Panic rose to Noel’s throat. ‘I didn’t pinch stuff I put it back!’
Nat was astounded. ‘What?’
The other hesitated before repeating. ‘I put it back – through the letterbox. I felt terrible, Nat. Those two old people hadn’t done anything to me! Why should I want to steal from them when I have enough money of my own?’
‘If you’ve got enough then what’re you whining about the bloody piano for?’
‘How would you feel if it were your piano, that you’d saved hard for and I was the one who attacked it?’
‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ scoffed Nat.
‘I thought you were my friend.’ The tone of Noel’s voice held no anger now, only betrayal. ‘Friends don’t do that to one another.’
Nat was peevish. ‘Oh, take that!’ He shoved his hand into his overcoat pocket and threw a handful of coins at the other youth. ‘We can’t have you forking out for something I’ve done, can we?’
Noel did not attempt to field the coins, some of which rolled along a gravestone. ‘I don’t want your money, Nat.’
‘Hah! You’ve been chuntering about it enough!’
‘You don’t seem to understand!’ Noel railed at the lack of intelligence. ‘Yes, it was a lot of money but I’d willingly pay it if I thought our friendship meant anything to you.’
‘It does mean summat!’ Exasperated, Nat leaped up and gathered the fallen coins. ‘Here! Look, take them. I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to bust your stinking piano, I’m sorry! I’m sorry.’
Noel wondered whether to hand back the coins, but deciding this would exacerbate Nat’s annoyance he put them into his pocket. ‘Thank you. Are we still friends?’
‘Yes!’ snapped Nat.
‘Do you want to come to my house next week?’
‘Not if your dad expects me to tug my foreskin every time I see him.’
Noel could not help a laugh. ‘I hardly think he’d appreciate that!’ Nat did not realize his gaffe. ‘Well, I don’t do that for nobody – eh, shush now, Denzil’s here.’ He repositioned his hat.
One by one the gang members assembled and passed half an hour around the fire relating each other’s news. Spud confessed, ‘I got the sack today.’
‘What for?’ asked Gunner.
‘Nowt!’ Spud was still confused as to what he had done to deserve this.
‘You must’ve done summat wrong.’ Denzil turned up the collar of his jacket.
‘How can there be anything to get wrong?’ demanded Nat. ‘He’s only a bloody chocolate basher.’
‘Spud’d get owt wrong!’ laughed Gunner.
Noel put his hand to his dimpled chin and looked thoughtful. ‘I hear they’re looking for a new village idiot at Tockwith if that’s any help.’ Made to look a fool, Spud lurched for him and a period of wrestling ensued.
‘Makes no difference to me if I’ve got a job or not.’ Gunner sighed when the tussle was over. ‘Me mam and dad never let me keep anything out of me wages.’
‘Oh, I thought you told us your father was always giving you backhanders,’ queried Noel, more cheerful now that his friendship with Nat was on an even keel.
Spud felt this required explanation. ‘No, when he says that he means his dad hits him.’
‘Oh really, Spud? I would never have twigged.’ Noel heaved a sigh.
Gunner heaved too, but with boredom. ‘We haven’t had a good scrap in ages. Are there any posh schools open today? We could go and look for somebody to punch.’
‘There’s the Blind School,’ suggested Noel.
This was one reason for which Nat could be glad he had not thrown Noel aside; he always had some apt riposte that the others often failed to interpret, not realizing that he was making fun of them. Nat often wondered if he too was a victim of Noel’s wit, and whether the boy was merely using him for amusement just as he himself was using Noel as a bridge to the material comforts of the Scaum household.
Nat was growing bored of the gang, and now in possession of intelligent male company he had no further need of the others. Noel was right, most of them were stupid. Gunner pilfered anything he could lay his hands on and like a magpie stole things for which he had no earthly use, simply for the hell of it. Nat could not see the point of this, knowing that you had to sell your gains in order to become rich. Spud was… well, just plain stupid, and Denzil… Denzil was another kettle of fish altogether, having the ability to invoke fear in all of them. They were afraid of meeting him but afraid of not meeting him. It was not simply that he would repay any misdemeanour with violence; Nat had lived with the threat of violence for much of his life and had learned to cope with it. No, it was some much greater fear… why, then, did he himself continue to associate with people he despised? Because all your kind are like this, came the answer. Only Bright shone out like a jewel.
