Teacher's Dead (17 page)

‘What’s the difference?’ she said, throwing the minute stones in the playground.

‘The difference is that I listen to you.’

She stopped throwing. ‘What do you want?’

‘Is Ramzi your son?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Did he ever live with you?’

‘Sometimes. Well, he didn’t really live with me but he spent a lot of time with me.’

I was confused but I felt she was opening up, so I trod carefully.

‘Trust me when I say that I really don’t want to sound rude, but did you give birth to him.’

She was quick to answer. ‘No, but he is my son. Giving birth is only a small part of being a mother. I didn’t give birth to him but it was me that took care of him, it was me that he came to when he had problems, and it was me that gave him the love that he needed. I don’t care what anyone else says, that makes him my son.’

Her tone was very aggressive. I now realised that the idea of Ramzi being her son was a fantasy in her head but I tried to talk to her more to calm her down without questioning her logic.

‘Was he a good son?’

‘Yes, he was a good son. The people he lived with just gave him a house, but I gave him a home. He didn’t live with me but I gave him a home.’ She suddenly sat down on the wall where the railings went into the concrete, and I joined her. ‘I saw you in court, didn’t I?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You think I’m a mental case too, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘I had a husband once, you know, and a son. They both died in a fire. It was my fault, they were sleeping upstairs in the nice house we used to have, and I was downstairs. I woke up, didn’t I, needed a smoke. Sat on the settee, started smoking a fag and fell asleep. When I woke up everything was on fire. I tried to run upstairs but I couldn’t. Some neighbours broke down the front door and got me out but it was too late for them. They sent me to the mental home, but I’m not mental, I just couldn’t take the stress. That was in another area, a nicer area, in a nice part of town. We had money then, we were doing well, but I lost the house. No insurance, lost my husband, lost my son. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘It’s hard for me to understand,’ I said. ‘But I’m trying to.’

Her voice got aggressive again.

‘It’s my fault, and you know what? I heard them
screaming. Can you imagine what it’s like to hear your family screaming and you can’t do anything?’

‘No, I can’t,’ I said. It was all I could say.

She dropped her voice again. ‘Care in the community. That’s what they gave me, but no one cared. Then I met Ramzi. The social services people got me a room and Ramzi lived down the road from me. He looked after me and I looked after him. He used to drop in and see me, he said he would be my son, so he was.’

Slowly it was beginning to make sense, but there was something that was bugging me.

‘He really was your son. Can you tell me about the cider?’

Once again she raised her voice and became aggressive.

‘What do you want to know about the cider, who told you anything about the cider?’

‘Please,’ I pleaded. ‘I don’t mean any harm, I don’t hate Ramzi – your son, I just need to know about the cider.’

She was silent for a while, and then she said. ‘He just liked cider.’

‘Did he used to get drunk?’

‘I don’t know. I never saw him drink a drop, I would have to buy it for him, then he and his friend would take it away. A lot of cider, a lot of the time.’

‘And you never saw him drink any?’

‘I just told you, no.’

I stood up. ‘I’m really sorry about what happened to you, but thanks for talking to me. Honest, I’m not like the rest.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’re nice. Do you want to be my son?’

I felt awkward. I really didn’t want to offend or upset her.

‘I have three mums already. Join the queue.’

For the first time I saw a tiny little smile on her face.

‘I have to go now,’ I said. ‘Which way are you going? Let’s walk together.’

‘No. I want to stay here for a while. I’ll be all right. You go on.’

‘Take care,’ I said and I left.

What she told me had numbed me. I felt as if I walked the first part of my journey home without looking where I was going. There was so much to think about. Things were coming together now but I really couldn’t understand what Warren meant when he mentioned the cider. It felt like such an odd thing to throw in the mix. I had to find out more, so I ran to Bevington Road where Warren lived. When I got there Warren was riding his bicycle up and down the street with a friend. I shouted to him.

‘Warren. Please, man, I need to talk to you.’

‘You again,’ he said as he skidded around me,
followed by his friend.

‘Who’s this?’ asked his friend.

