by Mark Tilbury
I didn’t feel like joining in with Liam’s fantasy; mostly because I thought it would probably happen the other way around.
‘I’ll make him run naked around the field, like he did to you, Mikey. Run until he has a heart attack.’
I smiled. ‘Good.’
‘Do you know what they did to Reggie?’
‘No.’
‘Kraft and his cronies tied the poor bastard to a bed out the back of the storeroom.’
‘The sick bay?’ I said, remembering my brief time in the care of Aunt Mary.
‘They use it for whatever suits them. They had it all decked out with black curtains and medieval stuff when they took Reggie there. Tied him to the bed. Performed some sort of satanic ritual. Carved an upside down cross from his nipples down to his naval with a knife. Then, McCree raped him.’
‘Jesus.’
‘They’re sick, Mikey. Sick in the fucking head. They belong in hell, and I’m going to make sure they go there.’
I didn’t know what to say. I felt sick inside. Sorry for Reggie. Angry at Kraft and the others. How could they do this to a kid? A defenceless kid. It was too horrific to take in. A picture of Reggie flashed into my mind. In Hodges’ shed, puffing away on a Woodbine, telling us his gangster stories. Bullshit about how he was a runner for Ronnie Kray. How Ronnie had told him he was the brightest kid on the block, and how he would give Reggie a proper job in the firm when he got old enough.
‘They left him face down on the bed, crying and screaming for his mother. He hasn’t even got a mother. He told me she died giving birth to him. I wonder what that poxy vicar would have to say about that?’
We sat in silence for a few moments. Liam took several gulps of wine and then handed the bottle to me. ‘Reggie said Aunt Mary came into him the next morning. Untied him and treated his wounds as best she could. Bathed them with warm water and Dettol, as if that would make him better.’
I remembered Aunt Mary bringing me chicken soup and talking to me as if she actually cared. The only person, other than Rachel, who’d done that since my mother’s death. ‘At least she—’
‘She’s as bad as the rest of them, Mikey. Worse, even. She goes home to a nice warm house at night, knowing full well what’s going on inside Woodside. Might even have kids of her own. But, she says nothing. Turns a blind eye. Brings out the warm water and the Dettol and thinks she can just wash it all away. She could go to the cops and tell them what’s going on.’
‘Maybe it’s not as easy as that.’
A look crept into Liam’s eyes that made my heart stall. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Going to the cops. Carver’s a cop, isn’t he?’
‘I don’t care. That bitch is as bad as the rest of them. If I ever get a chance, I’ll do her in as well.’
I tried to stop myself imagining that upside down cross carved onto Reggie’s body. How scared he must have been.
‘We’ll get them, Mikey. Once we’re sorted out, we’ll go back and get them.’
‘Maybe we could meet Reggie from school one day, bring him back here.’
‘As long as he doesn’t rattle on every night about all that gangster crap.’
‘Yeah. Like how he got stuck in that open window when they were burgling a house. How Ronnie Kray had to pull him through.’
Liam laughed. ‘Reminds me of you and the cat flap.’
‘I hope Reggie didn’t fart in Ronnie Kray’s face.’
‘Gassed a fucking gangster. Only Reggie could do that.’
We laughed long and hard about that. A little close to hysteria. Maybe our only way of dealing with the horrors of Woodside Children’s Home.
After a while, Liam turned to me, all traces of humour gone. ‘This family they fostered you out to? What was it like?’
I looked into the fire. ‘Absolute shit.’
‘Wanna talk about it?’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Blood brothers need to know everything, Mikey. That’s how we help each other.’
‘I suppose…’
‘Is it any worse than what happened to your mum?’
I lit a cigarette and told Liam how five months after I had arrived at Woodside, a car pulled up in the turnaround.
‘A big dark-blue thing. Kraft had already told me I was going to be placed with a family. Rattled on about how important it was that I behaved myself. How I would only get one chance with a decent family. If I messed up, I would be back at Woodside with a permanent black mark against my name. No one would ever want me again.
