The Summer We All Ran Away (24 page)

It was like walking into every church jumble sale from his childhood. He inhaled the scent of old clothes and books
and felt dizzy. Who knew this was how freedom would smell? The three volunteers – two women in their fifties, who he'd expected, and a man in his twenties, who he hadn't – fell respectfully silent as he came in. He could feel their gaze moving over him like fingers. Hastily, he picked out trousers, a shirt, a pair of shoes. Took them to the counter.

“That's twelve twenty-five,” said the woman, then hesitated. “Although since you're um - ”

“No, I insist,” said Tom, appalled. “Really.” He thumbed through his envelope of cash, found a twenty pound note, handed it over.

“Well, if you're sure.”

He glanced at the name on the plastic bag she was offering him. What on earth was Scope?

“Of course I'm sure,” he said firmly. “Thank you very much.”

“D'you know, I never knew - ” the young man was looking at Tom's robes in fascination. “Doesn't it get really hot with real clothes on underneath?”

Did this man actually imagine he was wearing an entire other layer of clothing beneath his habit? Tom laughed. It felt good. It had been years since he'd last felt like it.

“Actually,” he said, “it does. Thank you both, I'll maybe see you again soon.”

Outside the shop, he inspected the handful of change: a note, five coins. The only one he recognised was the fifty pence piece. The others might as well have been from another country. Now he needed to change, but where? Were there still public toilets? What would happen if he went into a pub and tried to use the facilities? And what time did the pubs even open?

He was aware that he'd changed, deeply and utterly, from the man who had walked into the monastery decades ago. Nonetheless, he'd somehow imagined the world on the other side of the wall had remained mothballed. Staring at the mysterious assemblage of coins in his hand, he realised
that he was a stranger, lost in a strange land. The thought was unquestionably thrilling.

He could go anywhere. He could do anything. And no-one, no-one would know.

He had to stop himself from skipping down the pavement.

When Davey opened his eyes again, he was lying on the hall floor. James stood over him, panting and flexing his fingers, perspective turning him back into the malign giant who had haunted Davey's dreams since he was three years old.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” James demanded.

The word
sorry
fluttered automatically up to Davey's lips. For the first time in his life, he swallowed it.

“Did you ever think,” he said instead, forcing the words out between swollen lips, “that maybe there's a bloody good reason Nature fixed it so you'd never get to be a real father?”

After that, James beat him until he lost consciousness.

“We'll have to be quiet,” Priss whispered as Mark drew her onto his lap. His mouth was flushed and rosy. His hands fumbled for her breasts.

“You mean you'll have to be quiet,” he whispered back. “You're the screamer, not me.”

“Fuck off, I am not, ohhh - ”

“Jesus, Priss, you feel so
good.”

Struggling for silence, they moved together in constrained ecstasy. On the other side of the wall of the disabled toilet, they could hear the headmaster Mr Yates tearing a clinically efficient strip off Dean Reynolds, who had apparently been caught selling speed at break time. Mouths pressed tightly together, they reached orgasm to the news that the police had been called and would be arriving in Mr Yates' office shortly.

Everything, everything felt different. The babies rode in prams like miniature space capsules and entered every shop ahead of their mothers, who wore tops like vests that showed
smooth gold arms and shoulders and white linen trousers that showed the line of their underwear, and sunglasses perched on top of their heads. He didn't mean to stare – he didn't want to be conspicuous – but he couldn't help himself. The last time he'd taken any notice, mothers wore flowery frocks, babies waited outside, and people stopped to peer in and pat them on the heads like dogs.

About half the people he saw were busy with phones, either pressing them to their ear and chattering away to thin air, or weaving their way through the throngs of people while simultaneously tapping frantically away at the keys. Their progress was smooth and effortless; they never walked into each other, or collided with anything. How had they acquired this new skill? Could he do it too? Would he have to, in order to live in this world?

