James &
The changing Red
J.W Cotter
With Thanks
To my parents who gave me the support and stability to write this.
To my sisters, without them I could not function and I promise the Red Sisters in the book are entirely fictional!
To my four nephews whose wild imaginations flourished mine.
And to Bernadette who always provided an eye to read and an ear to listen.
I sincerely thank you all and I hope you enjoy the finished product.
Chapter 1ne:
Blushed Cheeks and a Sausage Roll
Set somewhat in the shallow side of the deep end of the English rural countryside was a small little village, a hamlet if you will, that was ironically named Hamlet. Unfortunately the founders were not the most creative of people. The village was quaint and quiet with all the trappings of daily country life, from cockerel alarm calls to cow herd rush hour. Everyone knew everyone and everyone tried to know everyone’s business but only a handful truly knew every one and every thing and normally that handful was found clustered at dawn by the church doors and by dusk at the local pub.
The sun was slowly beginning to rise over the large derelict castle in the midst of the roaming forest and its shadow almost tipped the edge of the village from whose roots it grew. Harlin’s castle was the name it was christened with centuries ago and naturally one would have thought the village would have taken that name as well but by the time the few houses and a little shop could be considered a village, the Harlin family were long gone and the castle was a shell. So it remained derelict and abandoned, separated from the village by an overgrown forest and a river with its rapid currents and broken bridge.
So as the cockerel’s call amplified through the quiet countryside lights slowly began to flicker on in the village. Not all the shops opened this early, only the café that wanted to catch the early commuters and the shop with its newspapers. The knowing handful suddenly appeared together huddled by the brown wooden doors of the church situated at the end of the one street. Each of them were wrapped warmly in their wools and faux furs while one had her miniature pooch under her arm against her chest for warmth and when a red hatchback car appeared at the gates she quickly tied the dog to a railing and patted the hairs off her coat.
“Morning Vicar” she called as the elderly man made his way to the entrance. Service wasn’t due to start for another hour but the handful made it their business to be first in order to provide help, and to keep an eye on the happenings of the village. One of them would volunteer to climb the stairs to the bell tower and wait to peal, all the while having a three hundred and sixty degree view of the village and its inhabitant’s morning movements. But not everyone who was from Hamlet lived directly in the village, in fact only a handful of people actually resided in the buildings as most them had been turned into little speciality shops. At the top of the road leading to the village there was a left and a right. The left would take you to another town further away, passing a new housing estate that was partially built. Phase one was completed and already had a couple of residents, phase two was delayed indefinitely due to the developer absconding. Right would take you on the road to Harlington, the closest city to Hamlet. But on the road to Harlington barely a couple of yards away from the entrance to the village there was a little road, almost more like an extra wide footpath that led directly to the fields, the forest and a handful of houses.
Moving past the cul-de-sac sign the road was littered with potholes, grass and cow manure and the ditches on either side were screaming for a good trimming but their screams were never loud enough. There were only a handful of houses up this way, four in fact and they were somewhat fancier than the others. These were adorned with large gardens, garages, sun-soaked conservatories and breath-taking views. Each of the homes had their own names, the first was “Daffodil Lawn”, but unfortunately at this time of year the lawn was just plainly a lawn, barely green with a hint of yellow. The next was named “Tansy Trail”, the trail was more a path and the Tansies were few and far between. “Clematis Arches” was the third houses, the biggest of all three and even though it had numerous arches over its paths they were overgrown with gnarled brown branches, the flowers long dead, for now.
The last house was the only one that could constantly claim its name was always constant; it was aptly named “Woodland Shadow”. Something within the walls of Woodland Shadow was plainly amiss as raised voices could be heard and every so often a smash would shatter the morning still. Outside the house there was a young man standing on the ledge of one of the upstairs windows, his back to the road as he carefully edged his feet across towards a black drainpipe. This was the home of the Griffins, and the boy edging his way down to the ground was in fact James, the only child of the household. With great ease he managed to skim to the ground and land safely on the grass, it was clear this wasn’t the first time he had to leave the house in this manner. Upon the cold hard ground already were his backpack and coat and so plucking them up the young fifteen year old carefully treaded along the edge of the grass to the gate and soon was on the road and thankfully just in time. Still within earshot of the house and its screams James could hear a window break. That sealed it; it was the worst fight he had ever heard between his parents. He knew they hadn’t been getting along recently and his mother was increasingly on edge over something while his father was becoming more and more distant, it all added to a rather uncomfortable near-future.
The cold suddenly stopped James in the middle of the road and placing his backpack between his knees he put on his coat. It was fleece-lined with a faux fur hood, similar to the knowing trio, it kept him warm even on the coldest of mornings. Inside the pocket was his MP3 player, one of only a handful of things he would never leave the house without. Digging the buds deep into his ears he blasted the music, now he couldn’t hear anything other than the beats and lyrics of the songs. People were the last thing James wanted to listen to. Now with his backpack on his back he licked the palm of his hand like a cat and flattened down his blonde fringe to cover most of his forehead so much in fact he could barely see, and others couldn’t see him, well his eyes anyway. Hands firmly in the pockets of the coat, the music blaring loudly and his hair just the way he liked it James bowed his head to the ground and continued the walk to the end of the road and to the top of the village where the bus shelter was located. Just as he was nearing the end of his road he moaned a small grunt and let out a whimper of an expletive name of the thing he stepped in. Frustration was clear as he wiped and wiped his shoe in the grass, frustration owing to the fact that the shoes were newly purchased by his mother for a birthday still a couple of months away and he wanted to keep them as pristinely white as possible and delay the fading of the blue graffiti markings. The dew covered grass did manage to clean the shoe but now it was slightly wet and had a few pieces of grass embedded in the sole. It would have to do, the first bus was going to be arriving pretty soon and although normally he would be getting the second one which was forty minutes later, he wanted to get out of the village before his parents realised he was gone.
