Torn

By Tony Ridley

Thirteen-year old Antony Davis embarks on the one salvation of his nightmarish year, a week long vacation to the picturesque Mediterranean island of Corsica. There he discovers love, in the shape of the beautiful and enchanting Suzanne Aubin, a half French Corsican girl. Although already having enough problems on his plate battling with his painful shyness, and his inability in adjusting to wearing a hearing aid for the first time, things become yet more difficult still as the budding romance is dogged by the bitter centuries old rivalry between the English and the French.

Suzanne Aubin herself has problems enough of her own, in the shape and form of her elder brother Luc. Who along with his boorish friends, mercilessly bully and tease her, until the gallant Antony enters the fray and rescues her.

An initial first attraction between the young English boy and French girl blossoms into a full blown romance secreted behind the ever watchful eyes of two angry relatives:- Philippe Aubin, Suzanne's father who detests the English, and Luc her brother who along with the rest of his cohorts are out for blood, namely English and Antony's at that.

Soon a violent confrontation occurs between Luc Aubin and Antony, which triggers off a calamitous chain of events that result almost in tragedy. Our two lovers hearts are then broken cast asunder, destined never to be reunited, until a dramatic turn of events over ten years later lead to a gripping climax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 14, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467008204

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

About the Author

This book is dedicated to my late father Ernest James Ridley, sorely missed, never forgotten…

Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the invaluable advice, help and support given by so many in helping me create this book. Notably, Esther Carney, Denise Ravenscroft, Judy Tracy, Julie Harrington, Audrey McKenzie, Sally Baxter, Laurent and Valerie Gaget, John Irwin, John Ottaway, Adrian Placzek, Jamie Doran. Caroline and Glenn Ridler. Plus all the love and support from the author’s parents, siblings, loved ones and friends. And not forgetting grateful thanks for many words of wisdom from the late Sidney Corbin. And to Karen, always an inspiration, wherever you are, I hope love will always find you happy…

Chapter 1

Pay attention please. Antony! Antony Davis will you please face the front this minute! The last word clapped like thunder around the hot, stifled classroom. The be-spectacled boy sat bolt upright as if struck by lightning, and with a sheepish grin faced the front of the class.

I’ve had to tell you three times in fifteen minutes! said the teacher pointing an accusing finger his way, shaking her head. For heavens sake, are you daydreaming again? What’s the matter with you today? Are you in love or something?

The class dissolved into hoots of laughter.

Davis in love. With his ugly face! piped up a boy from the back of the classroom.

Antony spun round, cheeks crimson, to see where the insult came from. Not that it did him much good, his flustered reaction only made the class laugh more.

Thank you Simon. That will do, said the teacher, emphasising her words in an attempt to stop the commotion. Turning to face the front, Antony braced himself for more recriminations.

I will not tolerate this behaviour any longer. Antony, I’d like you to see me straight after class.

Someone sniggered. With a sigh Antony flopped back against his chair. Yes Miss Grant.

Her punishment dispatched, Miss Grant continued with the lesson. Antony took another peek out of the window again, then with a start, quickly redirected his gaze to the front. Phew, I nearly got caught again, he thought. He was hot. Too hot. His shirt stuck to his back and the armpit sweat stains grew more obvious. He strained forward to hear what Miss Grant was saying, trying to feign some interest. Not long to go now, he thought, before school would be over and eight weeks of summer holidays would stretch like years before him.

Miss Grant was like a laser searching for targets. Although English literature was one of his favourite subjects, Antony couldn’t get his brain into gear today no matter how hard he tried.

Perhaps it was the intense July sun beaming through the open windows that made him feel this dull laziness. Earlier he’d almost fallen asleep, lulled by the heady scent drifting in from the pink tea roses just outside. Miss Grant’s voice droned on, and Antony tried hard to focus on what she said. He saw that the other students were also shuffling around trying to stay awake. A small, pale girl at the back was draped across her desk, hidden behind a larger boy in front of her. Antony wondered how she got away with it.

Well class, now that I have all your undivided attention! Miss Grant shot Antony a sparring glance. I shall tell you about the classic English play we will be studying when you return from your summer holidays. She searched around the classroom for signs of enthusiasm, but found none wanting.

Steven Jones! Sit up straight! she boomed. Slouching is extremely bad for the posture. As if to illustrate, Miss Grant regally drew herself up to the ceiling. "I’m delighted to tell you, class, that we will be learning The Taming of the Shrew next term. Now who can tell me who wrote it?"

I did! announced a voice from the back. The class tittered once more.

"No David, I do not think so! Oh come on class! Look. I know it’s the last lesson before the end of term, but please try to show a little interest."

I know Miss, said Antony, putting his hand up in the air.

Yes Antony?

It was Will the Shake Miss.

The whole class erupted into laughter. Antony smiled as the boy sitting next to him collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Miss Grant, normally the model of decorum, was trying hard to suppress a smile, Antony, what on earth are you talking about?

Sir William Shakespeare Miss. Will the Shake is a nickname we use for him in our house when we play Trivial Dispute at Christmas.

Trivial Dispute Antony? Miss Grant paused. Don’t you mean the game Trivial Pursuit?

Not in our house Miss. We usually end up arguing, and fighting over the answers. So me Dad calls it Trivial Dispute.

The whole class erupted once more with a bemused Miss Grant leading the way.

Thank you. Antony, she said coughing to mask her amusement. For a wonderfully innovative answer. It was Will the Sh… Miss Grant corrected herself as the class giggled again. I mean Sir William Shakespeare, who wrote the Taming of the Shrew. Now I want all of you to study the books, she enthused, handing out the texts of the play to the pupils. Familiarise yourself with the main characters. I’m sure you will appreciate having something to read while you’re on your long eight week vacation. A slight smile played on her lips as she uttered the last sentence.

Oh Miss! pleaded some of the pupils in unison, as the last of the books were handed out.

