2007 - A tale etched in blood and hard black pencel (6 page)

The desk now reminds her of a picture in a storybook showing a packing trunk bobbing just above the waves following a shipwreck.

“See? I tellt ye,” Joanne says, nodding in sheer triumph, her cheeks now glowing red enough to set the embers blazing again.

Karen hears a sobbing and notices that there are quite a few wee Primary Ones in the gathering, some of whom are looking very worried. The absence of adults from this particular area is normally as standard as it is welcome, but right at this moment it seems a bit strange.

“Who’s going to look after us?” one of the wee ones asks tearfully. Karen is a Primary Three now and too big to be crying, but the little girl’s question still strikes a chord. She and her friends often ask, “Wouldn’t it be magic if you came in one day and there was no teachers?” but now that it appears to have happened, it doesn’t feel magic at all. It feels quite scary, in fact, and she begins to wonder why, especially at a time like this with the building burnt down, there would be no adults around even to tell them to stay back and not touch anything.

Able at last, though briefly, to wrench her gaze from the darkly fascinating sight of this so familiar building ripped open like a doll’s house, Karen casts an eye right around the assembly and takes proper note of who is here. Her attention is caught by the attendance of several older children who should presumably right now be in class over in the unaffected Main Building. She sees a group of Primary Fours, two girls whom she knows to be Primary Fives—Helen Dunn’s big sister Nicola and her friend Pauline—and three boys whom she assumes to be older still. Helen is there too, sticking close to her sister. Karen wishes she had someone bigger to stand next to as well. Also in attendance is Scot Connolly from her own class, about whom she now notices two significantly unusual details: one, that he has a bike with him; and two, that he isn’t wearing school uniform. A few of the children do ride bikes to school, which they normally secure round the back at the big bins, but Scot has never been one of them, as she knows he lives right across the road on Burnside Avenue.

“Somebody’ll be along soon,” Helen’s big sister assures the frightened Primary One who asked the question. The girl doesn’t look convinced, and neither at this stage is Karen.

“Why are there no teachers here?” she decides to ask.

“They’re aw deid,” says one of the bigger boys. “They were aw here last night havin a staff meeting when it happened.”

“Aw, naaaaw,” bawls one of the Primary Ones, before bursting out greeting.

“Shut it you, ya fanny,” another of the bigger boys warns the first. “You’re upsettin the wee yins. Don’t listen tae him, hen,” he adds, talking to the girl.

“Naw, I’m talkin shite,” the first boy admits. “It was just auld Monahan that died.”

“I says fuckin shut it, you,” repeats the second, though they are both laughing about it.

“It was on the radio,” says Scot. “During the news. They said St Elizabeth’s in Braeside was closed cause of a fire and naebody was to come in the day. That’s how the teachers arenae here. The Primary Fours an Fives an Sixes an Sevens have to go in the morra, but the Wans, Twos an Threes have tae stay aff the morra
and
Friday.”

“We never had the radio on,” Karen says.

“Neither did we,” adds Joanne.

“They never said anything about it on our radio,” protests Pauline.

“It was on Clyde,” insists Scot, sounding like he thinks she’s calling him a liar. “I heard it twice.”

“We were listening to Radio One,” Pauline explains. “They never mentioned it on there.”

“That’s cause it’s English,” suggests one of the big boys.

“My dad always has Radio Four on,” says Nicola.

Karen didn’t know there was a Radio Four—just One and Two, like the telly. She doesn’t know what might be on it, but she is fairly certain if Robert Turner was here, he would be calling Nicola a f-u-c-k-e-n snob.

“Does anybody know what actually happened?” Pauline asks.

“Aye,” says one of the big boys. “Fatty Henderson ate a whole Gregg’s family-size cream cake tae herself an then fuckin exploded.”

The boys all laugh, Pauline and Nicola too, and so does Karen, even though she tries not to. Mrs Henderson teaches the Primary Fours, and is the only person in the school fatter than Geraldine. Karen looks around and happens to catch Joanne’s eye, which immediately causes her giggling to stop. Joanne isn’t laughing, but is nodding to herself as she files away who was.

“Did you see anything, Scot?” asks Pauline once the joke has died down.

“Naw. Ma maw an da did, but. They says there was fire engines an everythin, but I slept through it. I could sleep through an earthquake, ma maw says. I thought they were kiddin me on until it came on the radio. That’s how I came ower tae see.”