The bus shelter was in desperate need of repair, it was a little wooden shack that was only standing owing to the fact that the coats and coats of varnish had stiffened the wood to withstand almost any element, except fire. It was crowded by the time James arrived; seven people were stood within and about it, well crowded by rural standards. With his head still bowed and the music so loud that the other waiting passengers could almost sing along with the songs if they knew t
hem James patiently waited in his own world for the bus. Luckily it wasn’t a long wait and out of the corner of his partly covered eye James could see the lights of the bus coming down the road as did the others and everyone started to move a couple of inches toward the edge of the grass. Hamlet wasn’t the first stop for the bus; it started the journey in another small village about ten miles away, a village named Parish. Creativity wasn’t all that important in these villages and apparently neither were the people, in the eyes of the bus company anyway. They normally sent the most distressed vehicles on the route and as it came closer James could see it was the same bus that had broken down three times in the past fortnight. Before it even came to a stop the doors swung open and everyone slowly filed on one by one, each paying the usual busman before finding a seat that wasn’t in need of stitching. James had a card with his picture on it that allowed him unlimited travel for a calendar month and as he flashed it to the bus driver he quickly made his way to the back of the bus and sat down in the corner, as far away from the other passengers as possible. Then as the doors squeaked shut the engine jittered a bit and they were off, leaving a cloud of blue smoke that was sure to kill any wildlife that would happen upon it.
The journey normally took just over half an hour until they arrived in the middle of Harlington but James’ school was about a twenty minute walk from the stop and the slow pace he had mastered normally added another ten minutes. As the rolling green fields and protruding ditches slowly turned into railings and buildings James remained oblivious as his eyes never left the ground of the bus and the music never stopped blaring. It took the screeching brakes of the bus as it came to a halt for James to snap out of his almost trance like state and taking hold of his bag he hurried out throwing the straps over his shoulder as he went. Once outside he sauntered back the way the bus came and disappeared around a corner. His eyes still hadn’t lifted from the ground yet James somehow managed not to bump into anyone or anything, mainly owing to the fact that he walked this path almost everyday for years and as the path was unusually wide there was only a slight chance of a collision. As he neared the school James’ stomach let out a loud growl that even the music couldn’t overshadow, it had not been fed since yesterday. A small newsagent, one where most of the older students who could leave the school on their lunch hour attended, was on the way and it served the most mouth-watering, crunchy sausage rolls.
A little bell rang out signalling James’ entry into the shop. It was a small, cramped space that had very little browsing room but an aroma of freshly cooked food would cause anyone to forgive the navigation around towers of papers on the partly tiled floor. As he made his way to the back of the store, where the delicatessen counter was located, James passed a couple of business men who were picking up a newspaper from the bundles on the ground and were making their way to the counter. The counter James arrived at was different and as he placed his hands on the glass just below the “Caution Hot Surface” sign, he smiled a small smile as his fingers welcomed the warmth.
“Morning Luvie, what can I get you?” a woman asked as she squeezed her way out of a door off to the side. Without even taking out his headphones James just asked for a large sausage roll, almost whispering the order. As she slid the back of the counter door open a blast of heat hit her square in the face and as she wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead she stuck the same hand in and picked up a sausage roll and placed it in a foil bag and lobbed it on top of the counter with a snort. Taking the bag he was a bit sickened by what she had done but nevertheless James’ nature did not call for confrontation. Not uttering a thank you was his way of showing his annoyance but the woman didn’t even take notice, as soon as she flung the bag over to him she was gone back beyond the door, probably perspiring into the sandwiches and wraps she was preparing. Taking a can of soda from the refrigerator and a chocolate bar from the shelf James placed them on the counter for the other woman to clock in.
“Three pounds twenty-five” she said with no hint of a personality. James had no hint of hearing as the music was still blasting and so glanced at the screen and saw the amount to pay. He went to his pocket for his wallet and then his heart sank, it was not there. He tried his other pockets, the ones of the blazer and coat, not there either. Then the bell rang out in the shop, James didn’t hear it but he saw the door open and a man and woman enter. They weren’t getting anything other than the papers and within seconds they were behind him waiting to be served. Like the deli-assistant, James’ forehead was moist and getting moister while his cheeks blushed to a magnificent shade of red. By now the shop assistant had retracted her hand and was looking at James with such disdain he could practically hear her screaming insults at him in her head. Careful not to knock anything over he took his bag from his back and started to rummage through it in the hope of finding his wallet, it was no good, it wasn’t there either. Annoyance breeding around him the shop assistant had taken to serving people over him and at least six people witnessed his severe panicking and scarlet cheeks. Then he felt something in his coat pocket again and taking it out he realised it was only his bus-pass but as he was about to discard it he spotted something stashed in behind the identification card. A crisp ten pound note was nestled inside. Plucking it out he placed it on the counter and while the assistant counted out the change he packed everything into his bag and with change in hand he hurried for the door almost knocking over an elderly man. Outside he took a deep gasp of air and closed his eyes and felt utterly disappointed, it was at his own self-conscious hands that he crumbled and for that he hated himself.
