CHAPTER ONE

“Oi! Field, yeh Dick ‘ed!”
Selby Smith!
Grabbing Roxanne’s hand,
“Keep close,” I whispered. “Don’t panic. Keep walking. Just keep walking.”
Swallowing hard, assessed the danger: he wasn’t alone.
“ See yeh’ve still got yeh black bitch wiv yeh,” he spewed.
Adrenaline surged. I took a deep breath, struggling to stay calm. Confidence buoyed by his ‘faithful’ baying for blood, Smith swaggered towards us.
Releasing Roxanne,
“ Try to get away,” I whispered.
“ Ben....?”
“ Don’t worry about me. Run when you can.”
Cappy and Ten Bellies came into view, Porter was missing, but I knew where he was. Flexing fingers, a clenched fist, anxiously awaited Smith’s cue... Punters gathered, the arena was shrinking, we’d nowhere to go.
Tutting, shaking his head,
“Tried tu teach yeh, Dick,” Smith said, “but yeh neva learn do yeh?“
His coded wink had me spin round, fist colliding with Porter’s jaw. He collapsed like a deck chair, but any hint of satisfaction, paled into insignificance to witness Roxanne’s capture. As she stood petrified and shaking in Smith’s clutches,
“Let her go.” I demanded, wiping Porter’s blood down my trousers.. “It’s me you want. So let her go.”
With his grotesque hand stroking her hair,
“There, there,” he slimed,“ Don’t worry, yeh knight finks yeh wurf savin.’”
He groped her breast, savouring my revulsion. She gasped, began to sob. Incandescent with rage, I looked away. Baiting me further,
“A good bitch, is she Dick? S’pose yeh’d expect niggers to do wot yeh tell ’em.”
Losing control,
“Selby you gutless piece of shit,” I cursed, “I’m gunna kill you.” Amused, he conducted the crowd to mimic his mood. “You’ve always wanted to beat the crap out of me,” I continued, “so here’s your chance.” Anticipating my demise, pushing Roxanne towards Cappy, we squared up. “C’mon then, you racist bastard,” I goaded, closing in, “You’re about to get what you bloody deserve.”
Hungry for first blood, he threw a wild punch, to receive a retaliatory fist in his face. Blood spurted, the crowd gasped, as Smith swabbed his nose in a sleeve. Slowly raising his black eyes to mine, spitting blood from his mouth,
“I’m gunna fuckin’ kill yeh, Field,” he said, “I swear I’ll fuckin’ kill yeh.”
Roxanne screamed,
“Stop! Stop it! No, Ben. Nooooo!”
Spectators closed in, chanting,
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Desperate to restore credibility, Smith came on strong. Arms flailed, we each scored a few points, but forced back into a hostile line, the odds were against me. Shoved from behind, a momentary loss of concentration had Smith take the initiative. Dazed by a fist to my head, a further succession of heavy blows to the body left me winded and bleeding. Whilst I stood doubled, Smith, courted adulation from the crowd, celebrating a premature victory. The atmosphere suddenly fragmented, many fell silent, as Smith, still mopping blood from his face, threatened,
“I’m now gunna finish yeh off, Field, yeh wanker.
Mocking obscenely, spitting, hideously smug, he advanced. Too weak to retaliate, I had but one means of defence. Closer, closer, he moved within range, stalling to whip up flagging support. Then, as he jubilantly launched his attack, my boot struck him where it hurt. Instantly disabled, he fell to the ground, mumbling unintelligibly, hands to his crutch.
Cappy released Roxanne and rushed to his aid.
“ You’ll pay, Field,” he warned. “You’ll fuckin’ pay for this, you tosser!”
Roxanne freaked out, backed away from me, remonstrating with her hands.
The crowd rapidly dispersed the minute Professor Potts showed up. He called an ambulance and summoned me to his office. I caught up with Roxanne in reception. Clearly suffering from shock, I wanted to comfort her, but Potts approached, demanding,
“BENEDICT FIELD! MY OFFICE NOW!”
“ Gotta go,” I said, as her mother arrived. “ I’ll call you.”
She made not a sound or gesture as I walked away.
P. Potts was a mountain of a man and his office was a place with which I was too familiar. Breath laced with alcohol, possessing a volatile temper, didn’t warrant an ounce of respect.
“Your behaviour, Field, was appalling!........, he began.”
I switched off, scanning the office walls and shelves displaying a vast array of war memorabilia. He regularly boasted about his military career, but he was no more a war hero than I was the Archbishop of Canterbury. Lecture almost over, I tuned in to hear.......
“This incident is so serious Field, that it will have to be thoroughly investigated and may well result in your suspension.”
I offered no apology, showed not a shred of remorse as I left his office.
