The Worm that Turned
On Sunday nights Jamie tried to stay awake as late as he could. He’d learned that time passed much more slowly when he was awake than when he was sleeping, and he wanted it to pass as slowly as possible, to delay going to school in the morning. He had a small portable television in his room and after supper with his parents and sister (they had their main meal at lunchtime on a Sunday) he would take to his bed and watch it for hours. He could watch anything at all. It didn’t matter how boring the programme might initially seem, he would concentrate until he lost himself in it. Over time he’d actually become quite fond of programmes like Songs of Praise and The Antiques Roadshow. Not the usual viewing matter of a fourteen-year old boy, but then Jamie wasn’t your usual teenager.
He dreaded returning to school on Monday morning. He hated school. Many kids say that but he seriously meant it, with every atom of his being. He didn’t belong there, he was so different to the other kids. They seemed so comfortable in their skins, happy to interact with each other, to chat about the latest soap opera plot, discuss which girls fancied which boys, who had just got off with whom round the back of the science block. Jamie would listen to these conversations, wishing that he could understand what it was like to be part of the gang, to feel that he belonged, was one of them. His lot wasn’t a happy one. His every waking moment was one of paralysing anxiety. He worried constantly. That he might be late; that he had got something wrong; that people didn’t like him; that he was wearing inappropriate clothing; that he’d left creases in his duvet that morning. The only time he didn’t worry was when he was asleep, which would explain why time passed so quickly when he slept, however sleeping meant that the next day arrived all too quickly. He understood that this was a ridiculous contradiction. He craved the bliss of sleep but postponed it and minimised it wherever possible just to extend his nights and push the morning away.
That Sunday night Jamie watched a film on Channel 4 that started just after midnight. It was a classic Merchant Ivory adaptation of a DH Lawrence novel. He loved to be able to lose himself in a period drama and imagine he was living someone else’s life, he thought that any life would be better than his own. It didn’t finish until two and he had to be up for school at seven, so he was able to get nearly five hours of sleep. Five hours of peaceful respite from anxiety.
All too soon the alarm went off and Jamie found himself out in the cold Autumnal air, walking to school. He only lived a ten minute walk away so didn’t get to join in with the camaraderie of the kids that took the bus in, which was another reason why he felt himself to be an outsider. As he approached the school gates his anxiety levels were already high, but when he saw who was standing nonchalantly outside them smoking a cigarette they went through the roof.
Darren Hunter. Jamie’s tormentor. His nemesis, you might say. Many years ago they had been friends, best friends even, but time had put paid to that. Much like a lot of kids they had grown apart, but unlike most kids, their friendship had mutated into a quite visceral animosity, at least on Darren’s part. His hatred for Jamie was almost physical, and indeed sometimes it was quite literally physical. Jamie had been punched and kicked so many times that his parents thought he was a very clumsy boy, because of course he could never bring himself to tell them the true cause of his numerous injuries.
As Jamie got closer to the gates he held his breath. Maybe this time Darren wouldn’t see him? Or see him but ignore him? Even as he thought this he knew that it was a desperate wish and one that would never be granted. God doesn’t answer your prayers, not in real life.
“Alright, Jamie?” Darren took a deep drag on his Marlboro red (Marlboro Lights are for pussies) and glared at Jamie. There was no ignoring him.
“Yeah, thanks.” Jamie wanted the exchange to end as quickly as possible so continued walking through the gate.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Darren asked. Jamie immediately stopped walking. It wouldn’t do to antagonise Darren so early in the morning.
“Um, nowhere” he replied.
“Haven’t you got something for me?” Darren was looking at Jamie with a smirk on his lips. A group of kids from the year below had started to gather around the gate, clearly hoping to get a bit of entertainment. A fight in the morning would easily provide a full day’s gossip, particularly if there was blood, which was a possibility when Darren Hunter was involved.
“Sorry. I don’t know what you mean,” said Jamie. This was one of Darren’s usual games. He’d play with Jamie like a cat playing with a mouse, torturing it for no reason but sick amusement.
“I’m hungry. What have you got for lunch?” Jamie’s mother made him a packed lunch every day.
“Just a couple of sandwiches, crisps, an apple and a bar of chocolate.”
“What’s in the sandwiches?”