The school buzzer sounded, signalling the end of the lesson and the academic year. The pupils thundered out the classroom, Miss Grant calling out to them as they fled.

Goodbye children! Have a nice holiday!

A few returned, You too, Miss Grant. And, oh yes, good luck with the wedding!

Well thank you Tina! So nice of you to remember!

In the crush, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed, Antony was making a beeline for freedom.

Davis stay right where you are! I can read your mind like a book. Get back to your seat at once! Don’t you dare try to sneak out of the classroom like that! Miss Grant’s warning was loud enough for even Antony to hear well above the chatter of departing pupils.

Trying his best to avoid her iron gaze, Antony sloped back to his desk with an exasperated expression on his face. He flopped down on his seat, chucked his schoolbag under his desk and watched the rest of the class leave. Swarms of charcoal grey uniforms poured out into the quad like ants to congregate in the afternoon sun, before taking off home. He glanced anxiously at his watch. Miss Grant nonchalantly waited for the last pupil to leave.

At last she shut the door, deep in thought. Antony felt like a condemned man waiting for the hangman’s noose. The air in the room was thick and sticky. He squirmed in his seat expecting a crescendo of abuse.

Antony, I want to talk to you, about something very important. The voice was calm, almost somnambulant. Had he fallen asleep, was he dreaming? Miss Grant glided to his desk, and perched her elegant, perfumed self on the desk beside him. She could be almost quite all right when she stopped being Miss Grant. Were you wearing your hearing aid in class today?

He looked away, not answering.

Antony. I had to reprimand you three times today for not paying attention. Now if the problem is your hearing, don’t you think you owe it to me, and to yourself, to wear your hearing aid? She paused, gazing into his earnest face. You know you’re not doing yourself any favours in the long run. And you’re making it hard for everyone else too.

He stared out the window. Out there the trees were green and peaceful. Nobody understands me he thought, nobody wants to understand me.

Who told you I have to wear a hearing aid? Antony mumbled.

Your form tutor, of course.

She had no right to! Damn that Mrs Hicks, he thought. The witch. Who told her?

I think your parents did.

They had no right! Why can’t you all leave me alone?

What’s the matter, Antony? We’re only trying to help you. It’s not a crime to be hard of hearing.

It is in this school!

More uniforms sauntered past the window heading home, but now they were laughing, happy, raucous, without a care in the world. They didn’t look quite so grey anymore. How he wanted to be like them. More than anything in the world he wished to be like them. Normal. Uniformed, but normal.

You don’t know what’s it like, Miss.

No I’m sorry, Antony. I guess I don’t. she paused, sighing. Perhaps you might try to tell me, and help me understand. She touched him gently on the shoulder. Everybody here really wants to help you.

Help me! Don’t make me laugh! Nobody can help me. Antony scratched at an ink stain on the wooden desk. Everybody hates me, and you think they want to help me?

Now that’s not true Antony, and you know it.

There was a hammering at the far window and a tea-rose, thorns and all flew in.

Hey Davis! Teacher’s Pet! shouted one of a group of three spotty, gangly boys leering in.

Oi Davis! Who’s your girlfriend then? Is she deaf too? taunted another of the boys. I’m sorry. What was that? Did you say something? You have to speak up louder! I’m a little deaf!

One with a rose in his teeth, another with a rose behind his ear together mimed the tango. Then their heads dropped below the sill.

Miss Grant turned to him. Ignore them Antony. They’re not worth worrying about.

He looked at her in amazement. They’re not worth worrying about? It’s easy for you to say, but I’ve got to put up with this all the time.

Oi Davis! Whhoahhh! Give her one then! gesticulated one of the boys, and all the heads popped up again.

Miss Grant leaned out the window, Harris! Rooks! Bray! Go on! Go away you horrors, there’ll be detention for you when you come back in September!

The tormentors fled trampling over budding plants, snorting with boorish laughter. A little way off, one of them turned to make an obscene gesture. The second grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, while the third pretended to kick him up the rear end.

Little sods! Miss Grant exploded. You can definitely expect detention for that first thing next term! she called after them.

What good would that do? Antony thought. They were only three of a dozen or more, ready every day to make his life hell at this nightmare of a school.

Miss Grant was sat down again, looking serious. I don’t think anybody really hates you here Antony. I think you’ve over exaggerating on that score.

He fumed in silence. What the flaming heck was she on about? Didn’t she just see what he had to put up with? She was supposed to be a teacher, for Christ’s sake. He glared at her. Stupid woman.

Antony, look I know kids can be cruel. Its easy for them to pick on anyone who is different. Those boys are just a pack of apes having a bit of fun at your expense. No, not even apes. They’re just stupid bullies who don’t know anything else. But you’ve got to face facts. You can’t hear well, and that makes you an easy target. I can’t begin to imagine how hard it must be for you sometimes, but you must accept you’ve got a problem. Mrs Hicks told me that the recent surgery you had didn’t work out. I’m really sorry. It’s a shame I know, but that’s life. Sometimes things don’t always work out the way we’d like them to, but we’ve still got to go on. You’ve got the next best thing, a hearing aid to help you. So help yourself and use it! You could really make something of yourself, you know, if you study, and work hard. You’re clever, you’ve got a good brain, and you absorb things quickly, but you must learn to wear your hearing aid, its as simple as that.

Antony’s frown deepened. He was listening, but it was muffled advice going in one ear, out the other. How many times have I heard all this before he thought? Help yourself by wearing your hearing aid, they all parroted on. Yeah its all so easy to say, but so hard to do. All these do-gooders didn’t have a clue about what it was really like going to a school of almost fifteen hundred kids, suffering their daily taunts. And all because you stuck out like a sore thumb, just because you were different in some way. What did she really think? You look like an idiot with a lob of plastic wadding stuck in your earhole.

