by Ross, P. A.
The car whipped us forwards and backwards in our seats, and my head and neck seized in agony. Linda jumped out of the car, rushed over to Giles, and slipped on the ice nearly knocking him over.
“Stay in the car,” Mr Johnson shouted into the back seat while opening the door.
He jumped out of the car and ran around to the twisted body of Liam on the pavement behind. Mr Johnson whipped his phone out and dialled as he knelt down. My head and neck hurt from the whiplash, and I had gone into shock from the collision. My sick clawed its way back and I couldn’t stop it. I opened the door and emptied my lunch onto the road next to the head of Patrick O’Keefe. Lumps of half-digested chips and sausage splattered into his hair.
I spat the last of the sick out as Patrick was slowly regaining consciousness. Giles was hugging his mum, and behind Mr Johnson was speaking with the emergency services. I wanted to get away from this disaster. I didn’t want any part of this accident. I grabbed my rucksack, scrambled out of the car and ran away from the accident; away from any involvement; away from any responsibility.
“Jonathan, come back,” Linda shouted but I didn’t stop. I didn’t even look back.
I didn’t know the area particularly well as this wasn’t a place I had ever walked about or wanted to walk around. I ran back towards the school in the hope that I would recognise the roads back home. In the distance, I saw the chip shop sign, a blue jumping fish on a white background, “Chip Away.” We sometimes came up here for food on the way home. I’d never been so pleased to see that sign in my life. I cut across the road and picked my way through a few back streets that connected back to my normal route. In the distance, I could make out the local newsagents. I was on the way home and away from the tangled mess I had left back on the estate. Even though I knew I was alone and in an area of safety, I kept running all the way home. I wanted to put as much distance as possible between that accident and me, as I knew the O’Keefes wouldn’t let this go unanswered. There would be consequences.
I rushed inside shutting the door, slung my rucksack down the hallway and raced straight upstairs to my bedroom. The house lay empty, as just Dad and I lived here. Laying on my bed in the dark I retraced my steps, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The way the car had hit those gang members, I knew it was serious.
I slowly regained my breathing from the long run back and realised I needed to let my Dad know what had happened. I stripped off my coat, walked downstairs and grabbed the cordless phone on the side table in the hallway as I walked into the kitchen. The filthy kitchen floor stuck to my feet and squeaked as I walked. The dirty dishes from the day before yesterday’s meal still sat on the kitchen side ready to be loaded into the dishwasher. I called Dad and had a brief conversation, as he seemed too busy to talk. Even after the accident, he still couldn’t be back until late, and told me to order myself a pizza, get some rest and we would discuss it tomorrow afternoon. I dialled straight away to the local pizza delivery, ordered a pepperoni pizza and watched a couple of forgettable films on DVD before crashing out on the sofa exhausted and scared. Scared of what had happened and scared of would happen next.
CHAPTER 2
Daylight peered through the sides of the curtains waking me up. My legs felt sore, neck ached and my head pounded. I stretched out on the sofa squeezing the muscles in my legs out, slowly waking up and pulling off the blanket that covered me. I guessed my Dad threw it over me when he came in last night. The TV had been turned off and the pizza box lay on the floor with a few slices left. I sat up and began eating the cold pizza as I switched on the TV. I flicked through the channels to find something to watch while I ate my left over pizza, and thought about what had happened yesterday. I pulled the curtains and the daylight streamed through highlighting the dust as it blew back across the floor.
The house, as usual, looked a mess with old cups of tea and coffee sat on the tables next to the sofa. The air smelt musty, as the windows hadn’t been opened and carpet not hoovered since my aunty came around four months ago. I shuffled into the kitchen still waking up and rubbing my sore neck from the accident. The dirty dishes still piled high on the kitchen side, the white kitchen floor stuck to my feet and my shoes made the familiar squeaky sound. I washed up a cup and made a cup of tea. I tided the dirty dishes away and cleaned away the mess, while taking warm slugs of tea as I went.