“Ham, cheese and pickle.”
“Yuck. I fucking hate ham cheese and pickle,” said Darren, “but I’m hungry so I suppose it’ll have to do. Hand them over.”
Jamie did his best not to seem upset, because he didn’t want to be more embarrassed than he already was and he thought he should try to maintain at least a modicum of dignity with the watching crowd. He reached into his rucksack and took out the Tupperware box that his mother had lovingly filled for him. He started to open it to remove the sandwiches.
“The whole thing please. I’m very hungry so I’ll have all of it, crisps and chocolate too,” Jamie handed over the box, which Darren took from him with a smirk.
“I don’t want you starving to death though,” said Darren, “here, have the apple, and don’t say I never give you nothing.” He took out the apple and threw it in the air, too far from Jamie for him to catch it. It landed on the pavement, with enough force that Jamie could see it was bruised and there was dirt ground into it. Not to pick it up would be tantamount to challenging Darren so he walked over to the apple and bent down to pick it up. The audience was giggling and Jamie could feel the heat rising in his face.
“Say thank you for the apple,” said Darren. Jamie knew that he had no choice but to say it. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave until he said it.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Darren smirked again and the crowd laughed with him. Jamie was once more humiliated. He was finally permitted to leave and walked with his shoulders hunched to his classroom for registration. He didn’t have any lunch money so he’d have to go hungry today. He’d have to tell his Mum that he’d lost the lunchbox too.
Jamie managed to get through the day eating nothing but the apple. The intermittent growls of hunger from his stomach were a constant reminder of his humiliation and what a victim he had become. When would it end? He had another two years of school until either Darren left or Jamie went to Sixth Form college. The thought of another two years of torment was almost enough to send him over the edge. Only almost, though. The straw to break this particular camel’s back occurred on his way home that evening.
Jamie left school about half an hour after everyone else and began to walk home alone as usual. He often waited till the school was empty apart from a few teachers and cleaners, in an effort to avoid Darren. The streets were deserted, everyone being in such a rush to get home and have their tea or put the telly on. Deserted, apart from Darren Hunter that is, waiting for him around the corner on Jamie’s own street.
“Alright, Jamie? I was waiting for you outside school. Thought you might be avoiding me or something, so I took a wander over here, knowing where you live and all...” Darren paused at this point to let the matter of his knowing Jamie’s address sink in, and let his sneer once again settle on his face.
“What do you want? Why won’t you leave me alone?!” blurted Jamie, going red in the face. Again.
“Well, thing is, I have a small problem. You see I need some cash for a little deal at the weekend and I don’t have it. So you’re going to give it to me. 200 quid. By Saturday.”
“I don’t have that sort of money!” cried Jamie
, “If I did I’d give it to you but I don’t!”
“You’ll find it. I have faith in you. I’m sure your parents have a bit of spare cash knocking about somewhere. Be creative. Think of something. I wouldn’t want to be disappointed and have to punish you...” at this point Darren shifted slightly so that he could reach his hand into his inside pocket, then raised it slightly. Jamie saw the glint of a blade. Jesus. Darren was carrying a knife. His eyes widened as he panicked. He had no doubt that Darren would cut him if he didn’t do what he said.
“So,” continued Darren, “you’ve got five days to get the cash, and for those five days I’m going to leave you alone, give you some space at school. It’ll be like a holiday for you. You can give me the cash Saturday lunchtime. And if you don’t I’ll gut you like a mackerel and send pictures of you to your Mum. Would she like that? To see her precious little boy squealing like a piglet as his innards fall out? I can just picture her pretty face now, covered in tears, she’s very beautiful isn’t she, your Mum? I’ve watched her a few times. I’d hate to see her upset.”
Jamie was no longer flushed, but white as a proverbial sheet. He couldn’t bear the thought of his Mum knowing what he was going through. He was ashamed to even think of it.
“I’ll get it for you,” he stuttered, “please don’t involve my Mum...”
“Well of course I won’t, as long as you come up with the goods. See you Saturday.” And with that Darren turned round and slowly walked away, past Jamie’s house. He looked to his left into Jamie’s living room window and shouted back at him “Your Mum’s home! Looking good!” and winked at him before continuing on his way. Actually winked. The cruel bastard. Jamie nervously walked the few steps to his home and let himself in. He could smell that dinner was in the oven and he could see that his Mum was reading a magazine in the living room and humming to herself, oblivious to his terror.
