Perpetual Playground

By Joe Solomon

Flying, as ever, in the face of convention Joe Solomon focuses on Martin, a most unlikely (and likeable) hero who, even as a schoolboy, is conscious of a strange pleasure when he’s bested by younger boys.
Martin gets no help from his strict parents as he struggles with his feelings. He seeks therapy and is delighted when at last he finds a girl friend, Penny, who works in the same office.
Her brother, Malcolm, is a friendly and intelligent schoolboy. Martin tells himself that he’s attained a healthy, normal way for an adult to relate to a child.
But his feelings about this child are more complex than he thinks, and he disastrously fails to recognise the danger signs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe Solomon
• Release date: Aug 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781905633128

Book preview

Perpetual Playground

Copyright 2011 Joe Solomon

Smashwords Edition

Licence notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although it is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com. Thank you for your support.

ISBN 978-1-905633-11-1

Grateful acknowledgement is made for permission to print extracts from Robin Askew’s appreciation of Joe Solomon in Venue magazine’s 1998 Honours List.

Cover Design and Illustration – Dru Marland [e-mail]

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

1 School

2 Home

3 Homework

4 Bedtime

5 Warning

6 Ted

7 Money

8 Ewan

9 McHugh

10 Apologises

11 Brotherly Help

12 Writes Story

13 Shirley

14 School Again

15 Lillian

16 The Regime

17 Is Helped

18 Cowardice

19 Coping

20 Dennis

21 Park Girls

22 Intellectual Life

23 Paper Girl

24 Rosalind

25 Headmaster

26 Brother

27 Cherry

28 Handicapped

29 Holiday

30 The State

31 Beta Minus

32 Workshop Boys

33 Big Changes

34 Crisis

35 Dr Thomas

36 Tranquil Place

37 Recalling Parents

38 Heart of Problem

39 Happy Afternoon

40 Way Forward

41 Writes Letter

42 Being Sensible

43 First Job

44 Penny

45 Family Talk

46 Story Told

47 Penny and God

48 Tuition Offer

49 Doors Open

50 Psychology

51 More Rapport

52 The Dolls

53 Seeing Rosalind

54 Disturbing News

55 Innermost Problem

56 Something Special

57 Embarrassing Invitation

58 More Surprises

59 Self-Correction

60 Teasing

61 Marc

62 Vocational Guide

63 Notable Occasion

64 Love and Cruelty

65 Opportunities

66 Minding

67 Uncertainties

68 Pyjamas

69 Honesty

70 Retreat

Praise for Joe Solomon

1 School

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Martin never joined in the playtime football. He stood, a solemn, bespectacled ten-year-old, in a corner of the boys’ playground, the waste paper receptacle to his left, and on his right, the newly-built air raid shelter. Martin’s corner, the boys had christened it. The building work had left it messy, strewn with cement. But Martin, positioning his feet with girl-like care, went through his ritual of eating sandwich and apple, then wrapping the core in the little bag before dropping it into the container. I wish you were all as tidy as Martin, the janitor had said. Chants of Janny’s pet and Tidy Martin had come out of that. A flash of poetic inspiration produced Tidy Martin, nothing to fart in. That one made him cry. I’ll tell my mother on you! Not that he did. He couldn’t use that word to her.

Whatever you do, she had warned him, Don’t get too pally with common boys. I don’t want you picking up any bad behaviour.

There was bad behaviour everywhere he looked here. The lavatories were horrible, you didn’t dare sit down. There were even pee-fights sometimes. In the school basement, the boys would close the outer door to make it dark, climb up on a pile of benches that were stored there, jump down on each other, fight and yell. If Martin had to pass through, he would do so very quickly, almost clinging to the wall. If two boys had a playground fight, the rest would go Ou, ou, ou!, jumping up and down in a big circle. The winner would be carried round the playground on their shoulders. No pals here, then. His only pal was Ewan, who lived in the same street, but went to a different school. Martin’s mother had said, Ewan seems to be a nice boy. His mother does a lot for the church.

Though Martin never went near a football, one day a football, kicked off-course, came right up to him in his corner. He looked at it, frowning, uncertain whether he was expected to return it or not to interfere.

Come on! Ball! someone yelled.

Martin’s kick was lousy, the ball stopped far short of the players.

Cannie even kick a ball! Hey – and Fred ran up and kicked it back. Try again!

The second attempt was lousier still. What have you got for feet? Matchsticks?

