I knocked on her door, entering when ‘invited.’ Instructed to sit at a desk in the corner, provided with pen and paper, I wrote my version of Friday’s events. The statement was handed to Piss Potts, along with a bundle of others. I was ushered into his office. He closed the door. In a bid to remain composed, I concentrated on a picture hanging on the opposite wall. His breath would have soured milk, and still he continued to slurp ‘apple juice’ from a beaker. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand,
‘All these reports, bar one,’ he crowed, ‘say the same thing, Field. So I don’t suppose it will come as any surprise to learn the only one that’s different is ... yours?’
‘No.’
‘So you accept these must be right?’
‘No. I accept the only statement that’s different is mine. It’s the truth.’
Chuckling, sardonically, ‘You don’t seriously expect me to believe you above all these eye witnesses?’
‘No. I know you won’t.’
‘You are a liar, Field. A compulsive, ruddy liar. You assaulted two boys without provocation...’ He tossed a handful of statements into the air. ‘It’s what the witnesses say. Every single one of them!’ Shuffling through a handful of reports retrieved from his desk, ‘See...’ he contended, skimming over the content, ‘...they all say you challenged Selby to a fight after you’d hit Porter. Is that true?’
‘Yes ...’ His eyes widen gleefully. ‘But it’s not the whole story!’ I protested.
‘Well, you’ve admitted to it as far as I’m concerned. Look, boy, I’m not going to beat about the bush.’ He handed me a pen and two sheets of paper. ‘You will sit in the reception office and think about what you’ve done. Then you will write sincere apologies to Selby Smith and Nicholas Porter. And ...,’ he exclaimed, checking his watch, ‘I shall expect you back in this office within half an hour. Do I make myself clear?’
I confirmed that he did and walked out.

I was no stranger to the sin bin in the main office; spent a week there one afternoon! Sitting at a desk, I did as he’d instructed. Concluding I’d rather wrap my balls in barbed wire, than participate in such contrite self abasement, I returned to face the consequences.

The instant I crossed the threshold, Piss Potts snatched the paper from my hand and slammed the door. Chin up, hands behind my back, I stood firm. Swigging more ‘apple juice’, he turned to stare out of the window. In a slow menacing fashion, he screwed the paper into a tight ball. I steeled my nerve. He turned to face me, dropping the waste into a basket. With a smile wreathed in duplicity, ‘It’s blank,’ he said. ‘Why is the paper blank?’
‘I did what you said,’ I contended. ‘Thought about Friday - Thought about what I did. But, the thing is, I don’t regret it....’
‘Don’t regret it?’ he hollered. ‘What do you mean - you don’t regret it?’
He towered over me, beads of sweat collecting on a furrowed brow.
‘I don’t regret it because I’m not sorry. Not sorry for what I did...’
‘You’re refusing to apologise?’ he fumed.
‘I’m not writing letters because the pair got what they deserved.’
Descending into madness, wild crazed eyes met with mine. Ballooning in stature, he vented his fury, slamming a fist against the metal filing cabinet. The boom reverberated around the room and with his ire rising,
‘It’s not acceptable,’ he reeled. ‘Not bloody acceptable. You nigh on kill someone in a vicious attack........’
I backed up, wiping away the disgusting specks of frothy spit pitting my face, ‘Walk away,’ I told myself. ‘Get out while you can. But hard pressed against the wall, Roxanne came to mind and past injustice resonate deeply. I was right, he was wrong and nothing anyone could do or say would persuade me otherwise.

A fragile silence drew a stilted breath. Portraying a sudden calm, he changed tack.
Pulling open a desk drawer, ‘Maybe, Field, you need a little persuasion?’ he gibed. He removed the ruler. I gulped. Fingers raked my palm. I was no more guilty then, than I was now. With a hand caressing the hideous implement and smiling insidiously, ‘So which way do you want to play it, eh?’ he said. ‘Painless paper, or painful punishment?’ I took the paper he waved under my nose. ‘I knew you’d see sense in the end, boy,’ he crowed. I ripped it into small pieces and as it fell like confetti, rolled up my right sleeve. Holding out my hand in steeled defiance, his eyes bulged with unspeakable delight. He raised the rod above his head. I looked away. The brutal force at which it struck my flesh, sliced it to the bone.
‘Arrgh ! Arrrrrgh! Bastard!’ I cursed, ‘You bloody bastard!’
Blood rose from the wound. Agony. I couldn’t contain it. Reeling, panting, blinking tears, gasping, I had to escape. I reached for the door handle. Piss Potts tried to stop me. Slamming my weight against him, jabbing him with an elbow, he toppled over his chair. Sprawled on the floor, ‘Come back,’ he demanded. ‘We’re not finished.’

