Stain

By Gabriel Kealey

Gregory and his wife acquire a special school. Pius, Gregorys twin, on hearing the news is riven with jealousy and seeks revenge. He blackmails Gregory. Gregorys mental health deteriorates. Gregory reluctantly agrees with his wife to move off site struggling to cope with conflicting demands of family life and running the school. Gregory makes a fateful decision leading to catastrophe.

By stirring and paralysing twists Stain is a search for the unreachable which unravels the intricacies of polarised relationships between identical twins wherein the condition of their souls cannot be concealed devastating those close to them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Nov 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479748860

Gabriel Kealey

Reared by parents engendering a toxic mix of religious zealotry and domestic violence; from 13yrs old Gabriel studied for the priesthood subsequently leaving to embrace the world becoming a teacher and getting married. Within nine years he became a headteacher and father of three girls. He left the profession due to a mental breakdown, becoming financially destitute. In more recent years Gabriel became full-time carer of his disabled wife. The novel was conceived in 1998 and Gabriel wrote the first draft in 2003 revising it in 2010. Gabriel enjoys the theatre, gardening, dog walking and being a granddad.

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a warm and sunny Wednesday afternoon when I stood waiting in the middle of the gravelled courtyard outside the grand Georgian entrance to Eaglestone Hall School. The sun blazed on my balding middle-aged scalp, so I felt a little hot, sweaty, and overdressed, standing six feet tall in my smart business suit. Surveying the beautiful countryside surrounding the magnificent edifice, I inhaled a deep breath of the fresh, purifying air. It tasted of the sweet scent of clover carpeting the pasture. I heard birdsong resonating from the trees and hedgerows and the hot din of the singing bugs clicking, buzzing, and creaking, calling for mates from the grasses, shrubs, and treetops. How good it felt to be part of Creation.

Then a shiver ran down my spine as my thoughts returned to thirteen months earlier. It had been a Friday autumn night when I was due to make my weekly telephone call. A letter that morning had put me in a state of excitement. Then, as the time drew on, my mood changed. The children were in bed and Frances lay on the lounge sofa. As I entered the room, she sat up. ‘What are you going to say?’ she asked. What I intended to say churned me up. I’d thought of all the options, going round in circles. I knew Pius would be devastated, but my wife was having none of it. ‘He talked himself into it,’ she said. ‘You didn’t put the idea into his head.’

I couldn’t reply. I was too anxious. I shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about the plan. I looked at her and took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do it now,’ I snapped. Her smile didn’t conceal the strain in her face. Going into the kitchen, I lifted the phone and dialled the number. It was answered almost immediately. I recall the conversation word for word. It haunted me.

‘Hello, Pius McKeever. How can I help?’ He was so polished.

I replied in our customary skittish term of endearment (mimicking Dadda). ‘Hello, laddo.’ It usually made us laugh but not on this occasion. I was too tense and Pius sounded preoccupied.

‘How did you get on?’ he asked dismissively.

I knew what he meant but pretended not to. ‘About the school?’

‘No! Your meeting at the DTI…’ he snapped.

I hesitated but couldn’t spare his feelings. The dream was too important to me. He had to be told. I breathed deeply. ‘I see,’ I replied, breathing heavily once more. ‘Well, the Small Firms Service is happy with the business plan. They’ve put me in touch with city accountants to tweak it.’

Waiting for his response, I dreaded what would come next. ‘Where do I come in?’ he asked. This was all Pius was interested in. He never asked me the name of the financial advisers, where they were based, how I negotiated the deal, how Frances felt about it, or any other detail for that matter.

The tension between us was palpable. I couldn’t duck the issue. Pius would know if I did. So bracing myself, I said, ‘You don’t.’

I wanted the line to go dead.

‘What?’ Pius shouted. This was the moment I felt his shock and pain.

‘I’m sorry, Pius.’

The words seemed shallow and pointless. They sounded so trite and feeble, and I perceived the bafflement, disappointment, and anger in him.

‘When you told me about the advert for the sale of the school, you promised to include me as a partner,’ he said.

I didn’t need reminding.

Although relieved that a third party had made the decision for me, I knew it could only be interpreted by Pius as duplicity. He was so right. I loved him, but I always knew I couldn’t work with him. I had been given a way out.

‘The counsellor said there was no realistic prospect of raising the cash other than through a mortgage on Eaglestone Hall. He said a bank would expect it to be in Frances’s and my name… husband and wife.’

I shan’t forget Pius’s rage. ‘I don’t believe this. We’re identical twins, for God’s sake!’

My mouth dried up as I fumbled my words. ‘I know. I’m sorry, but it’s the way it is.’