Come on, Martin, laughed Eric, shooting the ball back to him. You’ll get there in the end!

Hey, what about the game? said Ian.

This is a better game, said Eric.

Hearing this, Martin said, No! Get the ball yourself.

They were crowding towards his corner. Ball, Martin! Kick the ball, tidy Martin!

He tried to rush out, but they blocked him. You let me through!

Fred made sparring motions. What are you going to do about it? Martin stepped back. They jeered, Cowardy cowardy custard, can’t fight for mustard!

Then came what seemed a huge weight landing on his back, a strangle-grip around his neck. He floundered about and seemed to get turned around. He was being pulled down, felt a knee dig into his back. From the mess of cement in which he lay, he looked up into the delighted smile of Pat. Pat’s eyes were shining, his face alight with triumph. Through Martin’s whole being there seared a burning shame. Pat was a smaller boy, in a younger class, he would be eight or nine. His socks had slipped down in the struggle, and his bare legs and his mucky bare knees towered over Martin.

There were yells of Cannie even fight Pat! Super, Pat! Pat fixed him!

As Martin started to cry, the bell rang to end playtime.

2 Home

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There was cement all over the back of his jacket, and some on the seat of his shorts. Mummy and Daddy would go mad! About the jacket especially, which was new. Daddy had made this jacket at his tailor’s shop. They would go mad and they would ask questions. How could he tell them that a boy, not in his class, but a younger kid, had done this to him? Then it struck him as he walked home from school that Georgina might be able to clean it off before Mummy got home.

Georgina was their daily maid. Mummy nearly always had afternoon tea in one of her favourite restaurants. He would get a snack from Georgina on his return from school. There seemed to be nothing that Georgina couldn’t clean, so she could probably manage the jacket.

The thought of the maid cleaning something for him reminded him of a joke, though it wasn’t one he found funny. The boys at school had got to know about the maid not long after he’d started there, he’d been six years old. Mummy had sent him out to the shops one Saturday, with Georgina, to help with carrying small items. In one of the shops, they’d come upon Ian with his mum, and the boys had exchanged, Hiya. At school on Monday, Ian had said, Your mum’s just like my mum, getting you out with her to carry shopping on Saturdays!

Martin, not then knowing he shouldn’t, had said, That wasn’t my mum. It was Georgina, the maid. The word got around. His earliest torment had been, Martin’s got a maid! Martin’s got a maid! The great joke came when he’d been sprayed with muddy water from a water-pistol: Never mind, Martin – your maid’ll clean it up!

Why, he had wondered, are they being so horrible to me because I’ve got a maid? I haven’t got a maid. She’s Mummy’s maid. What’s wrong with it? I’ll have to ask Mummy.

Mummy hadn’t been to a restaurant that afternoon. She’d gone to see the doctor about an illness called diabetes. She must have just got home because as he passed through the hall to the kitchen he heard Georgina saying, I hope it went all right at the doctor’s, Mrs Vanskin?

No, not really. He wasn’t pleased with the urine test. Still too much sugar.

That’s a shame. Did he suggest anything for it?

Just the usual – keeping strictly to the diet. He’s quite right, of course, but – oh, it did rile me a bit today! A woman of over forty being lectured on what to eat!

He knew she was on a diet, but wondered what urine and being lectured meant as he opened the door. Hello, Martin, she said, how was school today?

Oh – there’s something I want to tell you about it – but I’ll tell you later. He couldn’t talk about the maid with the maid there, because you weren’t supposed to talk about people in front of them.

Well, I’m glad it can wait. Right now I want to take it easy, read a book or something. I’ll be in the bedroom if either of you want me. But try not to want me for half-an-hour or so.

As soon as the half-hour was up, he knocked on her door. Come in. Yes, something about school.

"The boys at school are being nasty to me because there’s a maid. They come at me in the playground and say Martin’s got a maid. Martin’s got a maid. What’s wrong with having a maid?"

Mummy looked upset and her answer didn’t come right away. "There’s nothing wrong with it and don’t let them put it into your head that there is. But – wait a minute – how do they know there’s a maid? You didn’t tell them, did you?"

I told Ian. He saw me with Georgina in a shop and he thought she was my mum. So I told him she’s the maid. And then –

Oh for heaven’s sake! What did it matter if he thought that? What’s it to him or to any of them? Oh – well – I suppose you couldn’t have known what you were letting yourself in for. You see, although there’s nothing wrong with having a maid, some people who don’t have them get nasty about those who do. It’s called envy. That’s why they’ve made it a playground joke. But they’ll soon get tired of it – playground jokes come and go. So I don’t suppose it’ll last long. But be careful about what you tell them. What happens in this house is no business of theirs.

