Sometime after breakfast the following day, mum arrived home. We met in the kitchen, her smile chased from her face the moment she set eyes on me. The three of us sat at the table. Grandpa reported a synopsis of events, leaving me to fill in the detail. A former nurse, my mother concerned herself with whether I’d received the correct medical treatment, more than how I was feeling. I apologised for the deceit, her view was that I should have told her sooner, but other than that, she let it go.

Mid morning I came back from the barn to be told I had a visitor. Opening the door to the sitting room,
‘Vince,’ I said, pleasantly surprised. ‘What brings you all this way?‘
He stood at the far end of the room, eying the sideboard’s display of silverware and photos.
‘With all the rumours flyin’ about, I just wanted to check up on yeh,’ he replied. ‘Love the horse. Did yeh win all these trophies on it?’
‘Yeah,’ I confirmed, making my way across the room. He turned, revealing his disfigured face. ‘Bloody hell, Vince,’ I gasped. ‘Did Cappy do this to you?’
Avoiding the question, ‘It’s gettin’ better,’ he contested. ‘Swellins are down a bit. Can almost see out of me right eye. Amazing what ice can do.’
Mum came in to set down a tray with hot chocolate and biscuits. We thanked her and she left closing the door. It was a bitterly cold February day and Vince stood with hands wrapped around the mug, warming himself by the open fire.
‘Sorry,’ I said, humbly. ‘I didn’t know and now I feel responsible for....’
‘Don’t yeh dare blame yehself, Ben,’ he briskly interrupted. ‘Yeh’re not responsible for what those bastards did. Smith and Cappy are evil. Pure evil and bloody dangerous. As for Porter, Tenbellies and the rest of the moronic mob, they ‘aven’t a brain cell between them.’
‘So, what happened to you?’
Placing his drink on the table, to recline in the chair, ‘I was ambushed by Willets and that dumb ass idiot, Richards, on me way to see Mr Dodds. I put up a fight, but out gunned, they shoved me into the caretaker’s storeroom. Don’t ask me how, but Richards had his keys, so they locked me in. By the time I broke out through the window the fire bell was ringing. I went lookin’ for Mr Dodds, who seemed to twig somethin’ was wrong the minute he ‘eard what happened. I’m sorry, Ben. I had no idea what was goin’ on. I wish I could have helped you.’
‘It’s okay, Vince. Of everyone at school, I trust no-one more than you. You stood up to Smith and Cappy in the past ...’
‘But not like you, Ben...’
‘You weren’t their main target..’
‘But I could, should ‘ave done more, much more than I did. I regret not fightin’ with yeh on Friday. I tried to get through the crowd, but it seemed everyone supported Smith and wouldn’t let me pass. Then it was too late.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Vince, but I’m glad you didn’t. It was my fight, and one I had to win on my own. I just wanted to see the bastards go down and to hell with the consequences. Lost it, I guess. Bit like Piss Potts on Monday.’ Picking up the plate, I offered Vince a biscuit.
‘Did yeh know Potts has had a breakdown and won’t be comin’ back?’
‘Bloody good riddance,’ I said, nibbling a digestive and finishing my drink.
‘Telltale Davis is going round saying that Piss Potts cut yeh hand with a ruler...’
‘It’s true,’ I revealed. ‘I point blank refused to write letters of apology to Smith and Porter. But the bastard swiped me with the sharp edge of the ruddy thing.’ Vince was cringing, so skipping the gory details, ‘I met Davis, the treacherous little turd in the toilets and I’m sure he told Cappy where I was.’
‘Christ almighty, Ben. It gets worse. I thought Cappy did it. That’s bad enough, but Potts? What the hell’s going on?’
‘He was pissed and lost control. I should have walked out. The whole thing was absolute bloody madness.’
Vince went quiet for a moment. He asked what happened to Cappy and once I’d explained he couldn’t contain his amusement.
‘Sorry, Ben,’ he said, regaining temporary control. ‘It’s not funny, I know, but...’ He took a breath. ‘Think about it. A right little shit slammed by a toilet roll holder...’ I joined the chorus of his laughter, which lightened the tone for a moment. Clearing his throat, adopting a more serious air, ‘Tell me yeh’re not goin’ back to school,’ he said. ‘Yeh can’t go back, Ben.’
‘Can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind, but...’
‘Why, the but?’
‘Not going back would feel like running away and that’s not what I do. Besides, I’ve promised Mr Dodds and Mrs Walsh that I would help out with the Spring Shakespeare Festival and I can’t let them down.’
‘They’ll understand. I’m sure they’ll understand. It’ll be bloody crazy to go back, Ben. I’m tellin’ yeh, stay as far away from Smith and Cappy as yeh can. Yeh must know that they’re not gunna let yeh get away with what yeh’ve done. Cappy’s been getting around with a tosspot known as Al. He wears a woolly hat most of the time and is a right psycho. Make sure yeh don’t cross him. As for Smith, did yeh know his father’s been banged up?’ I shook my head. ‘He’s been done for killing a Pakistani in Poole. Remember the house fire in Green Road?’ Nodding to confirm that I did, ‘Well, he’s been jailed for startin’ the blaze. One other thing, Ben. Beware of the Capilano family, particularly now yeh’ve injured their son. It’s rumoured on the estate, that they’re linked to the Mafia and that Mr Capilano deals in drugs.’
My amusement was obvious.‘Sorry, Vince. I’m not mocking you, but rumours can be dangerous. Next we’ll be told he’s corrupted the police force and has a Judge on his pay role. You have to take some things with a pinch of salt.’
Swiftly changing the subject, ‘Do yeh ever go out, Ben?’ he asked, curiously.
‘What do you mean by, ‘out’?
‘Knock about with some mates. Go down the pub. Meet up with girls, that kind of thing.’
‘No. I’m not really interested.’
‘Maybe I could get yeh interested. Look, a group of us lads are goin’ down the Jolly Sailor on Friday night. Why don’t yeh come along. Yeh could have a few beers, pick up a girl and hey, you might get lucky. Slip Skinner a few bob and he’ll loan yeh the back seat of his car. Just remember to put somethin’ on the end of it. Saves any trouble. Yeh can get then in the pub.’
The idea was amusing, if not a bit sordid. I laughed. ‘Thanks, but no thanks, Vince. I have a girl and I’d be kicked out of the pub.’
‘Christ, none of us pass for eighteen. We just slip Lofty the landlord, a few quid behind the counter. So who’s yeh girl? No. Let me guess - Roxanne?’
‘Yeah.’
‘None of me business, I know, and excuse the pun when I say, yeh ought to spend some time playing the field. How can yeh know she’s the right one?’
‘Trust me, I just know. We’ve been through a lot and it’s convinced me that she’s the one.’
‘Well, I’m pleased for yeh both. But I still think yeh’re too young to get serious. Don’t yeh fancy that new girl, Eloise Maye?All the boys fancy her. What a cracker. Get a load of lads talkin’ about her in the showers, raises more than a smile, I can tell yeh. What I wouldn’t give to ...’