The rest of the week passed in a hazy mélange of heaven and hell. Heaven, because Darren was true to his word and left Jamie alone, he didn’t talk to him even once, just smiled knowingly on the few occasions they passed one another in the corridor. Hell, because there was no way that Jamie could come up with the money. His meagre savings added to the cash he found lying about his room together amounted to the rather unprincely sum of £120. Far short of the required amount. He didn’t dare ask his parents for any money because they’d want to know what he needed it for and he couldn’t think of a legitimate excuse. If he didn’t come up with the full amount he didn’t think Darren would really kill him, but he might cut him or at the very least give him a good kicking, and he was sure that he would be true to his word and take pictures to humiliate Jamie with. That would be as bad as if not worse than death.
Friday night came and Jamie was lying in bed with the TV on, desperately trying to postpone the arrival of Saturday. He thought and thought and thought, till he thought he might go insane with thinking. There was no way out of it. He was never going to find the additional £80 by morning so he had to accept that he would be physically hurt and humiliated. His anxiety levels were through the roof and he was unable to concentrate on any programme on the TV. He didn’t think he could bear the humiliation. And what if he were wrong about Darren? What if he was insane enough to kill him? The more he thought about this the more he thought that it wasn’t out of the question. Darren saw Jamie as subhuman, unworthy of life, there was every chance he might kill him. Darren wasn’t the sort of kid that thought about consequences. He wouldn’t care about being sent to a young offender’s institution. He’d probably thrive somewhere like that.
At just after ten a text arrived from Darren. All it said was “DONT FORGET. 200 QUID. TOMORROW. 12 O CLOCK. AT THE REC. BE THERE UNLESS U WANT TO DIE”. The Rec was a former gravel pit that had been turned into a sort of nature reserve. It wouldn’t be busy at this time of year so not many witnesses about if Darren decided to use his knife. Jamie didn’t sleep at all, and by morning he had twisted his thoughts over and over in his head so much that he had come to a dramatic and possibly mad conclusion. Perhaps a doctor would say that Jamie had indeed been driven insane by the bullying and consequent anxiety. And maybe it was so.
Despite his situation and having no sleep, Jamie was very calm and collected at breakfast, so much so that his parents remarked upon it.
“Darling, are you ok? You seem very quiet,” asked his Mum.
“Yes Mum, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You don’t seem your usual self. Dare I say it, you seem more grown up!” She laughed at this.
“Yes Mum, really. I’m absolutely 100 percent fine. In fact I’m in a great mood. I can feel today’s going to be a good day, life-changing even. I have to go to the library in town for a few hours, do a bit of research.”
“Well that’s good. Studying out of choice at the weekend? You’re turning into a proper little intellectual! Who would have thought? We’ll be having dinner fairly early tonight, about six-ish, as your father and I are going to a concert afterwards, so don’t be late back.”
“I’ll be finished well before then, don’t worry.” Jamie replied. He’d never felt so calm in all his life. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was resolved to end his torment and even though it was not yet done, making the decision to do it had already freed him. He put on his long winter coat with deep pockets and left the house just before midday, with a lightness of step that he had not known before. He felt that he was seven feet tall and walking on clouds, in complete control of his destiny for the first time.
He arrived at the Rec just before midday, it was a large plot of land with about half a dozen ponds and lakes of varying sizes on it, surrounded by dark wooded areas. He had no idea where in the Rec Darren would be so he wandered, thinking that Darren would find him before long. He ought to have been shaking with fear, but the overnight change in his mind was profound, and he was calm and collected. He had a job to do and he was going to do it. The ground was carpeted brown and russet from the fallen leaves of oaks and sycamores and Jamie kicked the leaves as he walked. As he walked past a dark cluster of tall fir trees a voice called out to him from the evergreen depths.
“Bang on time. Excellent. I didn’t think you’d let me down,” Darren stepped slowly out of the shade of the firs and into the pale daylight where Jamie could see him clearly. He was wearing stone-washed blue jeans and a hooded cotton top, with white trainers on his feet. Not nearly warm enough for a day like this.
