by Ross, P. A.
I pulled my sock over the bandage and carefully walked back downstairs trying to keep my weight off it. Outside muffled voices spoke and car doors clunked shut. I opened the front door and sprayed across it in large red letters the words, “grass” dripped in wet paint. I touched it with my fingertips and wiped it accidentally across my jeans. Outside in the dark winter’s night, Dad stood next to a policewoman who took notes as they exchanged words. The radio in her car crackled, and muffled voices echoed in the empty vehicle. Her colleague, a man, walked down the path to the next-door neighbour’s houses and spoke into his radio as he went. The blue lights of the police car were flashing and reflecting off the windows of nearby houses, filling the street with its taint. The curtains of neighbours twitched and they peered out observing the spectacle. Dad pointed towards the front door where I stood, and then walked down the pathway and ushered me back inside. He briefly looked at the broken window from the outside and the red letters across the door. He came inside and opened the living door and looked at the mess on the floor, breathing in heavily and mumbling under his breath.
“The police will be here in a minute to examine the scene. Let’s go into the kitchen and have a cuppa,” he said shutting the door.
“What happened to you?” he said, as I limped on in front of him.
“I stood on the glass and cut my foot open. It’s okay, I bandaged it.”
I pulled out a chair and lowered myself in, and Dad leant against the doorframe.
“I guess the gang has found you. They must know you are a witness in both cases,” he said matter-of-factly with his arms crossed.
“I can’t go back to school; they will kill me.”
“You’re right. I will try and sort something out.”
His agreement surprised me. I felt I had been saved, as I knew I would be the next victim for Patrick and Dave if I returned to school. His face then took a more serious turn.
“I heard this evening from Giles’ dad. Giles tried to commit suicide this evening. He slit his wrists in the bath. He is alive but has been admitted to a psychiatric hospital.”
I recoiled from the news. I couldn’t believe it after what had happened that day with Giles attacking me. Had seeing me been the last straw, the thing that pushed him over the edge? I didn’t know for sure but it felt like it. The tears welled up in my eyes and tried to wipe them away quickly with the edge of my hand.
“It’s my fault; if only I hadn’t ignored him. If only I refused to walk away from those gates and stood by his side,” I muttered.
“It’s the school’s fault. They should have looked after him. They should have looked after both of you; they promised,” he replied.
It now made sense why he agreed so quickly for me to stay out of school. It would have been me next if I had returned. I could have been lying in the bath with my wrists slit hoping it would be the end to the suffering. Giles had always been the stronger of the two of us; there was no way I would cope.
The policewoman tapped on the door and walked in.
“Hi, I need to examine the scene then take a statement,” she said, from the front door.
“Okay, help yourself,” Dad replied and pointed to the living room door.
She came back out in a few minutes with the brick in a bag and walked into the kitchen.
“Going to need a statement, as well. I hear you are giving evidence against the O’Keefe gang. You are very brave,” she said and placed the brick in the centre of the table.
I didn’t feel brave and her statement solidified my growing fear. She took the statement and during it kept going on about the O’Keefes, saying it was time someone stood up to them. She told us stories of how others had changed their minds, and this wasn’t the first time they tried to harass the witnesses. It wasn’t encouraging. I wanted to tell her to shut up, as if things weren’t serious enough without her acting as their PR. She finally finished and wished us good luck, as we would need it apparently. Dad walked her outside and locked the door.
“You go back to sleep Jon. I am going to tidy up and work out what to do next,” Dad said from the hallway.
I didn’t argue and went back to bed, and listened to the noises downstairs of the vacuum. I felt scared, relieved and guilty. Scared that the O’Keefe gang had targeted me and to giving evidence against them at the trial but relieved I didn’t have to face them at school again. I wouldn’t have to go through what Giles went through. Then guilt about Giles’ suicide attempt, my heart said it was my fault but head said otherwise. The school, the police and parents could have all stopped this from happening on that fateful day they took him from the front gates. They could have all made more of an effort in the aftermath of the accident to protect us from the gang. They all knew what would happen next, but all seemed unwilling to prevent it as all too scared of O’Keefe gang. I tried to sleep but I kept waking all through the night at the slightest sound, scared they had returned but it was just Dad tidying up.
I slept in late, having only fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. I heard Dad walking about downstairs, still awake from last night. I lay in bed and I thought about how we could get out of this problem but it was no good; my world was coming to an end. I knew I would have to stand up in court to give evidence against the O’Keefes. This wouldn’t end easily; the O’Keefes wouldn’t let it. I would spend the rest of my life living in fear that they would come after me for revenge, and I knew I could never stop them.
