Cut To The Bone (14 page)

He wrapped both trophies tight in the Tesco carrier bag he always brought for clearing up droppings, careful to keep the blood off his clothes and skin.

Done.

He smiled to himself as he made for the toilets to tip any incriminating rabbit hairs from his satchel down the pan. Then he pulled the chain.

"Hi."

Louis jumped. Toby Lake was saving him a job just by being there.

"Hi," he said brightly, washing his hands more thoroughly than he'd ever done in his life, keeping the enemy in view through the glass. As for himself, he looked a right mess. His hair as if something had been burrowing in it. His new uniform falling off him like skin off a bone. "Fancy some fishing?"

Lake cocked his head to one side like he did when thinking.

"Yeah. When?"

"Today? After school? Got a good spot up Wrecker's Brook."

That was no lie. The place drew quite a few weekend punters who braved the constant whiff from the nearby sewage treatment plant in the hope of a catch. Bream mostly with the odd carp, all come down from a Canal outflow. Jez Martin said his Dad used to trek there from Briar Bank.

His Dad
…

"I'll have to collect my rod and tell them at
Sunnyview
," said Lake.

"Can't you do fucking anything on your own?"

The other boy shifted from one leg to the other. His neck reddening.

"Course I can."

"Four o'clock then. North Barton Woods picnic area."

"I'll nick some grub from the kitchen."

"Great."

They shook hands. Lake's fingers cold and moist. Louis sniffed the fear and grinned, then when he'd gone, phoned The Fawn and told her he'd be practising his crawl and butterfly with Darshan Patel and would be home at six.

*

"Now then young man, sit where I can see you properly."

Clive Blanchard sat with his back to the sun, his bulk silhouetted against the half-closed blinds. He opened one desk drawer after another and finally extracted a red folder. From his chair opposite, Louis could read the word POLICE upside down and felt a lurch of excitement down below. He kept his satchel firmly on his lap, glad the rabbit noses were safely encased in polythene.

The careers master rested his chin on his fingers and stared at him. "Why the police, Perelman? "

"Society's in a mess sir. I want to do my bit."

"What do you mean by ‘
a mess
?’"

Louis was aware of someone peering in through the door's glass panel. He recognised Nick Weaver and gave the customary salute. Blanchard frowned.

"We've got psychos freed from jail too soon, sir,” Louis continued. “Benefits cheats, Yardie gangs, immigrants setting up terrorist cells or beheading swans. Dirty money from Saudi making London too expensive for ordinary people, and there’s the Freemasonry… Shall I go on?"

"Thank you, no. I get the picture. You have a strong sense of duty to your country?"

"Yes sir."

"And your family?"

Louis gulped.

"Charity begins at home, Louis,” added Blanchard. “I'm curious."

"I've the best parents ever. My Dad works hard at his job and he's a brilliant pianist, and my Mum..." Here his voice ebbed away.

"Go on. Your Mum…"

"Well, she keeps everything clean, cooking and stuff.  Plus her research..."

"Ah."

"With the Open University."

"So what does she and your Dad think of this idea of yours?"

Louis hesitated. Decided that honesty was the best policy.

"They don't know yet, sir. It's my little secret. My dream..."

"Well," the big man leaned forwards, his face the colour of a dark, red pepper. "It's no good me setting wheels in motion, Perelman, without parental consent. You are still under age."

"I don't care, sir. I just want to know which GCSE subjects to choose next term."

"Indeed, but in the meantime I suggest you try the..." Blanchard was about to say army cadets, but his voice was suddenly drowned by the school's loudspeaker system blaring the Head's voice into the room.

"Emergency assembly! Emergency assembly! All pupils to muster in form rooms then proceed immediately to the Main Hall..."

Blanchard slotted the folder back in its drawer. 

"Better make a move. Some idiot's probably been blocking the loos with toilet rolls again." He ushered Louis to his door then strode off towards the stairs. Louis returned to the man's desk and flicked through the red file's content. The world he wanted was all there. Hendon and its happy recruits photographed in different locations - briefings, beat work, exciting looking assignments, and to cap it all, a Freephone number to ring. He promised himself to do just that, as he negotiated hordes of sweating bodies with rolled-up sleeves and flapping shirts.

"Wardle's done a right freaky." Someone said. "He's after blood."

"You should 'ave seen 'is car. Ugh. Yuk."

"Someone's got a fucking screw loose..."

This and more as Louis joined his form group who gathered in the main hall's airless heat. The blinds were down and the stage full of shadowy figures, for some reason not sitting down.

He felt surprisingly cool despite the chaos around him as that Freephone number re-played in his mind. He waited for the usual crap from the platform party. Just sounds, nothing more. And nothing to do with him. He slid his hand deep in his pocket and felt such power rising between his legs, his head so drained of blood, that the hanging lights above him swayed as if the world had suddenly tilted on is axis. Then all at once, everything went dark...

*

"Drink this now. It's nice sweet tea." The school nurse had switched off the kettle and opened a packet of sugar.

"My poor rabbits..." Louis sniffed, but his watery eyes roamed straightaway to the Sick Bay’s shelves stacked with aspirin, Anadin and tubes of cream for insect bites, sunburn and the like. The hot stuff had obviously been locked away. Damn her. 

"I know, me duck," Sister Coles crowed at him, "but the culprit or culprits will be caught, make no mistake."

He nearly choked on the milky muck delivered in a chipped Royal Wedding mug. It was foul. So was the school nurse's face in close-up. Everyone knew she was a chainer, with her skin creased up like old wrapping paper. She tested his blood pressure again and smiled as she unwrapped the black snake thing from his arm.