Those utterances went down like a weighted sack of kittens that had been thrown into a canal. My terminal meows were deafened by the thunderstorm I had fuelled in my twin. I felt his pain but couldn’t have him near the school. It would be me who was left to shoulder the burden whilst he basked in its glory.

I felt his anger. ‘You didn’t even try. You’ve put that wife of yours before me. Why’s she on a pedestal? You had to go through a dating agency to find her, sad bastard.’

My blood boiled over. Why did he bring her into the disagreement? ‘How dare you!’ I shouted as he ranted.

‘Right, wanker, have it your way! I’m going to set the record straight.’

I thought for a moment. Was he losing his mind, or was this the monozygotic rivalry thing, the game of bluff and counter-bluff we often played as boys to see who would gain the upper hand?

‘What?’ I asked, hiding my apprehension.

‘You know!’ he shouted.

My sixth sense was at play. I was worried. Over the years, we had shared each other’s innermost secrets. Surely Pius wouldn’t betray me? My insides somersaulted, but I needed to hear him actually say it. ‘Spit it out!’ I said.

Pius seemed animated, and I detected a sinister change in his tone. ‘I’ll make a video. When it is done, copies will go to all interested parties. You’ll be sorry you signed!’

I knew it but couldn’t believe it. I felt breathless and paused to think. His vitriol towards me had to be reconciled. He had lashed out at others like this in the past but never in this way to me before. It was so shocking, but I didn’t want to fuel further hostility. Pius could make an issue of my past, but I couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. Those games of bluff and counter-bluff we played always had happy endings, as we found a way to resolve our differences. I wanted our relationship to pull through, so I dismissed his threat as a peak of angst.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a cascade of children, all dressed in PE kit, streaming out of the front doors and down the steps, colliding with each other, laughing, skipping, doing piggybacks, or jumping into the air raising their fists, one or two ebbing in the background.

Noticing Jimmy King leaning against the doorframe playing with his CB radio, I strode over and lifted it from his hands. ‘Last out, as usual,’ I thought and then spoke to him. ‘You can’t take this with you, Jimmy. I’ll look after it.’ The eleven-year-old locked on to my gaze, smiled, ran towards me, and gave me a hug. ‘OK, Dad,’ he whispered. I flinched at the pupil’s inappropriate response. Why should I make allowances for this behaviour? Yet recalling the conversation I had with his referring psychologist, I shouldn’t have been surprised that Jimmy behaved in this way. He had recently left a foster placement, where from the age of ten, he’d been the subject of regression therapy, being kept in nappies, feeding from bottles, and sleeping in a cot in the way children eight or nine years younger were nurtured. Arriving there from such a regime was hardly grounding for setting boundaries in this new pupil-teacher relationship. An outsider would be outraged at the inappropriateness of such behaviour between a boy and his headmaster. I felt the child psychiatrist who oversaw Jimmy’s treatment had a lot to answer for.

Although Jimmy’s father died when he was six years old and his mother rejected him from birth, there were many like him in the care system. I had worked with children with emotional and behavioural difficulties for more than twenty years but never encountered a child so exceptionally immature and damaged by the system as Jimmy. I had been advised that Jimmy needed a father figure to give and receive affection. The psychologist’s recommendation was enshrined in his written report supporting Jimmy’s Statement of Special Educational Needs. ‘The small therapeutic community of Eaglestone Hall School with the continuity of care offered on a fifty-two week basis by the proprietors, Mr and Mrs McKeever, is the best solution for Jimmy’s long-term care, in the light of recent developments. I have made the couple aware how strongly Jimmy will attach himself to Mr McKeever and have stressed the importance of them dealing sensitively with his abreactive and immature behaviour to avoid a feeling and perception of further rejection.’ It omitted any reference to Jimmy’s controversial therapy. I was told about that off the record.

I loosened the boy’s grip. ‘Let go, Jimmy. I want to check your laces.’ I felt a small hand on my head as I bent down to check the tightness of Jimmy’s trainers and smiled knowing; the clumsy boy was trying to steady himself. ‘You wouldn’t want to trip up on them on your run now, would you?’ As I straightened up, Jimmy smiled fondly at me. I smiled back. ‘Job’s done, Jimmy… another giant leap for mankind.’

Returning to the front, I noticed David Richardson, a clean-cut, tall, athletic fourteen-year-old, who had also been recently admitted to the school. David was engrossed in conversation with two older boys admitted by my predecessor. I felt uneasy, as they seemed to be speaking in whispers and were huddled together. Using a technique that I’d picked up in the seminary on preaching practice some twenty years earlier, I raised my voice, staring at them in such a way that each boy simultaneously returned eye contact. ‘Right, boys, quiet please!’ I didn’t have to wait long for the desired response. ‘For the benefit of the new boys, I’ll explain your route. So listen carefully.’