She’d been right, he now thought, about the joke not lasting long, but there’d been plenty of jokes ever since.

Georgina’s half-peeled potato dropped into the sink when she saw the state of Martin. Good grief! What’s that muck all over you?

Ce–cement.

Cement! Good God! What were you doing?

Well – there was some cement in the playground and I fell in it.

What do you mean, fell in it? Are you sure somebody didn’t push you in it?

Oh no, I just – well, I just slipped. Could you clean it off?

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry! I’ve been asked to clean some filthy-dirty things in my time, but never, in all my twenty-five years doing service jobs, cement off a jacket. D’you think I’m a walking dry cleaning shop?

Please! If Mummy sees it, she’ll – The words choked off.

Yes, she will, won’t she? I think this will have to go to the cleaners. But let’s see what I can do with a sponge and some water.

Her efforts only made the mess ghastlier. I’ll have to leave it. It can’t be done this way. I’ve no time, anyway. I’ve still to do your tea and jam roll and then there’s tatties and liver to get ready for your mum to put on. God, it’s soaking wet now as well as filthy. Let’s get it up on the clothes-pulley. It’ll catch the heat from the stove.

Oh, Georgina, can’t you try a bit more? he cried in panic as she unwound the pulley rope.

No! I’ve no time. You’ll have to face the music. If you get a row, you get a row. And the horrible mess rose ceilingwards and dangled down. What a sight for Mummy coming in!

No good standing gaping, Georgina said. Sit down and get your tea. This was hurriedly brewed and plonked before him along with the jam roll and a sticky bun.

He could hardly eat for worry – which would be worse: keeping up his lie about how it had happened or telling Mummy that…? He concluded that they were equally worse.

You’d better eat all that up, Georgina was saying. Mummy won’t like you wasting food. Good sakes, am I supposed to stand over you like a baby? You’ll make me late for my stairs.

Cleaning stairways in blocks of flats was her evening job. Her customers were ladies for whom the task was too dirty. Once, he had asked why she had two jobs.

To make enough money, of course.

But everybody else only has one. Like Daddy, he only has one.

"Daddy has his own business, hasn’t he?"

"Yes; but not just Daddy –"

Martin, it’s not very polite to ask folk about money. I wonder your mother hasn’t told you that. She had told him that, but this wasn’t fair because he hadn’t said a word about money.

He heard Mummy’s key at the front door. Taking her coat off in the hall, she called through, Sorry I’m late, Georgina. I know you wanted to get away sharp. Opening the kitchen door, she went on, I met old Mrs – The words froze as she caught sight of the jacket. What in the name of – what the hell – ?" The cheery voice and face were transformed into the tone of rising anger and the glowering frown of the moods he dreaded most.

Seeing her in one of her best dresses, the red one with the black band running down the front, he suddenly remembered how even a spot of milk spilt on a dress would have her tut-tutting and fussily dabbing with her hankie. No wonder she swore when it came to a huge cement stain on a jacket.

He says he slipped, Georgina concluded her explanation, but if you ask me, one of those young devils pushed him in it.

Did they, then? demanded Mummy. I want the truth from you, now. She stood over him, wagging her finger.

Well – you see, the boys were picking on me –

Speak up. I can’t hear a whisper.

Georgina said, I’ll have to dash off now, if that’s all right. I’m sorry if I made the mess worse. I suppose I should have left it, but –

Oh yes, that’s all right, just go. You did what you could. I should never have let him go to school in it. As Georgina left, mummy looked up at the jacket, and her face changed from anger to what he had come to recognise as fear. She said, Why I didn’t think… but it was more to herself than to him. Then she said, Before we go any further, Daddy mustn’t know about this. After he made it specially for you. Let’s see if it’s dry yet. She lowered the pulley, looked at the clock, felt the garment. It can stay there another ten minutes. Then I’ll wrap it up and put it under the laundry pile. I’ll have to take it to the cleaners tomorrow. If Daddy says anything about the jacket, say you’re keeping it for best. Now then, (sitting down at the table to face him) tell me what happened.

Haltingly, he described the ball-kicking incident.

How did the cement come into it?