Moving faster than he had been James made his way for the school and as he rounded one last corner there it stood across the road in front of him. Old, looming and overly superior the building had remained intact for the last three hundred odd years. Many numerous attacks were flung at is foundations and it withstood them all, including a bomb from World War II, a fragment of which was encased in the school reception area. Saint Boniface College was the only independent school in the city and even though James, along with his parents, was perfectly happy going to a public school his paternal grandmother actually shrieked at the thought. She was the one who was footing the bill for his attendance and more often than not James hated her for it. Even though the policing iron gates were unlocked and the doors open James preferred to stay out in the cold until the very last moment before he had to be inside its walls. The only good thing about the school was the park across the road, numerous acres to roam away from people and sit alone among the trees or down by the man-made lake with its ducks. James didn’t like sitting among the trees so much as he liked sitting in them, that way there was very little chance of being disturbed by people living. This morning was no different and as he slipped through one of the many entrances he kept close to the perimeter and finding his usual tree he slowly climbed its trunk. It was tougher to find a concealing tree this time of year but luckily for James the park was littered with both deciduous and evergreen. Nestling into the largest branch he could find James steadied himself and looked out over the road. He could just about see the front door of the school, which meant that people could only just about see him but to be sure he skidded backward a bit until he was right up against the trunk. So surrounded by branches both naked and green he sat quietly listening to music and eating his slightly damp sausage roll.
Just as the path in front of the school was becoming alive with the feet of all the students, James could feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was a text message from Sebastian, a school chum and it simply stated that he wasn’t going to be in school today. Apparently he was sick, it was nothing to do with the fact he had a science presentation today in front of the whole class and his severe lack of self-esteem would have surely led to a mortifying experience for him. James didn’t believe him and replied with such. There was no reply from Sebastian but another message instead came through, one from another friend, William. Even before he opened the message on the phone James had a
sinking feeling he knew how it was going to read. Another chum was sick. It turns out William had an allergic reaction to some new shampoo that caused his neck to swell and bits of hair to fall out, he even sent a quick Snapchat of the condition. It did appear pretty bad and he could be out for a while. Seething with jealousy he put his phone back into his pocket and let out a little grunt of annoyance, he would have liked to have been allergic to something or better still have a house that he need not escape from.
One by one the rows of luxury cars pulled up outside the school and let out only one student and as they slammed the door shut they looked to the school in a bid to find their friends. It was safest to steer school within a group, there was nothing more unsettling than have to wander the halls alone, or even worse, eat lunch alone. For James unfortunately he was going to have to do just that today, there was no chum for him within those walls.
The watch was a mere two minutes from striking nine O’clock and so James carefully descended from the tree and dusted his clothes free of twigs and small leaves. The students who had been gathered in clusters around the entrance of Saint Boniface had now gone in and the coast was clear. Leaving the park and running across the road James plucked the headphones from his ears and dug them into his pocket and just before he opened the large wooden framed door he took a deep breath and braced himself for the day, hopefully it would be bully free. Barely a foot over the threshold and the bell rang out across the building and James found himself in a bit of panic, his timing was normally better than this. He would normally have just found his seat when the bell rang out. Fearing the embarrassment of walking in to a class already in process he hurried along through the large foyer of the school with its large staircases, pretentious chandeliers and countless portraits. English was first today and the class was located thankfully on the ground floor of the school. The corridor was home to the literature department and so was decorated thusly. Entry was through a grand arch that had the Latin phrase “Silentium, animos ad opus” etched across in vibrant red. It was long and airy with large windows that allowed the sun to stream in and outside was the botanical garden that the science department used; it was a very inspiring view especially when the flowers were in full bloom. Against the walls were pews with soft cushions that students could sit on when they wanted to read or write or softly converse the day’s lessons, and hanging on the walls were framed famous sayings that were to inspire the students. James didn’t find them all that inspiring, more condescending, and as he stood outside the classroom door trying to regain his composure and catch his breath he glanced up at one that caused him to wince.
“A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a lot of ignorance is just as bad”
Once again as he took the handle of the door he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and braced himself but just as he was about to open it, someone else on the other side had the same idea and James found himself stumbling into the classroom and falling against the first table.
“Careful Jimmy we can’t have you falling for these two, they are way out of your league” the boy who opened the door laughed and then so did all the rest of the class, including the two girls whose desk he had crashed into.