I noticed one of the senior boys yawning and others fidgeting, but they weren’t being disruptive. ‘Run along the drive facing you through Eaglestone Park. As you go through the gorge, you’ll see the Fox’s Leap, the cliff top caves, and the golf course on the right. The Swiss chalet is on the left. A teacher will be there to make sure nobody veers off. The drive leads you into the village of Elvert-over-Bluecastle. When you get there, turn left on the main road to the junction half a mile away and left again on the main road heading towards Padgett. As you run through the village, you’ll see the driveway leading back to Eaglestone Hall in front of you. Is that clear?’ I asked.

One new boy looked bemused. Another pupil shouted, ‘Can’t remember all that, sir!’

I looked at them both from one direction to the other, chuckled, and turned sideways. ‘Right, everyone. Make a circle in the air going anti-clockwise. Draw the circle going left.’ I put my hands on my hips watching them.

One of the older and brighter pupils looked exasperated. ‘We’re not babies, sir.’

I grinned at him. ‘I didn’t say you were. Show those boys who aren’t sure what anti-clockwise means.’

The pupil opened his mouth, paused for a second, raised his eyebrows, and smiled. ‘Yes, sir.’

Now satisfied with the task, I pointed to the facing drive. ‘Run along there as far as it goes. It will lead you to the first village, Elvert-over-Bluecastle. Then just keep turning left. You’ll be going anti-clockwise around the edge of the park until you arrive at the village Padgett. There you’ll see the drive that led you to this school on your first day. You’ll be running round in a huge circle. OK?’

The pupil who shouted, smiled and put his thumb up. ‘Got it, sir. Thanks.’

Richard Holsworth, a final year pupil, interrupted, ‘Anyone not sure, follow me.’ I heard a slurping noise like water down a plughole. I looked in its direction, but it was too late. Richard had pounced on the culprit, swinging punches at him.

I raced over and tried to split them up. ‘That’s enough!’ I shouted, but the boys continued pounding each other. The sweat was dripping from me as I stepped between them. The perpetrator had tightened his grip round Richard’s neck, feet and fists flailing in all directions. ‘There’s no reasoning with you,’ I shouted, wedging myself between them. The PE teacher sprang forward and led Richard away. I held on to the other pupil. Feeling the boy’s strength, his rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing, I spoke calmly. ‘It’s all right. We’re in this together. Take slow deep breaths. It’ll make you feel better.’ After what seemed ages, when the boy was calm, I released his hold. ‘Are you ready to join the others now?’

The pupil glanced up. ‘Yeah,’ he sighed.

‘Then that’s the end of the matter. Off you go.’ I could see Richard standing by his best friend and the rest of the school becoming more settled. ‘Mr James, over to you,’ I concluded.

The PE teacher, a young man in his mid-twenties, stepped forward holding a clipboard and stopwatch. ‘Thank you, Mr McKeever.’ The pupils seemed attentive. ‘Set off in pairs at twenty-second intervals. Remember, it’s not a competition. It’s about achieving your personal best. For the new boys, I want to see how much time it takes you to complete the five miles. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the chorus of unbroken, breaking, and broken voices.

Mr James paired them off, ‘Stuart Bridges and Richard Markham.’

The two boys stepped forward as the PE teacher looked at his stopwatch. ‘On your marks.’

They put one foot forward, torsos bent in line with their toes. They waited.

‘Go!’

As they ran, Mr James recorded their starting time on his clipboard and called the next pair forward.

A steady flow of boys streamed along the drive heading for the gorge carved out of the escarpment in the mid distance. It was almost concealed by a jungle of blossoming rhododendron bushes that shrouded the slopes. Mr Gaffney, the design/technology teacher, middle-aged, overweight, and not too quick on his feet, ran at the back.

I felt satisfied the activity was off to a good start and took another deep breath of fresh air. I’d become intoxicated by the perfume given off by the plants and flowers as I listened to the pattering of feet and chattering of boys, watching them fading in the distance. A glow of contentment engulfed me as I sauntered into the office. I made an entry in the incident book recording the earlier fracas and how it was dealt with, catching up with my admin.

Chapter 2

Presently, the telephone rang and I lifted the receiver. ‘You are the new headmaster, aren’t you?’ suggested a gruff, quarrelsome voice.

I was taken aback. ‘Yes. How can I help?’

‘My name’s Colonel Worrall, clerk to Padgett Parish Council. Two of your boys have ransacked the village hall.’

Dark clouds loured over me. I had to stay calm. I instinctively knew what my initial response should be. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Colonel,’ I replied, but as I continued, I was interrupted.

‘I haven’t finished, Headmaster.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘They urinated against the wall and emptied rubbish from the bins into the telephone kiosk.’ There was a brief silence as I tried to think on my feet. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ he blustered.