Well, it was lying there because they’ve just built an air raid shelter in the playground. Does – does that mean the Gerries might bomb the school?

Never mind that now! You tell me what happened.

Well – when I tried to get out of the corner, they all came at me and I finished up in the cement. (He thought, Not a lie.)

They needn’t think they’re going to get away with it! Rage was working up again. How many of them were there?"

Oh – about ten or so.

Did you hit any of them back, for God’s sake?

I couldn’t – He broke into tears. I couldn’t fight ten, Mummy.

"Yes, all right, all right, Martin. She put an arm round his shoulders, and, removing his glasses, dried his eyes with her hankie. Lucky those didn’t get broken. The cowards – ten against one! Did you tell the teacher?"

No. They – call you tell-tale tit if you tell the teacher.

"Never mind what they call you, we want to have it stopped. You don’t owe loyalty to tykes like that. Now then, I want the names of the boys who did it, because tomorrow, I’m seeing the headmaster, with the jacket."

Martin’s face went pale as a sheet. In his eyes was a deeply troubled look. She said, with sudden gentleness, Don’t worry about them doing anything to you, because (gentleness vanishing) "when I’ve finished with that man, and he’s finished with them, they won’t dare. I’ll take it to the Director of Education if I have to, and I’ll leave him in no doubt of that tomorrow."

So, in a funny, choked voice, he gave the names for Mummy to write down – Pat’s name and the names of all those who had not got him down in the cement. And he could read their thoughts, in advance, very, very clearly. He would be the weakling sneak whom even Pat could get down on the ground, who ran to his mother and the headmaster and said that they had all done it. But he daren’t change the story. Was there any way to stay off school?

Wrapping the jacket, Mummy said, By rights the school should pay for it, or the parents of the little tykes, but by the time you argue about it – could you not have used your brain and seen that you shouldn’t wear your best new jacket to school? Have I always got to do your thinking for you?

No.

Well, it looks like it. With a mess like this, they’ll charge extra. Goodness knows where the money’s to come from! You’ll have to make do on your pocket-money from Daddy from now on. No coming to me for extra. And that silly comic of yours can be cancelled. It’s time you were reading books, not comics, anyway.

"I do read books. I’ve got Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson out of the library."

Then it’ll be books only! Then maybe you’ll get them finished in time! There was a fine on the last one. How much money is to go draining out of this house because you won’t use the brains God gave you, I don’t know.

Mummy, you know the school Ewan goes to, Linenhill? They’re not tykes there, because some of the boys were at his birthday party, and they’re nice. So I could go to Ewan’s school.

"Could you indeed? Could you indeed? As he gaped, she went on, That is impossible. Let’s hear no more about it."

But – but – why’s it –

If I say it’s impossible, it’s impossible. Don’t you cross-question me! Set the table. Daddy’ll be in any minute.

In the pantry, as he gathered plates, angry, bewildered thoughts raced through his mind. His older brother, Ted, as a boy, had gone to Linenhill. If it had been possible for Ted, why was it impossible for him? He must look out for a chance to ask Ted next time he came round with his wife, Pearl. How soon would that be, he wondered. Ted was an engineer with the BBC and travelled a lot, never allowed to say where, or when he would be back. It was important work; people in that job didn’t get called up for the Forces.

As he laid the pile of plates on the table, Mummy caught sight of the cement on the back of his shorts. God! Those too! Get them changed double-quick before your father’s on us. Oh, get on! I’ll finish the table.

But, as he ran through the hall to his bedroom, his father was on him. Hallo, Martin. Where are you rushing to helter-skelter?

Oh – to – to change my trousers.

Change your trousers? Why?

I – I got them dirty.

Yes, you certainly have. What on earth is that mess?

I – well – they rubbed against something dirty – somewhere. (He thought, Not a lie.)

"H–mm. If you looked where you were going sometimes, that mightn’t happen. They’ll need dry cleaning from the look of them Hurry up, then. You’ve got my feet to do before tea."

This meant taking Daddy’s shoes off when he got home from work and briskly rubbing his feet to help what he called his circulation trouble, which made it difficult and tiring for him to walk. Though he took a tram most of the way home, the short journey from the tram stop was long and hard for him.

From time to time, Martin wondered if Daddy wouldn’t be better to do what Mummy thought he should do – work less hard. She’d once said over supper Don’t you think you could take things a bit easier? You’re sixty-seven, after all. Supposing you didn’t open the shop on Saturday mornings and took a day off mid-week?