Miss Grant continued to press her point, Don’t worry about those louts. Fact is they’re jealous of you Antony. You’ve got to show them you don’t care, that you’re stronger and better than they are. You’ve got some extraordinary talents you know.

Like what? Name one?

Why you’re one of my best students! I’ve given you excellent marks in your school report. For someone who missed two months and had so many operations, you’ve made remarkable progress catching up. You’re kind, conscientious, and ever so funny. She brightened, Why, look how you made the whole class laugh today. Even me, with your funny little story about Will the Shake.

They both smiled at the recollection. Lots of people will learn to like you in time, to appreciate you for the good qualities that you have. Take it from me, concentrate on yourself, and more importantly on your education.

Antony blushed, hot from the unexpected praise.

So where are you going for your summer holidays this year? asked Miss Grant.

Err. I’m sorry Miss?

I said where are you going for your summer holidays? she repeated more loudly.

We’re going to Corsica.

What? All the family? Well you should all have a great time then.

No Miss. Just Mum and Dad and me. My brothers and sister are all working.

Well, I’m sure you’ll have a great time anyway. Corsica, that’s a very unusual destination. Any particular reason why you’re going there Antony?

I’ve got a project on the Napoleonic era in the history class Miss. I’m sure Mr Wearing’s probably told you.

Miss Grant gave a smile at the mention of her fiancé’s name. A loud knock at the door distracted them. Come in!

The hinges whined as the door edged open and a head belonging to Alan Wearing, (history, geography, and games teacher and soon to belong to Miss Grant) poked its way around the door.

Sorry, am I interrupting? I was looking for you in the staff room, Jane. Is everything okay?

Yes Alan, everything’s fine. Antony’s just been telling me his plans for the summer. Haven’t you Antony?

Antony nodded, feeling awkward in the presence of two teachers so eager to be alone together. Now was his chance to escape.

I think I’d better go now, Miss, if that’s okay with you? I’m sure you and Sir have got lots of things to discuss. About the wedding and all that.

Okay, Antony, that’s fine. You run along now, have a great holiday in Corsica, and try to remember what I’ve said. I’m always here to help you, whenever you need me.

Antony grabbed his schoolbag and made a dash for the door. Thanks Miss Grant. Err, and good luck with the wedding. I hope you’ll be very happy together.

Passing Mr Wearing, Antony offered his hand and the teacher grasped it with a hearty shake.

Cheers Antony. Jane and I both appreciate it. You take care now, and have a good holiday.

Antony walked out, closing the door behind him.

Nice boy, said Mr Wearing approaching his fiancée. Hey, did you know that Christopher Columbus was supposedly born in Calvi on the island of Corsica?

Miss Grant laughed at the question. No I didn’t, she replied. So when did you suddenly find that out?

Antony told me after history class today. You know when he forgets about his problems, and emerges from his shell he’s quite a surprise.

Yeah he’s a great kid Alan. But oh what agonies he suffers.

*****

Suzanne Aubin sat with a wistful look on her freckled Gallic face, gazing out through the classroom window at the rolling Normandy countryside. If only she could make the rest of this insufferable afternoon go faster. She glanced up at the clock. Perhaps it was stuck. Wincing she spun around as more locks of her hair were yanked from behind.

Ow! Will you stop it? How much more of my hair do you want?

One of the two boys, laughed and poked his tongue out.

What is going on? shouted the teacher from her position at the writing board.

Suzanne bit her lip in silence. It was so tempting to tell Madam Dupont about the continual teasing from the boys sitting behind her, but she dared not say a word. A tell-tale she would not be. What was the use? Anyway, it would just make them tease her more.

Silence, class! The next one to make a sound will get detention!

Madame Dupont spun on her stiletto heels, and resumed chalking up the assignments for the summer vacation on the blackboard.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Suzanne tried her best to copy the sprawling scribble, but her view was blocked by the teacher’s thickset figure continually bobbing and weaving like a boxer dodging punches. A pair of girls whispered to each other in front of her. One girl looked back over her shoulder pulling an ugly face, and sniggered to her companion.

Suzanne pondered her misfortune. What was the lesser of the two evils she wondered? The boys pulling her hair and bra straps? Or the girls, always whispering something behind her back? She arched her head, and straightened her back. The girls sitting next to her giggled, eyeing her bust. She hunched her shoulders forward, elbows in, and tried to resume her writing, but Madam Dupont still blocked her view.

How she longed for the coming month’s holiday on Corsica. The family were all packed and ready to go. They would leave Normandy just as soon as she and her elder brother Luc returned home from school.

The pointed end of a pencil stabbed viciously into Suzanne’s back. Stop it! she yelled.

What was that? said Madam Dupont facing the classroom. Who screamed?

Suzanne raised her hand, It was I Madam Dupont. I’m very sorry.

That is enough Suzanne. You will stay behind after class.

Oh, please, Madame! I did not mean too, it was not my fault.

Whose fault was it then, child?

Suzanne stayed silent, her eyes downcast.

Have you copied the class assignments yet? asked Madam Dupont.

I was trying to, but…

Enough Suzanne. You will stay back for an hour. See me after class.

The others sniggered. Suzanne looked down, her eyes pricking with tears. Damn them, she wouldn’t cry. Where was her pride? She fished a handkerchief out of her sleeve and pretended to blow her nose. How I wish I were in Corsica now, she thought.

*****

Marching along the corridor, Antony shook his head. What a flaming waste of time that was! Still, give Miss Grant credit where it was due, he thought. Her heart was in the right place, if little else. He strode out through the main entrance of Hounslow Manor Comprehensive School, and reality kicked in. Eight weeks, eight weeks of freedom. No more school and no more rules. The words of Alice Cooper’s "School’s Out For Summer" drifted up from the vestiges of some old movie he’d once seen, and he found himself humming the tune. He stuffed his blazer into the scuffed Adidas sports bag, taking a deep breath as he got outside. The oaks lining the avenue outside the school swallowed him, lifted him up into their huge arms and sucked him in. How he loved those trees. He suddenly felt he could breathe again, in the green and gold light filtering down through the leaves. Up above the sky was such a gentle, soft blue. He walked past the fenced concrete enclosure at the front of the school. ‘The Cage’ functioned as a concrete tennis court, five-a-side football pitch, and a playground at break times. Through the fence Antony spotted two of only a handful of boys he could almost call friends, kicking a frayed tennis ball around.