In the middle of a square, a huge oval corrugated capsule bore the label PUBLIC TOILET. Its shape reminded him of a French
pissoir
, but he couldn't see how you got in or out. There were buttons and lights, and something about time limits after which the door would automatically open, and Tom walked away from it in amused despair. How could even this most basic of human functions have become so mysteriously complicated?

He could ask for directions, he supposed, but who could he ask? Who should he pick? They all noticed him, the habit saw to that, but once they'd processed the simple fact of his presence
(Whoa look a monk / that's kind of cool actually / didn't realise they still existed / oh well)
, they swerved away, avoiding contact. His habit apparently projected a personal force field that kept everyone at a distance of three feet, in all directions.

A road sign caught his eye – white parallel lines crossed with a zigzag, reversed out of a red oblong – and he seized triumphantly on this icon of familiarity and set off in the direction it pointed in.

Now Davey was lying on the floor of his bedroom. He could not conceive of the strength it must have taken for James to have dragged him, six inches taller and a dead weight, up the stairs. He tried to stand up, but black dizziness pinned him to the floor.

“Not so fucking cocky now, are you?” said James, from some unknown space on the edges of his vision. “I'm meeting your mother for lunch. I'll be telling her exactly what you've done, so don't get any ideas about spinning her some nonsense when you see her.”

“Are you g-g-g - ” He clenched his fist. He wanted to ask,
Are you going to tell her what you've done? Are you going to tell her you beat me to a pulp?
But the words wouldn't come. James had beaten all the strength out of him. Defeated, Davey lay quietly and tried to focus his eyes.

“And after that,” said James, “we're going to talk about what you'll be doing this summer. You're going to pass those fucking exams if it's the last thing you do, I can tell you that much. No more allowance. No going out. Private tutor every day. And I'm clearing out all this shit - ” he saw James wave a contemptuous arm in the direction of the bookcase, stacked untidily high with dog-eared paperbacks and notebooks. “No distractions. We're taking your CDs as well. You can stay in this room until your tutor reckons you're ready to sit those exams and actually pass them. And if you fail them again, you'll stay in here some more, and study harder, until you
do
pass. Okay?”

Davey closed his eyes. The carpet felt itchy and unyielding against his cheek. He could feel the blood beginning to dry and crust against his skin. James bent down beside him, grabbed a handful of hair so he could lift Davey's head. Davey whimpered.

“I said, okay? Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

“No,” said Davey.

“Excuse me?”

“No,” Davey repeated. “No, it's not okay. It'll n-n-n - ” he
kicked his foot against the carpet in frustration. “It'll never be okay. You'll have to k-k-k-keep me locked up in here until I d-d-d-die, because I'm n-n-n-n-never going to - ”

“Give over,” said James. His voice was quiet, but his eyes were burning with triumph. “Look, we've been fighting this battle since you were a kid, haven't we? I've been trying for years and years to turn you into something worthwhile. Someone your mother can actually be proud of.”

James' face was inches from his own. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

“And in all the time you've known me,” said James, his voice sounding almost gentle, “have you ever won? Hmmm? Even once?”

“Shall I come round later?” asked Priss, picking her blouse up off the floor of the toilet.

Mark hesitated. “I might be out later.”

Priss shrugged. “Okay. Tomorrow, then?”

“Um, yeah, maybe. I'll call you, alright?”

He changed in the station toilets, stuffing his habit in the unpleasant space between U-bend and the tiled wall. Then he went to look at the destinations board. Paddington didn't feature on any board he could see, but Kings Cross must be close enough. The ticket clerk looked at his envelope of cash with deep suspicion, but sold him the ticket anyway.

“This can only be used on the specified train,” the clerk told him. “If you get on the wrong train you'll have to pay a penalty fare. Platform Three, over the bridge.”