‘He’s just a friend from school,’ said Warren. ‘Well, sometimes he’s a friend.’

I walked away. ‘Come here, Warren. I need to speak to you in private.’

Warren followed me and his friend rode off.

‘Warren, you got to tell me. What’s this about the cider?’

‘Didn’t she tell you?’

‘I asked her and she said she used to give Ramzi lots of cider.’

‘There you are, then.’

‘But what does that mean? She said she never saw him drink any.’

‘That’s because he didn’t drink.’

‘I’ve got it,’ I said. ‘He gave the drink to Lionel.’

‘No. Lionel didn’t drink either.’

Frustrated, I stamped my foot on the ground. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Walk down the road,’ said Warren.

I began to walk and he pushed his bike and walked with me. After a short silence he began to speak.

‘Lionel and Ramzi were weird, but they weren’t tough. Have you ever seen them fight?’

‘No,’ I replied.

‘Once they were beaten up by Terry Stock and his gang, and after that they bullied them all the time.
First of all they made them do weird things, then they made them bring them sweets and stuff, and then they made them bring cider in for them. Ramzi got the cider from the old lady, as long as he visited her she gave him anything he wanted. So he asked for lots of cider because he couldn’t buy it in the shops. She needed someone that she could treat like a son, he needed to supply the bullies with cider. They were under pressure, man. That’s all I know. Every day they would have to get cider. They were weirdoes but I felt sorry for them. Right, that’s it. I gotta go.’

We stopped walking. ‘Thanks, man,’ I said.

‘Don’t tell anybody I told you stuff.’

‘I promise, I won’t. Trust me.’

He rode off to join his friend, and I went home to eat and sleep on it all.

New questions were being thrown up all the time. I didn’t know the old lady’s name but the conversations I had had with her and Warren were being replayed in my mind again and again. I really didn’t want to go to school the next day but I couldn’t think of an excuse to tell my mother. There was also the small matter of the law of the land that I was becoming so keen on upholding, so I went. With all that on my mind I couldn’t control my need to keep asking questions, but I knew I had to be careful.

I picked out a few kids and discreetly asked them if they were ever friends with Ramzi or Lionel, but it was as I thought, they didn’t make a habit of making friends. I got another lead though when I spoke to a girl in our class, Anna Zelensky. When I asked her if she knew much about Ramzi or Lionel, she said, ‘No, don’t be stupid. Everyone knows they were loners. I shouldn’t say this but I used to really feel sorry for them. I know they killed Mr Joseph but I really felt sorry for them.’

‘Why?’

‘Because people picked on them so much. Even on the day they killed Mr Joseph they were being bullied, but because everyone was concentrating on Mr Joseph no one asked about that. Nobody said anything about the bullying because that would make you look like you were sticking up for them. Nobody asked about them because they were seen as the baddies.’

‘I am,’ I said. ‘I’m asking about them.’

‘Only now, when it’s too late, and even now what do you know? Do you know about Lionel’s dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know about the animals?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you know that Terry Stock and his horrible friends used to force them to bring them stuff. Pens, money, watches?’

‘Cider,’ I interrupted.

‘Yes, cider,’ she said. ‘It’s a real shame. Even the day before the killing I saw Ramzi and Lionel on their knees while Terry and them were pushing them and telling them to bring cider the next day.’

‘What, you saw that, did you?’

‘I saw it all right, right in front of me. I’ve even seen Lola, Priti, Terry and Alex drinking the cider after school and laughing their heads off.’

‘Were you there when Mr Joseph was stabbed?’

‘No. I came after it was all over.’

I thanked her and moved on but just as I was walking into the building another girl in our class, Martina Telford, approached me.

‘Hey, Jackson, have you and Terry Stock been fighting?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, I was told that you and his lot were at war.’

‘Well, they tried to push me around a bit, and someone threw paint over my house and smashed my window, and I think it was them. That’s it really. I don’t know if that’s called war, I ain’t doing any fighting.’

‘I can’t stand that lot. Did Terry pull his knife on you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I replied, surprised. ‘Has he got one?’