“You’d think there’d be a teacher here, but,” Karen suggests. “I’m locked oot for the day until my mum gets home. And what about these wee yins?”

“If yous need tae phone somedy, I think ma maw would let you use oor phone,” Scot offers.

This sounds like a good idea, and Karen is grateful to Scot, whom she quite likes. He is usually smiley and is never one of the ones who bring up her peeing herself that time. Then she remembers that her mum will be at work, not home, and she doesn’t know the number there, so she is still going to be stranded.

“Heh, there’s Harris comin,” says one of the big boys.

Karen looks towards the Main Building and sees Mrs Harris, the deputy headmistress, walking quickly towards their gathering. Karen feels the same as when she hears her mum’s voice in the downstairs hall on nights when she’s been left with a babysitter.

“What are you all doing here?” Mrs Harris calls out as she approaches. “Is Mr Monahan not here?”

“No, miss,” several of them reply.

“Miss, we never heard the radio,” someone explains.

“Well, let’s get you all sorted out. Come up to the Main Building and I’ll make some phone calls.”

There are far fewer of them left by the time they reach Mrs Harris’s office. Those who knew their mums would be home simply left as soon as they, like Scot, had satisfied their curiosity with a long enough look at the wreckage.

Mrs Harris makes phone calls to parents of those in Primary Four and above, and various arrangements are made. However, it turns out the contact details for the children in the Infant Building were all in Mrs Lanegan’s office. Joanne knows her mum’s work number off by heart, and as a result she is soon told her granny is on the way to collect her. This just leaves Karen and three of the wee ones. Mrs Harris says she is sorry, but they’ll all just have to stay in the Main Building with her until hometime. Karen doesn’t like the sound of this, as she finds Mrs Harris quite scary (though not as scary as Mr Monahan) and she knows it will be a beamer if anyone finds out she ended up playing with Primary Ones and Twos all day.

But then Helen says something quietly to her big sister, and Nicola tells Mrs Harris that Karen can come home with them once their mum arrives. Mrs Harris says she’ll have to ask their mum first, but Nicola assures her and Karen that her mum will say it’s okay.

Karen likes Helen and is immediately excited by the notion of getting to play with her instead of going to school. She is also very curious to see where Helen lives, as she has heard Robert Turner say Helen is a f-u-c-k-e-n snob because ‘she lives in a boat hoose’. Karen has only ever been on a rowing boat at Barshaw Park, and thinks it will be magic fun to explore one big enough for a family to live on.

She decides it’s going to be a good day after all.

M
artin is relieved to see Scot and Colin standing near the gates when the morning bell goes, and he hurries along the pavement to join up with them. The Primary Threes are still allowed to use their own playground while the Infant Building is being demolished, but the letter his mum got said they would be taught in the Main Buiding and would have to line up at the same doors as the Fours and Fives. The Primary Ones and Twos were getting their classes in the Church Hall down the road, which only had a wee patch of muddy grass for a playground, so it could have been worse.

They all walk quite slowly through the Main Building’s playground. Nobody says anything, but Martin is sure they are thinking the same as him: that the longer they take, the greater the chance there will already be a teacher at the doors by the time they get there, and thus less chance of getting a doing from the big ones. When they come in sight of the main entrance, there is no teacher to be seen, but there is the reassuring sight of Carol and Michelle at the front of a rapidly forming line, having successfully pipped their eternal rivals Joanne and Alison for pole position.

“Where are they puttin us?” is the issue being discussed back and forth along the queue.

“We’re gettin split up,” announces Joanne. “The brainy wans are goin in wi the Primary Fours an the rest are gettin took tae the Church Hall.”

This gives Martin a moment’s discomfort as he considers how little he fancies the idea of being thrown in—physically or academically—with the bigger ones currently lining up alongside. Then he remembers that it’s Joanne who is saying it.

“Are we chook,” says Golin, voicing Martin’s thoughts for him.

Chook is the latest word to come into regular usage, exclusively to express disbelief. Is it chook, did ye chook, will I chook. He doesn’t know what the word itself means or its derivation; and nor, he is sure, does anyone else. Martin has no problem comprehending the playground’s neologisms, but is frustrated by how they can be unheard of one week and then common coinage to all but him the next. He suspects it must be because lots of the other boys play together away from school. Most of them live in the Braeview scheme, in the council houses where Martin’s grandparents stay. Martin lives in the new houses up the hill towards the Carnock Brae.

“We’re gettin put in the gym hall,” suggests Geraldine to Zoe.