The time hit 11:47am and I slid out of bed, wrapped my dressing gown on and wandered downstairs. Music filled the kitchen as Dad whistled along to folk music from the radio and the sounds of cluttering crockery and glass accompanied it. I opened the living room door; the floor had been swept clean of glass, and the broken window covered with wood. The rest of the room had been cleaned as well, the old dirty mugs cleaned away and the whole room tidied and dusted. The picture of Mum sat back on the windowsill minus the broken glass. Surprised by the cleanliness I shut the door and shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast. The bloody footprints in the hallway and the kitchen floor washed clean, and the familiar squeak of my slippers had gone.
“Morning, sleep okay?” Dad asked cheerfully, smiling as I entered the room.
“Eventually,” I said looking at him suspiciously.
“You fancy a cooked breakfast son?” he asked.
“Yes … er please.”
Dad oiled the pan and turned on the gas. Orange juice and a pot of coffee sat on the table and I poured myself a cup of each.
“I’ve good news,” he said, briefly glancing around.
“I guessed,” I said, and took a gulp of coffee to wake up. Trying to prepare myself what could be classed as good news.
“I called work this morning to tell them what had happened and I would need time off,” he said, as he dropped the sausages into the sizzling pan.
“They made us an offer. I think you will like it.”
“Okay,” I replied, unsure what it could be. How could my Dad’s work possibly help?
“They have a house we can move into temporarily. Plus, they will get a tutor for your home study as long as I keep working,” he added.
“Why?” I asked. It all seemed too good to be true; there must be a catch.
“When your exams are finished they want us to move to London for a new job. My research is very important apparently. They can’t afford to have me away from work.”
I sat in stunned silence trying to understand. I drank more coffee trying to wake up and process the information. I had no idea Dad’s work carried that much importance. I never really thought about it before, and I knew not to ask as he worked for the government. It sounded like a perfect solution, protection from the gang, and a move to the other end of the country where they would never find us.
“So what do you think?” he asked, as he threw in the mushrooms.
“New life and safety, or fear, there is no choice. Anything is better than this. Let’s do it,” I answered.
“Good, I thought you would say yes. Let’s eat up and then pack. We can move in today as they will send someone around to help us,” he said.
“Excellent,” I replied and poured the rest of the coffee into my mouth.
I sat in a surreal daze. I had woken up in complete despair of what would happen next but Dad’s work had come to the rescue and all we had to do was move to London. Leeds had nothing for us anyway. I lost my best friend and Dad’s work was the only thing important to him. I was happy to get as far away from the gang as possible.
CHAPTER 3
My first day at the college and my first year of A-level studies commenced. I had somehow been able to pass my exams and could carry on into further education. The time hiding away and home study had helped, as there was nowhere else to go or anything else to do. Studying helped take my mind off my problems and helped me forget. In maths and physics, the answer is right or wrong; working to fix problems gave me something to focus upon and gave me control over my life. I refused to let the O’Keefes win and passing my exams felt like the only way I could fight back prior to the trial.
The temporary house was located in amongst the barracks on an army base, the research centre where my Dad worked. Located inside the barbed wire and guards posted at the gates, the gang could never reach me. The tutor, Joanna the base commander’s wife, had guided me through my studies and even taken me to my exams. During this time, I discovered the real world without the constrained ideas of teachers and authority. Joanna had given me a leather jacket and other clothes from the army lost property. In the jacket pocket, I discovered an iPod, and I jacked it into my stereo. The music blasted out strong and dark—thrash metal, gothic and rap. I had heard of artists like Marilynn Manson and Eminem but never listened to them before. The music and lyrics shared my life experiences. I could understand their lyrics and what it meant although I had never been to an American high school or grown up in a Detroit trailer park. I changed hiding away from school. I grew my hair long. It had never been allowed, as the school had a strict hair length policy. I started dressing differently and changed my image wearing a lot of black and grunge clothing but I also became a recluse. I rarely left the compound. I occasionally walked around to the local corner shop five minutes outside to buy magazines and bits of food. The whole time, I remained on guard looking about for the first sign of trouble, knowing a short dash back to the army gates would ensure sanctuary. I felt the safest listening to my new music and studying.
The inevitable move to London came as a shock, as I didn’t know where to go or where to avoid. I stayed at home not wishing to venture out in case I walked into the wrong neighbourhood, or crossed the wrong people. Eventually, I knew I needed to leave the house as the first day of college drew nearer. Now it had started, and I walked along with the headmaster to the sixth form college ready to start afresh. A new place, new people and I decided it would be a new me, as well. I decided not to discuss with anyone what happened in Leeds. I didn’t want everyone thinking that I grassed, or I suffered from bullying. I wanted a new life, a chance to leave the old fears behind and start anew. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to be able to sleep at night without worrying about glass shattering or being attacked. Be able to walk around during the day without fear of being beaten up and mugged.