Oy Clarkey! Thommo! Antony shouted. See you in September, okay?

The boys stopped, Yeah, all right Tony! Take it easy, mate!

Antony liked to be called Tony, it sounded softer, friendlier, more relaxed. His family and teachers always addressed him formally. It made him feel like he needed to stand to attention all the time. On reaching the staff car park at the front entrance, a sudden compulsion made him look back at the school buildings.

See you in eight week’s time, he muttered to himself. And don’t think I’ll miss you.

Crossing the main street, he strolled along Inwood Road towards the local park.

Hold up, Tone! What’s up? Hailed a voice from behind him. It was Colin, a mate he sometimes hung out with at the Park.

Wot! Oh sorry Col, I was miles away. Wotcha doing?

Nothing much. Going over the park to see who’s around. You coming?

The boys made their way through the main park entrance, passing the paddling pool. Even Antony had no trouble hearing the joyful shrieks and shrill laughter from the children. He stopped for a while to reminisce, watching them with envy. It would have only been a few years previously, and he too would have been among them, splashing, enjoying the cool water, shrieking with laughter, as he played with his friends.

Do you know I kissed Theresa Dean underwater in there?

Yeah? You kissed Theresa Dean underwater in there? Wow. Tony Davis, passion king, Colin smirked. Just wait till I tell the others about this!

You do that Colin Morgan, and you’re dead meat! Antony made a futile, grab at his friend. A furious chase began, and by the time Antony had caught Colin up at the park’s football pitch he was too exhausted to remember why it had all started. They were both done in, and had to prop themselves up against one of the goalposts.

On the pitch two boys were kicking a ball around; both were dressed in replica England football strips.

Hey lads, how’s it going? Antony wheezed.

Okay, Tony. Hey how come you’ve still got your school uniform on? one of them called Mike asked.

Cos I haven’t been home yet; that’s why! Antony bent double, hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back said. Got a detention off Miss Grant didn’t I.

Whoa! you jammy git. I wouldn’t mind having a detention with her any day of the week, piped up the other boy, whose name was Keith.

The boys all sniggered.

So what was the detention for? asked Mike.

Wot? said Antony.

What was the detention for? repeated Mike louder.

Oh…not paying attention in class, and something else. Although he knew he was only half telling the truth, Antony didn’t want the real reason for his detention to come out. Even though he counted these boys as close friends, he still felt uncomfortable if his deafness was mentioned.

Have you seen your school report yet? said Keith.

Antony shot him a disapproving look, No! I thought parents were supposed to look at it first.

We know that Tony, but they don’t seal the envelopes. You can always peek inside and have a look, said Mike. Your Mum and Dad will never know. You’ve got your school report on yer, right? So have a quick look, we ain’t gonna tell on yer are we? Go on, don’t be a twerp, take a look.

Antony hesitated, but among mates, with a burst of bravado, he decided to have a peek. The boys had collapsed onto the warm grass and were soaking up the sun. Antony unzipped his schoolbag, and retrieved the small, brown, envelope, Antony Davis, School Report, 1990-91, it read. With trembling hands, he opened the flap of the envelope, and pulled out the folded report from inside as though it contained the secrets of the universe. Colin made a grab for the report, but a steely glance from Keith stopped him.

Try it again Morgan, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do, warned Keith.

Colin laughed like a demented hyena, Only joking, only joking!

The boys sat up and crowded behind Antony eager to know his subject marks when a strong, pungent, smell like bad eggs wafted around them.

Who farted! gasped Antony, holding his nose between his forefingers.

Keith! cried Mike and Colin together.

It wasn’t me! said Keith in mock horror, although he’d blushed red, and had started to giggle.

Hey! The one who denied it, supplied it! said Colin.

The one who smelt it, dealt it! shot back Keith.

Tony! Chorused three boys laughing together, as they pointed Antony’s way.

Look you lot! Belt up will yer! I’m trying to read this! Antony’s eyebrows knitted together scrutinising the covering letter from his form tutor, Mrs Hicks. The boys crowded round him to read over his shoulder. Antony tried to hide it from them at first, but soon saw it was futile. Colin read it aloud, imitating a high-fluting female voice:

"Antony has endured a difficult school year, while missing two months due to hospitalisation. After returning to school in March, he achieved remarkable grades in most subjects, although his mathematical skills leave much to be desired.

Many of the teachers have expressed a general opinion that Antony lacks concentration and is therefore easily distracted. The teachers also believe that Antony’s slight hearing loss is a major contributing factor to this minor blemish on his achievements.

We are all very pleased with his progress. Keep up the good work, Antony.

Signed, Mrs S. Hicks."

Well that ain’t too bad, said Mike.

Hmm…dunno, Mike, Antony said shaking his head. Me Dad will only look at the bad parts of the letter. Lacks concentration, and is therefore easily distracted. He won’t like that.

Yeah, but hold up Tone, said Keith. Look what it says underneath that, Antony’s slight hearing loss is a major contributing factor to this minor blemish on his achievements. You’ve got yourself covered mate! So don’t worry about it. Let’s have a look at your subject marks. Keith grabbed the report, and began to read aloud the marks from the subject assessment paper. History – Exam 97 percent - Position in class - 1st. No surprise there, Tony.

Mike nodded in agreement, Tony’s the mutts nuts in history, always was always will be.

Keith continued, English Literature – Exam 87 percent - Position in class – 4th. Whoa, not bad, sunshine! That Miss Grant has obviously got a thing for you. Keith fluttered his eyelids and winked.