You should know better than that, Sal. The lifeblood of the business is its regular customers. If I had to turn away some of their orders and take longer to do the jobs, I’d soon lose them.

You know best about that, of course. But for just a day-and-a-half, couldn’t the staff keep things ticking over?

We need to do better than tick over. They’re conscientious, but not fully experienced. I have a sleep on Saturday afternoons and I walk easy distances at other times. So I do take things as easy as the situation allows.

Martin now rushed to change his trousers and get back to the kitchen where he took up his position for the feet-rubbing job, sitting on a low chair, the feet resting on his thighs. Daddy remarked, I hope your new jacket hasn’t rubbed against anything dirty?

No, said Mummy, draining potatoes, he’s keeping it for best.

Sensible boy. Daddy took up the Edinburgh Evening News and ran his eye over the front page. Grim! There’s no stopping the Germans. No one was supposed to touch the paper before Daddy, which had once got Martin into trouble. Wondering what was so special about it, he had quickly skimmed through the pages. Finding he couldn’t understand most of it, he had re-folded it, but some loose middle pages fell out as he did so. He failed to put them back in the right order. Daddy didn’t notice at first, but then turned a couple of pages and said to himself, Continued on page 4? Doesn’t seem to be – oh!(as he turned another couple) why the devil is it – ? Martin, have you been messing about with my paper?

No. Nothing more was said about it till after supper, when Martin went off to the front room to do his homework. He’d hardly started before Daddy barged in upon, saying, I’ve found out that Mummy didn’t touch the News and that it didn’t arrive till after Georgina had left. So who else but you could have touched it?

Martin paled, bit his lip, and said, The paper-boy… he must have done it.

Daddy said, No. The scorn he put into that word gave Martin the worst fright he’d ever had. Though he didn’t keep up the scorn sound, every word he went on to say added to Martin’s shame. You know that lying is wrong. That lie was more wrong, much more wrong, than interfering with the paper. Supposing I’d believed your story and complained to Wilkinson’s about their paper-boy? It wouldn’t have worried you that someone else might get into trouble? So long as you aren’t found out, that’s all that matters, is it?

All that he could think to say was, I’m sorry.

Yes, sorry that it didn’t work. I’m very disappointed in you, Martin.

No, Daddy, I didn’t mean –

Get on with your homework. I’ve heard enough of you.

It hadn’t been easy to get on with…and now another night with too much to worry about. He thought, I must try to keep my mind on the homework after supper – not think about anything else.

The meal was begun as soon as Daddy’s feet had been rubbed and he had settled into his slippers. Mummy asked, Busy day, Neville?

"Not too bad. Could be better, could be worse. Have you had a busy day?"

Oh, the usual. Bit of shopping in town. I got you that wall-map you wanted.

That’s good. Thanks, Sal. By the way, Lorna Ross was in to pick up Allan’s suit. She said she’d seen you in the R.B. Hotel tea-room.

Oh. Really. Martin noticed the quick breath Mummy took, the sudden flush, the pretend-calm voice she had when she was afraid of what Daddy would say next. I didn’t see her.

She was with some friends and didn’t get a chance to come over. Expensive place, I believe?

Oh – well! It all depends on what you have. If you weren’t careful about what you ordered, it would be. But all I had was tea and a toasted teacake. I couldn’t go having cream cakes and things, anyway. There’s my diet. She glanced suddenly, uneasily, at Martin. He lowered his eyes to the task of cutting meat.

Yes, said Daddy thoughtfully. That’s another thing.

Mummy changed the subject. She talked away, but Daddy said little. Martin hoped he wouldn’t bring the talk back to tea-rooms. Sometimes on Saturdays and in school holidays, she had taken him to these places. And she always had cakes. He’d been told not to tell Daddy about these teas – He’s a bit of a fad about food, and – well, he wouldn’t approve and it’s better if he doesn’t know.

Martin had picked up enough about Mummy’s diet to know that she shouldn’t be having cakes. He had puzzled about it, but… well, she did have them… he mustn’t tell Daddy.

He had found that this wasn’t so easy. It came about as he and Daddy were walking to church on the Sunday after the newspaper row, which was still on his mind. Mummy stayed home, on Georgina’s day of rest, to do Sunday dinner. The church was at the end of their street, but it was a slow walk because of Daddy’s difficulty. Cheer up, young man, he said. You look as if you’ve got the troubles of the world on your shoulders.

