CHAPTYER 20
“Brian, how big is this place?”

“Well, there are five bedrooms–“

“No, the grounds. I want to start running again.”

That was a decision that had come to me after another night wrapped up in Emily. I was going to start trying to reclaim my life. That sounds like some facile road to Damascus reawakening, but it wasn’t. My body was wrong, totally not me, but I was stuck with it. The deep changes were irreversible, and if I say that I wasn’t too keen on going anywhere near a doctor for any surgery, I am sure that people will understand exactly why.

For three years my body had been broken on the wheel of others’ desires, and I had finally had a return of some backbone. I was going to make it do what I wanted for a change, even though I had a sneaking suspicion that it would be far from easy.

Sneaking suspicion? Absolute stone cold certainty. I knew I would be completely out of condition. If I didn’t feel like puking I would be astonished. Karen popped in after Brian had relayed the news.

“Steve….we have a gym in the house”

“I know, Kaz, but I want to get out in the open, get some real air”

“Well…there is no way to be subtle about this, pet, but I am going to have to do some shopping for you, and it will be for women’s clothing”

“I am not wearing a fucking skirt. That’s what Charlie made me do…and some of the other cunts”

“We are going to have to work on your language too, Steve…..look, it’s not girly stuff I’m talking about, just day to day stuff that will fit you. If you are going to start running, trust me, you will need the right underwear, and sports clothing cut to fit you, and the right shoes, and….and you will need more clothes anyway just for daily wear. It doesn’t have to mean high heels and cocktail dresses, but you are going to want trousers that fit your bum as well as your waist.”

“Karen, you can’t pay for all that!”

“Oh yes I can, actually. Brian does rather well…and just think: if you don’t get a rather large compensation pay-out from the Council, then I’m bloody Chinese. If you want to, you can pay me back afterwards. Now, you have a visitor due in an hour, so get cleaned up, and then we’re off for some retail abuse”

The visitor turned out to be none other than Miss Graham. I was sitting in the…call it a reception room, it was that big, having a cuppa with Nana, and I recognised her voice as she came in with Karen. I was wearing an old pair of Karen’s jeans, with the legs rolled up, and a baggy T shirt in blue (never, ever fucking pink, never again) and as I stood and turned to greet her she just said “Oh god….oh god…” and stood for what seemed like an eternity before stepping forward to hug me. I could handle that from women, but from men, men I didn’t know, men outside my little band of heroes, it was atrociously difficult.

We went through the little dance of tact that I had grown used to, where a new visitor burned to ask me questions, but was shocked into stammering incoherence with the need to avoid bringing things back to the surface, and then she stepped onto thicker ice and explained why she had come.

“Stephen, we have, I have an offer for you. This is probably going to sound like the least important thing imaginable, given your current, er, circumstances, but think of it this way: you now have a life again, and we would like to make sure you have a chance of a future. I’m talking about education. That establishment you were being taught in was only really setting you up for CSE level in maths and English, and if you had had the opportunity I am sure you would have been up there with our brighter O-level GCE pupils.

“We can’t give you those two years of O-level study back, but if you wish we can give you your A-levels in a few subjects. We just need to have some idea of what you would wish to study. Stephen, this is a way of getting you into University, getting you a chance at a real life after all this is over. It will be hard, but several of my staff have volunteered to give you evening tuition, and you will of course be welcome back at Netherhall”

She had managed to make the word ‘establishment’ sound worse than any of the swearing I had been doing so unconsciously. As for the word ‘taught’…

Karen spoke up. “One of Brian’s minders will be with you each day, and will drive you to school and back. It’s something your Nana and us have been discussing for a while. Kid, they’ve taken three years of your life, don’t throw the rest away after it.”

Nana was nodding. “Tha’ve got a mind, Stevie, tha’ve kept it free aal these years. We’re going to show those bastards that tha’s beaten them. Will tha do it?”

It seemed I had no choice. Of course I would do it, but the thought of going to school…dressed how? When stressed, the slightest of things assumes major importance, and so I had to ask. Miss Graham chuckled.

“There’s no uniform for the sixth form, Stephen, so don’t worry. You will be fine. All you need to do is think about which subjects you wish to study. I suggest that we get you through O-level English and Maths, which you should pass easily, and then four subjects at A-level. That will stretch you, stretch you a lot, but it will help you get a good place at college. Now, there are a number of ways you can come back to school. I will make an announcement to the whole school before you do, but I think most of the pupils will have already read quite a bit in the papers.

“Stephen, I intend to make it very clear that any unpleasantness will be terminal in its effect on the culprit’s education at my school. And think on this: the strength you have already shown tells me that you will succeed. A week to think about it? Good oh!”

And she was off, and Nana was squeezing my hand.

“There’s a world out there, pet. Tha can have a big piece of t, but tha has to go out and get it. Now…time for the big shops!”