This was a gathering storm I could not quell. I had to draw on all my previous experience. I needed to hold my nerve and play for time. I kept my voice steady and spoke clearly. ‘I understand your concern, Colonel. These are serious allegations which potentially reflect badly on the school. I’ll investigate and report back.’

The colonel seemed more furious than before. ‘You gave a very polished performance on your Open Day, but you didn’t fool me. You’re a woolly minded liberal. Those delinquents run amuck. The Parish Council will have your school closed. Take it to the city where you came from,’ he scowled.

My good intentions had been misinterpreted. I felt I had been stung by a swarm of wasps but had to stay cool and on track. ‘I am sorry, Colonel. I don’t want to debate this point right now. I need to identify these boys and deal with them.’

‘They told me they were brothers, Robin and Ian Hayes. They didn’t get one over me.’

The colonel seemed so self-satisfied by his remarks that my own pride got the better of me. ‘I haven’t got any pupils with those names, Colonel,’ I replied.

‘What?’ The earpiece of my telephone vibrated as the tempest in my adversary’s voice intensified. Although I had mixed feelings about the boys’ conduct, I couldn’t sympathise with those unreasonable, unyielding, prejudiced, belligerent, well-heeled individuals in lofty positions who poured nothing but scorn on the most disadvantaged and abandoned souls in society. In my view, they lacked compassion. On the other hand, I was disappointed and angry that two pupils could let themselves and their school down so badly. I had some sympathy for the old colonel, who just wanted a hassle-free retirement opting for a quiet life in the country. There could be nothing worse than disturbing the peace of the community and instilling insecurities in the minds of local residents. I was determined to remain calm and reassuring. ‘Don’t worry, Colonel. I’ll get to the bottom of this. What did they look like?’ I asked.

The colonel’s voice became calmer. ‘The older youth is about five-foot-six tall, the younger about five. Both are of medium build, blue eyes, and dark brown or black hair. The older one has dirt on his nose. He must have got it from rummaging in the bins. They both wore those trainers, no socks, white sports shorts, and red running vests. I haven’t seen them before.’

He was so accurate and convincing in his account that I began to feel less defensive. But I needed more information. ‘Their clothing definitely fits the description of our boys, but I need to know what makes you say you hadn’t seen them before.’

‘I’m the Neighbourhood Watch coordinator. I keep my eye on your pupils every Wednesday afternoon,’ he crustily replied.

I believed him. ‘I see,’ I said. ‘If they’re new pupils, I think I know who they are.’

The colonel seemed more receptive. ‘We’re getting somewhere, Headmaster.’

I wanted him to be involved and focussed. ‘How would you feel if I brought the two boys to see you?’ But I hadn’t anticipated his reaction.

‘To what end?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you think I’ve seen enough of them?’

I persisted, ‘You could explain to them in a more measured way how you felt about their antisocial…’

‘More measured indeed!’ he shouted.

I had to restore a sense of calm. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, Colonel. I thought it would give them the chance to offer you an apology and make reparation.’

The colonel seemed to warm to my suggestion. ‘Good idea! They can clean the mess up. You supply the materials, Headmaster. I’m sure you’ve plenty of mops and buckets.’

Sensing I had recovered some lost ground, I felt more relaxed and swivelled my chair towards the window. ‘Certainly, Colonel,’ I replied.

But the feeling left me for the sting in his tail. ‘Very well, Headmaster, but I shall also be taking this up with the Parish Council. Good day!’

I winced at his last salvo. Those parting words troubled me. I didn’t want open warfare between parish councillors and my school. I had to make sure that reparation by the guilty pupils would mitigate whatever complaint the colonel might bring. I left the office in search of the two miscreants with his threat ringing in my ear.

The boys were getting showers under the supervision of Mark Gilbert when I approached. ‘Hi, Mark,’ I said. ‘. . . Any feedback?’

The senior teacher quickly turned round. ‘Hi, Boss. I didn’t see you come in.’

I laughed. ‘Never mind… Well?’

Mark looked at me inquisitively. ‘Nothing untoward… Is there a problem?’

The boys were laughing and chattering in the background. I continued, ‘You could say that. I’ve had a complaint from Colonel Worrall.’

Mark recoiled. ‘Oh no! He’s trouble with a big T—a thorn in Alan Jeffries’ side for sixteen years.’

I sighed loudly, remembering Alan Jeffries warning me about village politics and how I foolishly dismissed the notion at the time. Mark crossed his feet, knocking his knees together and tightening his buttocks. He cradled his elbow, rubbing his hand down his right cheek and under his chin. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘He alleges that two of our boys attempted to break into the village hall and emptied the dustbins into the telephone kiosk.’

The senior teacher clenched his fist and banged it in the banister. ‘Shit! Sorry, boss. Who were they?’