"Nothing to worry about, but no running around for a while. You take things easy." 

He looked out of the window at the deserted playground while she picked up a plastic wallet containing a sheet of paper, and ran her finger down the page, stopping every so often and frowning.

"This is the third time you've fainted this term, Louis. Maybe you should see your doctor sometime."

"Our doctor's a twat."

"That's not a very nice thing to say, now, is it?"

"He is, I'm telling you. All he goes on about is the latest county cricket score, or how his kids are doing..."

"Could be a surfeit of hormones." Sister Coles murmured to herself, as she sat down to flick through what looked like a telephone address book and pick up the receiver. "Or we need to look at ventilation in the Hall."

"Who are you calling?" Louis demanded.

"Your mother. Why?"

He reached over, tried to snatch it from her hand. The filthy seven year-old backed away open-mouthed.

"Excuse me?" Sounding posher, more like someone else. 

"I don't want her being worried, that's all. Sorry sister."

"She's your mother, Louis. That's what mothers are for."

"And us babies are born for sacrifice on the altar of Life."

"Pardon?" The nurse blinked, unsure as to how to respond. Instead, she chose the easier option - to dial and wait as the answerphone kicked in.

"Dave and Jacquie are unable to take your call at present, so please leave your message after the tone and we'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you."

"It's Sister Coles here,” she began. “From North Barton Boys’ School. No need to worry, Mr and Mrs Perelman, it's just that Louis' had another fainting fit today. He's fine, but I thought you ought to know, that’s all." Her voice tailed away and when she'd replaced the receiver and looked up from her desk, the young patient had disappeared.

*

The shocking discovery in Keith Wardle's car filled the afternoon, causing hints and innuendoes to spread like a bush fire, with the Police word bandied about far too often. Everyone had a theory and everyone was wrong.
             

Having escaped from the school nurse’s over-attentive clutches, Louis watched his form teacher being bundled into a smaller car as Miss Udder of the cow breasts came into her biology lab bearing a ziggurat of marked exercise books. Once she'd dumped them on a nearby bench, she came over to Louis and laid her hand on his arm.

"It must have been terrible for you. Especially after the way you cared for our pets."

"I'm OK, thanks. But they're not, are they?" He made his bottom lip tremble, the way he'd practised in front of the mirror. Forced out a tear, making no effort to wipe it away.

"Dear, sweet things." The new teacher went on. "What harm had they done to anyone? And what a totally sick thing to do to poor Mr Wardle." She then patted Louis' hair. Stood close enough for her herby scent to fill his nose.

"He was asking for summat though." Toby Lake interrupted. "He's a right bloody fascist."

Miss Udder straightened. Her nipples pressed against her open-knit top.

"Wait outside please, Toby, until I can take you to the Head myself." Her colour was up, her 38 D tits with a life of their own. 

"What a berk, Miss," Louis said, worried that his plan for later might be derailed by the
Sunnyview
boy's absence. The orphan should have kept his gob shut. But that was Toby Lake for you.

"Creep," muttered Weaver, chin on his desk.

"Try and spare Louis' feelings if you don't mind."  Miss Udder wagged a warning finger as she left the room.

"Thanks, Miss." Louis beamed her a smile and pulled the cap off his biro with his perfect teeth. He then opened his Biology textbook and feigned interest in the life cycle of the house fly, letting those wankers around him exercise their imaginations as to what kind of panties Miss Udder was wearing.

Once Lakey had been dealt with and returned to the fold, and she was again at her desk, the double lesson resumed with a discussion on induced labour and premature infant nutrition. Everyone was unusually silent, doodling foetuses in their rough book margins, wondering how something the size of a giant coconut could push its way out from what they'd goggled on their porn sites.

18

Louis Perelman and Toby Lake cut through to Wrecker's Brook from North Barton Wood's deserted picnic area where empty Vittel bottles and the like lay around the one overflowing litter bin. This way they avoided the Scrub End estate and possible nosy parkers. 

The land sloped down to the outskirts of Scrub End, via a dry gulley filled with stained mattresses and other household waste. They continued until the sewage works could be seen on the right. Its caramel-coloured sludge beds highlighted by the sun's glare.

The younger boy carried his rod aloft like some native in the bush with a spear. An elegant affair, already set up with a reel and line.

"Why specs?" Lakey had quizzed when Louis met him round the back of
Sunnyview
. ”Especially those.”

"To see the fish better." Louis had then patted the boy's pockets expectantly. "Any grub?" 

"Nope. The Witch was at her cauldron, sorry."

"D for effort my good mate. Try harder next time, eh? Anyone gape you in there?"

"I’m not daft."

Neither boy mentioned parents or the lack of them as they headed for the brook, yet Louis kept the other boy’s latest, cruel taunt alive in his mind. He had to.

He also let Lakey walk on ahead, watching how his trouser turn-ups dragged on the cracked soil. How his slight limp grew more pronounced with each step. There wasn't another human soul about, and the only sounds were the muffled slurps of the treatment plant and birds in the distant trees.

"How much further?" panted Lakey, skewing his body round to shrug his blazer off his shoulders, letting his backpack fall with a thud.

"Not far now," Louis encouraged. He’d kept his own satchel deliberately light. "Here, let's take them both for you."

The blazer smelt of toilets. Louis fingered the pockets and found a fifty pence piece amongst the dust. A start, anyway. As for the backpack, it felt as if it contained a body. The strap began to cut into his fingers so he dragged it along the ground.

"Good on you calling Waddle a fascist," he said, wincing. "Did you get detention?"