Читать книгу Turner - Jonathan De Montfort - Страница 8

Chapter 5

Hero

Breakfast was quiet, as it had been for some weeks. Hero sat scooping his wet cornflakes up in his spoon, then tipping them back out into the bowl, over and over.

‘You really shouldn’t play with your food like that—you know, Mum,’ James said, then paused with his mouth downturned. ‘Sorry. Sometimes it’s as if she’s still here.’

Hero shovelled a bite into his mouth. It tasted like chunks of cardboard. Sometimes I just can’t hide from James.

James regarded him with a knowing look, as if fate were now sealed and he knew what the future held. ‘Come on bruv, let’s get going. I think today’s gonna be a great day for both of us.’

He shoved the bowl of tasteless flakes to the centre of the table. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

‘You’ll come around to my way of thinking, trust me.’

They went into the hall and put on their jackets, and James clapped him encouragingly on the back as he opened the door.

‘If you say so.’ Only if I find a way to hide away for the rest of my life.

Hero had been dreading lunchtime all day, as he had for weeks now. He exited the classroom where he’d been learning one of his favourite subjects, maths. He felt safe with numbers; they never lied or tried to hurt him.

The main corridor was dimly lit by the pale light of a few sparse windows. At his locker, he put his books away and took out the packed lunch that he’d habitually made for himself.

‘Hey, Hero,’ someone cawed.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Martin was a boy in the last year of school, a huge rugby player who had clearly developed early. As if that wasn’t enough, he had three of his friends with him, as always.

Without further ado, Martin smashed him backwards into the locker. He slid to the floor. His stomach was a boulder bearing down on his bowels. Why can’t they just leave me alone?

Martin scooped the books from the cabinet onto Hero’s head and bent down to whisper into his ear. ‘You know, I could shit in your mouth right now. Maybe I’ll do that later today when we see you after school, as usual.’

He laughed, his friends joining in. Then he grabbed the lunchbox from Hero’s hand, took out one of the sandwiches, bit into it, and dumped the rest onto the floor.

‘Mmm, delicious. Enjoy your lunch.’ He threw the sandwich with the bite out of it at Hero’s head. ‘See you later, Hero.’

The group cackled as they disappeared into the darkness of the corridors.

Physics class after lunch became an exercise in distraction. Hero couldn’t get the threat out of his mind. Would Martin really shit in my mouth? He retched at the thought, somehow holding down the vomit with willpower alone. Time seemed to slow to a near standstill.

2:30 . . . 2:32 . . . 2:33 . . . 2:33 . . . still 2:33 . . . 2:35 . . .

The idea of being held down while Martin dropped his pants and squatted over him . . . He felt helpless, hopeless. The daymare continued as he imagined Martin grunting as he slowly squeezed.

Hero’s stomach heaved. This time he couldn’t hold back, and a small amount of vomit jutted into his closed mouth. He grimaced as he swallowed it back down.

Hero hurried the length of the first street on his way home, then took a left into the road. Maybe he’d got away from school ahead of them after all. Just one more corner and then—

‘Hey, Hero, we were just talking about you. We didn’t think you’d show up today. Thought maybe you’d take a different route.’

Martin and his three friends were lying in wait.

‘Oh, bugger off, Martin.’

‘“Bugger off,”’ Martin said mockingly. His friends laughed. ‘Who even says that?’

‘I think I heard my nan say it once,’ one of the boys answered.

‘Are you Dave’s nan, Hero? Are you? Are you an old woman?’

They all sniggered again.

Hero pulled himself a little straighter. ‘I heard Dave’s nan gave birth to his mum by taking a shit.’

Where the hell had that come from? A rush of cold adrenaline prickled his arms.

‘Whoa-ho. Did you hear that, Dave? I think Hero’s getting a little bit cheeky.’

‘Too cheeky,’ Dave added.

‘And speaking of taking a shit, that reminds me—get him.’

The circle of boys closed in, and Hero began to back away. Dave made a grab for him, but he was too slow. Hero legged it around all three of them and bolted for home.

Martin and the boys hurtled after him. Hero heard their feet slapping closer and closer until someone shoved him against a small garden wall. He banged his knee and stumbled to a stop bent awkwardly over the wall, his kneecap throbbing.

Dave yanked his arms behind him in an armlock. Hero’s eyes widened as Martin moved in and punched him viciously in the stomach three times. He didn’t even have time to breathe before Martin followed up with two more punches to the mouth.

So this is what it’s like to get beaten to a pulp. He might’ve thought it was happening to someone else if it hadn’t hurt so much.

Dave released him, and he tumbled to the road. If it hadn’t been for the warmth of the blood oozing over his chin, he wouldn’t have known his lip had split.

Martin sneered inches from his face. ‘You shouldn’t’ve been cheeky, and you shouldn’t’ve tried to run, Hero. Now you’re really gonna get it.’

Hands grasped Hero’s arms and legs from all sides, while Martin dropped his pants and turned away. Hero saw his bare white cheeks descending from above.

He squeezed his mouth and eyes closed, his nostrils flaring as his breathing quickened to a frenetic pace. He tried kicking, flailing, wriggling—anything to get free—but his assailants were too strong. He couldn’t move. His heartbeat boomed in his ears like the World War I guns in the documentaries Dad loved to watch.