‘Let’s see who you think they were. What if I told you they were five foot six and five foot tall respectively, of medium build, with blue eyes and dark hair and they’re new pupils?’

Mark’s eyes widened with his wry smile. ‘Tony Nixon and David Richardson.’

I nodded in agreement. ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I replied. ‘When all the pupils are ready, assemble them and escort them to the library. I’ll confront the pair in our Help meeting. I don’t want to lose the element of surprise as far as the pupils are concerned.’

Mark winked. ‘Mum’s the word.’

I stood by the door of the school library as the pupils passed through. They sat round the two large tables in front of the huge portrait of Lord Roberts in a colonel’s uniform commemorating his action in the Battle of Waterloo.

‘What’s going on, sir?’ asked one boy.

‘Wait until everybody arrives. I don’t boil my cabbages twice.’

The pupil looked bemused and whispered to another, who shrugged his shoulders and giggled.

I saw Tony Nixon and David Richardson about to brush past me with their heads down. I placed my hands on each of their shoulders. I kept looking at the assembled body of the school not giving my suspects any eye contact. ‘Stand either side of me. I need your assistance.’

Tony wriggled and flailed his arms. ‘I haven’t done nothing, sir.’

I leant towards him. ‘Did I say you had? Calm down and do as you’re told,’ I said firmly

David smiled meekly at me then glared at Tony. ‘Do as sir says!’ he shouted.

Tony put his head down and went quiet. I stepped closer to the tables as the two boys stood underneath the portrait. ‘Quiet please, everybody.’ The school fell silent as the pupils looked attentively at me. Mark Gilbert stood by the door. ‘I’ve called you together this afternoon to welcome two new pupils to the school,’ I said. The boys looked at each other and whispered.

Dick O’Brien spoke up, ‘. . . Can’t see any new boys, sir.’

I looked sternly towards the school as the din rose. Slightly raising my voice, I said, ‘When you’re ready, boys.’

The din faded as the pupils seemed eager to discover the mystery behind my announcement. I kept my gaze on the assembly and tapped David on the shoulder. ‘This is Ian Hayes.’

I could see many of the pupils with their mouths open staring at me in disbelief.

Then I tapped Tony’s shoulder. ‘And this is his younger brother Robin.’

Everybody laughed as my two suspects held their heads down.

‘What are you on about, sir?’ shouted Ryan. I glanced at the two boys, then looked at the rest of the assembled pupils. ‘Ian and Robin will tell us,’ I said.

I noticed David’s legs shaking. He was savvy enough to hold his hand up to the crime. The game was up, so there was no point in him trying to cover his tracks. By obtaining an admission from him first, Tony wouldn’t be such a hard nut to crack. I turned towards him. ‘Well, Ian?’

David looked meekly in my direction. ‘On the run, sir?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Tell us what you and Tony did.’

‘We needed a fag, so looked in the bins for dog ends.’

I guessed he’d have a plausible answer. I looked at the boy wide eyed. ‘. . . And?’

‘That’s it, sir,’ said David as he shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands away from his knees as though he were about to be assumed into heaven.

I turned my gaze towards Tony. The boy grimaced. ‘What about the names?’ I enquired.

Tony spluttered, ‘We made them up when the old man asked.’

‘Is that right, David?’

The blushing boy put his head down and sighed, ‘Yes, sir.’

Having achieved the object of the exercise, I looked at the pair of them and softened my tone. ‘You’ve admitted your wrongdoing. That’s a start. Now go to your places.’

As the two boys sat down, I addressed the assembly.

‘This is a Help meeting. When I give you the facts, I want answers to three questions.’

As I shared some of the content of my telephone conversation with the colonel, the boys were transfixed. I now realised I had made an impact on their young minds and wanted to develop their insight. Clasping my hands, I looked earnestly at them. ‘What can we learn from this incident?’

‘They got caught, sir!’ one boy shouted.

‘Yeah, you can’t get away with nothing here,’ said another.

I smiled at the boy who made that last remark. At least he had insight, I thought.

I returned my gaze to the assembly and continued the dialogue. ‘Why do you think that is?’

‘‘Cos they grass you up,’ shouted one.

‘They look out for each other,’ said another.

‘They’ve got neighbourhood watch signs on the posts,’ observed a third.

Then there was a pause. Two boys were playfully punching each other’s arms at the back of the room. One lad was scratching himself, and through the corner of my eye, I could see another lad falling asleep. If his head dropped any further down his chest, he would have tumbled forward.

I sharpened the tone of my voice to regain the assembly’s attention, ‘. . . Anything else?’

‘What about us?’ one pupil asked gingerly.

I knew he was on my wavelength. ‘Go on,’ I exhorted.

‘They won’t like us in the village, sir.’