The headmaster rushed along, first day of the term and a lot to do I imagined. He walked quickly taking lengthy strides with his long legs, and the smell of strong coffee blew out as he puffed down the hallways. Students parted the ways as we moved quickly towards the sixth form college. The college continued from the state school, “St Luker’s”, and most of the students had come straight from the school completing their GCSE’s, and into the sixth form college to do A-Levels.
“Don’t know why you’re so special I have to take you,” he said to me as we walked.
“I don’t know,” I said, unaware of any special arrangements.
“I have lots to do you know,” he said. He stopped and pointed at a boy who had deliberately just pushed a girl over.
“Boy, go and stand outside my room and wait for me,” he shouted.
The boy trudged off and the other students laughed at him. The girl’s friends helped her up and shoved him as he walked past and flung insults at him.
“That’s enough, I will deal with it,” the headmaster said.
“Come on Harper, don’t stop“, he said and walked off again down the hallway.
We entered sixth form common room to the noise of my new classmates, some seated on a number of black sofas and chairs posted around square desks. Most of them chatting and discussing the summer’s events and what classes they had enrolled in this year. They obviously knew each other from being at school together at St Luker’s in the previous year, or in their second year of sixth form. A few students searched through the bookshelves against the walls looking for free textbooks. The rest of the walls carried motivational posters like “challenge” and “success,” of people climbing to the top of mountains with some pop psychology statement underneath. Someone had stuck a fake de-motivational poster under it, “failure”, of someone falling off the same mountain. A few more students busied themselves at the far end in the kitchen area cutting up toast and pouring hot water into cups to make tea and coffee. The students were all dressed in their best clothes, trying to impress on their first day in the college, trying to make a positive first impression on the others in the class. Their new designer clothes neatly ironed and bought by their mother’s only days before. How sad and shallow. I’d taken another route. I had dressed in my darkest and blackest clothes trying desperately to send a different message. I wasn’t trying to make friends or impress people. I wanted people to leave me alone and think I could fight. I wore frayed and cut denim jeans, black army boots, and an old roughed up black leather jacket. Underneath, I wore an old black t-shirt with, “Motorhead,” written across it in silver letters.
I scanned the room, looking at some of the attractive girls and noting gangs of boys to avoid, when one of the girls caught my attention. Her hair shone red, flame dark red, and she sat quietly next to a girl with short dark bobbed haired over the far side of the room on a black sofa under the window. She stood out in the room in contrast to the other clones of dyed blonde girls all heavily plastered in makeup. She had attracted the attention of a number of other admirers, a group of guys sitting at the table next to where I stood with the headmaster. They peered over and then whispered to one another. A few of the girls in the class looked over at her; their noses wrinkled in disgust and contempt, and then they spitefully whispered to one another. They seemed unhappy that she had attracted the attention of the men in the room. She appeared older than the rest of the students in the common room, her figure seemed more mature and her face gave the appearance of being more experienced. Her mature figure only contributed to the attention she received as her fashionable bright clothes accentuated her figure, and worked in tandem with her long wavy red hair flowing down her shoulders and onto her chest. She was impossible not to notice. She must have been aware of the effect she had on all of the men in the room. Yet she sat there curling her hair in between her fingers, checking her nails and then talking with her friend. She seemed to be utterly oblivious to the admiring glances, and the disgusting glares, either that or didn’t care. I felt attracted to her immediately, and I knew straight away that she would be way out of my league. I would be lucky even to get to talk to her. The stark reality of the situation made my shoulders sink with feelings of hopelessness, and I tried to focus on getting on with the school year. Even the headmaster stopped and stared at her for a while, rubbing his white unkempt beard, before he remembered his position and clapped his hands together.
“Hi, everyone this is Jonathan Harper. Please make him feel welcome,” he announced quickly, then said hello to the teacher, Miss Goodwin. He looked over at the flamed haired girl once more, shook his head, sighed, then strode out of the room.
&n
bsp; Miss Goodwin smiled, she looked friendly and I guessed she couldn’t have been that long out of university.
“Hello Jonathan. I have arranged some guides for you today.”
Everyone had gone back to his or her conversation after quickly looking over from the introduction. I saw no sign of the unlucky person who would act as my guide. Miss Goodwin placed her hand on my arm and took me over to the far side of the room, directly in front of the flamed hair girl.
“Jonathan this is Scarlett,” she said showing her hand towards the flamed haired girl.
