My Father, My Son

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘But I have to tell you that to keep a child confined to one room is not only bad for his mental state but also against the law.’

  Russ frowned. ‘Look, I’ve told you, I can’t see the point in going to the trouble of getting him into school when he’ll be gone in a few…’

  ‘Mr Hazelwood, it isn’t simply Charlie’s education I’m worried about but his whole welfare, I…’

  Rachel guessed at last, her face turning pale. ‘My God… you’re from the cruelty people!’

  ‘The NSPCC, yes.’ Mrs Ingram stood and placed what was meant to be a reassuring hand on the younger woman’s arm. ‘Please forgive me for not informing you of my intended visit, but after those press reports I had to come and see the situation for myself.’ Neither Rachel nor her husband could speak, allowing Mrs Ingram the platform. ‘However, I find little to concern me. He seems clean and well-nourished – but I must insist that he be allowed outside for fresh air and a change of scenery. Will you do that for me?’ Rachel could only nod mechanically. ‘Good.’ Mrs Ingram made to exit. ‘You say he will be leaving at the end of August? Well, I’m aware that the schools will be breaking up for the summer holidays in a fortnight but I really feel that he should be enrolled for temporary education – when the schools reassemble there’ll still be three weeks until the end of August, that’s five weeks in which he could be doing something useful. A child needs mental stimulation. I can arrange it for you. I know how embarrassing all this must…’

  ‘No thank you!’ Russ found his voice. ‘I think I can manage to find the Education Department.’ As a councillor, Russ had sat on the Education Committee.

  ‘As you wish. I’ll call again before Charlie goes back to Africa, just to make certain you’re not experiencing any more problems. Could we make an appointment for a month today?’ At Rachel’s weak affirmation, Mrs Ingram said goodbye and went down the passage.

  Still shaken, Rachel saw her out, then came back to gape at her husband. Her voice was disbelieving. ‘Did you see? She wasn’t just looking at him – she was examining our children!’ Her voice rose. ‘Looking for bruises, asking if they got enough to eat – she thought we’d been neglecting our own children!’

  Equally shocked, Russ could not answer.

  ‘See what you’ve done!’ Her tone grew shrill. ‘Are you satisfied? Oh, my God! I can’t bear this!’ Sobbing, she ran upstairs.

  Russ looked at the clock – another twelve hours before he could escape to work.

  The following day his takings were eleven and three ha’pence. The day after, he arrived to find every window smashed again. This time he simply boarded up the jagged vents, gave his assistant two weeks’ wages and sent him home, then went to the pub.

  Luckily, no one in The Falcon put a name to his face for almost two hours. He was able to get well and truly saturated before the hiss came: ‘Oy, isn’t that the bloody Sheriff what…?’ When the whispers began, he tottered out onto the highway and fell into his car. He drove as though participating in a race. How desperately he wanted somebody to pull out of a side road as they had done before and send him into oblivion. But when the car stopped somewhere in the countryside he was still in one piece.

  The liquor made him sleep for the best part of the afternoon. When he awoke he had sobered up… and immediately set about remedying this before going home. Once there, he parked three feet from the kerb and staggered towards the house – at the same moment that Jack Daw chose to enter his own abode. Russ had not noticed him coming down the street. Now, both men stepped through their respective gates almost simultaneously. Jack was eyeing him. Russ knew that he should apologize for the nasty things he had said, but while it was still possible that Daw’s wife had written that letter he felt unwilling to humble himself and so continued his unsteady course, saying nothing.

  Inside, he made straight for the kitchen, until he heard voices in the front parlour. He didn’t know what made his feet carry him there; he didn’t want to talk to anyone – least of all the policeman who was keeping his wife company. His first thought was: Christ, have I had an accident and didn’t know it? He frowned at the assembly. Rowena was there too, and a man he wasn’t familiar with.

  Rachel bounded to her feet, not bothering to shield her distaste from the visitors. ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere!’

  ‘Well now you’ve found me. What d’you want?’ His expression was cagey.

  ‘Why weren’t you at the shop?’

  ‘Some bugger smashed it up again.’

  ‘Do you mind not using such language! I demand to know where you’ve been – oh, don’t bother to lie! I can smell you’ve been drinking.’