‘Kraft stood there, threatening me, mopping sweat off his face with a cotton hanky. There was a copper driving the car. A middle-aged bloke got out of the passenger seat and walked up to me. He was about six feet tall, thin, grey hair parted to one side, thin moustache, and watery eyes. Kraft shook his hand and then introduced him to me as Mr. Davies. He asked my name, and then invited me to get in the car. I didn’t see Woodside again for another eighteen months.
‘We drove right out into the sticks. They lived in a nice detached house, set right back from the road. It wasn’t very far from Woodside, no more than half an hour away, which meant I still went to the same school. Davies dropped me off in the mornings on his way to work.
‘I slept pretty well that first night. Had my own room. It was much bigger than the boxroom at Whitehead Street. Comfy bed and matching pine furniture. Like paradise after Woodside. His wife made me a packed lunch. A proper one. Sandwiches, an apple, one of those small, fancy cake things and a can of coke. For the first time ever, I had clothes that fit. Shoes with no holes in the bottoms. When I got home, I had a proper cooked meal. Lamb chops, roast potatoes, green beans, and gravy. The best dinner I’d had since my mum died.
‘I was even offered a bath. Imagine that after the showers at Woodside? Those bloody things only had two settings; cold and freezing cold. I soaked in that bath, barely able to believe my luck. I even put bubble bath in it. Dared to close my eyes, and enjoy something for once. Surely too good to be true? And it was. Davies came in and started asking me all these questions. Told me to call him Selwyn. Asked how school was. If there was enough hot water. If it was nice being away from Woodside. I felt so exposed. I just wanted him to go away and leave me alone.
‘Then he started rattling on about how sorry he was to hear of the terrible way my mother had died. He had a strange, misty look in his eyes. The steam in the bathroom had pasted his hair to his scalp. And then he asked me what I wanted for supper. If I wanted sandwiches and milk. I told him I didn’t want anything. Just to be left alone.
‘As he was about to leave, he offered to wash my back. Just like that, as if it was fucking normal for a grown man to wash a kid’s back. It made every inch of my skin crawl. I drew my knees up in an effort to cover myself, wishing to Christ I’d put more bubbles in the bath. I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. He let himself out of the bathroom without another word. A part of me wondered if I’d imagined what he’d just said. Fell asleep in the bath and dreamed the whole thing.
‘Nothing else happened for weeks. Life with the Davieses seemed pretty good. I had enough to eat. Good grub, too, not like the shit at Woodside. I smelled a lot better, too. Girls even talked to me. I felt almost normal. No one to cane my arse. No more freezing cold block at Woodside. But, I should have known better. Good things don’t happen to people like me.
‘They bought me presents at Christmas. Books. Two comic annuals. Topper and Whizzer and Chips. Turkish Delight in a tub. Some gooey shit that ended up getting spilled all over my bed. A neat toy called a Slinky; a giant spring which walked down the stairs. Some Corgi cars. An Aston Martin, with real opening doors and lights that actually worked. We had turkey for dinner. All the trimmings. Stuffing, vegetables, gravy, and Christmas pudding, which Mrs. Davies set fire to.
‘Christmas Day was the last good day I ever had. Early the next morning, Davies came into my room. I must have sensed him in my sleep or something, because I woke u
p when he sat down at the foot of the bed. He asked me if I’d had a good Christmas. Something crawled across the inside of my stomach.
‘I switched on my bedside lamp, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. My alarm clock did its job for once and alarmed me. Just gone five. Mr. Davies was wearing his pyjamas. Baggy flannelette things, with green and pink squares all over them. I asked him what he wanted. He ignored me, and asked me again if I’d had a good Christmas. I nodded, gripping the blankets. Then he asked me if I liked living there with him and his wife, Dolly.
Again, I nodded. It was if all my words were stuck in the back of my throat, threatening to throttle me. He moved further up the bed, pinning me down with the sheets and blankets. He asked me if I wanted to go back to Woodside. I shook my head. I’d rather die. He seemed happy with that. He then told me he wasn’t married to Mrs. Davies. Not in the proper sense of the word. Said they went to a registry office and got a marriage license, but they weren’t married in the proper sense of the word. Dolly Davies was really his housekeeper. She’d only agreed to marry him so as the people where he worked didn’t know he was a homosexual.