My face beamed. ‘Exactly!’ I said and, once again looking at the two miscreants, continued, ‘So, David and Tony, in the big cities where you come from, you might have got away with rummaging through litter and dumping it in a telephone kiosk. You might have got away with trying to break into a community centre, but not here. So was it worth bringing your antisocial behaviour to Padgett?’

I could see the whites of the two pupils’ eyes as they sheepishly looked up. ‘No, sir,’ they replied.

‘And what about the feelings of the other boys? You didn’t think about them, did you?’

‘No, sir,’ they replied.

I turned to the assembly once more. ‘David Richardson and Tony Nixon are like two peas in a pod. They both wanted the same thing, cigarettes. They committed antisocial behaviour to satisfy their craving and didn’t think of the consequences. Do you think you will in future?’

I could see the whites of their eyes. ‘Yes, sir,’ they meekly replied, hanging their heads. Then David glanced towards his peers, half smiling in embarrassment. ‘Sorry, everyone,’ he said.

‘Quite right too,’ I said warmly. ‘But saying sorry means you’re going to think about everyone’s feelings in future before acting.’

Both boys looked more at ease now. ‘Yes, sir,’ they replied.

But I hadn’t finished. ‘Now for my second question. How should Tony and David be made accountable for their wrongdoing?’ I asked.

‘Give ‘em a good kicking, sir.’ I should have expected such a reply from at least one of the assembly.

‘Not funny, Stuart. There’ll be no bullying in this school,’ I asserted.

‘Write a letter of apology,’ suggested another.

I paused momentarily and wagged my finger in approval of the lad’s suggestion. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. What a good idea!’

‘I’ll save that one for the parish council,’ I thought.

‘A face-to-face apology to the colonel,’ one boy piped up.

I felt I was getting somewhere. ‘Even better,’ I replied.

Then I noticed David whispering. As our eyes met, he spoke up. ‘Me and Tony will clean the mess up, sir.’

I looked at the two boys and waited. Tony must have read my thoughts as his vacant eyes began to glow. ‘Tell the colonel we’re sorry,’ he said.

I added, ‘And write the letter of apology to the parish council in your free time. You can also pay for the cleaning fluid and air freshener you use.’ The two pupils grimaced as others in the assembly rubbed their hands in glee and whispered to each other.

I faced all of the pupils once more. ‘How can we repair relations between our school and the village community?’

I watched boys shrugging their shoulders and looking at each other. One said, ‘Don’t know, sir.’

They needed prompting. ‘Think of the next time you go into the village,’ I said.

‘Respect them,’ suggested one.

‘And their property,’ said another. They were learning the skill of brainstorming.

‘Be polite,’ said a third boy.

‘Yes. Very good… and the personal apology from Tony and David to the colonel with the offer to clean up the mess plus a letter of apology to the parish council will also help.’

Immediately after assembly, I telephoned the colonel to let him know I was coming. Then I transported the two culprits for their date with destiny.

On arrival, the boys removed the cleaning materials from the boot of the car. They both looked nervous as I escorted them with a brush, mop, bucket, dustpan, cloth, cleaning fluid, fresh air spray, polish, and a duster in their hands to the front door of the colonel’s cottage. Their faces were white, and they took rapid intakes of breath. As I knocked on the door, David looked at Tony with the whites of his eyes. He spoke as though his mouth was parched. ‘Let’s get this over with,’ he croaked.

Presently, the door opened.

There the colonel stood in military fashion, distinguished by a very large skull and a great mass of sallow forehead crowned by a thicket of white hair. He had such a disgusted look on his face that I felt I was viewed as a deceitful, servile, miserable fawner, a woolly liberal at heart who would do anything to protect my boys.

The hapless youths stood meekly in front of me, their headmaster and mentor.

‘Good day, Headmaster. State your business,’ the colonel said sharply. I could tell he enjoyed playing to the gallery.

I recognised my cue. ‘You’ve met these boys before in most unfortunate circumstances.’

‘Em, yes. Well?’

‘Let me introduce them properly to you. David Richardson and Tony Nixon. They have something to say.’

David kept his head down and mumbled, ‘Sorry, sir.’ Then he meekly looked up.

Tony was wide-eyed looking in the direction of the colonel but not making eye contact. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said loudly.

‘I’m sure neither of you know the meaning of the words. Have you any idea of the upset you’ve caused? The residents work hard to keep the village tidy and pretty. The community centre is the hub. The telephone kiosk is kept clean and provides essential for the use of older residents or when private lines are down. I’m sitting in my front garden this afternoon enjoying the beautiful sunshine when I see one of you urinating at the side of the village hall while the other is trying the windows and doors. When you can’t get in, you lift the bins and empty them in the telephone kiosk. How dare you behave like street Arabs in this community! I retired to this village to enjoy the tranquillity of the countryside, not to be encroached by the likes of you.’