“Move along James, your wrinkles are giving me a headache” one of the girls said as her eyes wandered over the wrinkled shirt and blazer. It wasn’t James’ fault that his clothes were wrinkled, he had thought his other set would be ready this morning and perhaps they were but as the fighting intensified in the house he gathered the old uniform from a pile on the floor where he left it and put it on. At least it was only the wrinkles she commented on, he prayed it did not smell. He quickly made his way for the back of the class, as far away from the rest of the class, which meant a corner with one table and two chairs, one of which was broken
“Oh, oh the smell, it’s lingering” the other girl shrieked and just as James was about to take his seat, her shriek startled him and he took the wrong seat, and found himself falling to the floor. The class erupted in laughter again as the girl sauntered back to him as he was getting back up from the floor. “Just being a good Samaritan, for the school” she quipped before spritzing James with perfume. A round of applause filled the room and James bowed his head to the table, cheeks burning, fingers and knees shaking. The morning was not starting great. Slowly the students began to calm down and take to their seats, still chattering and some still giggling but all of them facing front. Then almost as quiet as a fire she appeared at the door, a slip of a young woman whose tiny figure was engulfed by an oversized habit. Carrying a small black suitcase she placed it gently on the desk and uttered a practically inaudible good morning to the class,
“Good morning Sister Jude” the first two front rows replied, the only ones that heard her. She gave a warm smile before closing the door and adjusting her veil slightly, pushing in the loose strands of black hair beneath it.
“Everyone here?” she asked, but again her voice failed to carry through the whole room and so one of the boys in the front row simply spoke for all when he said yes.
“Thank you Thomas” she nodded gently before taking her seat and opening the briefcase. Sister Jude seemed born to be a nun, her timid behaviour and even her appearance screamed candidacy for a convent. Porcelain white skin with a hint of constant shyness her face was gentle and kind, not meant for the outside world which was why her life was spent either within the walls of Saint Boniface College, or the convent from which she commuted a mere five minute walk. The one thing that stood to her ability to teach was her age, she was no more than five or six years older than the students sat in front of her and so she was more able to connect to them on a personal level and most of them looked to her as more of a confidant than a teacher. But of course there were some who saw her as an easy target, but they normally retreated when they found themselves in the minority. Hamlet was on the agenda for today and as everyone took out their copy of the Shakespearean tragedy the sound of fluttering pages echoed through the class as they all looked for the spot they last visited. Somewhat alone and secluded, the way he liked to be, James followed the masses and thumbed through the pages, each scribbled with notes from his studies until he came to the page. James couldn’t even see what she was doing as her petite figure was lost among the rows of students; he had no idea if she was reading or explaining or even talking. So James read it by himself and as he did he scribbled more notes in the margins, while every now and then his fellow classmates did the same, which meant Sister Jude obviously made an important point that he could not hear. He was going to fail English for certain, half the time he didn’t even hand up the right homework as Sister Jude only called it out and not write it on the Whiteboard and as the bell rang out signalling the end of the lesson she quickly whispered the nights revisions and homework before packing up her little black suitcase and scurrying nervously out the door. He dared not ask anyone in the class for the homework she had just prescribed, he just once again bowed his head, gave a small sniff to his shirt and although there was a hint of a smell, it was nothing compared to some. Not wanting to hear what they were possibly saying about him, he popped in the headphones and blasted the music.
Luckily for James his next lesson was in the exact room he was in, unluckily for him, it was the same for most of the class bar a handful who quickly followed Sister Jude out the door after the bell. As a couple of new students filed in James could vision Adeline, the perfume bandit, telling them all about James’ fall and the smell off him. His vision sadly came true as Adeline was seated upon her desk laughing with the others glancing down at James. Suddenly a missile hit him square on the head and as he looked up he could see them all laughing harder than what they had been while on the floor beside him was a can of men’s deodorant. Ignoring it was the only thing James could do, it’s what the internet said to do, and so he took out the book for the next class and began flicking through its pages all the while knowing the ridicule that was being expressed was at h
is expense. A deep breath, a pair of headphones, long bangs and a hand on his forehead, they were his coping mechanisms.
Saint Boniface was not a very religious school, perhaps it had been at one stage but over the centuries the religious side was somewhat edged out and it was now one of the most prestigious independent schools in the country. The only thing was that the school charter always called for at least one member of a religious order to be on staff at all times. At the moment however there were four and in walked another one to James’ class and as he did the cluster of students around Adeline’s table dispersed and found their own desks. A Dominican Friar humbly took his seat at the desk.
“Good morning, good morning, I hope I find you all well” he said loudly to the class as he slapped a small plastic shopping bag upon the table. Philosophy was the lesson and Friar Albert was one of the most interesting teachers that had wandered the halls of the college. A Black Friar for almost seventy years he travelled the world trice over and even though he was somewhat retired he still attempted at least one trip a year to continue his missionary work. Taking out a marker out of the plastic bag the old man got up and went to the whiteboard and wrote the subject of today’s lesson. “Existentialism” he proclaimed with excitement in his voice. James was not excited and even though he had taken out his headphones, his head was still bowed and his attention was certainly not on the Friar. The class was normally one filled with passionate discussions and heated debates and today was no different, Adeline nearly had another girl in tears with her barking philosophical comments while Thomas in turn had a spirited conversation with the Friar who was in his element thrashing the various interpretations and viewpoints that Thomas was throwing at him in his limited worldly experience. Needless to say the Black Friar had Thomas on the ropes pretty quickly and a commiserate handshake ended the discussion and also the class. The bell once again rang out signalling the end of the lesson and as the students left each one of them smiled and thanked Albert for the lesson, all except James who with his head still bowed low quietly headed for the door.