With little to do that evening, Nat had much time to ponder on his strange bond with Noel and his own act of vandalism that had come close to jeopardizing it. When the gang broke up for the night he had decided to relinquish his membership.
He should have known there would be confrontation. On Sunday when he did not turn up the gang members came looking for him. ‘Bet you thought you were going to Noel’s house instead, didn’t you?’ Denzil had that mad glint in his eye. Nat’s heart sank and he tried to defend his secret, casually popping an aniseed ball into his mouth. ‘Why would I want to go there?’
‘Lying bastard! I’ve seen how pally you are, always going home in the same direction—’
‘Yes, but his house is further down t’road than mine…’
‘Well, we’ve got time for a walk haven’t we lads? Nat can take us.’
‘How do I know where he lives?’ protested Nat.
Denzil wasted no further time arguing but dealt him a blow. Nat cried out, almost choking on the aniseed ball whilst holding his stinging nose. Denzil held his fist in readiness. ‘If you know it’s further down t’road you must know where it is! Tell us or I’ll bray you again!’
‘All right!’ Nat cringed at the blood on his hand. ‘I think he lives down Hull Road but I’m not sure what number. I’ll try and find it.’
‘You’d better.’ Denzil gave him a push. The reluctant Judas led them to Hull Road, where for a time they hid behind a tree to spy upon Noel’s house.
Then Denzil gave a jubilant hiss. ‘They’re off out!’
A miserable Nat watched the family climb into the carriage and drive away. Denzil gripped his elbow. ‘You can take us inside now.’
‘The maid’ll be in!’ protested Nat.
Denzil slapped his face. ‘That’s for lying to your leader! How would you know he had a maid if you haven’t been here? All that bollocks about not knowing the number… right, we’ll start in the garden and have a look through the windows. The maid can’t be in every room at once. Have they got a dog?’
Nat shook his head and was then dragged along on the expedition. The others were astounded by the size of Noel’s garden. Denzil seemed to take exception at the neatly edged beds of perennials and began systematically to rip out every plant. Spud and Gunner followed his lead. Nat tried to distract them, saying he thought he had seen a face at the window. This postponed the wanton vandalism for a moment, but soon Denzil and his cronies were seeking more plants to destroy. Everything small enough to be uprooted by hand was hurled about the garden. The rest was trampled and split and wrenched and twisted. Then, ‘Let’s go down here,’ said Denzil.
Nat, aware of what would happen if the gang took that path blurted, ‘No, let’s go down here! There’s a stream.’
But Denzil was already on his way and inevitably came across the cage of Golden Pheasants.
Nat loved those birds – had tried to forget that he didn’t actually own them and indeed regarded them as his own. ‘I’ll let you feed them if you like!’ he panicked.
Denzil looked at him with those frightening eyes. Nat handed him the tin of corn. Denzil took it then stepped into the cage. T
he pheasants strutted nervously. Denzil threw a handful of corn at them. They croaked and flapped about. He squatted and held out his open palm, offering food. The creatures eyed him warily, then one by one came to eat. There was a yelp. Denzil sprang upwards clutching his hand. ‘The bugger bit me!’ He lashed out with a boot. The pheasants ran amok. Spud and Gunner laughed and began to race around the cage, stirring the birds into hysteria. Feathers flew. The carnage which Nat had feared began. Denzil snatched at a bird and ripped out the ornamental plumage from its tail. Other atrocities followed. When he had finished, not one bird was left alive.
Denzil stood, panting, to inspect the results of his bloodlust. His pale blue eyes glanced at the others who appeared dumbfounded at the havoc they had caused. Then he picked up a long drooping tailfeather, inserted it in his hat, put one hand on his hip, the other affecting a feminine gesture, and grinned. Spud and Gunner shared a guilty laugh. Nat was rigid with shock.
‘Let’s go see what there is to pinch in the house!’ came Denzil’s order, and Nat was left standing alone in the cage amongst the beautiful bodies. Anger rumbled and boiled within. In his mind he roared at Denzil, you crazy rotten bastard! But only in his mind, for it was beyond his courage to challenge that lunatic. Faced with the sudden image of Noel coming across the massacre, he returned to his senses, looked around to see if he was being observed, then made for the gate. He was very quiet when he got home. No one noticed; Nat was always quiet.