The boys cringed with embarrassment and responded in unison. ‘Sorry, sir.’

Colonel Worral growled, ‘Let’s see how sorry you are. I’ll take charge, Headmaster. You may return to the school, and I’ll call you when their job is done.’

‘This is restorative justice at its best,’ I thought. ‘Very well, Colonel,’ I replied, almost standing to attention in deference.

The old boy hadn’t noticed. He was too carried away. ‘You two, follow me!’ he ordered.

I watched the colonel escorting his charges to the crime scene and pointing his cane to the discarded bins. It was time for me to return to school.

An hour and a half passed and I was sitting quietly in my office adding more to the school development plan. Suddenly, the telephone rang. As I lifted the receiver, I could hear the colonel’s voice. He seemed unusually cheerful. ‘Those lads of yours have done a good job, Headmaster!’ he enthused.

I guessed the boys would respond well to discipline, but I didn’t want to be smug. ‘Really?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ said the colonel and continued. ‘The telephone kiosk is spick and span, and I cut a piece of spare carpet which they’ve laid on the floor. I invite you to see for yourself.’

I was delighted and couldn’t wait to see the results. ‘Thank you, Colonel. It’s good to know they’ve lived up to expectations. I’m on my way.’

Approaching the village, I saw the boys leaning on their mop and brush, talking happily to the colonel, who stood on the cottage side of his garden wall. When I stepped out of my car, the colonel sternly beckoned. ‘Headmaster, come this way.’

The boys turned round, meekly smiling as they followed the colonel and me to the village hall.

‘What do you think?’ asked the officer gentleman.

I grinned at the pupils. ‘I’m impressed. You should be proud of yourselves.’ Then I turned to the old warrior. ‘I hope this compensates in some way for the damage and distress you suffered, Colonel?’

‘It does, Headmaster, and as far as these two are concerned, the matter is closed. However, this incident gives me an opportunity to raise wider issues with the parish council relating to your school policy and discipline.’

I couldn’t believe this sting in the tail. I had to reassure the old gentleman in the hope that he was making an idle threat. ‘To allow a cooling-off period, I intend to plan alternative outdoor activities that would not involve the pupils’ presence in Padgett. The football season would commence next term, so the boys would be involved in fixtures that villagers would not be encroached upon.’

The colonel tut-tutted begrudgingly, offering his hand for me to shake. I felt slightly deflated that the matter did not appear to be concluded. The outcome was only a partial reconciliation in spite of the effort both boys had made to make amends. I was privately appalled that such an objectionable old bigot had the power to make political capital out of the boys’ special educational needs and their placement at the school. I had taken every reasonable step in terms of punishment, restoration, and awareness-raising in the pupils about showing consideration and respect for the local community. There was nothing else I could do except defend the school’s corner in the aftermath of the colonel’s orchestrated moves.

Chapter 3

As dusk fell, the pupils were safely tucked in bed. I strolled in the gardens, reflecting on the events of the day and had a feeling of calm after the storm. Although I’d left the colonel in a better frame of mind, I was reconciled to the fact there was little I could do about his agenda. I felt pleased that the boys had learnt to consider the needs of others and had learnt a lesson in accountability. I enjoyed this brief respite, and my thoughts drifted back to my first visit to Eaglestone Hall with Frances.

Conurbation had given way to sprawling countryside, and sunlight reflected on the hoar frost coating the surface of the fields and hedgerows. I noticed a kite hovering above its prey. As I sped onwards, I was distracted by the deadly swoop, then the upward lift, as the bird transported its quarry to a perch high in an elm that was denuded by the season that precipitated the winter day.

‘Gregory!’

Frances startled me.

I looked at her, then quickly back at the road. We were in busy traffic leaving the conurbation of the West Midlands. ‘Was it my driving?’ She hadn’t mentioned it yet. I hoped she wasn’t going to.

‘I’m dying to see this place,’ she continued.

I glanced at her and smiled, recalling previous occasions when I applied for promoted posts further away. My ambitions were sometimes thwarted when Frances didn’t want to move or didn’t fancy the accommodation that was offered. I had shown her the sales literature of Eaglestone Hall but anticipated her changing her mind.

‘Don’t judge a book by its cover. To take the risk, you must be a hundred per cent behind me. If you’re not happy, say so, and we’ll call it a day,’ I said. I didn’t want to choose between my marriage and career.

Frances rubbed the inside of my leg. ‘Make love to me.’

I laughed, sensing a stirring in my loins. ‘You’ll cause a tailback,’ I joked. ‘You’ll have to wait.’

Frances removed her hand and reached for the cigarette packet. ‘I’ll hold you to it.’