I trudged up stairs and into the shower room to freshen up. I brushed my teeth and looked in at myself in the plastic cabinet mirrors. Was this really my life? My blue eyes tinged with blood and lack of sleep marked by dark circles underneath. I then flattened down my dark slept-on hair. I didn’t sleep well on the sofa but couldn’t be bothered to get changed and go to bed properly.
I finished brushing and swilled out. I stared back into the mirror again and contemplated the events of yesterday. I always hoped that once I left school life would get better. In seven more months, I would have escaped and planned to do my A-levels at a local further education college instead of the school’s sixth form college. I wanted to get away from that place and those people as soon as possible. I couldn’t help but think what my Mum would have said to me if she were alive. I had spent nine months with her in her womb. She had already died by the time I was born; she didn’t get the chance to hold me for a single second. Through my life, I often thought of Mum when times got hard and would try to picture her and imagine what she would say. I had also kept her name, Harper. In the hospital, they put me down as Baby Harper on the forms purely for admin purposes. Dad never corrected the mistake. I guessed it helped him remember her, proof of her sacrifice.
I stripped off, got in the shower and allowed the hot water to wash not just the dirt away but also my thoughts and feelings for a few minutes. I grabbed a towel and went into my room to dry and dress. I sorted through my least dirty clothes, and put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before walking downstairs with armfuls of washing. Dad finally stirred and joined me for some breakfast.
He wandered through to the kitchen and his dressing gown hung off his small pale frame. The hours he worked at night and lack of daylight showed. He had lost his hair on top but had unkempt and fluffy bits at the sides. He usually wore little round glasses but in the morning, he could cope without for a while. According to the predicted charts, I would follow his build, and I suppose I would inherit his hairline, as well. He sat and ate breakfast at the kitchen table after he had cleared a space from old newspapers and comics. I explained what had happened the day before with the gang grabbing Giles, the car accident and my running away.
“Don’t worry about running off. I will give Giles’ dad a call later. Best not to get involved in these types of things,” he said, munching on his cornflakes as he glanced up from an old newspaper.
Later on, after he spoke with Giles’ dad, he came in and switched off the TV in the living room and sat on the sofa opposite ready to talk.
“Giles’ mum was arrested for dangerous driving, and they are pursuing a case of kidnapping against the O’Keefes as well,” he said.
A small smile broke across my face on hearing the O’Keefes weren’t going to get away it.
“Is Giles okay?” I asked.
“He is fine but the boy his mum hit, Liam, is in hospital still. They doubt he will walk again,” he said grimly.
I knew it was going to be bad, as soon as I saw him motionless on the ground after he bounced over the roof. Again, I couldn’t contain a smile, revenge at last, even if it was an accident. My pleasure at his paralysis quickly turned to worry and I immediately started to sweat. I knew it would mean consequences for Giles and I, as the O’Keefes weren’t a forgiving family. They would be hell bent on revenge for Liam’s accident and angry about the kidnapping charges. Things were going to get messy.
“Liam is part of that gang; they will come after us,” I said.
“Probably but they don’t realise you are involved. Good thing you ran away. It will be best if you don’t see Giles for a while.”
“I can’t just abandon him now. We have been friends for years.”
“I know but this is your exam year. You can’t afford to get involved, and we need to keep you out of sight.”
“Why?”
“You will be a key witness in the trial against the O’Keefes. If they are found guilty, it should go a long way to clearing Linda’s name of dangerous driving. I have told Giles’ dad that there will be no contact from now on until things settle down. This includes at school. It’s best for everyone.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I can and I have. This isn’t up for debate. It’s only you and me, and I can’t be around to watch out for you during the day if they come after you,” he said, raising his voice and standing up to exert his authority.
I stormed off upstairs and put some music on to drown him out. Yet again, everything came down to him. However, he couldn’t stop me contacting Giles. I decided to email him but the computer wouldn’t connect.
“I have disconnected your Internet connection,” Dad shouted up the stairs, “and I am taking your phone.”
I couldn’t speak with Giles and I had no other friends. I spent the rest of the week stuck inside the house. I only left once to give my statement at the police station. The rest of the time, I played on my computer, listened to music and even studied for something to do. Anything had to be better than sitting around reliving the car crash in my mind. The memory lingered of Liam bouncing over the bonnet of the car and smashing the windscreen. Patrick lay on the ground next to the car and the smell of sick from when I threw up. I kept worrying about what would happen on returning to school, and at least studying helped immerse and distract myself from my pending problems.
