The Dead Have No Shadows (6 page)

The Asian kid and Young Mickey were the same age and were destined to be together for the rest of Mickey’s life.  The other boys were two years older and were in their final year before moving up to secondary school.  All of this would have put Mickey at eight or nine years of age when this had originally occurred.

Young Mickey instantly recognised what was happening here.  It didn’t take a genius to work this one out.  Two older kids picking on a younger one could only mean one thing.  The Asian kid was clutching a satchel to his chest.  This must be what the older boys were
after, or whatever was in it.  The little kid had a hunted look on his face and his eyes were constantly casting about for an escape route.  He was out of luck there.  There was no way he would be able to get past his captors and get outside without one of them catching him.  His only hope was to dash inside one of the traps, lock the door and wait for playtime to end.  His tormentors seemed to think of this and one of them moved to position himself in the way of the closest cubicle.  Any bid for freedom now would have meant the little kid trying to
zig-zag
around the two others.

The two bullies looked a bit like Laurel and Hardy – apart from the clothes.  The skinny one was standing guard whilst the fat one was making his play for the Asian kid’s satchel.  Young Mickey knew the two tormenting kids by reputation if not by association.  The bigger kid was called Gary Hogg.  An unfortunate surname for a fat kid but appropriate to his habits – he was a greedy sod.  The other one was Martin Child.  These two were not the official school bullies.  That singular honour was held by Steven Sykes.  Hogg was, in fact, a bullying victim himself because of his size and relative slow wit.  Most of the kids in their final year at the school saw him as a target.  Sometimes this was by design and sometimes out of sheer frustration for the visitations they had received from Sykes and his cohorts.

In true hierarchical fashion, Hogg, unable to vent his frustration or gain retribution from amongst his own year group, sought out those two or three years below him.  He never risked picking on those in the year immediately below him, as most of them could have taken him.  So it was that Hogg, the bullied bully, had this little Asian kid pinned up against the toilet wall.

Child was your typical flunky.  He had no friends amongst his year group and had latched onto Hogg as a point of refuge.  They were both ships in a storm.  Selfishly, Child also used Hogg as a shield.  While people were picking on the fat boy they were leaving Child alone.

Given the huge size difference, Hogg could easily have snatched the kid’s satchel and been done with it.  That wasn’t how he operated though.  Like a cat playing with a mouse, Hogg was taunting the Asian kid.  He was visiting on his victim the same kind of treatment that Sykes and his mates dished out on him.

Hogg pointed at Young Mickey and spoke to Child.  “Make sure he doesn’t run off telling tales to Mrs
Rai
.”

From his spectator position, the elder Mickey bristled at this, even though the insult was years in the past.  He was feeling unhappy enough as it was but this made things worse.  The toilet block was dark and claustrophobic.  The thin layer of white wash, part way up the walls did nothing to brighten the place up.  What little natural light that did come in was through a strip of frosted glass opening lights, set high in the wall, above the porcelain urinal trough.  This meagre light was supplemented by a dim ceiling bulb, whose light was reduced further by the grimy cover attached to the ceiling.  The toilets had been small enough when Mickey has been a pupil here – now, to the adult Mickey they seemed positively tiny.

If elder Mickey had bristled at the insult then the younger one exploded.  This was a matter of honour and he wasn’t going to be slighted.

“Fuck off you,” he roared.  “I’m not a fucking sneak.” And after the briefest of pauses he added, “And you can leave him alone as well, you fat bastard.”

Child had been moving to restrain Young Mickey.  Now he stopped in his tracks.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.  The little kids were supposed to be scared of Hogg and him.  The idea was that they would hand over their sweets and dinner money with only a hint of a threat from Hogg.

The fat kid now lost interest in the little Asian kid’s sweet satchel.  He’d just been insulted by a squat kid in front of Child.  He couldn’t let the kid get away with it.  He turned to face Young Mickey and took a step forward.

“Grab him Child,” he snarled.

Child jumped to obey.  Young Mickey saw him coming, braced himself and leaned into Child.  The older boy hadn’t expected this.  He was caught off guard and took a step backwards to steady himself.  It took Child a few seconds to realise that he had stepped into the trough and now had a shoe full of piss.  He ran out of the toilet block in tears.

In the confusion Young Mickey seized the initiative.  He knew that Hogg would batter him if he let him get hold of him.  Young Mickey aimed a kick between Hogg’s legs but his action was wanting.  Instead of swinging backward then forward, Mickey’s leg swung from left to right.  Instead of landing the kick in Hogg’s balls, Young Mickey caught the inside of the older boy’s right knee cap.

The impact still brought a yelp of pain from Hogg and caused the older boy to double over.  This brought his face down to Mickey’s chest height.  Young Mickey stepped in and, doubling both fists together, swung upwards smashing Hogg in the face.

The bully grasped his bleeding nose and mouth and collapsed onto the toilet floor.  Young Mickey stood over him shaking with anger, surprise and a small amount of fear.

“You leave my mate alone in future,” he growled at Hogg.  “If you don’t, I’ll tell my cousin, Sykes.  Now fuck off.”

Hogg fell for Young Mickey’s bluff.  He scrambled to his feet and fled.