‘I saw him with one. He was showing off with it to his friends. Sharpening it and doing his stabbing movements.’

‘Why don’t you tell a teacher?’

‘Because I haven’t seen him with one lately. I’m talking about ages ago, I think it was in April or something. Yeah, April, the same day that Mr Joseph was killed.’

My thinking quickened. ‘The day Mr Joseph was killed?’

‘Yeah, but when I saw them they were outside of school. Around the side of the newsagent’s on Gower Street.0’

‘Did they see you?’

‘Yeah, and they chased me and told me to mind my own business, that’s why I don’t go anywhere near them.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police? You know that Mr Joseph was killed by a knife,’ I asked.

‘They didn’t kill Mr Joseph, and anyway I was scared, and I don’t mind saying it. I didn’t want them to start picking on me.’ Suddenly she turned and ran into the school. ‘Later.’

Her place was taken by Terry Stock and Alex Morris. They pushed me into a corner and moved in on me so that it was hard for anyone to see me.

‘Leave me alone,’ I said. ‘You know what Mrs Martel said, you have to leave me alone.’

‘Are you looking for trouble?’ said Terry.

‘Just leave me alone.’

‘Just shut up. We’ll leave you alone if you leave her alone.’

‘Leave who alone?’ I asked.

‘Her, that girl you were just talking to,’ said Alex.

‘What’s so important about her?’ I said.

‘Just leave her alone.’

In an attempt to sound tough I said, ‘Say if I don’t?’

Terry turned his back to me and thrust his elbow into my stomach, reminding me that I wasn’t tough.

‘That’s what,’ he said.

‘What’s she to you anyway?’ asked Alex.

Terry turned back round and they both pushed themselves into me so hard that I felt embedded into the wall.

Terry spoke in one ear. ‘Just ease off.’

And Alex spoke in the other. ‘Or you’re dead.’

They then walked off briskly and so did I, straight to the school secretary, where I demanded to see Mrs Martel. Maybe it was because of the speed that I spoke at and my roughed-up look, but the secretary looked scared. She made her call and showed me into the head teacher’s office. I didn’t wait for Mrs Martel to speak; I was shivering with anger as I spoke.

‘Mrs Martel, Terry Stock just elbowed me. Him and Alex Morris threatened me.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just now, miss, as I was walking into the school. You got to do something about it, miss, you said you would.’

‘I did, and I will. You can rest assured that I will punish them severely. OK, go and get registered and I’ll speak to you later today after I have decided what steps to take.’

‘I’m not just going back out there as if nothing’s happened, you have to do something about it now.’

She went back to her window. ‘I can’t do anything right now, these things take time.’

‘They’ll just deny it or something, call them now, miss, let them face me now.’

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘You can,’ I insisted.

She turned to me. ‘You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do.’

‘They’ve been identified, they have been given a warning, what else do you want?’

‘I need to hear their side of the story.’

‘I want them to face me now, here.’

‘Why, what difference will it make? I can’t understand why you don’t just let me do things my way.’

Then I told her what was really on my mind. ‘Because I think they should face their victim, and I think they should face the truth.’

I wasn’t sure how to connect my next sentence, so I left a pause before speaking as slowly and as clearly as I could.

‘I think they had something to do with the killing of Mr Joseph, miss.’

She laughed, as all adults seem to do when they don’t believe something.

‘Don’t talk rubbish. As you know there’s been a full police inquiry, and a court trial for that matter, and the case is closed.’

‘The police asked a lot of questions, but there were a lot of questions they didn’t ask. And the trial, you were there, because they pleaded guilty there was no trial.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Mrs Martel. ‘I’m not going
down this path. The case is closed and that’s that. It’s over.’

I could see that I had to use a more relevant reason to get them in Mrs Martel’s office.

‘OK, but I still want them here. You, me and them. You say you have a zero-tolerance policy to bullying, you told me that you’ll do whatever it takes to protect me. Now I need protection, I want justice to be seen to be done.’

She thought for a moment.

‘OK. I don’t normally give in so easily but you’re the victim and I respect your wishes. I just hope this works.’