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Karen drove us to Carlisle in the Jag and we were soon in the centre, which sent me into the early stages of a panic attack. Despite the solid bulk of Tom, one of Brian’s ‘personal assistants’, I felt disorientated by the crowds and noise. I clung close to my grandmother, trying to focus on the shop names rather than the crowds, and finally spotted a sign reading “Track and Field”

The window display was so brightly coloured I was shocked, and the shoes…oh, the shoes were a delight. I stood looking at the racks and racks of them inside the shop, realising that things were very different indeed. Gone were my Dunlop plimsolls, and in their place stood multicoloured creations from Adidas, Nike, Puma, Reebok…wrap around tread, multiple layer insoles, arch supports…I was in heaven, even when some spotty youth asked the inevitable question “What can we do for you ladies?”

Nana was gobsmacked by the variety, and when she spotted some purpose-built fell-running shoes, she just looked at Karen like a kid in a sweet shop, and my goddess just smiled and said “Of course, Ada!” and it turned into a minor shopping spree for two of us.

I settled on some Nikes, which were amazing just to walk in, and a couple of pairs of three-quarter-length running trousers, leggings, whatever, plus some tops that spoke about ‘wicking’ and ‘moisture control’, and they all fitted, and none of them were pink. Then it was on to some department store or other, and that was where it all got almost too much.

I was measured properly, for the first time ever, for a bra, and it nearly sent me over the edge. All the assumptions made by the staff were painful, and when the girl doing the fitting brought me a selection to try, using words like ‘pretty’ and ‘assets’ I wanted to scream, and it was only Nana beside me that helped me keep it in. I wanted plain, I wanted white, I wanted simple. Yes, they were pretty, and I loved them, but my thoughts filled their cups with Em’s breasts.

I had to rein Karen back, but soon we had a reasonable collection of things like jeans, simple blouses, plain underwear including some special support bras for running, and shoes. Real shoes, flat, with laces, that looked almost masculine. Other bits and pieces went into the Jag for the trip back, and then we were back in the safety of the house and away from the crowds of strangers. I had clothes that fitted, and a purpose in life.

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We talked and talked about the subjects I should choose, and eventually I settled on English, History, Geography and Technology, which was a new course designed to bring together Physics, Computing and other science subjects, and as a fan, how could I refuse? The day finally came when I would have to show my face at Netherhall, and I was acting as much like a girl as I ever would: I didn’t know what to wear. Eventually, Karen just laid out a blouse that looked like a checked shirt, my black Oxford shoes and a pair of jeans that weren’t too tight.

“Do you want a hair cut?”

That was a sore point. I had always loved long hair, ever since those days of Brylcreem and mynah birds, but I also knew that it shouted out “GIRL”. I suppose my final decision was a sort of confused rebellion. They had made me look like a girl, but this was my choice before they did it to me, and I would keep it as my own. Fuck YOU this time, Mitchell, Charlie, all the rest.

Tom drove me to school, and we went straight to Miss Graham’s office, where my Emily was waiting.

“Morning, Stephen, Tom. I have arranged an announcement at assembly, and then, as we discussed, Stephen, you can say something to the school. Now, are you absolutely sure you are up to going out in front of everybody?”

“You will be with me, and Emily?”

“Yes, of course”

“Then lead on McDuff”

“Lay on, actually, Stephen, but you will study the Scottish Play later. You see, you are already learning again!”

I was settled onto a chair off stage, Emily beside me. As the morning hymn ended, Miss Graham stood at the front of the stage.

“Ladies, gentlemen, of Netherhall. We have an important day ahead of us. Three years ago this school was robbed of a most promising pupil. Popular, witty, a champion athlete in the making, Stephen Jones was snatched from us and abused in the most horrible ways imaginable. Purely by chance was he delivered from hell, and only now are we beginning to find out how many other poor souls never did emerge from that place.

“Now, many of you will no doubt have fond memories of Mister Jones. Many of you will have read the lurid reports in the newspapers, or have followed the horrifying revelations that even now are emerging on the television news reports. You will know that changes have been made to Mr Jones, changes beyond his control. You may also be aware that terrible things were done to him, things that he must live with, and things that render him more than a little nervous.

“Be aware that this school will tolerate no abuse of any kind directed at this innocent victim. Consider, instead, this:

“Monstrous criminals, evil incarnate, stole away one of our own, one of Netherhall’s own. That is not done. Stephen Jones is OURS, he is YOURS, and we will not allow anyone to harm one of our own. Do we all agree on that point?”

There was a roar of agreement, and I stumbled out with Emily clutching my hand, and as I looked out over a sea of faces the speech I had prepared. vanished from my mind and I started to weep. Someone in the crowded hall began to clap, and then there was nothing I could hear apart from applause, and so I went down off the stage and just began shaking hands. Em never left my side.

That day I only stayed the morning, just to settle things like timetables, and a locker, and, to be honest, see if could cope, and Tom drove me back to the house as his favourite Radio 2 played. The news came on, and the eleventh body was being disinterred from the Cunningham properties. I realised, once more, how amazingly lucky I had been.

That evening, Brian came in as we sat down for tea, breathless and excited.

“I think I’ve found Iain”