* * *
Later that afternoon, the Scaums returned to a ransacked house and an exhibition of butchery. The police were called, but it was not until some friends called round unexpectedly that evening that the identity of the culprit was mooted.
‘This is what you get for letting that slum boy into your home,’ said Mr Powers, the one who had been there at Nat’s first visit.
‘Nat?’ Mr Scaum looked at his son, who had just come in to say goodnight before going to bed.
‘If that was his name, yes. I really don’t know what the world’s coming to. These hooligans… there was no such thing when I was a boy.’ He shook his head.
‘Nonsense,’ replied Scaum. ‘Just because someone has invented a new word for it, it doesn’t mean they’ve invented the condition. There have always been ruffians. I remember walking down the street with my mother when I was perhaps five years old and a gang of youths elbowed her into the gutter.’
‘A little rough horseplay, yes, but there was never such gratuitous violence.’
‘In 1854,’ said Scaum as if reciting a history lesson, ‘someone broke into my grandfather’s home, tied him up and proceeded to torture him until he told them where his money was. On finding the money, one of the thieves then smashed my grandfather’s fingers with a hammer just for the joy of it. He was sixty-two years old and consequently suffered an apoplexy from which he died. Say what you will, the savage has always been inherent to society. However,’ his eyes became grave as he turned to his son, ‘just because we accept their existence it does not mean we will allow them to go unpunished. Noel, Mr Powers is correct, I shall have to put forward your friend’s name as a suspect.’
Noel spoke up with confidence. ‘Nat would never do a thing like this.’
‘Maybe not alone, but he did it all right. I saw it in his face when I rebuked him for his abuse of you. He resented my words. Your friend may be a lesser villain but he’s still of that ilk; one of the spoilers and the ignorant, who have nothing themselves, see a person who has bettered himself and decide that he shall not have it. Well, I’ve given Nat every chance. Tomorrow we must contact the police.’
Noel’s stomach lurched. He knew that Nat could not possibly be to blame, but if he revealed that Denzil was the real culprit then further crimes may come to light and Noel himself might be incriminated for the robbery.
His father noticed his concentration. ‘I do hope you are not toying with the idea of shinning from your bedroom window to go and warn him. Don’t look at me like that, I know you do such silly things. Believe me, he’s no friend to you, Noel.’
Noel had no alternative but to go to bed, feeling guilty at letting his friend down. Before he reached the top stair however a thought occurred: how had Denzil known where he lived if someone had not informed him? Nat would have to take care of himself.
* * *
Bright had woken with pins and needles in her leg. With the utmost delicacy, so as not to wake her sisters, she turned onto her back and tried to restore the circulation by wriggling her toes, but the agony persisted. Slipping from under the bedclothes she began to hobble around the bedroom floor, flexing her leg muscles. It was pitch black and cold. There was not a sound from outside.
Back and forth, back and forth. The pins and needles eventually subsided. Bright shivered and was about to return to bed when she heard a faint noise. Moving to the open door she cocked her ear. There it came again, the sound of weeping from downstairs. After the merest hesitation she began to descend. Halfway down she felt the warmth from the kitchen fire creep up her legs and over the rest of her body. A stair creaked. The weeping stopped.
Nat pretended to be asleep when the girl crept to his fireside bed and kneeled down, but she knew his breathing was too quiet for slumber and touched him gently. ‘What’s wrong?’ When he did not respond she decided he must want her to go and made to rise.
Nat’s arm shot out from under the blanket and caught her arm. ‘Stay a bit.’
She sat back on her heels. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
He made no great display of outraged manhood; Bright had surely heard him crying. He shook his head.
Bright made a guess. ‘Was it Denzil?’ She was all too aware what a monster the youth could be.
When he nodded she sighed. ‘Did he hurt ye badly?’
Nat’s voice was gruff but the tears were under control now. He had forgotten the blow to his nose. ‘Not me.’
Bright was glad about that. ‘He hurt Noel?’
‘It’s to do with Noel, yes, but I don’t want to talk about it.’ Apart from the awful images of the afternoon and the nightmares that had woken him he did not want to ponder on the fact that it could lead to another spell of detention. He could not stand it. He just couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t committed any crime but sure as anything they would blame it on him. ‘Talk about summat else.’