Blood stained, I headed for the toilets. Rounding a corner, I bumped into Eloise Maye. She was a relative newcomer to the school, we were not well acquainted, but she refused to let me proceed unattended. With no adult on hand to assist, she collected the first aid box ‘boasting’ she held a St John’s Ambulance certificate. Her suggestion we go to the girls changing room, met with some protest, but the swathe of her beauty and charm, had me acquiesce.
Removing my blood stained jacket, I washed my hands. Eloise gently tended wounds, apologising if I so much as winced. The door opened and it came as great relief to discover it was Lisa Carpenter, looking for her coat.
Frowning curiously,
“In the wars again then, Ben?” she said. “Heard yeh gave Smith and Porter a right pasting. About time. About bloody time too, if yeh ask me. Everyone’s talking about it.” She scanned the room. “ So where’s Roxanne? Why aint she patching yeh up?”
“She had to go,” I said. “Her mother arrived.”
She tutted disapprovingly as she walked towards a toilet cubicle saying, “She dunt know how bloody lucky she is.”
Eloise caught my eye. I looked away.
Cleaned up, injuries appeared less severe than anticipated. Soothed with various ointments, lotions and a couple of plasters, I thanked Eloise for her time and ‘expert’ attention. She contended it was her pleasure, suggesting,”
“Next time, Ben, just keep your head down.”
“I’m not planning on making a habit of it,” I assured her.
The toilet flushed and Lisa, straightening her skirt as she approached, said,
“ Don’t you believe him Ellie. He’s been through hell for that girl. Besotted with her, he is. Smith even tried to hang him once, dint he, Ben? And if it weren’t for Miss Holtham comin’ along ......”
“Yeah, well,” I interjected,” it’s all in the past. Smith got what he had coming, though I’ll admit it was less than he bloody deserved”.
Lisa, lifting her coat from its peg, looked pensive,
“Be careful, Ben,” she warned. “Smith and Cappy are evil bastards. They’ll want revenge for what yeh’ve done.” Then visibly amused, she added, “I’ve ‘eard Selby boasting he’s got a swastika tattooed on his ‘arse.”
“Yeah. Probably has,“ I responded, grabbing my jacket, “It goes with the 666 engraved on his head.”
It raised a chuckle as we made our way out through the door. Parting company just outside the main entrance, walking away, I felt anxious. Lisa was right. I was now a bigger target than ever.
Crossing the car park I bumped into Mr Dodds. Informed of the incident at an emergency staff meeting, he had reason to be concerned. I’d missed the bus and gratefully accepted his offer of a lift home. I continued to the end of the drive where he said he’d pick me up in ten minutes or so.
Richard Dodds was a teacher with refreshing candour and someone for whom I had the utmost respect. A former ‘Captain of industry,’ he’d been in post about eight months and was passionate about teaching.
A white Ford Cortina pulled up along side and I hopped in, providing brief directions.
“ Christ, you’re in a lot of bother, Ben,” he warned, as we headed off. “Why? I mean, what ever possessed you to assault Smith and Porter? They’ve been taken to hospital. Selby needs stitches. You broke his nose.” Smacking his palm against the steering wheel, “ How the hell are we gunna to sort this out? What are you gunna to say in your defence, eh?”
“Well, Sir,” I said resolutely, “ I can’t say I’m sorry, so don’t expect me to apologise. There were a lot of witnesses, but they won’t be able to tell the truth, of course. “ He glanced at me briefly. “The ‘Terror’ will prevail, it always does. It doesn’t matter what I say. I tell the truth and I’m still guilty. That’s just how it is, Sir.”
“But why?” he asked, “What the hell is going on?”
“I’m not sure I can say Sir....... No. Better I keep my mouth shut. No-one would believe it anyway.” I looked out of the window, thinking of home.
Breaking the silence,
“ Look, Ben,” he said, “I know you probably don’t trust anyone at school, but I want to help you. The more you tell me, the better informed I’ll be. I want to get to the bottom of this racket. I know something’s going on. The Manor was a good school two years ago and now it’s..... Well, let’s just say it’s not as good as it was. So, anything you say will be treated with the strictest confidence, of which you have my absolute assurance.”
“If you want to know why it’s failing, Sir, start at the top. One’s totally incompetent, the other’s a mad alcoholic, which you must have noticed.”
“Well, I’m aware the management is weak.....”
“Weak?” I blurted. “Huh. Non existent, more like. Before Selby Smith arrived, some eighteen months ago, the Headteacher had no control over the kids. Discipline was a dirty word, but look at it now. I’m sure you’ve seen enough to work it out, Sir?”
Thoughtful, he kept his eyes on the road, whilst I sat staving an anger born from a deep sense of injustice.
“So, are you saying,” he piped up,” that the Headteacher offers some sort of favour to Smith and Co. because he helps her maintain order and discipline? I guess that would make you guilty no matter what and provide cover for Smith’s ‘terror’?”