Must be his good looks and sparkling personality, chimed Colin in an effeminate voice. Have you kissed Miss Grant underwater yet, Tone?

Wot! Oh belt up, Colin! Hurry up, Keith will yer? I’ve got to get home soon, said Antony shooting an anxious glance at his watch.

Okay. Okay. Hold yer horses, here we go. Art – Exam 89 percent - Position in class – 3rd. Hey Judas likes our little Tony, too.

Here! Who’s Judas then? asked Colin with a sideways glance at Keith.

My God! Don’t you know your scriptures, Colin? said Antony. Judas Iscariot was one of the original apostles. It was him, that sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.

Oh got yer, replied Colin. So now he’s teaching Art at Hounslow Manor. Bit of a come down, if you ask me!

The boys guffawed together.

You berk! Mike said giggling, Judas is a nickname we’ve given to one of our Art teachers, called Mr Priest. Judas – Priest, named after the heavy metal band, of the same name.

Gotcha, replied Colin.

Hurry up, Keith it’s nearly half-past four! said Antony.

Keith shook his head and tutted. Mathematics – Exam 32 percent - Position in class –35th. Not good enough, Tony. Metalwork – Exam 33 percent - Position in class - 36th. Woodwork – Exam 39 percent - Position in class – 37th. Antony was groaning as each mark got lower, and lower.

Hold up Tone, it does get better. Keith cleared his throat, Geography – Exam 87 percent - Position in class – 2nd. English Language – Exam 86 percent - Position in class 5th. French - Exam 84 percent - Position in class 6th. Oh, la la! Monsieur Davis tres bien, said Keith in a mock French accent. Well you’re off to Corsica tomorrow Tone, so you can brush up your French even more over there.

All right, lads! boomed a voice behind them. It belonged to another of the Inwood Park faithful, Dillip Patel, or Dill for short as he was known as. He flopped down beside them, Its boiling today. Wotcha doing?

Laughing at Tony’s school report, Colin quipped, before anybody else could speak.

Dill grabbed Antony around the throat from behind, and wrestled with him. How’s my favourite next door neighbour today, eh, eh? He slightly relaxed his hold around Antony’s throat.

Your favourite next door neighbour will be fine, if you’ll just stop strangling him, gasped Antony.

Releasing Antony from his clutches, Dill checked out the report. Not bad, Mr Davis, not bad at all. We definitely need to brush up your Maths though. I’ve told you before Tone, anytime you want I’ll help yer.

Antony got up glancing at his watch, Leave it out Dill. Look guys I gotta go. Are you coming Dill or wot? As he began to make tracks toward one of the park’s gates.

All right I’m coming. See you later guys, Dill picked up his schoolbag, and hurried after his friend.

Antony turned back to face his friends, Righto, chaps. I’ll see you in a week okay!

Yeah Tone, have a good holiday mate! said the remaining boys.

Oy, Tone! Watch out for those Frenchie birds now! shouted Keith in an effeminate voice prancing about, to demonstrate his point.

He can’t hear you, said Colin.

Hey, Tone! No French kissing right? bellowed Mike.

Keith yelled. Oy Tony! If you meet a nice French girl. Get her address right, and then you can send letters to each other. Then you’ll get loads of French letters!

Antony turned and gave a one-fingered salute.

The boys all laughed.

With Tony’s luck, he’ll meet a beautiful French girl, out in Corsica, and she’ll have five older brothers looking after her, said Mike.

The boys laughed again.

Yeah, said Colin. I hope he don’t kiss her underwater though.

*****

Dill caught up with Antony, and handed back his school report. It’s not that bad Tony really. What’s up mate? Cat got yer tongue?

No it’s all right Dill, I’m fine, honest.

The two boys threaded their way though the alleyways separating the backs of the houses between Livingstone and Stanley Roads. They crossed another road, and strolled along Kings Avenue where they both lived. Marching along together they struck up a bastardised version of Land of Hope, and Glory, substituting the words with the names of football teams. Hanging on to each other, laughing and singing, in between an occasional sideswipe, they got more rambunctious the closer they got to home. As they neared Dill’s gate they spotted his father, Ashok, in the front garden watering his hydrangea bushes.

Ha, caught you, Dill said.

Hello boys, you both look happy! Mr Patel addressed them. I thought it was you I heard singing just now. Now, let me see, I’m sure I know that tune, but I don’t think I remember Manchester United and Chelsea being in the words, though.

The boys giggled.

Well I’d better go inside, I’ve still got lot’s of packing to do. I’ll see you later Dill, see yer Uncle Ash.

Yeah okay, Tone, see you later, Dill said, already showing his father the excellent marks on his school report.

Bye, Antony. If I don’t see you tomorrow, you have a great time in Corsica and look after your parents, okay?

Sure thing, Uncle Ash. Bye.

Chapter 2

Jim Davis mopped his brow and collected up his paperwork from the van’s dashboard. He was looking forward to his coming vacation, but felt thoroughly uninspired about going to Corsica. Getting out of his van, with its bright blue lettering on a white background, proudly advertising, Davis & Co – Decorator’s Ltd. He trudged to his four-bedroom, semi-detached house. The paint was flaking from the window of the master bedroom. He couldn’t help seeing things like that, as though he was on auto pilot. Funny, he thought, how decorators seemed to have the worst kept houses. He’d noticed that even some of the best landscape gardeners shared the same problem. Too busy earning a living to find the time to look after their own places. Too sick of doing the same thing too. Bad for the reputation, he thought. He would have to tackle it when he got back from vacation.

Ashok, his next door neighbour, was out tending his blooms. No wonder they always looked so good.

Alright there Ashok! How are you mate?

Hi Jim. I’m fine thanks. Did you have a good day?