After the holiday, I returned to school. I came into class late and signed in. Chaos regained as usual. Students threw paper balls about and their phones beeped and rang. Students shouted across the room to each other, while others sat quietly in the corners huddled together keeping out of the way and holding private conversations. Many of the students were discussing what had happened with Giles and the O’Keefes. All the time glancing over to the corner of the room at Giles sat by himself. Patrick and his friend Dave sat behind him. I guessed everyone knew. The teacher, Mr May, seemed none the wiser to the situation, even though the headmaster said they would keep an eye out. He did as he normally did, and read his newspaper waiting for the bell signalling his first lesson. Patrick and Dave whispered to Giles but I couldn’t hear what they said above the noise. I guessed from the contorted features as they spoke, it wasn’t nice. Giles’ face slumped and his shoulders hunched in to try to protect himself from their vicious words. Giles turned around and spotted me at the teacher’s desk signing in and he looked relieved but his face scrunched up in anger as yet again I walked away. Patrick began laughing and pointing at me. I withdraw to the door, red-faced from the attention and ashamed I had deserted him again.
The bell rang. I bolted straight out of the door walking quickly to my first lesson and away from Giles and the extra attention. I sat in the classroom hoping someone else would sit next to me before Giles arrived, but the class filled up quickly and everyone sat at desks around me but no one next to me. I knew Giles would arrive soon and I would have no choice. Maybe it was for the best. I decided I would explain everything to him when he arrived. However, the lesson started and he never arrived, nor did Patrick and Dave. I sat there wondering what had happened through the rest of the lesson, wishing I had gone and sat next to him at registration regardless of what Dad said and the evil looks Patrick and Dave gave me. We were supposed to be best friends, and I knew Giles would have tried to look after me, he always had done. I darted out as soon as the lesson finished hoping to find him and redeem myself. I tried the chess room first, as we sometimes dropped in to arrange games for lunchtime and to hide away during breaks. I opened the door but couldn’t see Giles. The rest of the club, from the years below us, had already arrived. They were the closet people I could call friends after Giles.
“Giles been in?” I asked hopefully.
I received a stream of shaking heads. I walked past the cloakroom area and dived inside the curtain of coats hanging up. The cloakroom carved an alcove in the wall and we would sometimes hide behind the coats out of the way. No luck here either. I didn’t have much time left before the next bell and walked quickly on to the art room. Again, I got a shake of the head. I slouched off to my first lesson hoping I would find him on the way. I wanted to apologise for ignoring him earlier in registration and explain to him why I hadn’t been in touch, and tell him that I would do the right thing in court. I slouched into the room and saw Giles sitting at the front already. A moment of relief stood me up straight until I realised Patrick and Dave sat behind him. Giles’ clothes appeared dishevelled, and his cheeks bruised and face stained with tears. Patrick and Dave stared violently at me as I walked in. I looked away and went quickly to the back of the class, doing as my Dad instructed. Giles’ face turned to disbelief, as I again ignored him, and walked off leaving him to the bullies. My resolve had melted away and I had to face the truth. I was a coward. When it came to the crunch, I hide away and ran off hoping I would be left in peace. This is what I had always done to cope with the bullying, and even although my best friend needed me I still couldn’t find the guts to stand by his side.
Ashamed and feeling guilty, I sat at the back of the classroom hiding from everyone’s gaze, unable to look anyone in the eye. The other students whispered and glanced around at me and back at Giles. I couldn’t believe the teachers had let them get away with it during school hours. Obviously, Mr May, had done nothing to ensure Giles’ safety, just as he hadn’t at the school gates on the day of the kidnapping. I hated him.
