‘Oh, I get it. It’s them, isn’t it? The ones who took your stuff yesterday.’
Elliot sighed. ‘Fine, yes it is. Can we go now?’
‘I can’t believe I didn’t guess straight away.’
‘Please, Lisa. They’ll be here any minute.’
‘Why are you running away from them?’
‘Do you really need to ask that? You saw what they did to me yesterday.’
‘Yes, but I wasn’t with you then. And now we have a chance to get back your stuff.’
Elliot couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Lisa was crazy if she thought she could make any difference to the situation. The boys heading this way were Johnny and Carl, two of the three who’d stitched him up yesterday – and the worst two at that. The biggest, toughest lads in his year, they’d been in his class right through primary school and he couldn’t remember a time when they’d not picked on him, usually for being fat or clever. They loved to dole out ‘punishments’ like nipple twisters and wedgies. Nothing original – they weren’t bright enough for that – which explained why they also used to find it so hilarious to say that he and Christopher were gay.
The only reason he’d gone along with them yesterday – foolishly buying their claims of wanting to bury the hatchet ahead of secondary school – had been because they were with Peter. Another Aldham Primary classmate, he and Elliot had been good friends in their infant years, often visiting each other’s houses. They’d grown apart as they got older, developing different friends and interests, but Peter had never been nasty to him. He’d not been especially friendly with Johnny and Carl either. So seeing him with them had been a surprise and, feeling lonely in Christopher’s absence, Elliot had decided to take a leap of faith and go with them. Big mistake.
Johnny and Carl were the ones who actually stripped him, who jeered at how he looked in his underwear, joking that he needed a bra for his ‘boobies’. Peter stood to one side, looking awkward. But he didn’t do anything to stop them. He didn’t say a word. Then Johnny turned to him and asked why he wasn’t getting involved, suggesting it was because he and Elliot used to be ‘bum chums’. That was when Peter stepped forward and pulled Elliot’s glasses off his face.
‘Don’t, Peter,’ he pleaded. ‘Please. They’re new. You know I can’t see a thing without them.’
But his former friend didn’t listen. Instead he dropped the glasses on the floor, stamped on them countless times and then threw them into the distance. In his semi-blinded state, Elliot didn’t have a clue where they ended up. What would be the point in looking, anyway? Peter had wrecked them.
Johnny and Carl seemed as impressed by Peter’s actions as Elliot was aggrieved. The three of them left together, as thick as thieves, which was exactly what they were, since they took Elliot’s clothes and shoes with them.
Once he was sure they’d gone, Elliot allowed himself to cry. He wept big fat tears. And then he pulled himself together, hid behind a bush and waited for help to come, as it eventually did in the form of Lisa. His one small consolation was that he hadn’t broken down in front of the boys. He’d come close, but the shock of Peter’s betrayal had actually hardened his resolve not to give them the satisfaction.
‘I said that now we have a chance to get back your stuff,’ Lisa repeated. Her voice returned Elliot to the present, away from yesterday’s painful memory, still red raw in his mind. ‘How about instead of running away, we try something else?’
‘I don’t think that’s—’
‘Hey, you two!’ Lisa shouted before he could stop her.
‘What are you doing?’ Elliot growled.
She winked. ‘Trust me.’ Then she stood tall on the branch and waved vigorously in Johnny and Carl’s direction, shouting: ‘Up here!’ When they eventually twigged where the voice was coming from, she continued: ‘Stay there, please. I need to speak to you urgently. Well, my father does. He’s a police inspector. We’ve recently moved to the village and he’s very unhappy about what happened to Elliot yesterday. You two will be in big trouble if he catches up with you.’
Soon, as Elliot looked on in utter bewilderment, she was asking which of them was the faster runner. Johnny said it was Carl and his friend nodded in agreement.
‘Right. How about this, then?’ she said. ‘I’ll race Carl across the field and back and, if he wins, I’ll let you off the hook. It was me who told my dad it was you. Elliot didn’t say anything, not wanting to be a grass. That means I could easily change my mind. I could tell my father I’ve made a mistake, simple as that. And do you know what? I’m still prepared to do so even if I win. But then it’ll be on the condition that you both apologise to my good friend Elliot, return his stuff today and promise to leave him alone from now on.’
They took the deal. Elliot didn’t have a clue what Lisa was up to. However, she’d done such a good job of pulling the wool over the boys’ eyes so far, using her hypnotic status as the attractive new girl to maximum advantage, that he had no intention of interfering.
It turned out she was one heck of a fast runner. She easily beat Carl in the race and, after he and Johnny gave Elliot a reluctant apology, to his surprise that evening they also returned his clothes and shoes. No such luck with his glasses, but they’d been so badly damaged, there wouldn’t have been any point in getting them back. Plus that was down to Peter, rather than them, which was a fight for another day.
Saturday, 21 July 2018
Mike came round gradually. For a moment or two there was a blissful nothing. No dreams, no reality, no real thoughts. Just a calm feeling of being half-asleep, half-awake; comfortable in his own bed. Then reality started to trickle in. It began with a dull pain in his head and a vague sickness in his stomach. Next he realised he was on top of the quilt rather than underneath it, which was unusual. Plus he was wearing a shirt, despite usually sleeping in just boxer shorts. And how come he could smell wine?
He opened his eyes and looked down to see, as feared, that he was still wearing the shirt Lisa had thrown red wine all over in the restaurant. Shit. The uncomfortable scene replayed in his mind. He remembered feeling shocked, embarrassed, furious as she left him there alone – all the staff and other diners watching him, like he was in a freak show. Had he really shouted out loud for everyone to stop bloody staring? Things got sketchy from that point. He hadn’t stayed in the restaurant for long afterwards, he didn’t think. He had vague memories of being in a couple of other bars, talking to whoever would listen. Did one of them have pole dancers or was that a dream? And how had he got home? He had no memory at all of making that journey or of getting into bed.
Mike looked over at Lisa, who was lying in a foetal position under the quilt, facing away from him on the far side of the bed. At least she was there. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Hopefully that meant he hadn’t said or done anything too stupid last night. Because God, he’d been furious at her.
Now, with the alcohol no longer raging through his veins, he felt stupid more than angry. He’d been a drunken pig. He could even understand why Lisa had done what she did. What a disaster of an evening. Not exactly the romantic night out he’d planned. He’d got carried away on the booze, as usual, and … oh no.
Mike leapt up from the bed and ran to the toilet to be sick. After he was done, his throat sore and dry, he washed his face in the sink and swilled his mouth out with some water before taking a drink. He could see in the mirror that his shirt was ruined. It looked like it had been soaked in blood. He considered shoving it in the dustbin, but since it had been a gift from Lisa, he dropped it into the washing