Not bad, not bad. Jim peered over the fence. Ashok’s garden was always immaculate. Garden’s looking as lovely as ever, Ashok. He breathed in the sweet fragrance from the bedding plants. Smells like spring. Ashok’s hydrangeas were showing off his expertise, both pink and blue, and all fluffed up like show pigeons. The cheek of it. I’m green with envy, Ashok, but it doesn’t seem to make my thumbs work any better. I think you’d better ask Meena to come over and give us some lessons, eh?

Ashok surveyed his neighbour’s somewhat dishevelled front garden. Nice compliment, Jim, thanks, but yours is okay. He winked. You need to deadhead the roses a bit though. I’ll do it for you while you’re away.

Good man. Oh yeah, and while you’re at it, don’t forget to keep an eye on every thing else here as well. No wild parties, right. I don’t trust my lot for a second. Hey, we really appreciate you and Meena helping us out while we’re gone. It’s a relief to know the kids will have you both as backup.

Sure Jim. No problem, but I hardly think the house is going to fall down in a week, and your children are old enough to look after themselves now. Ashok laughed, You’re worrying about nothing as usual. Meena and I will make sure everything’s okay. You go and have a great time in Corsica.

Corsica, bloody Corsica! It’s hardly the Algarve, or the Costa Brava is it? I mean, will they serve some decent beer over there? No! I bet it’ll be a load of gnats and cheap wine. Jim rolled his eyes. You know why we’re going there, don’t you? Cause Antony’s got a bee in his flipping bonnet at the moment about Napoleon.

Jim had been horrified when he’d heard that Antony had chosen Corsica as their holiday destination for the summer. They’d let him decide in the hope it would cheer him up. He’d been so down in the dumps since his ear surgery failed.

Jim leaned further over the fence, dropping his voice. I’ll let you into a secret Ashok. I can’t stand the French. Never have and never will. A right bunch of slippery customers they are. Always put themselves first in everything, and sod off to the rest of us. Jim sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. Do you know what Ashok? My old Mum and Dad put up a load of Jewish refugees escaping from the Nazi’s before the war. What the bloody French did to those people coming through France to England was criminal, absolute criminal. They were bloody charging em a franc, a franc for a glass of water. Now I ask you what kind of people does that to refugees eh? Only a bunch of greedy bar stewards that’s who! That’s the flaming frogs for yer, I don’t trust em for nothing! Jim shook his head, and let out a deep sigh. All my lot in tonight are they?

Oh yes they’re all in. Hey, you should have heard the Queen’s Park Ranger’s songs, that the Lone Ranger and Tonto were singing coming down the avenue a while back.

What was that Ashok? Tonto! I beg your pardon mate. I know that Antony’s the Lone Ranger, seeing as he’s the only QPR supporter in our family. But you calling your Dill Tonto is a bit strong. I’d be branded a racist if I said something like that in public.

Ashok grinned. Well, we can’t have you branded a racist now, can we?

Jim stifled a fit of giggles, and Ashok joined in.

Come on Jim. You and I both know there’s worse things in life than being called a harmless nickname. Anyway the best way to defeat prejudice is to laugh it in the face. Some people get too defensive at times. I say if you can laugh at yourself, you can laugh at anything.

Jim chuckled. Tonto that’s a good un.

Anyway, Tonto and the Lone Ranger were sworn blood brothers, always ready to help one another in times of trouble. Now you look at our two boys, they’re like blood brothers. They’ve grown up together, shared the same toys, hopes, and dreams. You couldn’t ask for better friends now could you?

Well I’ve got to agree with you about one thing Ashok. The Lone Ranger and Tonto are a bunch of dreamers. And only dreamers support QPR, the bunch of berks!

Jim made his way to his front door whistling a tune loudly. I’d better get in. Tea will be ready soon. Cheers then, mate. He turned and whispered conspiratorially to his friend, I’ll see you round the back later Ashok, about nine o’clock?

Ashok glanced toward his own house, and seeing no sign of his wife Meena eavesdropping gave Jim a thumbs up.

Good, whispered Jim, with a wink, We’ll finish off that last bottle of elderberry wine together, okay.

Jim was a keen home brewer of beer, and also dabbled with making wine. Not a vintage batch, but Jim didn’t care. He saved himself a fortune not over-indulging his favourite pastime down at the local pub. As he shouldered in through the door some paint flaked off one of the panels. Bloody house maintenance. It always needed doing. Maybe he could get one of the boys to do it. He shuddered at the thought. If he asked his son Andrew he’d want paying for sure. Shame he couldn’t get paid for doing his own house, Jim thought ironically. Ah well, at least he’d get the paint at cost price.

Evening all! Jim bellowed, making his way into the dining room. There was a low growl followed by raucous canine singing. The little terrier leapt up at him, gleefully wagging its tail and setting up an almighty din. We should enter this dog in a karaoke competition. Chip the family pet was now tap dancing wildly around his feet. "Well I’m glad someone’s pleased to see me anyway. All right then Chip! Get down. Down! That’s a good boy. Good dog. Oh yes, I love you too."

Jim’s two older sons were sprawled across the sofa, one engrossed in a book, the other in the sports pages, while the television blared out full volume in front of them. The rest of the evening paper was lying in ruins on the floor. It was an uncompromising fact in the Davis household that everything was done loud. The television, radio, hi-fi, even talking, were all conducted at full volume for Antony’s benefit.

Alright there chaps!

Peter, the eldest, grunted a reply, his head buried in a computer programming book as usual. Andrew, the younger by two years, gave a casual wave of the hand. Jim mused on what a difference there was between them. Like chalk and cheese they were. It never ceased to amaze him.