  This belittlement in front of strangers annoyed him and he replied perversely. ‘Well you see, it was one o’ them big magnets that John Smith’s insists on hanging over their pubs – got attached to the nails in me boots and dragged me feet inside before I knew where I was. So if you’ve any complaints direct ’em at the brewery.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your stupid explanations – Robert’s gone missing!’

  He gaped. ‘What d’you mean, gone missing?’

  She squealed her intolerance. ‘Pull your stupid self together!’

  Rowena looked at the carpet, tracing round each blob of colour with her toe. The man whom Russ did not know rose and introduced himself as Bertie’s form teacher. ‘We think he may have been abducted, Mr Hazelwood.’

  Russ recognized him then. ‘Oh yes, we’ve met before, haven’t we?’ Then he squinted at the policeman and ran a hand over his tousled hair. ‘Well what… how…?’

  ‘Robert hasn’t come home from school!’ snapped his wife. ‘Rowena was out earlier than normal so she knew she hadn’t missed him. She waited and waited but he didn’t come, so she went to his classroom to look for him. Mr Wooler,’ she indicated the teacher, ‘says he didn’t come back in the afternoon. He assumed Robert was ill and marked him absent. Rowena says,’ she drew a shuddering breath, ‘Rowena says a tramp has been loitering in the area and she saw Robert talking to him just before she left him this morning.’

  ‘I told him not to,’ supplied a grave Rowena. ‘But you know what he is.’

  ‘Well, why isn’t anyone out looking for him?’ Russ demanded of the policeman.

  ‘Half the police force is looking for him!’ screeched Rachel. ‘While you drink yourself silly. Oh, my God, if anything else happens…’ She gnawed at a knuckle. Then all they could do was wait.

  * * *

  It was nearly ten o’clock and still there was no news. With the departure of the teacher and policeman, the family had moved into the kitchen where it was a little more cosy. The children had been made ready for bed and sat drinking milk. Becky had begged her mother to let them stay up until their brother had been found and Rachel had allowed it, simply because she had no more strength to oppose anyone.

  Russ had employed a book for the bedtime story, his mind too befogged to concoct a tale this evening. But there was no inflection to his words and the children grouped around him were beginning to fidget. Occasionally, between pages, his eyes would drift up to catch a fleeting look at the woman who sat at the table. With each piteous sighting he wanted to fold her in his arms and press his cheek to her little face… then she would catch his inspection and all sentimental notions were dissuaded. Charlie sat on the rug, chin pressed into his knees, arms locked round shins. His brown eyes flitted from one worried face to the other.

  There came a knock at the door. Everyone sat to attention and looked at each other, but none seemed keen to answer it. Russ dropped the book to his lap, but continued to stare at his wife. In the end Biddy was sent. She reappeared with a policeman.

  ‘We’ve found him,’ said the latter, and by his tone they knew that Bertie was in one piece. The tension dispersed. ‘Seems he fancied an afternoon in the woods and forgot the time – well, it doesn’t get dark till late, does it…’

  ‘I’ll bloody kill him,’ swore Russ, throwing the book
aside as he rose.

  The runaway, sullen and dishevelled, was brought in, deposited among his chattering siblings and plied with milk and biscuits by his mother. ‘Robert, how could you have been so naughty? We were dreadfully worried.’ His failure to answer and his refusal of sustenance concerned her even more. ‘Why did you do it?’ she entreated, pulling at his clothes and smoothing his hair. ‘It’s so thoughtless – not like you at all.’ Still Bertie said nothing, just stared morosely into the fire. Rachel gave a mew of exasperation, then turned to thank the policeman who, now that the lad was safe, duly departed.

  ‘Girls, it’s time you were in bed,’ decided Rachel. ‘And you!’ This was directed at Charlie. She gathered her daughters round and began to kiss them. ‘Goodness, look at the hour! You’ll all be sleeping in tomorrow. Off you go, your brother’s safe now, he’ll be up shortly.’

  ‘Not before he’s given us some explanation for his behaviour, he won’t,’ said his annoyed father, in more sober state now.