The door opened and mum came in to ask if we’d like a slice of her freshly baked banana cake? Vince, suppressing an ironic chuckle, thanked her kindly, but checking his watch, said it was time that he made tracks. He was on his feet doing up his coat, when I voiced my regret that he couldn’t have stayed longer.
‘Next time I’ll take you to meet Liberty.’
‘I’d like that,’ he replied, ‘but it won’t be for a while. I’m movin’. We’re gunna live in Devon. Me parents want to get off the estate. I’ve an Aunt who lives near Exeter and we’re stain' with her while my dad looks for a job...‘
Concealing my disappointment, I thanked him for calling and wished him well in his new life. Outside, straddling his bicycle, ‘Think about what I said,’ he implored. ‘Watch your back, Ben, and if yeh change yeh mind about the pub, give me a ring. Me number’s in the phone book and though I’ll not be in school, I’ll be about for a week or two.’
‘I will,’ I promised. ‘And next time you’re passing this way, remember to drop in.’
One foot on a pedal, he promised he would. Shivering, having watched him ride out of the gate, I returned indoors to warm myself by the fire.

The day brightened immensely when Roxanne showed up in the afternoon. Eying my wounds, particularly my disfigured hand, she gasped, hiding her eyes behind a hand. Sparing the gory details, I assured her everything was getting better. After a greeting and brief chat with Mum and grandpa, we climbed the stairs to my room.

It came as a welcome relief not to have to retell the story of Monday’s events. I had it in mind to tell her something else and clearly she had something on her mind too. When my suggestion that we take a stroll, received an enthusiastic response, warmly wrapped against the winter chill, we se off for the Domesday tree.

The ancient fallen oak, recorded in the Domesday survey 1087, lay barely two miles from the Farm. It was one of our favourite jaunts: an easy route along well worn familiar tracks. We played around, teased each other and babbled on about trivial, silly things. I walked close, brushed up against her, wanted to hold her hand, tell her I loved her, but bottled it every time. Arriving at the Domesday tree, the frolicking ceased and the atmosphere took on a different perspective. We sat in silence along the fallen trunk, like a couple of strangers waiting on a bench in a deserted railway station.
‘Okay, Roxanne,’ I said, finally. ‘Is it something I’ve said or done?’ Opaque eyes met with mine, compelling me to ask, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
She bit her bottom lip, twisted her mouth. ‘It’s nothing you’ve done, Ben. It’s just that... I’m going to Nigeria.’
‘Nigeria? When?’
‘On the fifteenth....
‘Fifteenth of February?’ She nodded. ‘For how long?’
‘About two weeks.’
Burying my eyes in the ground, I kicked a heel against the trunk.
‘You are coming back, aren’t you? I have to know you’re coming back, Roxanne.’
‘Of course,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll be back for your birthday in March. Promise.’
I wasn’t sure what to think, but something didn’t feel right. Roxanne was adamant she’d be back, assured me I’d nothing to worry about, but I didn’t trust her father.

We sat chatting for a while, lost track of time, returning to the farm fifteen minutes late. Roxanne’s mother was waiting with mum in the kitchen. We received a friendly reception, Mrs Mabula was chatty, both of which were out of character. Something was brewing. I had my suspicions, but nothing tangible to base them on.

On February 14 a Valentine’s card dropped onto the mat by the front door. Convinced I knew the sender’s identity, I picked up the phone.
‘Thanks for the card,’ I said as Roxanne came on the line.
There fell a pregnant pause. ‘What card, Ben? Don’t know what you mean?’
‘Didn’t you get one?’ I enquired. ‘It’s Valentines’s Day.’
‘Oh, so it is,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘No. I didn’t, but the post’s not arrived yet. Did you send any?’
‘Yeah. Loads,’ I jested, wallpapering over large cracks of disappointment.

We chatted until her mother called out to say they had to leave. Promising to call when she arrived back, we said our goodbyes and I told her... I’d miss her. Replacing the receiver, I went up to my room, mind abuzz with speculation. If Roxanne hadn’t sent me the Valentine, who did........?