“You know James, you’re chin is so close to your chest one would think you’re in training for my job” Albert joked as James neared the exit.
“Sorry Sir, I just” James didn’t know what to say, he had no reply for why his head was bowed, well no reply that would suffice the Friar.
“Just be sure to lift it up occasionally, there is a marvellous world out there to see James, you don’t want to miss it looking at your feet” Albert smiled and patted James on the back. Once he was the out the door his eyes found the floor and he didn’t really care if the Friar saw, everything in the school irked James and the only way to cope was to try his best not to see it. The headphones were placed back in his ears and the music started to flow deeply within, drowning the laughs, the chats, the mocking. Keeping to the walls as he went so as to best avoid a collision, and peers, he made his way quickly for his next stop, business. It was a respected lesson that readied the students for a world of blossoming entrepreneurs and global corporations springing on every street. The only thing wrong with the lesson was the teacher, a horrid woman by the name of Miss Weeks who had her nose pushed so high in the air she believed almost everyone to be beneath her, especially students. She was kind of a peculiar person in the sense that she was so horrid despite being only a handful of years older than Sister Jude. Perhaps it was her experiences so far in life; Miss Weeks went out and conquered the world while Sister Jude hid from it. At the beginning of every school year she spent the first class arrogantly declaring her achievements and the reasons that found her teaching in Saint Boniface. The most prevailing revelation, the one that awed every student, was the one that she was most proud of. By the time she was twenty-two she had made her first million and by the time she had retired from the business world she had enough to last her many comfortable lifetimes. Her reason then for retiring was love, she married a man far wealthier than her but she took a teaching post to keep her active. Others in her circle preferred to be Philanthropic and give their time to worthy causes, Miss Weeks meanwhile felt that was merely an excuse for those women to dress up, drink wine all day and not really have any idea what charity they were supposed to be supporting. She of course kept that opinion to the confines of the classroom.
As James made his way along the school going up a flight of stairs, keeping as close to the wall as possible and upon landing on the landing he proceeded along a corridor lined with wooden lockers, each with a gold plated number on the door. Moving passed he could see the business wing in the distance. Like the literature corridor this was decorated in the vain of the business classes that were held within its walls. Economics, Marketing, Public Relations, Business, Accounting and Behavioural Science were all taught beyond the sliding doors. Yes, entry to the wing was through sliding door and above it, just like the literature corridor was a Latin phrase: “Coeat Negotium Negotium”. The door could only be opened by a member of staff so the students would have to wait outside for the teacher to arrive. There were at least fifty students gathered around the entry waiting for someone to grant them entry, James waited by the lockers, out of sight. Head bowed and music blaring for a moment he forgot where he was and he was at ease, the floor was calming and the melodies soothing. Then James noticed it got slightly darker where he stood and he suddenly could feel every eye upon him and as he slowly turned his head he saw her. Miss Weeks was looming over him, towering in her six-inch heels and her perfectly manicured hand outstretched. She wanted one of his barriers and James had no other choice and so he unwillingly gave them to her, his little piece of white string that allowed him to drown out the laughter, the chats, the mocking.
“You know very well that these are not permitted during school hours Mr. Griffin” she said in a manufactured posh tone. “Now come along, I have valuable knowledge to divulge”. James wanted to scream at her, he wanted to shout that she had already told him about her wonderful, wealthy life and he didn’t care. He wanted to yell out loud that she was “new money”, a phrase that “new money” people recoiled at, or so at least James’ grandmother always said. James wanted to hurt her the way she hurt him, she stripped him of his barrier, one of the things that made Saint Boniface bearable. But he stood silent for a moment by the locker and watched as his classmates made their way through the sliding door and just as the last one slipped in he hurried before the door closed for good. It was no point running and sulking, if he didn’t go to the class Miss Weeks would spend the day hunting him down and she always got her prey.
Once inside the business wing he was subjected to everything one would except to find in an office. There was a coffee machine in the corner along with a gurgling water cooler complete with paper-cone cups while rested upon shelves were the days’ newspapers all neatly stacked. Three large television screens were on all the time, one hanging just over the entrance, another at the bottom of the corridor and one in the middle. Each showed different things but all relating to the world of business and every so often or not they would flash to a blank screen and then slowly, just like the literature corridor a well-meaning, famous saying would appear for a moment and then back to the channel. Just as James had caught up to the queue of students walking behind Ms. Weeks, his eye found one of the screens and sure enough a phrase was appearing.