  For the first time, Bertie’s eyes looked at him – they burned with contempt. The boy rose in a half crouch, like some badger tormented by baiters. He wanted to fling at his father what he had had flung at him today, make him squirm and bleed and suffer. Fornicator! Walker had called his father. What’s one of them? Bertie had foolishly demanded. It’s somebody who fucks women, the elder boy had sneered. No he doesn’t! retorted Bertie; though not fully understanding the word, he knew it was swearing. You don’t even know what it means, Walker had smirked and had proceeded to convey all the revolting details before adding, that’s what your father does – he does it with black women too, it’s been in the papers. Then Bertie had tried to thump him, but Walker being two years older had dragged him into the lavatory and shoved his head down the bowl and called him more names while his cronies had cackled their mirth.

  So, instead of going back into school with the others when the bell clanged, he had hidden in the cubicle, sneaking out later to spend the rest of the day crying in Knavesmire Wood – until the policeman had found him. Yes, he wanted to hurl all this at his father… but he couldn’t say such things in front of his mother.

  Russ flinched under his son’s deprecation, but said again, ‘Come on, Robert, we’re waiting for your explanation.’

  ‘You’ve never given me one, why should I give you one?’

  ‘Robert!’ exclaimed his mother at the vehement disrespect. ‘That’s no way to speak to your father.’

  The fevered eyes took her in. ‘I don’t know how you can bear to be in the same house with him, Mother, after he’s done such a despicable thing.’

  ‘What thing?’ asked the inquisitive Beany.

  ‘Go to bed!’ ordered Russ, sensing total disaster. Oh God, he knew, he knew. ‘It’s very late. I’ll come up and kiss you in a minute.’

  Biddy, keen not to miss the show, was tardy in removing her charges, hence they caught Bertie’s forceful indictment: ‘I hate you! I wish you were dead!’ He seized a vase from the mantel and threw it at his father. The latter was spared a cut head by a fraction of an inch as it shattered on the door that had just closed on the others. Rachel gave a little cry – it had been her favourite vase. ‘And I wish that bloody Fuzzball was dead an’ all!’ shrieked Bertie. ‘Trying to shove me out!’

  The yell caused Charlie to falter on the stair. Bertie had run away because of him! He turned back to the door, wanting to go in and say, ‘I’m not trying to shove you out. I want you to be my brother.’ But his father’s words stopped him.

  Hardly recovered from the unexpected attack, Russ said, ‘Bertie, you know I’d never allow tha—’

  ‘Then why do you sleep in the same room as him?’ yelled his son, eyes swimming.

  Russ looked helplessly at his wife, who offered no support. ‘It’s not that I want to!’ Charlie’s eyes dulled and his fingers dropped from the knob. ‘Listen, you can come and sleep in the attic with me and Charlie can have…’

  ‘I don’t want to! You can’t make it right now! Everybody’s laughing at me… everybody knows.’ He began to sob with such heartbreak that for a moment both parents were too stunned to react.

  But finally Rachel intervened, putting her arms around the wretched child and bidding her husband, ‘Get out!’ Charlie pelted up the stairs before his father complied. ‘Get out! Can’t you see it’s you who’s causing this? Get out!’

  Once beyond the barrier of the door, Russ closed his eyes, feeling sick.

  ‘Has our Bertie gone mad?’

  He glanced up to see Rhona’s quizzical face at the top of the stair. Beside her, Beany was weeping as she always did at the first sign of raised voices.

  ‘Ssh!’ Biddy coralled the mavericks. ‘Away now to your beds and leave that lot to the Marquess o’ Queensbury.’

  ‘Is he coming to live with us an’ all?’ came Beany’s faint question as the door of their room closed behind them.

  Russ placed one foot on the staircase, not wanting to go up to the attic but knowing he must. On the landing he faltered… then opened the door of the girls’ room. Biddy was tucking them in. She now hopped from foot to foot in embarrassment. Russ looked at each bed with its row of expectant little faces… but he couldn’t answer their queries, he just couldn’t.

  Instead, he bent and kissed each child, cupping soft cheeks in his hands, and said simply, ‘Don’t worry, things’ll be all right in the morning.’