“Mair like the dinner hall if she’d anythin tae dae wi it,” says Scot quietly.

They all laugh, but turn away so that Geraldine doesn’t know it’s about her. Martin casts an eye forward along the line to reassure himself that she didn’t hear. He knows it’s a bit cruel, but Scot has a knack of saying things that seem all the funnier because you think maybe you shouldn’t laugh. It’s not like pointing and laughing at the spazzy bus, which Martin has seen the bigger boys do, and which he knew without an adult telling him was just plain bad, but maybe what his granny means when she says ‘near the bone’.

Martin is surprised—and a bit miffed—that there is little discussion of the fire, and in particular its cause. He was hoping that perhaps the Braeview lot would have some stories or rumours, but it does not make the agenda, and he fears that this is because the subject has already been exhausted among them out of school. Nonetheless, he considers it well worth asking: “Anybody heard anythin aboot how the fire started?”

Martin thinks Scot is about to say something, but he doesn’t. He glances across to the Primary Four and Five lines, same as Martin did when he was anxious about Geraldine.

“My da says it was an electrical fault,” says Colin. “He says the wiring was pure ancient.”

Colin’s dad is an electricalician, which means he would know about these things. Martin is a little disappointed. He would have preferred it if there had been baddies involved. It would be more interesting that way, especially when they got caught and punished. They’d be getting the belt, no question, and from Mr Monahan too, not just one of the lady teachers. He had a few candidates in mind. Richard Ryan, for a start. He was rough and always getting in trouble. He was known to hang about with bigger boys outside school, even some Primary Sixes. And then there was Robbie, Robert Turner; however, much as he’d have liked it to be so, Martin just couldn’t see it. Robbie was nasty, but in a sneaky way. He wasn’t brave enough to do something like that, though he did have those big brothers who were
really
scary, and they’d definitely be brave enough.

§

Check Clarke trying to get the telly out the way by herself. Magic, Scot reckons. First-rate entertainment. She had Janny Johnny in here ten minutes ago asking if she needed a hand and she told him to beat it because it’s pure obvious she doesn’t like him. You can tell by the way she speaks to him that she just wants rid the second he puts his heid round the door. It’s the same every morning when he brings the milk. Can’t get him out the room fast enough. Now she’s wrestling alone with this hooded beast, like a giant bat perched on a builder’s scaffolding. It’s some size for a goggle-box, right enough. Biggest one Scot’s ever seen, and making it even more awkward are these corrugated wing affairs it’s got either side of a canopy stretched across the top. He’s never known what that was all about. How come it didn’t just have a screen and be done with it like any normal telly? But he does know the teacher is having a devil of a time getting them folded away, and that’s before she attempts moving the thing.

They’re in the utility room, which is kind of a spare classroom the teachers don’t know what to do with the rest of the time, but which has now had a purpose forged for it in the flames of last Wednesday. Mrs Donnelly’s class are in the library, which would have given Scot a view of his own front window had his class ended up there, but no luck. The utility room it is. Scot remembers being in it only three times before: once for a TV programme and twice for films. That’s why it’s the only room in the building with curtains: bowfing big green things. The programme was keech, one of those For Schools and Colleges efforts that are not bad if you’re off sick but hardly up there with
The Six Million Dollar Man
. Something about a family from donkeys ago, back in nineteen-canteen or seventeen-oatcake. Mince. But nothing compared to the films. The films were total shite. One about Russian trawler fishing and the other about buffaloes in America, and both times it was meant to be a Christmas treat. A Christmas treat! Fucking trawler documentaries!

Scot had heard that at Braeside Primary they had
Bedknobs and Broomsticks
one year and
Peter Pan
another. He’d mentioned this in class once, when Father Wolfe was in doing one of his visits, because Father Wolfe had told them if they were naughty they’d get expelled and sent to Braeside Primary with all the other bad boys and girls. Scot had asked why, if it was full of bad children, they got better films at Christmas. Father Wolfe said it was because the education high heid yins gave all the best stuff to the Proddy schools and left the Catholics with the dross. Scot thought this was about as likely as Braeside Primary being full of nothing but bad weans, considering half his pals went there and weren’t anywhere near as mental as some of the numpties at St Elizabeth’s, and mentioned it to his da. Da offered the alternative explanation that Braeside’s heidie had simply been sharper off the mark than theirs when it came to ordering the flicks, and one sight of Mad Momo Monahan would convince anybody of this theory’s greater plausibility.