“The greatest risk is to risk nothing”
Gibberish, James thought as the screened turned back to show the day’s stock market. He turned away and followed the rest of the students in to the classroom. If the classroom was an ordinary looking classroom than it wouldn’t have been Saint Boniface College. Seeing as it was a business lesson, than a lesson about business should be conducted in an environment resembling business. So instead of a desk for the teacher and numerous others for the students, there was simply one long table running almost the entire length of the room. At the head of course sat the teacher and as she took her seat all the others followed, placing their bags under the ta
ble as each place had a pad of yellow paper and a pencil waiting to be used. Bottles of water and numerous bowls of mints were also on the table for the students. As lunch was after business most of them were a little hungry and so the mints weren’t long for the boardroom. James suddenly found one hurled toward him at great speed, not unlike the can of deodorant. Then his phone vibrated and it was a message from a number he did not recognise. “Might help with the smell” it was accompanied by numerous emojis that were as mean as the words. Fighting back the want to cry and to scream James bowed his head and lifted up the pencil and began to doodle.
Ms. Weeks loved almost nothing more than the sound of her own voice so as she rambled on about different managerial styles James continued to scribble on the pad all the while worrying about what was next. Lunch. Normally James had at least two people to have lunch with but today there were both absent, he was going to be alone and vulnerable for almost an hour. Being part of a group, be it popular or not, granted some bit of safety in social situations, perhaps even confidence, but being alone meant being defenceless. And nobody likes being defenceless, especially when there is already a target between your shoulders. Hunger was rampant in the class as one by one stomachs growled for nourishment and James’ one was no different, the sausage roll earlier on, albeit tasty, wasn’t exactly enough to sustain him and with no packed lunch and nothing in his bag only the bar of chocolate he feared his stomach would rumble for the rest of the day.
Finally the bell rang out and his heart stopped for what seemed like at least a minute. James was now without structure, without friends, without chaperones. He was alone surrounded by hyenas. As they all left the room James waited a few seconds before following so as not limit the chance of becoming a sponge for the bullies. Sauntering slowly behind the masses of students that had now all appeared and joined forces to create a walking, talking, laughing mob James suddenly found himself at the doors to the toilets and without even thinking he ducked inside. He smiled as he realised it was empty and the only sound was that of water dripping and rushing along pipes. Making his way to last cubicle, one that had only a neighbour on one side he went in and locked the door behind him. It was dark, quiet and solitary, just what he needed. Taking out his phone, a second pair of emergency headphones and the chocolate bar he had been craving ever since he remembered it in his bag he quickly devoured it while looking at the last message he received. He was tempted to text something back to the bully, something insulting and witty but more than likely it would backfire and he would find himself in a worse off situation, so he just deleted it. It was then he noticed a message from his mother, she was apologising for the morning and hoping he found the money she had placed in his travel pass. Hers also had emojis but they were far nicer than the other ones. A couple of games were the best way to countdown the time to the next class, to the next time James would be wholly safe in the school. With music blaring and the games entertaining he didn’t notice the time go by and pretty soon the bell was soon to go again, signalling the beginning of the afternoon’s lessons. Then there were shadows, at least two, moving around outside the cubicle. Turning off the music James could almost hear his heart beating through his blazer.
“Who’s in there?” a voice demanded to know. James remained quiet and still, he knew who was demanding. “Who is it?” he asked again, this time banging on the door. Now, now James was trembling.
“It’s the copper’s son” another voice said from above and as he tilted his head to the ceiling James saw Ryan staring down at him with the smuggest of smiles. “Open up Jimmy” Ryan said as he started to spit down on him. He saw no other option but to oblige and seeing it as a possible escape he unlocked the door and rushed. Gavin, the demander, was not exactly the best person to rush. For someone the same age as James he was far more mature, in body, not mind. He was built like a brick outhouse and as James rushed Gavin pushed and knocked him back against toilet and down to the ground.
“What’s your hurry Jimmy?” he asked entering the cubicle, Ryan all the while keeping a birds-eye view. James thought it best to say nothing and merely sat on the floor by the toilet keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the wall contemplating all the horrible ways this encounter could go. Gavin and Ryan were two brothers who, along with their varied click of friends, ruled the school. They were not really the breed of person who normally went to a private school, it was rumoured their father was a drug kingpin, and their expensive tuition, new cars and fancy holidays were financed by criminal deeds, needless to say they didn’t take too kindly to the police-force, and their families. But their bullying activities were never brought to the attention of the school due to the repercussions and as long as their father paid their tuition and donated yearly, they counted themselves and their friends’ untouchable.
“I like those runners” Gavin said as he bent down and grabbed James’ foot, dragging his entire body causing his head to bang against the toilet. James kicked a little as Gavin pulled the second shoe off his foot; it was something he shouldn’t have done for in a split second he found himself looking at his reflection in the toilet bowl. “You never try and kick me, do you understand?” Gavin snarled as he held a tight grip on James’ blonde hair. He nodded his understanding and then his face was met with water, and lots of it, as the brute flushed the toilet a total of four times before he let go and shoved James back against the wall in the tiny cubicle. “Thanks for the runners Jimmy” he smirked and just as he and his brother were leaving James mumbled a remark he felt would somehow make him feel better,
“What goes around comes around”, it didn’t.
“You threatening me Jimmy, are you?” Gavin said leaning in close, his face mere inches from James. “You couldn’t threaten a little girl” he grinned a stupid grin and just then, in a moment of complete anger and loss of reason, James spat on that grin. Smack!
