Sunday best. When he woke it was nearly dawn. Everyone was sleeping except Auntie Vera, who was rubbing her damaged arm while tears rolled down her cheeks.
At first he just watched her. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said eventually.
‘I can’t help it. This is unbearable. The worst thing that could happen.’
‘Worse than your arm?’
‘Much worse.’
He leant forward. ‘Why?’
‘Because that happened to me. I was the one who was hurt. Now Thomas might be hurt.’ She began to sob. ‘He might be dead and there’s nothing I can do. That’s the worst pain in the world. When something bad happens to someone you love. It hurts far more than my arm ever did.’
‘But …’
She wiped her cheeks. ‘Go to sleep, Ronnie. I don’t want to talk any more.’
Obedient as always, he closed his eyes.
October 9th. Mrs Jennings watched the third years pray for the safe return of Thomas Finnegan in the same classroom where five years earlier Thomas himself had sat.
There was still no news. Though Thomas had never been one of her favourite pupils, Mrs Jennings dreaded the thought of harm befalling him and raised her own prayer that it would turn out to be youthful misadventure and not something far worse.
A soft giggle disturbed her thoughts. Naughty Alan Deakins, the class troublemaker, was making faces at his friends, Robert Bates and Stuart Hooper. Mrs Jennings glared at them and three pairs of eyes quickly closed. Now all but two of the class had their eyes shut.
Pretty Catherine Meadows in the front row kept looking anxiously at Ronnie Sidney. Catherine had a childish crush on Ronnie and was clearly upset for him.
And Ronnie himself, next to little Archie Clark in thesecond row, stared in front of him, his brows knotted as if weighed down by the thoughts that whirred inside his head. Mrs Jennings liked Ronnie. He was a good boy; polite, hard working and bright. Imaginative too. Sufficiently so to be afraid for the well-being of his cousin Thomas.
She tried to catch his eye, give him a sympathetic smile. But he remained lost in his own thoughts and did not notice.
October 10th. Thomas came home.
He had been with Harry Fisher, an older boy and regular truant who attended another school in the area. Harry’s mother was dead; his father a habitual drunk who had gone away for a week, leaving Harry to look after himself. But Harry had had other ideas; stealing some of his father’s savings, intending to have a few days’ fun in the West End and wanting someone to keep him company. Thomas, impressionable and easily led, had been the one he had chosen.
The police were angry. ‘You’ve been a very stupid young man. Wasting our time and upsetting everybody.’ Vera was beside herself. ‘I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you!’ In the end she did the former, lavishing Thomas with cake and lemonade. Peter, indignant, announced that he was going to run away too if this was the outcome and received a clout from Stan for upsetting his mother.
Anna, almost as relieved as Vera, hugged Ronnie to her. ‘You must never frighten me like that, Ronnie. Icouldn’t bear to think of something bad happening to you.’
He hugged her back. ‘I never will, Mum. I promise.’
December. Two days before the start of the Christmas holidays. Mrs Jennings finished reading the class a revenge story about a man called Horatio who had been robbed for his money and left for dead. After years of searching, Horatio had tracked down the culprit and killed him in a duel. Her colleague Miss Sims had expressed concern at the darkness of the subject matter but in Mrs Jennings’ experience, even the most angelic of children liked their stories laced with gore.
‘Did you all enjoy that?’ she asked.
A chorus of yeses and nodded heads. Alan Deakins suggested that Horatio should have boiled the robber in oil and Catherine Meadows told him not to be horrid.
‘Horatio had his revenge, Alan. That’s the important thing.’ Mrs Jennings
At first he just watched her. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said eventually.
‘I can’t help it. This is unbearable. The worst thing that could happen.’
‘Worse than your arm?’
‘Much worse.’
He leant forward. ‘Why?’
‘Because that happened to me. I was the one who was hurt. Now Thomas might be hurt.’ She began to sob. ‘He might be dead and there’s nothing I can do. That’s the worst pain in the world. When something bad happens to someone you love. It hurts far more than my arm ever did.’
‘But …’
She wiped her cheeks. ‘Go to sleep, Ronnie. I don’t want to talk any more.’
Obedient as always, he closed his eyes.
October 9th. Mrs Jennings watched the third years pray for the safe return of Thomas Finnegan in the same classroom where five years earlier Thomas himself had sat.
There was still no news. Though Thomas had never been one of her favourite pupils, Mrs Jennings dreaded the thought of harm befalling him and raised her own prayer that it would turn out to be youthful misadventure and not something far worse.
A soft giggle disturbed her thoughts. Naughty Alan Deakins, the class troublemaker, was making faces at his friends, Robert Bates and Stuart Hooper. Mrs Jennings glared at them and three pairs of eyes quickly closed. Now all but two of the class had their eyes shut.
Pretty Catherine Meadows in the front row kept looking anxiously at Ronnie Sidney. Catherine had a childish crush on Ronnie and was clearly upset for him.
And Ronnie himself, next to little Archie Clark in thesecond row, stared in front of him, his brows knotted as if weighed down by the thoughts that whirred inside his head. Mrs Jennings liked Ronnie. He was a good boy; polite, hard working and bright. Imaginative too. Sufficiently so to be afraid for the well-being of his cousin Thomas.
She tried to catch his eye, give him a sympathetic smile. But he remained lost in his own thoughts and did not notice.
October 10th. Thomas came home.
He had been with Harry Fisher, an older boy and regular truant who attended another school in the area. Harry’s mother was dead; his father a habitual drunk who had gone away for a week, leaving Harry to look after himself. But Harry had had other ideas; stealing some of his father’s savings, intending to have a few days’ fun in the West End and wanting someone to keep him company. Thomas, impressionable and easily led, had been the one he had chosen.
The police were angry. ‘You’ve been a very stupid young man. Wasting our time and upsetting everybody.’ Vera was beside herself. ‘I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you!’ In the end she did the former, lavishing Thomas with cake and lemonade. Peter, indignant, announced that he was going to run away too if this was the outcome and received a clout from Stan for upsetting his mother.
Anna, almost as relieved as Vera, hugged Ronnie to her. ‘You must never frighten me like that, Ronnie. Icouldn’t bear to think of something bad happening to you.’
He hugged her back. ‘I never will, Mum. I promise.’
December. Two days before the start of the Christmas holidays. Mrs Jennings finished reading the class a revenge story about a man called Horatio who had been robbed for his money and left for dead. After years of searching, Horatio had tracked down the culprit and killed him in a duel. Her colleague Miss Sims had expressed concern at the darkness of the subject matter but in Mrs Jennings’ experience, even the most angelic of children liked their stories laced with gore.
‘Did you all enjoy that?’ she asked.
A chorus of yeses and nodded heads. Alan Deakins suggested that Horatio should have boiled the robber in oil and Catherine Meadows told him not to be horrid.
‘Horatio had his revenge, Alan. That’s the important thing.’ Mrs Jennings
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