As the four lads all looked in on each other, the new arrival rapped his knuckles on the table.
‘I’m Darren. I like football and martial arts.’ He had short black hair, in a side parting, pushed up into a Tin Tin type quiff at the front.
‘Nice to meet you friends,’ he stated.
He then got up and went round the table and shook Will’s hand, looking him directly in the eye. A strangely adult thing for an eleven year old to do, Will thought. He seemed so confident and his grip was hard and cool, making Will involuntarily wipe his comparatively warm and sweaty soft hand on his trousers. His other hand moved to his fringe, all of a sudden conscious of his own style’s lack of cool. Will just stated, ‘Football and sweets.’
Darren shook Carl’s hand who proclaimed to like ‘Chess and war’ which received an appreciative nod of respect. However he still flicked his hand in the air above his head with a grimace after, as though he had failed to find a penny in the pot of thick honey he was looking in, which Will suspected was a joke about Carl’s oily nature.
After squeezing Aiden’s hand and pretending it had been crushed to pieces by his hydraulic grip, he looked at him with raised eyebrows.
‘Well?’
‘My name is Aiden.’ Aiden then looked up to think, as though he had been asked for his take on the theory of relativity. In his soft brogue he then simply replied.
‘Food. And bigger trousers.’ They all roared with laughter.
5
A dizzying blur of rules, timetables and responsibilities soon sobered them up and the bell went for what they assumed was a break. The teacher declared they would be sitting a spelling and numeracy test after and woe betide anyone who was caught cheating.
The four boys went out of the class together and back to the courtyard. There seemed to be a huge game of football going on, played with a tennis ball. There must have been about twenty-a-side, all bigger, older boys, raucously racing up and down, bellowing and barging.
They stood on the edge, all four in a line. Will looked at the others as they watched the game. Carl did so with a look of horror, Aiden with a bit more focus than he had shown all day and Darren with an expression like a well-trained, shackled guard dog waiting to be released into the melee.
Catching his own reflection in the window behind him, Will pushed his hair to one side, trying to interrupt the dome effect and gave himself a harsh diagonal sweep to his fringe. As he pondered which was worse, pudding basin or something that seemed to give him a slight resemblance to Adolf Hitler, he felt the tennis ball hit the window above his head and drop behind them.
Even thirty years on Will would never know what possessed Carl to pick that ball up. He held it as though he had picked up a sweet, baby bird that had dropped out of a nest. He then threw it back as a toddler would, trying out the technique for the first time. Maybe it was. The ball flew gently vertically up where it hung for what seemed minutes, before a slight gust of wind blew it onto the roof behind them.
A picture of the four lads’ faces then would have painted a picture of the future. Carl looked as though he had been told he would be singing a soprano solo on the stage at the next day’s school assembly, naked. Will looked at Darren, instinctively looking at the dominant force for guidance and Aiden had a blank look on his face, if it had registered it hadn’t triggered any response. Darren however faced forward, shoulders open, eyes wide, chin set, poised and ready for come what may.
The lost ball triggered an instant response in the players and within seconds Carl was being held by the collar and being lifted off the ground by a swarthy fat boy, twice Carl’s size. A voice rang out shouting ‘Go on Kostas, hit the twat’. Carl had gone all limp like a stick of celery that had been left out overnight; no fight whatsoever.
‘That was my ball,’ Kostas bellowed. He looked around, very aware of his audience. ‘No-one does that. You bloody pathetic greasy goon.’ Later Will pondered why he had got involved. He had seen Carl bullied before and paid no attention. Maybe it was the huge straight-armed swiping cuff from a large, open, chubby paw, that slapped Carl’s glasses straight into Will’s chest that caused him to react, or maybe it was just the incongruous nature of the fight. He would admit a long time later it was partly the acorn of friendship that was to blame.