Martin forced a smile. Daddy asked, Did you have a nice day out with Mummy yesterday?

Yes, it was all right.

Tell me what you did. All the things I was missing. Make me jealous! This was Daddy in a good mood – Martin felt the great weight of disgrace lifted away.

Well, we went to Princes Street Gardens. And there was a band playing. Then we went to the pictures.

Good film?

All right. Carmen Miranda was in it. She has flowers and fruit and feathers all over her and she dances in it all. She’s a laugh. I didn’t understand the rest of it.

You probably weren’t missing much. Go for a cup of tea afterwards?

Martin, caught between Mummy’s instructions and what Daddy had said about lies, didn’t know how to answer. Daddy repeated, Go for some tea somewhere?

He replied, Yes, we went for some tea, in a tight, troubled voice.

Daddy looked at him and frowned slightly. Then he said, Well, it sounds like you had a very nice day. Good!

Martin couldn’t concentrate on the service. Don’t tell Daddy was all very well, but what were you to do if Daddy asked you? He hadn’t dared lie, but would Mummy come screeching at him for telling? He caught the minister’s words: Jesus always had the right answer. Martin thought, Jesus didn’t live in my house and laughed inwardly, despite himself, though you weren’t supposed to think things like that.

What if Daddy, another time, were to ask: And what did you have with your tea? Or Did you have cakes? He worked out an answer which wouldn’t be a lie, but would, he hoped, put Daddy off the scent – "I had a couple of cakes." But wouldn’t it be like a lie to say it like that? No, he decided, the words aren’t a lie.

He’d found something worth knowing – you could sometimes get out of telling a lie by doing things with words.

3 Homework

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Martin’s thoughts kept wandering off his sums. He was in the front room, which no one else used unless there were visitors. Was there any way to escape school? He dreaded the looks he’d get and no one speaking to him except for sneak being hissed. Pat would give him a cheeky look, there’d be a smile, there’d be that shine in his eyes. There’d be a swagger in his walk.

Martin’s thoughts went to what Pat was doing now. He’d be feeling proud of himself, maybe telling other kids how he’d got him down (He’s ten, I’m eight), down in a pile of cement. And Pat would laugh. I got my knee in his back and that finished him off! He’d bring his knee up as he said that, look at it. Whew… it would feel good inside of Pat, looking down at his knees every so often and remembering. Pat… naughty, strong little boy. Martin felt a tingle all through his body, and most of all in the part Mummy always said it wasn’t nice to mention. He listened to make sure there were no footsteps, rubbed quickly, then got back to the sums.

I know how to do them, but I keep forgetting what they tell you in the question, he thought, biting his pencil. I suppose I’ll have to go to school. If I said I wasn’t well, it’d be a lie, and that’s wicked. He remembered that Mummy had told Daddy two lies that night – about the jacket and about cakes. Did that mean – Mummy – was – wicked? Oh no, it was wicked to think that, Mummy couldn’t be. But then, spending lots of money on cakes she shouldn’t have and never telling Daddy… no, no, no, she couldn’t be wicked, it was just that she was frightened of Daddy sometimes. He was very strict, and when he got angry, well, it was frightening. Not that Daddy had often hit him, he hardly ever did that, and when he did, it wasn’t very sore, but when you got a row from him, you felt – well, like that time with the paper. If he ever found out about the cakes, he would make Mummy feel like that time with the paper.

The sums! The first train is travelling at forty miles an hour, he drummed into himself. If I did say I was ill, they might get the doctor. He’d know I wasn’t. Could he make himself ill? If he swallowed something – like that white stuff in the tool cupboard, maybe – or furniture polish – just a wee drop, of course. Well, didn’t know how ill he’d get. Falling, somehow, breaking his leg? Difficult – might break his neck and die.

What about running away? In the stories he’d read, boys in trouble often ran away to sea. But the Navy would never take him, and even if they did, the Gerries might blow him to bits. He had no great-aunt, like David Copperfield’s, to take him in and send him to a nice new school. He thought desperately of asking Ewan to hide him in his house, smuggle food and drink to him. But Ewan’s mother would be sure to find him…

Couldn’t he catch a bad cold? That would be the easiest. Oh, yes – yes! There was a way… they’d never know. And if the cold lasted for a week, it would be school holidays, and a good, long escape from the boys, from Pat. Cowardy-cowardy-custard, cowering away from Pat. With a shiver and a frown, he wrenched his thoughts back to the sums, which had to be done