‘I moved as far away from him as I could get. Which wasn’t very far considering there was a pine headboard in the way. My brain felt like scrambled eggs. He started going on about how he had needs that only men could satisfy. I felt a tiny glimmer of hope. I wasn’t a man; I was a boy. He destroyed that by putting his hand on my leg and asking me if I knew what sex was. I shook my head so hard my brain rattled. I thought about calling Mrs. Davies. Screaming her name at the top of my lungs. Begging her to come and help me.
‘He seemed to read my thoughts. He told me Mrs. Davies knew all about his ways. She was the sole beneficiary of his will, and was more than happy with their little arrangement. I was shaking all over. I told him I wanted to go back to sleep. He reminded me that one word from him and I’d be back at Woodside.
‘The rest happened in a blur. It was almost as if it was happening to someone else, or that I was dreaming the whole thing and watching myself from up on the ceiling. After that he came into my room about once or twice a month.
‘Did he rape you?’ Liam asked.
‘No. It was always just my hand or my mouth. If I refused, he would stop feeding me. Make me do shitty chores for scraps of food, stuff like that. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to scavenge in rubbish bins for food, or steal from kids’ lunch boxes at school.’
‘Bastard.’
I flicked my cigarette butt in the fire. ‘Then, out of the blue, he went away for two weeks. London. It was then that I made up my mind he wasn’t ever going to touch me again. I was either going back to Woodside, or to prison, but I didn’t care anymore.
‘On the night it happened, Friday, we’d had a fish and chip supper. By the time he appeared just before midnight, I was losing my bottle. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I froze? He asked if I’d been a good boy whilst he’d been away. I was beginning to wish I’d taken a knife from the kitchen drawer and hidden it under the bed for protection.
‘He told me he’d bought me a present in London. I didn’t want his fucking present. I wanted nothing from him. Even kindness came with conditions. He reached into his dressing gown pocket and pulled out an oblong blue case. He handed it to me, that horrible glazed look in his eyes. He told me to open it. I fumbled with the catch, fingers shaking. He took the case off me, undid it, handed it back. There was a beautiful, gold watch, lying on a red, velvet backing. I’d seen nothing like it in all my life. He told me to take it out.
‘I wanted to throw it across the room. Smash it into a thousand pieces. He asked me to take it out and turn it over. I did. Engraved on the back in fancy lettering: To Michael, with love. The words made me feel sick. I didn’t want his disgusting love. I wanted my mum’s love. Oxo’s love. He told me he’d bought it at Allerton’s in Bond Street. I put it back in the case, and laid it on my bedside table. I knew what was coming next. What I was going to do. My guts were churning over. I kept thinking, this is the last time you’re ever going to put that disgusting prick of yours anywhere near me.
‘I waited for him to get into position at the side of the bed, close his eyes, grab hold of my hair. Then, I bit down as hard as I could. He screamed loud enough to shatter glass. He gripped my head so tight I thought he was going to crush my skull. I didn’t think he was ever going to stop. He sounded like a tomcat wailing in an alley.
‘Mrs. Davies came waddling into the room. I don’t remember much after that. It happened in chunks. Davies staggering out. The two of them arguing. An ambulance arriving. Mrs. Davies shouting and bawling at me, telling me I was in the deepest shit possible. I wanted to scream in her face. Ask her how she’d like it if he made her put his disgusting thing in her mouth.
‘But I was just a kid, wasn’t I? And kids matter about as much as midges on a hot day, don’t they?’
Chapter Thirty
Me and Liam said little after that. Just sat before the fire, finishing the wine, smoking, taking in the day’s events, our near miss at the church with Kraft, my story of what had happened at the Davieses’ house. I didn’t tell Liam everything. Some things were better left unsaid. And some things were plainly bizarre. Like how Davies used make me brush his hair and cut his toenails. Or get me to read poetry to him. Stuff I didn’t understand. Flowery words wrapped up in riddles. Liam’s poem was far better than anything in one of the crappy poetry books Davies sometimes read to me.