Will jumped on to the outstretched arm that was still holding Carl and lifting his knees up, attempted to pull it down with both hands. It didn’t work. He just hung there like a heavy wet shirt ineffectively trying to pull down a firm washing line. Darren however, was more effective.
He went round to the other side and in a swift practiced motion assumed a wide stance and proceeded to snap fast uppercuts into his targets ribs at the side and back. His shoulders, hips, legs and feet all pivoted in an almost smooth dance-like sequence. His weight shifting slightly from side to side as each sharp punch fired out.
Will was mesmerized. He was now sitting on the pavement, Carl forgotten. He didn’t punch like a child, Will thought at the time. You would have thought his features would be constricted into a growling rictus grin. Instead it was a face of peace and focus, like how his dad’s face looked when he was enjoying a complicated jigsaw puzzle, completely lost in the moment.
Kostas let out a roar and casually threw Carl on top of Will. He turned round, face ablaze with fury, teeth bared and swung a huge heavy right, seemingly in slow motion after Darren’s blurring speed.
Will gasped, but then immediately thought that even he could have ducked that. Darren wasn’t there to duck however. He stepped forwards and cracked two jabs straight at the mouth ahead, shoulder rising on his right and left as each shot snapped out. He had made no attempt to dodge the incoming blow, but instead let it glance off his shoulder and top of his head. As his opponent’s body twisted off balance, he released another right uppercut to the stomach.
The silence pounding in his ears, as he got up, Will realised he was seeing something special and something natural. It was clear Darren was born to fight. This was not a bible story though and Goliath managed to grab an arm.
With sheer brute force he twisted Darren round and got his arm under his chin, squeezed and leant back. Darren’s feet kicked out, but it was clear he was helpless, his face reddening quickly as he gasped for air.
Will felt powerless as he remembered the strength of the arm he had tugged on. He desperately looked round the sea of gormless wan faces for any kind of assistance. His spirits rose as he saw what must be a teacher in a tracksuit observing from some raised steps about fifty metres away. It took about three seconds before he realised with certainty that the man had seen the fracas and done nothing.
As his hopeless gaze returned to Darren’s purple face he heard a pounding sound and a large body came out of the corner of his vision. He felt its momentum as it bore past him and from a low angle and powering up hit Kostas so hard in the hip that he lifted him and his choking victim a foot in the air. He then lay on top of him, elbows next to each ear and hands holding the head in place by firm grips in the hair, as Darren rolled away hauling air into his lungs.
This time there was no weight disparity and Kostas struggled and cursed up at Aiden’s blank face, but he was stuck. A curtain of fear fell down his face all of a sudden as he saw Darren get up. Darren’s jigsaw face had returned. He walked to the pair in the lover’s embrace and looking straight down over their heads, gave the target a calculating stare and pulled his foot back.
‘Enough,’ commanded a loud mature voice. The watching teacher had finally come over and gently pushed Darren away. He didn’t seem angry, or even inclined to do anything bar stopping the possible head football that was going to occur.
At that point the bell rang and he shouted for everyone to get back to their classes. He pulled Aiden off and helped Kostas to his feet. Kostas looked winded and unsteady on his feet. His lip was split in two places, trickles of blood going down his chin, staggering like a drunken vampire. As a last ditch attempt to save some dignity, he spat a f
inal threat.
‘You’re a dead boy.’
Darren looked him in the eye and slowly replied, ‘Careful what you say. I won’t always be eleven.’ Kostas blanched and slunk off as the rest filed back into the school.
Will had a look back when he got to the door. The teacher was still standing there staring at them, a half smile on his face. Darren walked through the other children who parted for him like Moses and the Red Sea. Carl followed behind, hoping to bask in the respect that was on the faces of all the boys and the shock that was on the girls.
Will felt surreal, as ten minutes later they were in the midst of a test with questions being fired at them with little thinking time. Near the end Will looked round at the others. He knew he was a bright lad, but even he had been missing answers. Aiden was faring worse than him, his big hand seemingly struggling with the small pen he had been given.