Her brain was too fogged to conjure up a topic at this time of night. ‘I should be in bed – what hour is it anyway?’ She squinted at the clock but was unable to make out the time.
‘Don’t know.’ Nat rolled onto his back and put his hands beneath his head. After a gap of silence he asked, ‘What d’you see when you look at me, Bright?’
She squirmed and was glad the darkness hid her blush. ‘Just… you.’
Nat did not appear to want anything deeper, appeared to be talking to himself more than to her. ‘I often wonder what people see when they look at me. A villain? I know the blokes at Marygate do, even old Chippy, and specially Bramble Conk. What goes through his mind when he’s laying a birch across me back? Does he enjoy it? Or does he try to think of summat else to take his mind off it, like I do? I couldn’t do it to anybody, not unless I hated ’em. What’s up wi’ me? What have I done to make everybody hate me?’
Bright’s heart ached. ‘They don’t! All of us here like ye.’
‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘Come on, why d’you like me?’
Alarmed by his aggression she was lost for an answer. ‘Well, we just do’.
He was sullen. ‘I think you feel sorry for me.’
‘That’s not true! We like ye because… you’re nice and quiet and kind and gentle.’
‘If I’m that nice and kind why doesn’t everyone else see it then?’
‘Well,’ Bright twisted her nightgown, ‘ye have to show people what you’re really like, just by saying thank you and little things like that.’
‘Why should I have to suck up to them?’ hissed Nat. ‘What makes them better than me?’<
br />
‘Nobody says they’re better – and it’s not sucking up, tis just good manners. If ye don’t say what’s in your heart how will they know? They can’t see through that tough expression.’
Nat gave a negative response. ‘Huh! If they think you’re soft they take even more advantage of you. What about when I was a little kid? Nobody even liked me then and I hadn’t done anything apart from jigging school – and I only did that so’s I wouldn’t get belted every day!’
Bright sighed and hugged herself. She was beginning to feel cold. Though the fire glowed her nightgown was inadequate protection for an October’s eve and there was an empty corner where Granny Maguire used to be. ‘Can I come in with you?’
His frustration aired, Nat settled down. Quite naturally he lifted up the blanket and she snuggled up beside him as she had done a hundred times before when playing mothers and fathers. Often when this happened Nat would pretend she was his mother, making out as if she had never left him, cuddle up and transport himself back in time with the fervent wish that he could begin life all over again. Tonight, however, was different. Something scarey began to happen. Pressed against her, Nat felt an erection forming. Acutely embarrassed he did not know which way to move. The erection became more and more obvious. Had he been alone it would have been ecstatically simple to alleviate it, but how could he do that with Bright here… and then he realized the true significance.
Bright’s heart was racing and she did not know why. Nothing but her own paralysis compelled her to stay here; it would be wiser by far to return to her own bed, but her limbs refused to move. Nat’s arm came around her. He had never done that before, not in this way. She covered it with her hands, feeling his skin burn her trembling palms. He began to hold her more tightly. He kissed her cheek. Bright lay there pinioned both with happiness and fear.
Then… oh dear God what was he doing, touching her there? And why wasn’t she stopping him and pushing him away? She lay like a stone whilst he ran exploratory hands over every part of her body, every part, and then he raised himself and straddled her, pushing her nightgown right up to her chest. Oh Mother of God, what if anyone should come down and see what he was doing! But she could not stop him. He wormed the lower half of his body between her legs, then lay on top of her, kissing her face. She kissed him back. His cheek was soft and furry, his breath tasted of aniseed and his hair smelled of woodsmoke. He pressed his lips over hers, harder this time. Something leaped in her breast. She became like jelly. Nat began to fumble urgently below. Bright was drowning in embarrassment – how would she ever face him in the morning after she had allowed him to do these things to her? But she just could not stop him, was too frightened even to try. Thank goodness the darkness hid her shame. There was a tapping at her inner thighs. He was shoving something into a cavity she did not even know she had. She didn’t know what or where or why but knew from its warmth that it was human flesh. He started to thresh about on top of her, grinding her into the rug. She clutched his back. Pain came – dreadful pain. She wanted to cry out but people would come running. She strained her neck, trying to escape it, trying to push him off, but he was too heavy and it had all gone too far.
Shoddy Prince Page 24