Every day they inflicted a new torture upon Giles to endure and a new reason to avoid him. The gang subjected him to the old-fashioned head in the toilet, stealing his clothes, general beatings, taking his money, and wrecking his books. During that week, I heard of even worse events that I hoped were not true but just teenaged kids over-exaggerating. Those who hung around him were caught up in the events and either got the same treatment, or made to take part. In the end, no one would even sit with him in class or eat lunch with him at dinner times. Giles never walked home anymore. I heard even at home cyber bulling continued on the day’s events, with text messages and social network sites. I heard through the other kids at school that his older sister had been attacked, by the O’Keefe sisters, while on a night out. The O’Keefes hounded Giles’ family day and night, with physical attacks, prank phone calls, and the windows of the house and car smashed.
I dipped out of maths on the Friday of the first week back, to go to the toilet, and the sound of sobbing in the corner of the cloakroom stopped me in my tracks. On the floor, I spotted a green rucksack. I scouted around carefully before approaching.
“Giles is that you? Are you okay?”
He shifted out from behind the coats and lifted his head up. The tears continued rolling down his freshly bruised face, eyes stinging red and nose dripping wet from the tears. He sucked back the tears and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer. Giles took a moment to focus and then his expression altered rapidly. His eyes narrowed and forehead frowned glowing red with rage. He jumped out of his seat, charged and shoulder barged me straight in the chest forcing the wind from my lungs as I hit the hard concrete floor. He punched me in the back as I rolled over, and I quickly twisted around and looked up at him.
“This is your fault, why did you abandon me that day? Why did you wind up my mum so much? Why did you stop being my friend?” he shouted, with fist raging and the tears sprinkling off his face.
He stopped and stared at me waiting for an answer but I had no reasonable answer and just stared, mouth wide open, hoping words would tumble out on their own accord. He slumped and sta
rted stumbling away down the corridor, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his blazer, and the snuffling noise carried down the hall after he vanished around the corner. Our friendship was finished. How could I ever apologise and make things right, I had abandon him.
The memory lingered with me for the rest of the day, pricking my conscience with guilt and embarrassment at deserting my best friend. The sight of him attacking me in floods of tears flashed across my mind every few minutes. If only I had refused to walk away that day at the gates. I would have probably got a beating and lost my games, but that would have been better than losing my best friend. I also felt angry at all those other people who watched on and did nothing to help. The teachers and parents who turned a blind eye outside the front of the school, all too busy or too scared to get involved. If just one of them had come across others may have helped them, but no one cared if a couple of young boys got beaten up, it was an everyday occurrence far as they were concerned. All part of growing up! They could have done something to help, but they didn’t and they have no idea how much damage their inaction has caused. Instead they left a couple of scared and bullied kids to fend for themselves.
I had nearly dulled the memory and the anger, home alone again at night, with a few films and curry ready meal. It approached 11pm, and I cleared away the empty plate, turned off the DVD player and went to bed. After a while, I began drifting off to painful flashbacks of Giles crying when the sound of glass smashing snapped me out of my sleep. I bolted out of bed and ran onto the landing slapping the light on. The instant light forced my eyes to squint as I bashed open the door to the spare room at the front of the house. I clambered over the half-filled cardboard boxes with scientific textbooks, and briefly pondered why my Dad had been packing, before I pressed my face to the window. A couple of kids in hoodies sprinted off down the street. I recognised the hooded tops and the way they ran. It looked like the O’Keefe brothers. I clambered back over the boxes and thundered downstairs to check the house. I pushed open the door to the living room to get sight of them out the window. I hit the lights inside the door as I entered and a painful stabbing hit the bottom of my feet. I jumped backwards out through the door again. Glass lay scattered across the living room floor covering the carpet and sofa, and a brick sat in the middle of the floor in admission of guilt. The curtains flapped from the wind blowing through a jagged hole in the glass, and they had knocked over the picture frames on the windowsill. My favourite picture of Mum heavily pregnant had smashed to the floor. The closest picture I had of us together. I hopped backwards swearing and hobbled into the kitchen leaving bloody footprints down the hallway. I grabbed the phone as I hobbled and crashed into a seat and called Dad. The conversation was brief; he told me to call the police and he immediately left for home. I phoned the police, and then pulled the first aid kit out of the cupboard, bandaged my foot, and hobbled up the stairs to get dressed.
