kraft shook his head. ‘Fourteen years of age, and you can’t even do a simple sum? Is that what you’re telling me?’
Unfortunately, it was.
He reached down and grabbed my balls. Squeezed them hard and twisted. Pain erupted in my groin and spread like wildfire into my stomach. I stood panting like a steam train.
‘Try again.’
‘I… d-don’t… know.’
He let go of my balls, and wiped his hand down the front of his neatly pressed, blue trousers. ‘You disgust me.’
I didn’t care. Hopefully, I disgusted him enough to let me crawl off somewhere and die.
‘The answer is four. Four times three quarters equals three.’
I threw up. Nothing substantial. I’d eaten virtually nothing for two days. Bile scorched the back of my throat.
‘Off you go.’
‘What?’
‘Four laps of the field, you stupid little retard. And I don’t mean dawdle, like you’re out for a nice country walk, I mean run. You do know what run means?’
‘Yes, s-sir.’
‘Then, get to it.’
I set off. I tried to tell myself at least I might warm up a bit, stand a chance of surviving if I could move fast enough. I knew Kalvin Kraft would have been more than happy to watch me die. In fact, I’m sure he would have got some sort of sick pleasure out of it. I remembered him almost killing me once before. Choking me until I passed out. Coming around to find him doing stuff that had made me wish I was dead.
I reached the bottom of the field. There was a six-foot steel fence separating the field from the surrounding woods, and a locked gate barring access. I wondered if I could climb over the gate and disappear into the woods.
Great idea, Mikey. And then what? Make a nice bed out of leaves and settle down for the night under the stars. You’ll be dead before you can say Jack Frost.
Maybe dead was better than this. At least I’d no longer feel the cold. Or my aching battered body. I ran past the gate and started back up the other side. There was a terrible dull ache in my balls. My lungs burned. My eyes blurred. Tears froze on my cheeks.
The field was quite a steep climb on the way back to the top. I thought I was going to throw up again. I was running on empty.
He clapped his hands together. ‘Come on, Tate. Put some effort into it.’
I wanted to run up to him, and put my hands around his throat, squeeze the fucking life out of him. Spit on his corpse. But, power was everything, and they had all the power. Power thrived on helplessness, and we were certainly helpless. Just kids, with nowhere to go, and no one to love us. A perfect match, you might say.
I made it around that field three times before I finally collapsed. Kraft kicked my naked body several times. Threatened punishment, if I didn’t get up off my lazy arse and start running again. At one point, he stood on the back of my neck, and pushed my chin into the frozen earth.
I didn’t care anymore. I was convinced I was going to die. Get a ticket out of there. See my mum again. Feel her warm arms around me. Snuggle up. Mummy and her little love-bug. No Billy the Bully. No Mr. Davies. And no Kalvin Kraft to ever hurt us again.
And then, I slipped into unconsciousness. Thick, black, and comforting.
Chapter Nineteen
I woke up to find myself in a soft warm bed, with a tall thin woman standing over me, hair scraped back from her face, and fixed in a bun on top of her head. She looked like a bird of prey. God on Earth, where was I now? I closed my eyes and then opened them again. Still there.
‘How are you, Michael?’
I licked my lips; scaly as a lizard. ‘Where am I?’
She smiled. The smile never reached her eyes. ‘In the sick bay. You caught a chill. You’ve been in bed for the last three days.’
My throat felt as if it was lined with sandpaper. And then, a nasty realisation crept in, as I remembered Kraft making me run naked around the field. ‘Who are you?’
She smiled again. Those beady eyes ever watchful. ‘I’m Aunt Mary.’
‘I don’t remember you.’
‘I’ve only been here a year. Superintendent tells me you were here eighteen months ago.’
I nodded. Now fully aware. Did he also tell you he’s a cruel and sadistic bastard, who gets off on watching young boys suffer? ‘Are you a nurse?’
This time she laughed. She clapped a hand over her mouth as if trying to stop the sound escaping. ‘Me? A nurse? Cripes, no. I’m a seamstress.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You don’t know?’
I shook my head.
‘I sew things. Mend things. All the uniforms. The bedding. If it’s got a stitch, I’m in charge.’ Another tiny laugh. More of a nervous giggle. ‘But, I also help with the sick bay.’
‘I don’t remember a sick bay last time I was here.’
‘It’s not a proper one. It’s just a bed out the back of the clothing store for minor stuff. Anyone who gets really sick has to go to the hospital.’
‘Like Davy?’
‘Who’s Davy?’
I almost told her how Thomas Reader,
the deputy supervisor, had hit him over the head with a poker one morning in assembly. His only crime? Not reciting the Lord’s Prayer properly. Davy was only nine. A good kid from the junior block. We never saw him again after the ambulance took him away. I’ll never forget the blood staining his dirty blond hair crimson. The way his eyes had rolled back in their sockets. The way he’d slumped to the floor. The awful silence hanging in the air, thick and suffocating.
‘Michael?’
‘Just some kid. No one important.’ An understatement in this place.
‘I’ve brought you some aspirin. Sit up, we don’t want you to spill.’
I forced myself to do as she asked. Even though I was suspicious of all adults, Aunt Mary didn’t seem as bad as some of the others. I forced down the tablets and finished the glass of water. Some of it dribbled down my chin. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
‘I reckon you’ll be all right to go back to the senior block this afternoon.’
I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay here, out of the way, safe and warm, under the watchful eye of this strange, but seemingly decent woman, with her starched face and scraped back hair. ‘I feel like death.’
‘It’ll do you good to get up. Get your muscles working again, and the blood pumping around your body.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Don’t be silly. Would you like soup for lunch?’
My stomach roared to life. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes, what, young man?’
‘Please.’
‘That’s better. There isn’t much free in this life, but manners and the air you breathe are. You’d do well to remember that.’
I watched her walk away, her back ramrod straight, her starched black dress sweeping the floor as she went. She reminded me of a Victorian woman in the history books at school. I wondered if she was wearing one of those corset things, which had to be laced up the back and pulled tight enough to crush rocks. I also wondered if she had any idea what really went on at Woodside. The way the kids were treated. If she did, she was doing a good job of hiding it. Perhaps she had it tucked away in that neat bun of hers, locked up tight and fixed in place with bobby pins.
My first spell at Woodside was hazy, dimmed by my eighteen months with the Davieses. It had lasted about five months, until May fifth, nineteen sixty-seven. I’d arrived straight from Rachel’s, about two weeks after my mother’s death. December nineteenth. Pissing down with rain. A large green car had pulled up. A man had come to the door wearing a bowler hat and a black suit. He had a short, trimmed moustache and cold grey eyes. I remember thinking how much this man seemed to match the weather.
