Of course there had been bullies, beatings and detentions, but unless Mac was the bully in question it never went too far. And Matron had always been there to give them a hug and put a plaster on whatever cut or bruise they’d received.
But for the past few months things had been very different. They’d seen their parents die and had run back to the one refuge they could think of. They’d hoped to find safety in the familiar routine of St Mark’s. Instead they’d killed men in combat, seen their teachers and friends die before them, been bullied and abused, subject to the whims of a gang of armed thugs who’d ordered them about day and night. They’d been trained for war and had learnt to live with the expectation of their own imminent deaths.
I was looking at an entire room of young boys with post-traumatic stress disorder. And I was supposed to lead them.
I didn’t have a clue where to begin.
“Mac’s dead,” I told them. I had expected some response; a few cheers, perhaps. But all I could see were dead eyes and dull faces.
“As his second-in-command I’m in charge and things are going to be different around here. Right now I want you all to get some sleep. Leave your guns at the door and go to bed. There’ll be cold food available in the dining room for anyone who wants it, but your time is your own until tomorrow morning. Just… relax, yeah?”
I waited for them to leave, but they just sat there. I looked at Norton, confused.
“Dismissed,” he said.
“Sorry. Dismissed.”
As the boys got up I added: “Oh, and no more army kit, all right? You can wear your own clothes from now on. We’ll collect the uniforms tomorrow and they can go back in the stores.”
The boys shuffled out in silence.
When they’d gone I was left alone with Norton, Mrs Atkins and the remaining officers: Wolf-Barry, Pugh, Speight, Patel and Green.
“Gather round everyone,” I said.
They all came and took chairs at the front. I sat down too.
“You all saw what happened to Wylie earlier, yes?”
The officers nodded.
“Good. You were meant to. Mac would have shot him, but I let him go. That’s the difference between me and Mac; I’m not so keen on killing. But I want to make it perfectly clear to you that I will see you dead and buried if you disobey a direct order from me. Understood?”
The boys mumbled and nodded.
“In which case I want you all to pile your guns in the corner and sit back down.”
They did so.
“Good. Rowles!”
The door opened and Rowles entered, holding a rifle. The officers flashed me confused glances.
“What’s going on?” asked Wolf-Barry, suddenly nervous.
“You’re leaving,” I said. “All of you. Right now.”
“You what?” said Patel.
“I said you are leaving. Now. Out the gate and don’t look back. I don’t ever want to see any of your faces on these grounds again. Ever. ’Cause if I or any of the other boys see you inside these walls again we will shoot to kill without hesitation. Understand? And count yourselves lucky. I’ve fantasised about killing each and every one of you in all sorts of creative ways. But there’s been enough death for one day, I don’t think I could stomach any more.”
“Now look here…” Speight rose to protest.
There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being shouldered ready for firing. He turned and saw Rowles taking aim.
“Permission to shoot, sir?” asked the junior boy.
Speight froze as I made a play of considering the request.
“Escort these men from the grounds, Rowles. If any of them resist you have permission to shoot.”
Nobody moved. The officers looked confused and scared.
“But where will we go?” said Pugh.
“Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just not here,” I replied.
“You’re not going to fire that gun are you, Rowles?” said Patel. He rose to his feet and started walking towards the boy, his hand outstretched. Rowles smiled one of the scariest smiles I’ve ever seen. I wondered what had happened to the quiet, scared little boy who’d hung on Bates’ every word.
“Try me,” he said.
Patel, wisely, thought again.
“Enough,” I barked. “I want you all out of here immediately. You are expelled.”
I was relieved when they made to leave. I hadn’t wanted any more violence today.
“Green, stay behind a minute,” I said, as he reached the door. The other officers made their way outside. I gestured for Green to sit down. He looked petrified as he did so. I regarded him for a moment before asking: “Why do they call you Limpdick, Green?”
“I don’t know, sir,” he mumbled.
“Please don’t waste my time. I’m tired and I want to have a cup of tea and go to bed. The sooner I can finish here the sooner I can relax. So, I ask you again, why do they call you Limpdick?”
He stared at his feet and mumbled a reply.
“’Cause of Matron.”
“You were there when she was attacked?”
He nodded.
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to know the details, but I had to ask.
“Did they all take a turn?”
He nodded.
“But you couldn’t, yes?”
He nodded again.
“Are you gay, Green, or just a fucking wimp?”
That got a reaction.
“Fuck you!” he shouted, suddenly defiant. “Just ’cause I don’t get off on raping somebody doesn’t make me gay, all right?! I liked Matron. What happened in that room wasn’t right. It just… wasn’t right. I told Mac I wouldn’t do it, I argued with him, but they teased me and… they had guns. They made me take off my trousers and lie on top of her. And she was just staring at the ceiling. I kept apologising to her but she wouldn’t look at me. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it.”
Tears welled in his eyes.
“And the man you killed?”
He broke down.
“Mac said he’d shoot me,” he sobbed.
I sighed heavily. Good.
“Okay. That’s what I thought. I just needed to be sure.”
I got up and went to sit next to him. I put my hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off resentfully and stared back down at his shoes.
“Will you stay here, with us?” I asked.
He looked up at me, confused, and wiped away the tears.
“But I thought…”
“We’re going to get Matron tomorrow. If she corroborates your story, and I’m sure she will, then we’d be glad to have you. We need people like you here. Petts is dead, so you’ll have to recast, but God knows we could use some entertainment to take our minds off everything. So stay, put on your play. Yeah?”
I held out my hand. He took it and we shook.
When he was gone Mrs Atkins smiled at me.
“Not a bad start,” said Norton. “Not bad at all. Now can I please go and sort out this fucking bullet wound before my arm falls off.”
WHILE NORTON GOT himself patched up I went to my room and changed out of my wet clothes. Peeling off the muddy, half-dried uniform was like uncovering a map of my recent escapades.
I had a scar on my left calf where Jonah had bitten me; a puckered red hole in my right thigh where I’d been shot; a bandage around my waist where I’d stabbed myself; a deep purple welt across my throat where the rope had cut into me; my torso and arms were covered in bruises; my right eye was blackened, my left cheekbone was blue and I had long scab on my cheek from Baker’s signet ring, which would probably scar as well.