“Thank you,” said Tom. The clerk handed him two oblongs of green and orange card, which he presumed must be his tickets. He stowed them carefully in his left pocket, re-folded the envelope and shoved it in his right and set off to look for Platform Three. The force field was still in place. People moved out of his way as he approached, careful not to catch his eye. Was it so clear that he was an outsider?

As he left the ticket office, he saw a tired, middle-aged man, wearing fusty-looking clothes and worn shoes and an expression of amused bewilderment, approaching the plate-glass door. The man had no coat and no luggage. Even to Tom's eyes, he looked poor and lost and isolated, possibly even homeless, but he seemed strangely cheerful about it. He stopped politely to let him pass through first.

It was only when the other man halted too that he realised he was looking at his own reflection.

“Your problem,” said James, “is you're weak. You're weak and pathetic and useless. But I'm going to make you into a man if it kills us both. I won't raise a spineless little bastard.”

The worst thing wasn't the pain, or the dizziness, or the blood, or even the fear. It was the bone-deep knowledge that James was right. James was stronger. James was stronger, because his mother would choose James over him.

“Okay.”

He hoped James would let go of his hair now and leave him in peace, but instead he felt the painful pull on his scalp become more intense.

“I didn't hear you.”

“Okay,” repeated Davey. His voice was a slow croak.

James smiled. The look in his eyes could probably have passed for affection. “That's right, pal. And it's for your own good, you know. In ten years' time you'll thank me for this.”

Welcome to MSN Messenger

Online: Elvisgirl, EdwardBulwerLytton

U there m8?

come on U dozy twat i can see UR online

mark U no its priss rite? talk 2 me

hey priss how RU?

at last it speaks J wassup? wot U doin?

not much just chillin U no

tht U wr out 2nite?

WTF RU checking or summat? changed mind OK?

fucking hell m8 only asked

soz

should think so 2 U twat J can still come over if U like

no its cool im busy

ok whats wrong

nothing

YY there is am not thick talk 2 me

nothing wrong its cool honest just not in mood 2nite

this isnt fkn booty call you twat weve got work 2 do

I said not 2nite ok?

priss? U there? sorry L

never mind fkn sorry whats wrong w U?

just in funny mood tonite

like last week u mean? and 2day B4 PE? starting to thk U only

want me 4 sex m8

you utter bastard

?? didnt say a fkn word!!!

YY i no U fkn didnt cos theres nthg 2 say is there? FFS all that BS abt partnership n stuff UR just like all other men only wanted 2 get into me

look Priss its not like that OK

YY it is EXACTLY lk that fk me all that fkn shit about NY was

just to get me to shag you wasnt it

id lv 2 meet U hun but shld warn U tho am not lk utha guys J

???

U utter twat UR seeing some 1 else

??? no im not

YY UR. FFS RU sum sort of msn fkwit or smthng? UR msg

sm1 else RITE NOW & U just xpost w me go bk n chk history

U fkn loser. again

?? WTF Priss is just sum guy not another girl honest so Ive

got 2 wndws open so fkn shoot me

fuck off mark am not fkn thick not that fkn thick anyway just

fkn thick enuff to shag U when UR bored n horny rite

look Priss im sorry shldnt hv dun this pm at skl i no it wasnt

fair on U but U came on rl strong and

dont even thk abt pulling that shite U >o<

lk ok UR rite sorry this isnt how I mnt 2 tell U its just run its

course U no? was gr8 rly gr8 but

NY was nvr fkn real 4U was it? was real 4 me not 4 U

lk I mnt it at the time all rite

no U didnt U just knew wot I wanted 2 hear n said it FFS how

stupid am i NY FGS I wld hv dun it 2 wld hv gone w U wld rly

hv dun it thats how much U got under my fkn skin

oh come on don't get all hvy on me priss pls it does my hed in IT DOES YOUR HEAD IN?

shit soz didnt mean it like that i dont mean 2B horrible i just look im sorry ok? can we talk about this?

priss?

dont B so childish priss UR still signed on now UR msn loser rite? J