But we were finished and cradling my hand, I headed for the toilets. As I entered, Davis, the treacherous little guttersnipe, was leaving. He took a good look, said not a word, but I feared where he would go. The stench inside the boys toilets offended my senses, but there was nowhere else to hide.

Blood trickled into the sink from a cut at the junction of palm and fingers. Flushed with cold water, the pain was excruciating. Fearful my misfortune would soon be sold for profit, it wasn’t wise to linger. Desperate for brief respite, an opportunity to regain control, I took sanctuary in the only secure cubicle. The ceramic bowl was cracked, toilet paper dispenser dangled precariously by a loose screw, but the lock remained intact. Securing the bolt, I checked my watch. Morning break was in five minutes. Convinced this would be the safest time to escape, I leaned against the partition wall. As I struggled to control my breathing, fought to deny the pain, the fire bell went off.
I could hear classroom doors open, hurried footsteps threading their way towards the exits and teachers appealing for calm. The evacuation of the building was rapid; the alarm filling my head with ominous suspicion. I wasn’t safe here. Unlocking the door, nervously peering through a narrow opening, anxiety mushroomed. The main door burst open, as a jubilant band of foul mouthed imbeciles, in need of no introduction, invaded the facilities. Trapped! I secured the flimsy bolt and took a fretful breath.
‘Field!’ Cappy warned, ‘I swore I’d fuckin’ kill yeh, an’ now I will. Yeh shudn’t ‘ave dun wot yeh did to Selby, yeh bastard.’

A boot rattled the door. The bolt held, but the prognosis was poor. Terror overrode all sense of pain. I couldn’t think. The odds were poor - outcome, unthinkable.
‘If yeh don’t come out Field,’ Cappy challenged. ‘I’ll beat the fuckin’ door down. Come out yeh coward. Come out an’ fight.’

He kicked the door. A loose screw fell from the bolt. Eyes peered under the partition walls and malicious threats, fractured my resolve. Perspiring like crazy, adrenalin surged. I was captive, in no shape to fight, but would never bow to their ‘mercy.’
‘Yeh ‘ave till the bell stops,’ Cappy warned. ‘Then it’s time tu kiss yeh ass goodbye. Do yeh ‘ear me...?’

The ringing stopped... I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath.... BANG! The door slammed open. Cappy stood relishing the prospect of my demise. I swallowed hard. Tension brewed. His intention was transparent and reinforced by scum chanting, ‘Get him! Get him!’

Cappy’s smile suddenly sped from his face, as running footsteps and familiar voices rose in the corridor. Panic. The gang split, Cappy insisting they bolster the main door. Swiftly engaging in the chaos, he punished those attempting to abscond through the window. Staff were now on the offensive, liberation seemed imminent, but the demand to ‘open the door,’ was resisted.

Tense, praying for rescue, playing for time, I attempted to thwart further assault by bracing my weight against the door. Cappy charged at it and overwhelmed by the ferocity of his attack, I careened into the back wall. Striking my head, dazed, I was on my knees.
‘Get up asshole,’ he demanded, prodding me with his foot. ‘I said get up! I wanna see yeh fall, yeh wanker.’
Attempting to get up, I grasped at the metal paper holder. It came away in my hand. The facilities defences had been breached. Aware the game was up, Cappy attacked. Terrified, without an alternative, raw instinct ploughed an iron fist into the side of his face.
‘Arrrgh! Arrrgh!’ Bastard. Fuckin’ bastard,’ he squealed.
Reeling in agony, he staggered away, blood oozing from the wound. Releasing the blood stained implement, I clambered to my feet.
‘Ben?’ It was Mr Dodds. I gave a feeble response. He peered round the door. ‘It’s okay,’ he reassured. ‘You’re safe now. It’s finished ... It’s all over.’
Finished? Maybe it was finished, I thought but it was far from over....