  But once in the attic he sank his buttocks onto the bed and rested arms on knees in a position of utter dejection. Feeling eyes on him, he wondered if Charlie could read the thought that was going through his mind. God knew how he was going to do it, but it would be better for all of them…

  By a weird quirk, Charlie’s next words made it appear as though he had read his father’s mind, but in truth it was just innocent comment on Bertie’s display. ‘I don’t wish you were dead, Father.’

  Russ gave a little gasp of a laugh, then sighed with feeling. ‘Oh, I do, lad… by God, I do.’

  He keeled over onto his back, not bothering to undress. But weary as he was, with this thought to plague his brain he remained sleepless even longer than usual. By morning he still hadn’t decided how or even if he could do it. By evening he knew that he was much too cowardly – yet was equally sure that it would be impossible to live with this shame. He just could not see any escape.

  However, in a virtually unheard-of place called Sarajevo, someone else’s son was committing an act that was to alter everything.

  Chapter Fifteen

  BRITAIN WILL DO HER DUTY. WAR DECLARED ON GERMANY.

  What a change to read a headline that excluded the word ‘Sheriff’, thought Russ, whose grave eyes toured the columns of newsprint. At least the mob had something else to sink its teeth into now. Was it too much to hope that the same spirit would prevail in his home? Of course, this announcement had come as no surprise to the country – indeed, Russ felt he had been living in a war zone for the past two months. Even the fact that Bertie had been excused school for his last few weeks there hadn’t made him any sweeter to his father. Only the girls had remained pleasant to him – simply because they don’t know what a bastard I am, thought Russ. Oh, and Charlie, of course… bloody Charlie. He shouldn’t say that really, he was a nice enough lad. If he had been someone else’s son Russ would have taken to that impish smile at once. As it was, it simply irked and irritated.

  He thought of a naked Rachel. He had been having many such thoughts lately – had to make do with them, for thinking about it was as near as he got. Two months without her! He tried to drive away the ache by concentrating on something else. The woman from the NSPCC had kept her appointment – seemed to be the only person who was talking to them. She had not been too pleased to discover that they still hadn’t arranged any schooling for Charlie but fortunately had not taken the matter any further as Charlie himself had stated that everything was fine and that he was now allowed out regularly. This was a downright lie – Charlie had been told to s
ay these things by his father, prior to Mrs Ingram’s visit. ‘You’ll make it harder for yourself if you tell her we keep you indoors,’ Russ had said. ‘They’ll take you away and put you in a home until Father Guillaume comes.’ Russ could not have given a cuss if this had happened; his only reason for saying it was to keep the interfering woman from his house and upsetting Rachel. Charlie, wanting to do the right thing for a change and fearing being sent away, had agreed to do this. Mrs Ingram, convinced that the boy was in no danger, had said that perhaps it was a bit futile to arrange education for him now. Telling them she saw no need to call again, she asked them to contact her when Charlie finally left and, ‘If you experience any difficulty in your situation please don’t hesitate to contact me.’ This they had promised to do.

  Russ’ other bugbear, Jack Daw, had gone – called up from the Reserve late last night. Had he wanted he could probably have claimed exemption on the grounds of his council status, but the thought of a good scrap on the battlefield pushed the tussles of local government into a poor second. There had been door knockers going thirteen to the dozen throughout the district. Oh, that Russ could be summoned from this nightmare so easily!

  ‘Well, at least this puts paid to his aspirations of being next year’s Lord Mayor.’

  Russ frowned and looked up from the newsprint. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Him next door!’ Rachel got up to straighten a picture that was slightly crooked. ‘Let’s hope this lot lasts till November. He’ll miss the elections and we’ll be spared the ordeal of having him sneer at us every time we leave the house.’

  He returned his depressed gaze to the evening paper. ‘That isn’t very often in your case, is it?’

  An acid laugh as she sat down again. ‘Do you blame me?’ In the six weeks since Bertie’s upset she had rarely been out. The fact that her neighbours may know of the NSPCC’s visit did not help. Rachel feared another call at any day, despite being told by Mrs Ingram that all was fine – it wasn’t fine, it was hell! The children, at home all day, were driving her mad, especially Rebecca with her ‘Charlie this’ and ‘Charlie that’. That was the only reason Rachel was sitting in the front parlour with her husband; at least he didn’t giggle and fawn around the boy.