Peter, now almost twenty-seven, was the quiet, studious one of the family. He’d gone to university, graduating with a degree in computer science. Like his father, Peter was short in stature, but made up for it in his knowledge of most things. Andrew was opposite in the extreme. He too was small, but counterbalanced his size with personality. Extrovert, quick witted, the chatterbox of the family, he was always laughing and joking. Andrew’s trade was repairing televisions. He was a wizard with anything mechanical. If anything broke in the Davis household, Andrew could fix it, or knew someone who could. He squirmed like an eel, fidgeting with pent up energy like a volcano waiting to explode. Andrew flung the sports page of the paper he’d been reading on the floor, and bit one of his fingernails as he shouted.

Hurry up with that food will yer Catherine! I’m starving out here!

Jim went into the kitchen to greet his two favourite girls, his wife, Louise and daughter Catherine. Louise stood at the kitchen sink, straining the water from some cooked peas.

Alright my love? asked Jim, as he cuddled her from behind, and kissed her neck.

Be careful, you might burn yourself.

Why are you that hot then! chirped Jim. Whoa, hey! as he pinched her bottom.

Not me you fool! The boiling water.

Jim grabbed a handful of cooked peas from the sieve, and flung them into his mouth. Hoh ha ho, they’re hot!

Well, I just told you so didn’t I?

How’s my princess today then? said Jim eyeing the jewel in the crown of the Davis roost.

Catherine, now almost twenty, had blossomed into an attractive young woman. She was a carbon copy of her mother at the same age, with all the same alluring attributes, blonde hair, svelte figure, and sparkling personality.

How was college today then sweetheart? said Jim sitting at the pine kitchen table.

Fine thanks, Dad. I learnt some new recipes today. I’ll try them out on you when you come back from Corsica. She put down his Chelsea mug full of steaming tea. All packed and ready to go then, are you?

Almost. I’ll finish off the rest of it tonight. Have you washed me Chelsea shirt yet Louise?

You’re not taking that tatty old thing! said Louise in mock horror. I thought we were going on holiday to make friends, not enemies!

Ear! There’s nothing wrong with the Chelsea football shirt you know. Nothing offensive about it at all. Might even add a bit of culture about the place. Anyway, I bet The Lone Ranger’s taking his Ranger’s tops. If there’s anything that’s gonna offend the locals, it’ll be him wearing a QPR shirt. Jim laughed at the thought.

Louise smiled, and piped up in a wistful voice. Now Bobby Moore in his England shirt, and his shorts on. Hmm…now that would definitely impress the locals. She sighed dreamily. Bobby’s still got the best pair of legs I’ve ever seen on a man.

Catherine and Jim smirked at each other. It was common knowledge in the Davis family that Louise carried a torch for Bobby Moore, the captain of the 1966 England World Cup winning team.

Watch out, Mum, you’ll be making Dad jealous again. Catherine grinned at her father who was up from his chair and putting in a bit of fancy footwork around the kitchen, in between some frenetic commentary.

And its Davis. Davis. Oh look at that. He’s passed the ball to Moore but Moore’s lost it, and the crowd’s booing, but Davis has it back and he’s roaring along the field and yes he’s made it right down to the goal post. The crowd’s going mad. Jim stopped to take a breather and tackle his wife.

Cut it out, Jim, I’ll spill the peas. Anyway there’s no tackling allowed. You know that. Enough of your acting now. Here, hold this and make yourself useful, Louise said, passing him a stack of plates.

Hey Mum, aren’t you going to tell Dad about Antony’s school report? said Catherine.

O yes, you old wonder star, it’s on the table, if you’re interested.

Well, of course I’m interested. Why didn’t you tell me before, said Jim, becoming serious.

I couldn’t get a word in edgeways with all your nonsense, now, could I?

The envelope was propped up nice and prim on top of the salt and pepper cellars. Gingerly removing the report, Jim scoured every word from front to back, frequently interjecting his reading with ems, tuts, ahhs, shaking and nodding of his head.

Not bad, he said eventually, and gulped down the rest of his tea. Where’s the Lone Ranger anyway?

Out in the garden I think, said Catherine beginning to dish out some chips, onto the array of plates.

Ear! chirped Jim. You never guess what Ashok next door calls Dillip?

No. What’s that then? whispered Louise.

Catherine strained to listen as Jim giggled,

Well, cos we call Antony the Lone Ranger, seeing he’s the only QPR fan in our house, Ashok’s gone and nicknamed Dillip Tonto to match em up.

Jim guffawed. Louise and Catherine gasped and started to giggle.

I tell you what, continued Jim. I was quite shocked at first when Ashok told me, but you’ve got to see the funny side of it, haven’t you.

Jim got up from the table, and started coughing.

Well, said Louise. I’ve heard people called a lot worse. Does Meena know?

Don’t know, coughed Jim again. I’m just going out into the garden for a while.

Good, you can round up the Lone Ranger then. And don’t you be too long, we’re dishing up.

Out on the back lawn, Antony and Dillip gabbled away to each other. Chip lay next to them, his paws over Antony’s legs, with a frayed tennis ball in his mouth. Antony had a guidebook on Corsica open in front of them, and was pointing out various photographs to Dillip.

Ah. The Lone Ranger and Ton…Dillip, said Jim. How’s it going chaps?

Alright Dad. Dill and I were just looking at this guidebook on Corsica. It’s gonna be a great holiday. Lots of fantastic places to see. It’s gonna be brilliant.

Tonto! Tonto! Come on now, your tea’s ready!

Startled by the shrill, female voice from behind, Jim spun round to find Meena Patel, dressed in a brightly coloured sari, beckoning to her son over the garden fence.

Oh hello Jim, I am sorry. Did I startle you? Had a good day?

Yes, fine thanks, Meena. Everything alright with you?

Oh fine, fine. Come along now Dillip, it’s time for your tea. You can talk to Antony later. She beckoned her son over with a furious wave of her hand.

See you later Tone, said Dillip getting up.

Bye Antony, bye Jim! called Meena again.

Yeah, see you Meena, bye Dillip! shouted Jim. He chuckled, I hear they call Dillip Tonto next door now?