“No. I had every intention of meeting you,” replied Jamie coldly. He looked Darren in the eye and could see Darren was wary. No doubt he was surprised that Jamie wasn’t shivering with fear. “but before I give you anything I want you to tell me something.”
“What’s that then? You think you’re calling the shots do you? You get to set the rules or something now?” Darren was getting angry, but for the first time Jamie didn’t shrink from him.
“Why me? We used to be friends. What changed?”
“Why you? What a question! Isn’t it obvious? You’re a stuck-up little shit and you need to be brought down a peg or two. We were never friends. Your Mum never let you come round to mine and didn’t make me welcome at yours. Too fucking common weren’t I? You sit there in your big house and life’s so fucking wonderful. I’m doing you a favour, showing you what the real world’s like. Plus you make it so easy. I say jump and you say “how high?” It’s fucking hilarious!”
Jamie was angry. Not with Darren, but with himself. How had he allowed himself to become so pathetic? To conform to the middle-class stereotype by being a softie, a total wimp. Well, that was ending right now. He took a deep breath to calm his face and not show any emotion, then set the wheels of change in motion.
“It ends now. I haven’t brought you any money.” This was said with such calmness and clarity that Darren looked momentarily surprised.
“What? What the fuck do you mean? If you’re joking then it’s not a very funny joke, because you won’t be laughin
g when I cut you up. Where’s my fucking money?”
“It’s nowhere. I don’t have any. So you can go fuck yourself.” Jamie allowed himself to laugh. He began to giggle and once he’d started he couldn’t stop. He laughed and laughed, all the while looking Darren in the eye. Darren was red in the face, angrier than Jamie had ever seen him before. This made him laugh even more.
“You stupid fucking cunt! I warned you what would happen if you didn’t bring the money!” he opened his coat and started to slide his knife out of the inside pocket. For the second time in a week Jamie watched it, but this time with a feeling of amusement, not fear.
“Oh, Darren, Darren, Darren,” Jamie singsonged, “you really shouldn’t keep showing me your knife! That silly little thing isn’t a knife! This is a knife!” and with that Jamie reached into his own inside pocket and pulled out a carving knife with a gleaming 20cm blade. Before Darren could say anything (but not before a look of shock could register in his eyes) Jamie had whipped the knife up and through the air, so fast it made a swooshing sound as it arced toward Darren’s neck. The blade was pointing upwards as it caught the side of his throat and sliced through the pale skin as easily as if it were tissue paper, carving a straight, deep gash so neatly and beautifully through Darren’s flesh that Jamie felt almost no resistance, the knife was so sharp. Darren gasped and his hands instinctively went up to his throat to futilely stem the bleeding. There would be no staunching of this wound, no preventing the huge blood loss that was occurring. His eyes were wide as he sank to the ground staring at Jamie and Jamie was pleased to see that there was fear clearly shown in them.
“Like I said. It ends here.” He said, smiling coolly and checking himself for any blood spatters. Incredibly, there wasn’t a drop on him. As Darren breathed his last breath Jamie calmly walked a few metres to the nearest pond and rinsed the knife in the cold water before placing it back in his inside pocket. He didn’t know what would happen now. Would he be arrested? He didn’t care. The pleasure of seeing Darren’s fear was worth any amount of time in prison.
Jamie’s Mum called him down to dinner at six on the dot. As he walked slowly down the stairs his nostrils were assailed by the delicious scent of a roast dinner. He walked into the kitchen just as his Mum was setting a huge piece of beef on the table and his father was sharpening the carving knife.
“It was so nice to see you in a good mood this morning that I decided to treat us all to a lovely piece of beef. The full works – roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, parsnips, all the trimmings. I’ve cooked it rare, just the way you like it, darling!”
“Thanks Mum, it looks lovely, mmmm...” he responded. He really did love roast beef. He watched as his father took the knife and started to carve the tender meat. Such a sharp knife, it slid smoothly through the meat as slice by succulent slice fell onto the carving dish. Jamie watched as the beautiful red, bloody juices pooled at the bottom, ready to go into the gravy. He smiled quietly, knowing that this would be the tastiest meal of his life so far, and he intended to relish every delicious mouthful, because for all he knew, he might not get to eat such a good meal again for a while.