A now red throated Darren was doing about as well, but that was maybe because he was focusing on Carl. He wasn’t cheating, just watching. As the next few questions came, Will saw why. Carl was writing the answers down immediately as though he did not even have to think, like copying them out of a book. Oddly enough Will noticed he had the same expression on his face as Darren had when he was fighting. Cursing he realised he had missed the last two questions and resolved to concentrate.
The papers were passed to a different table and the answers read out. The teacher stood at the front and joked, ‘Now anyone got them all correct?’
Little giggles echoed around the room until a girl in the corner stood up and simply stated, ‘Carl did.’ A gasp went round the room, necks straining to see who had managed the impossible. Carl only had eyes for Darren though and Darren was returning the stare, gently nodding his head. In this way, Will concluded, deals were done.
6
3rd September 1985
Will rose out of his saddle, arms straining at the handlebars. He could still just about see his bastard brother and his pal up ahead, their purple blazers billowing in their slipstream. Nathan had promised his dad in front of Will that he would stay with his brother on his first ride to school, but as soon as his friend had met them they had sped off and his smaller bike couldn’t keep up.
He was desperate too, as they were approaching Edwalton Avenue which was just before the bridge and the dreaded underpass. It was here Nathan had been telling him that the kids from the other nearby school waited in a line so they could shower you with spit as you went past.
As his brother went out of sight, he saw a familiar boy cycling up the close on a bike that was way too big for him. It was Darren and Will gasped in relief. He saw a slight look of annoyance cross his new friend’s face as he waited for him. He wondered whether it was on seeing him, but decided it was more likely his unwieldy conveyance which was weaving down the road. Just as well it was mostly cycle path to get to school or his mum wouldn’t have let him cycle and Darren’s life expectancy would be measured in days not years.
‘Have you got your games kit?’ Will asked.
‘Yep,’ said Darren. ‘It’s before lunch isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Although I’ve never played rugby before, what’s it like?
‘Violent,’ Darren answered with a big grin.
Will wasn’t as pleased at that prospect. He had seen rugby on television, but had never held a rugby ball before.
‘Is it like American football?’ His mum let him watch that after scouts on a Friday night.
‘Yes, you catch the ball and run to the end. Apart from those jessies wear protective padding.’ As they got to the crest of the road, he shouted, ‘Last one to school buys the sweets.’
They both steamed down the sloping path, Darren’s whoop of ‘Aaaa-gaaa-doooo,’ echoing around and Will’s relieved cheer bounced back as they went through the empty underpass. As they came out of the dark and up the other side Nathan and his friend jumped out from behind a bush and spat at them both as they streamed past.
* * *
At eleven o’clock in the morning Will found himself standing on the edge of the games field. His shoelace had broken and the head games teacher, who was the teacher observing the fight and was still wearing the same tracksuit, was trying to repair it.
As he waited he stared at the throng on the field. Misfits and loners stood near the centre circle, whilst the more boisterous and confident were already trying to kick the ball at the posts and throwing the ball to each other. Darren was amongst the latter, passing the ball with accuracy and speed.
Aiden and Carl were stood on the edge of the centre circle, laughing about something as they watched the ball play. From a distance Aiden’s size was comically obvious. He was a good head taller than Carl and his thighs were the same thickness as the smaller boy’s waist. Although Carl’s sports kit was oversized it looked like it had been ironed with military precision. This seemed to make his legs look more twig like than they could possibly be. Will suspected Carl’s rugby career would be a short one.
Aiden however stood next to him almost bursting out of his. He winced as he remembered the noise when Aiden had collided with the boy yesterday. As he watched, three lads had made their way over to the pair and had begun pointing. You didn’t need the hearing of superman to see abuse being delivered. The three boys’ bodies rocked as they found whatever insults they were throwing hilarious.