I didn’t think I would sleep at all that night. My head kept fizzing and popping with unwanted thoughts. Images of Davies. That stupid little moustache sitting on his top lip, like a furry caterpillar. His greasy eyes – if there’s such a thing as greasy eyes – roaming all over my body. But, I eventually drifted off to the sound of Liam’s snoring.
At first, I thought the banging was in my dream. I was flying a kite, but the damned thing kept trying to drag me up in the air. There was a huge bird, like a vulture, only with wings the size of an airplane’s. I opened one eye. My head felt as if someone had been tap-dancing on it.
Liam was already up off the mattress. ‘Mikey? Get up. Get the fuck up. It’s Carver.’
Carver was standing at the window, hands cupped against the glass. ‘Get out here!’
Liam gawked at me. His hair looked as if it was trying to flee his scalp. ‘Get up, Mikey.’
I tried to work spit into my mouth. ‘What are we gonna do?’
‘I don’t know. I need to think.’ And then, slightly less panicked, ‘As long as he hasn’t got a key to the door, he can’t get in. He ain’t never going to get through the cat flap.’
My brain tried to think. Tried to shake off images of giant vultures, and kites that wanted to fly kids. I rolled off the mattress and struggled to my feet.
Carver banged on the window again.
Liam flipped him the bird. ‘Let’s go to the other bar. I can’t think straight with his ugly mush gawping at me.’
We walked into the public bar. Liam sparked his Zippo. The room looked as if a bomb had hit it. There was rubbish everywhere. Broken stools, upturned tables, a pool table missing two legs, empty crisp packets, broken glass.
He snapped the lighter shut and plunged the room back into darkness. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he gets in, Mikey. Coppers have skeleton keys.’
‘Maybe we ought to just give ourselves up.’
‘No fucking way. I ain’t going to give up and walk out of here like a wet fart.’
‘But, the only way out is through the cat flap.’
‘How do you reckon he found us?’
That was one question too many for my throbbing head. ‘How should I know? If you hadn’t rowed with that vicar at the church…’
He was quiet for a moment, and then said, ‘Don’t blame me for giving that wanker a piece of my mind. They all swan around, as if they’re as pure as angels, and we all know they ain’t. All that well-meaning bollocks. The twat even knows Kraft, for
fuck’s sake.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I’m not surrendering.’
The darkness closed in around me and seemed to envelop my heart. ‘All right. I’m sorry.’
‘We have to fight until the end, Mikey. That’s what blood brothers do, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘We don’t roll over in front of them, like a pair of soppy puppies.’
‘Okay.’
‘We owe it to everyone at Woodside to go out with a bang. Give them something to cheer about.’
‘So, what are we going to do?’
He didn’t answer for a while. I honestly believed we were about to die, never mind go out with a bang.
‘We need a distraction. One of us could go back into the lounge bar, wind him up, while the other one gets out the cat flap. Then, while he’s chasing the first one, the other one can escape.’
‘What if he’s not on his own? What if he’s got someone else waiting around the corner?’
Liam surprised me by agreeing. ‘You’re right… maybe we could get out of a bedroom window instead. Out the front. I could pry the board off.’
Better than going through the cat flap, but still buggered if Carver had back up. There was a series of loud crashes. Liam flipped the Zippo to life and walked towards the other bar. I followed him. It wasn’t good news. The window was now broken, and two uniformed coppers were knocking out the glass.
Carver shouted through the rapidly vanishing barrier, ‘You stay right where you are, you little toe rags. Don’t move an inch.’
I froze. Carver’s contorted face peered through the last fragments of shattered glass. He ordered the two coppers to arrest us. ‘Use as much force as necessary.’
Liam looked at me and pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘Where? For fuck’s sake, Liam, where?’
‘Don’t you even think about moving,’ Carver shouted.
One of the bobbies was nearly through the window, truncheon in his hand.
