Trilogy Collection

Vinnie turned. Billy looked terrified. Good. He looked up at him, eyes blazing, still caught in the moment. ‘That’s not what I fucking asked, is it?’

Billy winced. ‘Is it?’ Vinnie screamed again, at Joe. ‘Is it?’

Joe started to thrust his body frantically beneath him. ‘Please get off me! I forgot what you asked!’

Vinnie paused for a couple of heartbeats, while the rest seemed to hold their collective breath. There was a stillness in the room now, which he relished. ‘Well, next time,’ he snarled, ‘you won’t fucking forget.’ Then he bent forward and bit down as hard as he could on Joe’s cheek. He felt the blood hit his own cheek, a pungent warm spray of it. And as cries of shock erupted all around the room, Vinnie felt triumphant. No one would call him ginger bollocks now.

Someone must have run for staff, though, because no sooner had he thought that than he felt strong hands grip his shoulders and others round his ribs, as he was torn from his victim and dragged to his feet. Mr Bastion, it seemed, and Mr Henry.

Bastion was the head of the institute, and had a reputation for his no-nonsense approach, and Mr Henry was his side-kick. An English teacher, Henry had his own reputation – all the lads said he had a thing for young boys. It was a rare occasion that these two would both be here on a weekend, but, as he was hauled up bodily by the latter, he decided that, for his intentions, this was a bonus. Mouth still dripping with blood and spit, he grinned at them.

‘All right, sir?’ he said to Mr Henry.

Both teachers looked sickened at what they had just witnessed. Both looked at Vinnie with a new sense of – what was it? Shock? Respect? Fear? Any would do, Vinnie thought, as he let them drag him from the rec room. Yes. Any of those three would do.

He was not so much directed to as thrust into a chair in the office and immediately handed a roll of toilet tissue. He could still taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. His pulse was slowing now. He licked his lips. Raised his eyes.

‘Clean your face up, you vicious little thug,’ Bastion commanded. ‘You’re in serious trouble, young man.’

Vinnie tore off some of the bog roll and slowly wiped his face with it, holding Bastion’s gaze as he did so. ‘They started on us, sir.’

He noticed Mr Henry staring at him, disgusted. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he added. ‘It’s bound to be all my fault, innit?’

‘It was all your fault, McKellan,’ Henry confirmed. ‘There’s a room full of lads in there that will tell us it was.’

‘Mr Henry, I swear. We were just playing pool, me an’ Billy, and them other kids started shouting stuff at us. They were taking the piss cos I got ginger hair …’

‘Did you see the state of that boy?’ Mr Henry interrupted, upping the volume. He jabbed a finger twice in the direction of the rec room. ‘He probably needs hospital treatment!’

Vinnie felt a surge of pride. Hospital treatment? That would mean notoriety, surely. ‘It was a fair fight, sir, honest,’ he said. ‘He’s miles bigger than I am. Was I supposed to just let him beat me up?’

Neither Bastion or Henry seemed interested in providing an answer. Instead of that, they exchanged a glance and shook their heads. ‘We have to involve the police in this, Vincent,’ said Bastion, giving him daggers. ‘And we most certainly will do, come Monday. In the meantime, you will receive six of the best, right now. And will then be confined to your room for the remainder of the weekend.’ He shook his head again. ‘Until this whole sorry mess gets sorted out.’

And he would be sorry. He didn’t doubt it. But that was fine; that was the price you had to pay, that sort of bother. That was the whole point they didn’t get. The reason he wasn’t that bothered; in the long term, it meant he’d get a whole lot less bother.

The six of the best – standard punishment in approved schools, if not all schools – was administered without any delay. It could be administered with a cane, or a ruler or a shoe – it didn’t matter. Just as long as it was something that was good at inflicting pain. Mr Henry’s weapon of choice was a leather shoe, an object he’d been acquainted with many times at his old school but never at the hands of this pervy fucker; the subject of many a rec room conversation.

‘Come on, lad, drop ’em,’ Henry told him, with a glint in his beady eye. He almost smiled at Vinnie. ‘You know the drill.’

Vinnie stood up, placing the bloody bog roll on the desk just beside him, dropped his jeans to his ankles and positioned himself towards the seat of the chair he’d just been sitting on, gripping the backrest tightly with both hands. He then bit his lip in readiness for what was to come, and then as reaction, as the first part of his punishment began.

Old Henry started swinging away, the sound of the air-rush audible, and counted each strike out loud as Mr Bastion looked on. Vinnie refused to acknowledge the pain surging through him and turned to fashion the best grin he could manage at his observer. ‘Come on, sir, is that all you’ve got?’ he taunted Henry, causing the teacher to make strike six the hardest one yet. But not as hard as he was, Vinnie thought. Not by a long shot.

‘Now get to your room, you little bastard, and stay there,’ Henry said as he threw down the shoe.

Vinnie stood up, hitched up his flares and gave a mock salute. ‘I’m knackered anyway, sir,’ he said. ‘Could do with a nice nap. Did you enjoy that, Bastion? Do you like watching boys get their arses smacked?’

‘Get out of here!’ Bastion snarled. ‘Straight to your room and stay there. No tea or supper for you tonight, son.’

‘Fuck you very much, sir,’ he responded, beginning to enjoy himself despite the searing pain. ‘Can’t stand the shit you call food anyway.’