“I’m saying only this: troop, tribute or terror. That’s the deal. You suffer the ‘terror’ if you refuse to do one of the other two. Roxanne’s coloured and Smith’s a racist bastard. Are you getting the picture, Sir?”
“Yes, Ben,” he said, with an accent of sympathy, “loud and clear.” A fleeting glance of approval was framed with a sincere smile. ”Sorry I doubted you. To be honest, I never classed you as a fighter ..... more of a writer, I’d say.”
I mirrored his grin as he pulled up at the top of the lane. Thanking him, I clambered out. Mr Dodds said he’d look out for me on Monday and I raised an appreciative hand, as he pulled away.
I arrived home to an empty house. I knew my mother was away until Tuesday, visiting a sick friend and I guessed grandpa would be pottering around outside. Left hand painfully swollen, I made up an ice pack and wrapped it round. Upstairs, in the solace of my room, I rested on the bed. Everything hurt: legs, hands, head, but I was safe, I was always safe here and that was comfort enough.
Merryfields had been home since my father died almost eleven years ago. Grandpa took me in when my mother suffered a breakdown. I soon grew to love him and in time we became to each other, that which had been lost from our lives. Every day on his farm was a new adventure. He taught me to ride, took me fishing, let me sit with him on the tractor, brought a whole new dimension to my life. I missed my dad, kept expecting to see him, but fragile memories faded and, in time, I learned to move on.
Footsteps trod creaking stairs. Grandpa entered shocked to find me as he did. As he perched on the edge of the bed, I confessed everything, with the honesty he’d come to expect. It was difficult, not so much to explain the injuries, as it was to expose the deceit.
“So all those rugby scrapes, mishaps, accidents, were........”
“Lies,” I interrupted. “I lied to hide the truth because I wanted to be with Roxanne....... Sorry. I know I shouldn’t have deceived you and mum .....”
“You did what you thought was right, son.” Maybe you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to suffer, but I understand why you did. Love,” he commended. “Yes there was a sense of honour too, but you did it for love. Right?” I nodded.
He had a way of making me feel better about myself. Said he’d have done the same thing, because there comes a time in life when you can no longer turn the other cheek.
I phoned Roxanne in the evening, only to discover she was not feeling well. We chatted briefly. I said I was sorry I failed her, but she contended it wasn’t my fault. I wanted to see her and she promised to visit the following day.
She arrived in the afternoon, her parents granting us the ‘statutory’ hour together. She was feeling better, expressed concern for my welfare, not impressed to learn Eloise patched me up. Roxanne was suspicious of her, saw her as a rival, though there was no need.
“Sorry, I couldn’t stay with you, Ben,“ she said. “The sight of blood freaks me out.“ Her lip quivered.
Steadying her hand,
“What is it? Tell me, Rox.”
She breathed deeply, tears welling to explain,
“I don’t like blood or loud bangs. I’m scared of guns and thunder.” Trembling, “In Nigeria," she began, "I was holding the hand of my father’s friend, when he was shot dead. His blood splattered all over me.” She looked away. “It was awful. Urrrrrrgh! “ Tears spilled as her face animated her anguish.
Drawing her close,
“Hey, shush,” I said, softly, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now. It’s okay. Don’t talk about it.”
She stepped back, to continue,
“I had nightmares for a long time. Mum brought me back to England. I didn’t speak for two months.... That’s when we met at school, remember?”
“Yeah,” I beamed. “I thought you were dumb, then one day playing kiss chase, you asked me marry you! Six and we were almost engaged.” She laughed, we both did, which lightened the moment.
Wrapping up against the winter chill, we went to see the horses in the barn. Roxanne clambered up on Liberty and if I’d been able, I’d have sat with her.
“What did your parents say about Friday?” I enquired, nervously, as she gathered a handful of mane.
“Much as we always thought,” she replied. “I’m not going back to the Manor, Ben. My father forbids it.“
I hung my head, took a disconsolate breath. “ So what about us?" I asked hesitantly. "Can we still see each other?”
“Yeah. Of course, “ she assured, gleefully. “And we can phone each other, can’t we?”
“ It won’t be the same at school without you,” I said. “I’ll miss you, Rox.... It all seems for nothing now...”
“No, Ben. Don’t say that,” she said, “It’s all going to work out in the end, you’ll see.”
“Wish I could believe that,” I said, as she slid from my horse, to stumble into my arms.
Cold, we returned to the house and messed about in my room. When the time came for her to leave, I walked her to the front door.
Kissing my cheek,
“See you next week, then,“ she said.
“I’m looking forward to it already,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Maybe you could stay a bit longer?”
She caught my gaze, said she’d ask her mother. Promising to call on Monday, she climbed into the car. I waved and she blew a kiss, as the Mercedes pulled away, disappearing into the lane..