When James woke up his head was pounding and there was a ferocious ringing in his ears, for a moment he thought it was the bell but the bell would eventually stop. Then with a jerk he instantly checked his pockets, he feared the worse but thankfully they were still there, his phone and his MP3 player. They obviously weren’t important to the bullies, the trainers on the other hand; well all that was on James’ feet were damp socks. He locked the cubicle door once again and remained cuddled in the corner by the toilet sore, alone and angry.
There was little chance of James actually leaving the cubicle to go to class and trying to leave in the middle of the day was virtually impossible without a valid excuse, James wasn’t exactly brave enough to report the incident. Instead he remained sitting there on the toilet floor waiting for the last bell to ring and the dulling of voices as the school all but emptied. An hour finally passed after the final bell and even though a couple of students entered the bathroom before they headed for home, none bothered his cubicle. Deeming it somewhat safe to leave the toilet he slowly unlocked the door and with his bag on his back and his feet shoeless he made his way for the door, glancing at the mirror as he went. Staring back at him was a pitiful, red-eyed, swollen faced teenager he didn’t want to recognise, so as he styled the wet hair into almost a mask he solemnly left. The school’s lights were dimmed, a rather fortunate turn for James and as he skulked along the corridors as quiet as he could for fear a teacher would still be around. As he made his way along a row of lockers another fortunate turn came his way as he eyed a pair of shoes on top of one of the lockers. They were purple and green and clearly belonging to a girl as they were about three sizes too small but being a beggar and no other choices available James took out the laces and squeezed his feet into them as best as possible and continued sneaking his way to the exit.
Success, he somehow managed to avoid being seen by anyone and as he took a deep breath of the cold air he was struck with another problem, home. Tension and silence was what was inevitably waiting for him and as soon as they see his face and shoes questions, numerous intruding, embarrassing questions. The tree across the r
oad was looking incredibly inviting again and even though it was starting to get dark he made his way to the park and climbed upwards in a bid to leave his problems on the ground. There in the midst of the twigs and branches he took out his headphones once more and blasted the music before relaxing into the trunk, nestling himself in such a way that he wouldn’t fall. Widening his eyes and pinching his cheeks did no good, his lids were growing heavy and ever time he blinked he could feel the tiredness reaching for a hold. It eventually succeeded and James nodded off high in the tree, tittering on the verge of several broken limbs if he fell.
The sound of a car horn beeping woke him with a jerk. The music had stopped playing as the battery had run out and James looked at his watch confused, the player was fully charged. It was close to ten at night; he nearly vomited. Grounded, chores until he was thirty, no television, no phone, NO MP3 player. He nearly vomited again. Taking out his phone he was readying himself to plea for lenience when he noticed not one phone call or message from either of his parents. Five hours late and no word from them, that was very strange. With his Dad a detective he had a very strict policy of wanting to know James’ movements at all times for safety reasons. James thought it best not to bother calling home and instead wait for the annihilation in person and if he wanted it in person tonight he would have to hurry, the last bus to Hamlet left in twenty minutes. He had never descended the tree in such a quick manner before, he was surprised how well his legs took the six foot leap from the trunk and once down he started to run. He started to run but then he had to stop again, the trainers he acquired were making it very difficult to build up any space so he took them off and held on to them and ran down the street and across the road and passed many people who gave quizzical looks as he rushed by. He didn’t care, nobody here knew him and with his coat hiding his school blazer nobody could tie him to anywhere all he cared about was reaching the bus on time, otherwise he would have to call home for someone to collect him and even then he nearly preferred to spend a night in the tree. Somehow he did manage to make the bus just as it was about to close the doors and as he got on the bus driver eyed him with suspicion, he wasn’t the same one from the morning, in fact James had never seen this driver before. He scrutinized the bus-pass, looking at it then at James then at the card again, humming and sighing to himself as if tossing a mental coin whether or not to let him on the bus. Finally he handed back the card and nodded his head toward the seats. There was only one other person on the bus, a young man only a couple of years older, and as James passed they said a simple hello. James walked on by pretending not to have heard him, pretending the music was still filling his ears. A seat with a broken light above it was perfect, he nestled in the darkness and with his bag on his lap he sunk his head into it as the bus chugged its way out of the parking bay and onto the road for Hamlet, and for James, a tribunal.
He wished for the tiredness to return like it did in the tree but there was no way his mind was going to slow down, it was racing through the different confrontations that he was going to be subjected to as soon as he crossed the threshold of home. The events of today would surely lure the support and compassion out of even the harshest of parents, if of course they were told, his Mom would be utterly understanding, his father on the other hand, well quite plainly he wouldn’t be able to comprehend how his son is being bullied, after all he was Griffin, and Griffins were ones to be feared, not fear. Jack Griffin himself indeed was a bully, the most dangerous type, the one no-one suspects. So as the bus made its way into the soon-to-be sleeping Hamlet James could feel a shiver go down his spine as the brakes screeched to a halt. Departing the bus was one of the toughest things he had to do; it was like he had to will each leg forward step by step until he was standing on the grass verge watching as the bus drove away toward Parish.
“Goodnight” the young gentleman said as he made his way down to the pub where a handful of people were gathered by its door. The pub was the only thing opened right now in the small village and most would congregate there for an hour or two to unwind after the day, gossiping about the day’s events. As he looked down at the small number, they were all looking back at him conferring with each other and shaking their heads before returning back inside the warmth of the pub.