He risked opening his mouth for a shout. ‘Help!’

Martin laughed. ‘I’m gonna shit in your mouth now, Hero, d’ya hear me? Open wide, here it comes—nnnnnnnnnn.’

Hero became heavy and the world around him went hazy. An inner stillness spread to his extremities, like an inverse rush. He stopped struggling, and the world switched off like Mum and Dad’s old goldfish-bowl TV. Just a single luminescent pinhole of light remained—but through it came a lifeline.

‘Hello, lads, what’s going on ’ere? Is that my brother you’ve got down there?’

Hero’s eyes flew open.

James stood just behind the other boys, ready for a showdown. ‘If you wanna fight, why don’t you pick on someone your own size?’

‘Shit, it’s Turner.’ Dave backed up a step.

Martin rose, struggling to tug his pants up past his knees. ‘Piss off, Turner. This is nothing to do with you.’

‘Yeah . . . no. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that.’ James pointed at his brother. ‘You see, that’s my brother. You pick on him, you pick on me. Simple enough even for an idiot like you to understand. But even if he wasn’t family, the powerful should never be allowed to prey on the weak, especially when they’re as ugly as you lot.’

Martin and the boys glanced at each other. The hands holding Hero’s hands and feet shifted anxiously. Hero lifted his head from the pavement just a bit to better see what was transpiring above him.

James’s face was implacable. ‘Well, come on, then, wankers. Or are you all too chicken? The four of you can only pick on one smaller boy? You’re pathetic. You know that, right?’ He flung one hand towards Martin. ‘And pull your pants up, mate, no one wants to see your tiny cock. I mean, seriously, how do you deal with the laughter you must get from every girl who sees it?’

Hero couldn’t quite suppress a smile. How does he think of all this stuff so quickly?

Slowly, Martin stood up, fastened his pants, and stalked towards James. ‘Okay, I didn’t want to do this, but you asked for it, mate.’

James smiled as if to say ‘Indeed I did’ and gazed at Martin with cool, steady eyes.

Martin hesitated.

Hero knew why; he felt it too. Immense power emanated from his brother. And what was wrong with his eyes? They weren’t moving—wait, no, they were moving, but they had no colour. That couldn’t be right. Hero blinked deliberately and looked again. They looked normal enough—but wow, he was unflinching. Was he even blinking?

He glanced over at Martin. A vein pumped on the ringleader’s temple like a caterpillar on speed. He’s afraid. He’s actually afraid of my brother. Warmth like the elixir of life flooded into Hero’s chest, arms, and legs. He smiled, choking back tears of joy and relief.

James remained expressionless. Martin, now standing in front of him, clenched his fists, but James stared directly into his eyes.

Martin let loose with a punch. In a blur of speed, James twisted to his right, smashing Martin’s nose with one elbow. The sickening crack startled everyone except James, who simultaneously positioned his left leg behind Martin’s right, sending Martin flying backwards to the road.

Dark red blood advanced rapidly down Martin’s white shirt, reminding Hero of those strange post-war maps of an expanding Communist Russia that he’d seen on videos in history class. The grips on his hands and feet had vanished, and he sat up.

James brought the heel of his shoe down into Martin’s stomach. Martin winced, squealed, then threw up over his own face.

James glanced at the other three boys. Hero could have sworn there was the slightest flicker of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

He’s enjoying this.

The other three boys approached James.

Now even his eyes are smiling.

They surrounded him, Dave behind, another in front, and the third hanging slightly back and to the right. Dave darted forward but found himself clutching at empty space. He looked ridiculous, like a human marionette whose wires had tangled. He jerked in reaction to a whistling near his left ear—a mistake. His nose met with the palm of James’s hand, now travelling at high speed. He brought up his hands to protect his face, only to receive a sharp punch to the solar plexus. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath as if his life depended upon it. Hero couldn’t be certain if it was the light from the street lamp that made Dave’s face look so grey, but it was a look that would’ve kept good company inside a coffin.

The attack had been so fast and clinical that the other two backed away.

‘What’s the matter, lads? Lost your balls now you’re in the big boys’ league?’ James said.

The boys looked on in horror at their fallen comrades, now covered in blood and puke. Their faces shone with a thin film of sweat, and their pupils had shrunk to the size of pinheads.

Standing under the street light, James looked like an Old West gunslinger, towering imperiously in the moonlight at the O.K. Corral. At any moment, Hero half expected him to say, ‘I’m your Huckleberry.’

James pointed at the boys. ‘I’m warning you, if I find out that you or any of your friends have so much as looked at my brother in the wrong way, or if you even fart in his general direction, I will hurt you. And to be clear on this, I won’t just rough you up like I did today. I’ll really hurt you.’

The boys took another handful of steps backwards.

And then it was over.

James walked past them and helped Hero to his feet. ‘Let’s go home, bruv, and get you cleaned up.’

‘How did you know?’ Hero whispered, his hands still jittery as he gathered his scattered belongings.

‘I followed you around school today. I saw them beating on you earlier, so I followed you home just now.’

How had he managed that? All that peering over his shoulder the whole way from school, and Hero’d never known that James was right behind him, covering his back the whole way. Crazy.

‘Well, I didn’t see you.’ He straightened his shirt and fell into step alongside his brother.

James smiled. ‘I’m very good at that.’