He was halfway out of the door when he felt the shoe hit his back.

Though he’d made a point of laughing as the shoe had been lobbed at him, Vinnie let his guard down just as soon as he was out of sight. His arse felt as if it had been thrust into a roaring fire, and he rubbed at it furiously as he limped back to his room. Nasty bastards, the pair of ’em. Bastion the bastard and Henry the arse bandit. Yeah, that’s what he’d call them from now on, he decided. He felt lighter of heart than he had at any point, he realised, since he’d arrived at the shit-hole. Yes, he might have a swollen arse for a few days but it was worth it. It was worth it. Now he wouldn’t have any more bother. Billy too, perhaps. He hoped he’d gotten away with it – respect to the lad. He’d torn straight in to help, even though he was plainly bricking it. As far as Vinnie was concerned that cemented their friendship for ever.

A successful Saturday, all things considered.

Monday arrived and Vinnie went to brick-laying for the first lesson of the week, as per usual. His group – a bunch of six lads he barely knew – were building a wall in the gardens at the back of the centre. The reason why eluded him, because it seemed pretty pointless, other than to give them something useful to do. Well, useful, that was, if building walls was your thing. And the one thing he knew he had no intention doing was spending the rest of his life slapping mortar onto fucking bricks.

The dimwits he was working with were like robots, too. All ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ morons. They never even questioned the futility in the exercise. Vinnie sighed and shook his head as he picked up a trowel and a bucket. He’d let these monkeys do the hard graft today, he thought. No point him killing himself when he had no intention of becoming anyone’s labourer. No, Vinnie fancied himself becoming a carpenter. He’d really loved making his bookshelf and had taken real pride in carving intricate patterns into the sides. He had decided there and then that when he was ready to do some honest work, it would be something involving making things from wood.

And on his own – not as part of some brain-dead group of wets. He preferred his own company much better.

He had only been there for 10 minutes when he was summoned to the office. A tall lad of about 17 who he’d never seen before, who looked like he could handle himself, had come to escort him, and after washing his hands in the bucket outside and wiping them on his T-shirt, Vinnie followed him back into the building. The lad didn’t speak so, taking his cue from him, Vinnie kept his mouth shut as well. Ignorant fucker, he thought. Probably thinks I’m scared of him.

They walked down the main corridor, their boots slapping in time on the navy-blue lino, towards the office where Mr Bastion was housed. Vinnie winced as he approached – it was almost automatic. He hoped that he wasn’t going to get the shoe treatment again. His arse was still throbbing from Saturday, the bastards. He glued a grin on his face and pulled his shoulders back a little. He’d not been told what he had been summonsed for, but it didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that it would almost definitely be about Saturday. So he’d go in smiling and just take what he had coming.

When they got to the door, the big lad knocked and glanced at Vinnie. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done, man,’ he said, ‘but good luck. I think you’re gonna need it.’ Then he smiled and sauntered off, leaving Vinnie to wait to be called in.

Vinnie watched him go while he waited for the door to be opened. Luck? He didn’t need luck. He just needed bravado right now. He was just thinking how much, when Mr Bastion opened the door and, as Vinnie looked inside, all thoughts of going in with a cocky attitude vanished, along with the half-smile he’d stuck on his face.

There were two coppers – that was the first thing he saw, two fucking coppers. Joe with his mum and dad, and … oh, fuck.

‘All right, Mother?’ he said, following Bastion in and trying to swagger, while at the same time trying to compute what the fuck she was doing there.

His mam looked as she always did: completely over the top. A big red coat, with what looked like Tarka the bloody Otter slung round her neck by way of a collar, lipstick the colour of freshly spilled blood and hair the sort of silvery blonde you saw on film stars. She actually looked like one herself, in this dour masculine company, and in any other circumstance he’d be pleased and proud to see her. As it was, the best he could manage was a nervous grin, and even that was forced. She was looking daggers at him.

‘Lovely this, Vinnie, innit it?’ she snapped. ‘Innit?’

She waited just a heartbeat, giving him scant time to answer, before adding, ‘Sally’s here as well. She’s just parking the car up.’

So there was no chance of sweet-talking his way out of this one. Not now. Not now the Queen of fucking Sheba was here.

‘Sit down, Vincent,’ Bastion said, and then, pointing to the coppers, ‘these policeman will be sitting in while we have a bit of a chat, but they will then need to talk to you alone.’

June bristled in her seat. ‘I know the law, love,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘I’m his mother, okay? And I’ll be sitting in any interview.’

One of the coppers nodded to Bastion. ‘That’s fine,’ he said, glancing at Vinnie before smiling at June. ‘We would expect Mrs McKellan to join us.’

There was a single empty chair in the room. Bastion nodded towards it and Vinnie sat down on it, wincing. The next 30 minutes were to shape the rest of his life.

Chapter 7 (#ub0b25701-d126-509d-97b1-76fe329d1888)

The social worker rushed into the room, puffing and panting, clutching her briefcase. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead, which sat at odds with the chilly atmosphere in the room.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ Sally said, swivelling as she looked for somewhere to sit down.

‘Up, McKellan!’ Bastion barked. Vinnie duly stood up again and stepped aside for Saggy Tits, who smiled at him with something that looked suspiciously like warmth. Had she been missing him? Now, that would be a turn-up.