Impossible, surely? No one would dare. A small volcano sprouted inside me, seething hot lava.
Oh bruv, why do you never ask for help?
There was a knock at the door. I clicked to BBC News just as the door opened.
‘Is everything okay?’ Dad asked.
‘All good, just wondering what was going on in the world.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘When I was a kid, we had magazines for that kind of thing.’
‘I did not need to know that,’ I said, laughing and shaking my head.
‘Have a good night, son.’ He started to leave, then turned back. ‘Just be careful. There’s some very strange people in this world, okay?’
‘Sure, Dad. Thanks.’
He closed the door behind him as he left. I shut down my computer and went back to bed. At least the poor kid had me beside him now. Whatever was going on, I was going to find out.
I’m going to be your guardian angel, bruv.
Chapter 5
Hero
Breakfast was quiet, as it had been for some weeks. Hero sat scooping his wet cornflakes up in his spoon, then tipping them back out into the bowl, over and over.
‘You really shouldn’t play with your food like that—you know, Mum,’ James said, then paused with his mouth downturned. ‘Sorry. Sometimes it’s as if she’s still here.’
Hero shovelled a bite into his mouth. It tasted like chunks of cardboard. Sometimes I just can’t hide from James.
James regarded him with a knowing look, as if fate were now sealed and he knew what the future held. ‘Come on bruv, let’s get going. I think today’s gonna be a great day for both of us.’
He shoved the bowl of tasteless flakes to the centre of the table. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘You’ll come around to my way of thinking, trust me.’
They went into the hall and put on their jackets, and James clapped him encouragingly on the back as he opened the door.
‘If you say so.’ Only if I find a way to hide away for the rest of my life.
Hero had been dreading lunchtime all day, as he had for weeks now. He exited the classroom where he’d been learning one of his favourite subjects, maths. He felt safe with numbers; they never lied or tried to hurt him.
The main corridor was dimly lit by the pale light of a few sparse windows. At his locker, he put his books away and took out the packed lunch that he’d habitually made for himself.
‘Hey, Hero,’ someone cawed.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Martin was a boy in the last year of school, a huge rugby player who had clearly developed early. As if that wasn’t enough, he had three of his friends with him, as always.
Without further ado, Martin smashed him backwards into the locker. He slid to the floor. His stomach was a boulder bearing down on his bowels. Why can’t they just leave me alone?
Martin scooped the books from the cabinet onto Hero’s head and bent down to whisper into his ear. ‘You know, I could shit in your mouth right now. Maybe I’ll do that later today when we see you after school, as usual.’
He laughed, his friends joining in. Then he grabbed the lunchbox from Hero’s hand, took out one of the sandwiches, bit into it, and dumped the rest onto the floor.
‘Mmm, delicious. Enjoy your lunch.’ He threw the sandwich with the bite out of it at Hero’s head. ‘See you later, Hero.’
The group cackled as they disappeared into the darkness of the corridors.
Physics class after lunch became an exercise in distraction. Hero couldn’t get the threat out of his mind. Would Martin really shit in my mouth? He retched at the thought, somehow holding down the vomit with willpower alone. Time seemed to slow to a near standstill.
2:30 . . . 2:32 . . . 2:33 . . . 2:33 . . . still 2:33 . . . 2:35 . . .
The idea of being held down while Martin dropped his pants and squatted over him . . . He felt helpless, hopeless. The daymare continued as he imagined Martin grunting as he slowly squeezed.
Hero’s stomach heaved. This time he couldn’t hold back, and a small amount of vomit jutted into his closed mouth. He grimaced as he swallowed it back down.
Hero hurried the length of the first street on his way home, then took a left into the road. Maybe he’d got away from school ahead of them after all. Just one more corner and then—
‘Hey, Hero, we were just talking about you. We didn’t think you’d show up today. Thought maybe you’d take a different route.’
Martin and his three friends were lying in wait.
‘Oh, bugger off, Martin.’
‘“Bugger off,”’ Martin said mockingly. His friends laughed. ‘Who even says that?’
‘I think I heard my nan say it once,’ one of the boys answered.
‘Are you Dave’s nan, Hero? Are you? Are you an old woman?’
They all sniggered again.
Hero pulled himself a little straighter. ‘I heard Dave’s nan gave birth to his mum by taking a shit.’
Where the hell had that come from? A rush of cold adrenaline prickled his arms.
‘Whoa-ho. Did you hear that, Dave? I think Hero’s getting a little bit cheeky.’
‘Too cheeky,’ Dave added.
‘And speaking of taking a shit, that reminds me—get him.’
The circle of boys closed in, and Hero began to back away. Dave made a grab for him, but he was too slow. Hero legged it around all three of them and bolted for home.
Martin and the boys hurtled after him. Hero heard their feet slapping closer and closer until someone shoved him against a small garden wall. He banged his knee and stumbled to a stop bent awkwardly over the wall, his kneecap throbbing.
Dave yanked his arms behind him in an armlock. Hero’s eyes widened as Martin moved in and punched him viciously in the stomach three times. He didn’t even have time to breathe before Martin followed up with two more punches to the mouth.
So this is what it’s like to get beaten to a pulp. He might’ve thought it was happening to someone else if it hadn’t hurt so much.
Dave released him, and he tumbled to the road. If it hadn’t been for the warmth of the blood oozing over his chin, he wouldn’t have known his lip had split.
Martin sneered inches from