Yeah, it’s quite funny really, said Antony. I said to Dill, maybe we should get ourselves some horses. Then we could turn your shed into stables Dad.

Not on your nelly mate! Jim flopped down on the grass, grabbed the tennis ball out of the dog’s mouth and flung it down the garden.

Antony watched the flight of the ball and the dog’s mad dash after it. Oh no, here it comes, he thought. He stole a look at his father. You gonna talk about my report, aren’t you? He pulled up a blade of grass and carefully examined it, while trying to appear nonchalant.

Jim stopped dead in his tracks, as he’d been about to open his mouth. Yes, it is about your report, among other things. You sure took the words right out of my mouth there.

Meatloaf.

Err - sorry what was that?

It’s a song by Meatloaf. You took the words right out of my mouth. It’s on the Bat out of Hell album.

Jim shook his head. Look Antony I’m a bit worried about some of the teacher’s comments in your report. They said something about you not paying enough attention in class. What’s that all about then, eh? You know you can be a real clever clot at times.

Sighing, Antony threw the blade of grass away. He knew where this pep talk was leading to, having trod along this weary path so many times before. It always came to the same dead-end. ‘Wear your hearing aid.’ He squeezed his fingers around the edge of his kneecaps, bleaching them white under the pressure.

Dad don’t butter me up. I know what you’re going to say, so just don’t bother!

"Look sunshine. I’m not buttering you up, and please don’t use that expression with me, and look at me when I’m talking to you. I am telling you the facts. You are clever. Your school report doesn’t lie. Some of your marks are very good."

Taking off his glasses, Antony licked some saliva over one of the lenses, and cleaned it off with his handkerchief. He wished his father wouldn’t look at him so intensely. That was one real bonus of being hard of hearing. You learnt to read people’s body language so closely that if you wanted to, you could pretty much be always one up on them. It could be embarrassing at times. You could see things they’d be quite unconscious about. But he hated it when the tables were turned.

You know what, Antony, you’re quite handsome without your glasses on. Why don’t we get you some contact lenses? That’s bound to impress the girls, eh?

Now you really are laying it on thick!

Look don’t take that tone with me son! I’m only trying to help you. Jim grabbed hold of his son by the shoulders, looking into Antony’s face, to make sure he heard every word. You can’t hear properly, right. You’ve got an eight hundred pound hearing aid sitting up in your bedroom you never use. And which I might add, your mother and I paid for out of the goodness of our hearts and with a lot of elbow grease. You know that money doesn’t grow on trees. So why don’t you do us all a bloody favour, and wear the damn thing, okay!

Antony! Jim! Tea’s on the table, come and get it! Louise called from the kitchen back door.

Seeing her, Antony scrambled to his feet knowing by intuition that tea was ready.

Yeah that’s right, Dad. That’s right! Why don’t I do you all a favour, and wear my hearing aid. His face was flushed and tight with anger. How about you do me a bloody favour and belt up!

Striding away from his father before he could get to his feet, Antony pushed roughly past his mother, hardly seeing her in his rage.

Antony! I’m not having that. Don’t talk to your father that way. We’re only trying to help you love! she said, reaching out to touch him. He swung round at her, shrugging her hand off his arm.

Help me! Help me. Nobody can help me, Mum. At school people see a person with glasses and that’s fine, but when they see a person with a hearing aid, they see a stupid person. You don’t know what it’s like, so don’t try and pretend you do. If you really want to help me Mum, just leave me alone, okay.

Antony, his eyes streaming, bounded through the kitchen, rushed upstairs and dived into the sanctuary of his own room, before anybody could see his tears.

Louise gawped at Jim who was still sitting on the grass looking like he’d just been lobbed a live hand grenade. Pep talk didn’t go too well then? she said, walking up to him, and touched him gently on his shoulder.

What the hell do you think? I don’t know, Louise. I despair with that boy sometimes. I’m trying so hard to help him, but there’s only so much we can do. Every time I try and to talk to him, the words come out all wrong, and we end up going nowhere. One-step forward, two steps back I just feel like giving up on the whole sorry mess at times.

Louise stood behind Jim, and stroked his hair. Come on love, don’t say that.

She glanced round the garden, as though searching for inspiration. You know you can’t do that. Antony’s our flesh and blood. We’ve got to get through to him somehow. Once we do, he can face up to his disability; and then face up to life. If we give up on him now, we might as well give up on ourselves. She paused and took a deep breath as if to muster some strength. The Davis’s are fighters, and we’ve got to fight for Antony now. Once he realises things aren’t all that bad for him, he can fight for himself. We’ve just got to keep trying to get through to him, that’s all.

Louise held herself upright, her jaw locked with determination. Jim glanced up, took her hand and kissed it.

I know you’re right love, it’s just that I feel so helpless at times. I would do anything for that boy, you know that. I’d cut off my flaming right arm, if I thought it would make him hear any better, but it won’t. I know you think I’m being hard on him sometimes, and maybe I am, but do you think when he turns sixteen and leaves school, the world’s going to welcome him with open arms? Jim shook his head and sighed. How’s he gonna survive in a world where he can’t respect himself, let alone anyone else! He’s thirteen now, it’s not that far away Louise. I’m so scared for him.

Come on, don’t upset yourself now. Louise leant down and kissed Jim’s thinning patch of hair.

I blame myself, I really do choked Jim. In fact we’re all to blame, you, Peter, Andrew, and Catherine. We should have all spotted Antony’s problems long ago.

Louise frowned at Jim’s accusations and bit her lip. Seeing her confusion and pain, he began to explain.

"Think about it Louise. How did Antony’s deafness go unnoticed for so long? He was nearly nine before we found out. We all thought he was being rude, obstinate and naughty when he was little. My God, when I think of the times we shouted at him and told him off, because he sat too close to the telly. We all thought his eyes were bad. Well, it turned out they were. But when he still sat so close to the telly, we missed