“You ok?” Young Mickey asked, turning to the Asian kid.

“Yeah.  Thanks,” the kid replied.  “Here, have a
barfi
.”  The kid took a paper bag from his satchel and offered it to Mickey.

“Why were they picking on you?” Mickey asked.

“They wanted my sweets without paying for them,” the boy replied.

“I’ve heard of you,” said Mickey.  “You’re the new kid who sells chocolate at play time.  How much money do you make?”

“Not a lot,” the boy replied.  “Most of the older kids won’t pay.  They just help themselves and I’m not big enough to do anything about it.”  He shook the bag of sweets under Mickey’s nose.

Mickey slapped the boy on the side of the head.

“
Ow
.  What was that for?” the Asian kid cried, he eyes instantly becoming moist.

“For being a twat,” Mickey replied.  “I could’ve been beaten up to help you and you still want to give your sweets away.”

“No, no,” said the boy.  “These are
Diwali
sweets.  They’re free.”  He opened the flap on his satchel.  “These are the ones that you have to pay for.”

Young Mickey looked inside the satchel.

“Wow,” was all he could manage to say.

“You boys come out of there right now.”  Mrs
Rai’s
voice easily carried into the boys’ toilets from outside.  She sounded angry and an angry Mrs
Rai
was bad news for whoever was on the receiving end of her wrath.

The chocolate seller started to move.

“Wait,” said young Mickey.  “What’s your name?”

“
Janardan
,” the boy replied.  “It means ‘one who helps others’”.

Mickey tried it several times but couldn’t get his tongue round the pronunciation.

Finally he settled on ‘
Jonno
’.

“Right,
Jonno
,” he said.  “Listen.  This is what happened.  Those two were picking on you and wanted to take your sweets.  Then they started fighting and arguing about who was going to get the biggest share.  Have you got it?”

Jonno
smiled stupidly and nodded, convincing Mickey that he hadn’t got it at all.

Mickey thought for a second.  “Just let me do the talking.”

Mrs
Rai
was clearly not expecting two nine year olds to appear when Mickey and
Jonno
emerged from the toilets.

“Is there anyone else in there?” she asked.

“No, Mrs
Rai
,”
Jonno
answered immediately.  “Would you like a
barfi
?”  He held his bag of sweets out to her.  Mrs
Rai
dipped a hand into the bag, then quickly went back in for another one.

“
Mmm
.  Very good,” she said.  “Say thank you to your Mum for me.”  When she had finished eating she turned her attention back to the matter in hand.  “Do you two boys know anything about why Gary Hogg’s nose is bleeding and why Martin Child has a shoe full of water?”

“I do, Mrs
Rai
,” Mickey answered quickly before
Jonno
got the chance to put his foot in it.  “The two boys were picking on
Jano
...
Jona
...
Jonno
,” he pointed at his new friend.  “Then they started to argue about who was going to have most sweets.  And then they started fighting.”

“Mrs
Rai
looked a bit dubious.  Mickey hoped that Mrs
Rai
couldn’t possibly believe that he and
Jonno
had been the cause of the trouble.  It seemed that, eventually, she agreed with him.

“Alright,” she said.  “But Mr
Firman
will still want to talk to you both.  It’s nothing to worry about but he’ll want to hear things for himself.”

Young Mickey and
Jonno
were standing in the corridor outside the Headmaster’s office.  The corridor smelt of chalk dust and floor polish.  Elder Mickey and Pester were also there, watching the proceedings.  Mrs
Rai
had gone into the office, ahead of the young boys, to give her view of things.

“I told you to let me do the talking,” whispered Young Mickey.  “Why did you have to jump in first?  You could have blown everything.”

“Mrs
Rai
is nice,” said
Jonno
.  “I like her.”  He grinned his daft grin again.

Mrs
Rai
came out of the Headmaster’s office and
Jonno
went in.  Young Mickey hoped that
Jonno
would stick to their agreed story and not contradict anything that he was planning to say.  Noticing that his hands were bloody with a couple of his knuckles grazed and bruised Young Mickey stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Jonno
came out of the office a few minutes later and it was Young Mickey’s turn to face the Head.  As he walked into Mr
Firman’s
study he noticed two
barfi
on the Head’s desk.  He decided that hands stuffed in pockets didn’t look good.  He pulled them out and held them behind his back. 

Elder Mickey and Pester followed the boy into the office.  They listened with amused interest as Young Mickey recounted the story of the toilet block fracas to the Headmaster.  Mr
Firman
was a short, bespectacled man, with a comb over that didn’t quite reach the opposite side of his head.  He had a habit of peering over his horn-rimmed glasses when he had errant pupils paraded in front of him – especially when he suspected that they weren’t telling the truth.  This was the expression he began to adopt as Mickey stood before him.

“Show me your hands,” Mr
Firman
said.

“Pardon?” said young Mickey.  Panic began to rise rapidly and he could feel himself starting to sweat.

“Your hands boy,” the Headmaster demanded.  “Bring them from behind your back and show them to me.”

Trembling, Mickey placed his hands on the Head’s polished desk.  Mr
Firman
pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and surveyed Mickey’s hands.

“What happened to them?”