She inhaled deeply, pulled down the vanity mirror, and pushed her blonde hair away from the rim of her glasses. ‘I’m glad we haven’t brought the girls. We can talk business.’

Suddenly, she screamed and put her hands over her face. ‘Gregory!’

A lorry was hurtling towards me. I looked ahead and realised I had swerved into its path. I pulled hard on the steering wheel with my left hand, avoiding a collision by inches. ‘Phew, that was close!’

I noticed my wife was shaking. ‘Stupid man!’ she said. ‘Watch your driving.’

Regaining my concentration, I fell silent for the remainder of the journey. Approaching our destination, I steered the small family saloon along the one-and-a-quarter-mile dirt track that led to Eaglestone Hall.

‘Gregory!’ exclaimed Frances

Once again, I glanced over at her and then quickly back at the road. The car was buffeted from corner to corner as its wheels fell into potholes. She hadn’t mentioned it yet. I hoped she wouldn’t be put off by it. Would she reject the whole idea because the road was too bumpy?

‘This is impressive,’ she said.

I felt encouraged. ‘Isn’t it!’

On setting my eyes on Eaglestone Hall, the majesty of the listed Georgian country house took my breath away. I thought how diminutive my car looked parked by the stone balustrade leading to the grand entrance. Frances looked at me in disbelief. I held her hand and turned her round. I pointed towards the horizon. The distant mountains were approached by rolling fields, ancient woodland, meandering waterways, and roaming countryside at every turn of the head. A dirt track from the driveway divided the pasture at the front of the Hall. It led to a gap in an escarpment on the left-hand side that was shrouded in rhododendron bushes and Scots pine trees. In the foreground, huge, deciduous trees of chestnut and oak rose from the tufts of grass, which reflected sparkles in the sun. A herd of purebred Ayrshire cattle bearing white coats and markings in various shades of reddish-brown mahogany were rustling and foraging for themselves under the adverse climatic conditions. I thought they looked strong and easy to rear. I nudged my wife. ‘Look at those udders. What a milk yield!’

Frances beamed into my eyes. ‘Pinch me.’

Chapter 4

The months sped by as Frances and I worked tirelessly with our staff to build up the school roll and develop the curriculum. And so it was that on a cold and rainy Sunday evening in October the following year, my family and I returned to Eaglestone Hall. We had spent the day visiting my parents.

It was raining on the homeward journey, and as the wipers swished from side to side, I was engrossed in my thoughts. I had a great feeling of optimism as the new school year began. The business had exceeded its targets, earning the confidence of the bank. Full pupil occupancy was achieved in record time, and staff could see that their jobs were secure under my leadership. The pupils seemed happy to be back in this stable, warm, and caring environment. There was no better reason to be optimistic. My dream of owning a school had been realised. A phrase in the words of the Salve Regina rang in my ears, ‘Hail our life, our sweetness, and our hope.’ It summed up my thoughts about this new venture.

As I pulled the car into the forecourt, I observed Mark Gilbert opening the Hall door. ‘That was odd. Why was he looking out for me?’ My stomach fluttered as I slammed my foot on the brake, engaging the gear in neutral. Perhaps there had been an incident or was it an accident? Crisis management of the unforeseen was my modus operandi as a head teacher of a special school catering for emotionally and behaviourally disturbed children. I pulled up the handbrake, sighed, and glanced at Frances. ‘See to the kids. I think something’s wrong,’ I said.

Frances smiled and placed her hand on my arm. ‘OK, but don’t get into a panic.’ Then she turned to the children. ‘Girls, get everything out of the car and hurry indoors before you get soaked.’

It had been our weekend off. Mark Gilbert was deputising. I stepped out of the car, hastening towards him. Scrambling up the cantilevered steps, I braced myself. ‘Hello, Mark. Is everything all right?’

The senior teacher looked relaxed. ‘No worries, Boss. Your brother Pius rang. He’s left his number… said it was urgent.’

I froze. I couldn’t connect with the last part of Mark Gilbert’s reply. The words flew over me. I could only speculate on my twin’s motivation for ringing; without a prelude. Of course, I knew Pius so well. He wouldn’t be telephoning to apologise. He was too proud for that, too controlling. I felt weak at the knees. My deep sigh was interrupted by intermittent shallow rapid intakes of air. I knew it was a panic attack and could feel myself becoming cold and clammy. I tried to compose myself, breathing deeply and slowly. I had to hold my nerve, not revealing the significance of the message to the messenger. I lightly raised my brow as my eyes widened with a searching gaze at the tall, lean figure standing before me against the backdrop of the cold, wet Georgian edifice that was Eaglestone Hall School. There seemed to be nothing inviting about it right then. ‘Thanks, Mark. In that case, I’d better deal with it… That is, if you don’t need me for anything.’ I hoped he didn’t.

Mark didn’t seem to notice