“Bunch of yokels” James muttered to himself as he turned toward the dark road that led for home. James wasn’t one for the country-side, he didn’t like it, he preferred to be able to disappear among a crowd rather than stand out like a beacon for gossip. In some respects he was like his mother, she too longed for a life outside of the village. Most days she would venture outside the village to avoid the strangely ironic claustrophobic feeling she would get surrounded by vast emptiness littered with intrusive busy-bodies. James secretly wished that one morning she would wake him up with their bags packed, ready to start a new life far away from Hamlet but she dared not. Being an orphan and being shifted from house to house until she was eighteen he believed stopped her from uprooting her son; and abandoning her hard-sought stability. The pondering did him no favours, before he knew it he had walked up the entire road, in complete darkness, passing the other houses all with lights shining and smoke billowing from the chimneys, all except one. At the end in the ominous shadow of the forest stood his house, not a single light shining nor a sliver of smoke omitting. For a moment his heart stopped beating as fast, perhaps they were gone and didn’t realise he was home so late. Perhaps both of them stormed out of the house following their arguments and neither wanted to be the first to return, James thought that once again a good fortune was his. Then as the entire house and the garden and the driveway came into view he could see his mother’s car still parked in the exact spot it had been that morning. His father’s car on the other hand wasn’t there, he wasn’t supposed to be working, there was no function he had been talking about attending, he should be at home, unless the fight this morning was the final one, it sure did sound like it.
Elated at the fact his father was somewhere else and fearful as to what exactly waited for him inside James made his way slowly up the drive and to the front door that was ever so slightly open. Pushing it open he could hear broken glass being dragged across the hall floor. Burglars were his first thought burglars who had taken his parents away in his father’s car. His heart had no returned to beating uncontrollably fast as he placed one purple and green shoe over the threshold, stepped on and cracked more glass. Inside the dark house he could just about make out piles of ripped clothes strewn about the floor joined by numerous shredded photographs and smashed frames. A set of golf clubs were laying on the floor, some warped a tad after having been used to elevate stress and to thrash the house. Suddenly there was a movement from the kitchen and not knowing what to expect James picked up one of the clubs, with the hope by just its mere presence in his hand would deter the remaining intruders. Cautiously he put his hand inside the room and felt for the light switch and flicked it up and light flooded the room. A small shriek from behind the door and James turned to see his mom sitting on the ground upon her wedding dress that had red stains from the numerous bottles of wine that were scattered about it.
“Turn off the light” she begged as she shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness.
“Mom, Mom what’s wrong?” James asked trying to mask his distress at seeing his mother in such a state.
“You’re pig of a father, that’s what’s wrong!” she slurred a little as she took a sip of wine from a crystal wine-glass.
“I’m going to put on the kettle, we need some coffee”
“As long as its Irish, I need it to be Irish” she replied lifting her glass almost like in a toast-like fashion. “For tonight I’m celebrating, not the beginning of my marriage but the ending of a new life” she smiled. “Nope, no wait the other way around, marriage gone and now a new life”. There it was, the words James knew were coming, words he longed to hear but somehow they didn’t ring well with him. He expected to be grinning from ear to ear but a s
mile was just not coming, in fact if anything he just about nearly cried. “And he’s welcome to his fancy tart” she added before knocking back what was left in the glass. Well there was the reason for the end, another woman. Suddenly James didn’t want to so much cry then to punch his father, hard. But tonight his emotions would have to take a backseat, it was his mother who needed the comfort and so he boiled the kettle, spooned out the coffee into the mugs and measured out the whiskey. Once the steam cleared from the tip of the kettle he poured out the water and stirred fast, adding the whiskey as he did.
“You can a little one have too, for the shock” she said, her drunkenness muddling up the words, from the floor as she gazed up to her son. She looked a right mess, still in her pyjamas from the night before, her hair dishevelled, her face red and blotchy and her stomach growling for food. Shoving aside the recently ruined powder-blue China set that his paternal grandmother had given them along the counter he put on some bread in the toaster. The smell was nearly euphoric as it filled the kitchen and as soon as it popped the butter was piled on and it melted instantly, dripping over the crusty sides. Sitting back down on the floor he handed his Mom the mug and offered her a slice of toast, she took them both. For a few moments they sat in silence as she ate another piece of toast and then another until the plate was empty. As she took a sip of the “strong” coffee James placed a nurturing arm around her shoulders.
“Mom” he whispered softly.
“Yes baby?” she replied in a motherly dulcet tone.
“I want to stay with you”
“Of course my darling of course” she replied grasping his hand and giving it a tight squeeze before placing the mug on the floor and embracing her son in a loving hug. The future was for now uncertain but James did not care, it surely meant that it would not have Hamlet, nor his father and maybe Saint Boniface College and with that he closed his eyes and smiled a happy smile.
“James can I ask you a question?” his mom politely broke the silence. He emerged from her embrace and looked at her still smiling. “Where the hell did you get those shoes?”
Chapter 2wo:
Warm Coke and a Red Hatchback