He could understand Carl not responding but Aiden could have mown these lads down like grass. He suspected Aiden was a gentle soul and as he wedged his newly laced shoe back on he raced towards them with trepidation. Darren then came into view. He stopped in between the two groups and even from a distance Will could see him talking earnestly to each individual, pointing and looking from face to face for understanding. He then peeled away and left them to it.
As Will reached them he heard all three lads apologise profusely to their feet and they too left quickly.
‘What was that about?’ Will panted as he arrived.
‘Nothing much,’ Carl beamed. ‘I don’t think they will be doing it again.’
The teacher called them together and introduced himself as Mr Wheeler. He was about fifty and despite his age seemed in good shape, heavy but strong. He had a full head of hair, greying at the sides and a slightly dodgy looking moustache.
‘Welcome to The Prince’s School. This,’ he declared, ‘is a rugby school. Ergo, we play rugby.’
‘Can’t we play football?’ a young-looking, ginger haired lad piped up.
Wheeler strode up to him and bellowed at him, so close his hair moved. ‘Football is a swear word, this is ball to hand. If I see anyone kick the ball, I will kick them. Now listen to the rules.’
Considering he was a teacher it was the most cursory of explanations. The swirling wind kept snatching words away and the majority had blank looks on their faces. He picked up something about forming a mule and forward passing resulting in pain.
‘Now I shall show you how to tackle. A volunteer please.’
Someone pushed the ginger haired boy forward, who now had a face like someone was shoving him toward a cliff edge.
‘Name, boy?’
‘Ingram,’ he replied.
‘Ingram sir!’ Wheeler thundered as he fired the ball into the boy’s midriff. To his credit Ingram caught it with only a faint huff as it hit his stomach. However he was standing for only a few more seconds as the teacher shouted ‘Watch’ and ran over and drove his shoulder into Ingram’s thigh. There was a collective ‘ooh’ as Ingram’s face slid along the grass.
‘Once you are on the floor you must let go of the ball. Now practice in pairs. If you tackle properly, neither you, nor your opponent will get hurt.’
Will suspected Ingram would beg to differ as he watched him struggle to his feet, modelling a bright green side to his face.
Will felt a big paw on his shoulder and turned to a smiling Aiden. Given no choice he told Aiden to run toward him with a ball after stepping away to give him space. As Aiden arrived he put his shoulde
r down and dove toward a meaty thigh. It was like hitting a phone box.
As he sprawled on the floor, he looked up and caught Darren wiping out Carl next to them. In the background the teacher followed proceedings with a hawkish stare. Luckily before the horror of Aiden tackling him materialised, the teacher got a game going.
He gave the ball to Aiden as the two sides lined up and simply said, ‘Off you go.’
Aiden looked at the ball as though it was a ticking bomb, before setting off at a country ramble. Ingram’s poor day continued as he was the first person Aiden walked through. It wasn’t until Aiden was almost at the try line that he was thwarted, although it was the teacher who knocked and dragged him to the floor. Will caught the teacher wincing when he thought he wasn’t being watched.
What followed was thirty minutes of slapstick action. The teacher’s shouted unbidden instructions merged with squeals of bent fingers and bumped heads, as twenty-eight lads barged after the ball carrier, like so many ducklings chasing their mother. Will actually found he quite liked it.
He scored two tries and found that he was a natural tackler although he had dropped the ball more times than he had caught it. If you went in hard and tight in the right area, it didn’t seem to matter what size the person you tackled was, they still came down. Admittedly he hadn’t tackled Aiden, as their class had been pitted against another.
Darren was loving being on Aiden and Will’s team. Naturally Aiden had been put in the front row of the scrum. He was almost too strong. When he pumped those thighs, he was prone to send the scrum into a crumpling spin with Aiden left confused on top of a pile of bodies. As boys cried out about being winded and crushed, Darren was nipping in on agile feet and darting away. Will sprinting and rapidly joining him as they made for the try line, taking turns to score.
Lazy Blood: a powerful page-turning thriller Page 4
