“Now, where was we?” Dickon bustled back into the cellar where he had left Keith to reflect on the past. He sprayed air freshener in all directions to mask the stench of Keith’s beshitted boxers.
“We were just at the part where you let me go and we say no more about it.” There was a hopeful look on Keith’s lopsided face. Dickon clicked his tongue.
“Not bloody likely, cocker!”
“Oh, come on, Dickon. This game has gone on long enough. I don’t know how your other internet dates respond to this kind of bondage shit but I’ve had enough of it.”
Dickon was appalled. Keith really wasn’t getting the point, was he? He paced around the cellar, making melodramatic gestures.
“You think this is just a game? A sordid, kinky sex thing! You think I entice men down here off of the internet and - and - well, I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, Mister Freak, Mister Fucking Freak, but I don’t go in for all that, thank you very much.”
“Then what is going on? If you haven’t tied me up so we can have sex, what’s all this in aid of?”
“Oh, Keith,” Dickon looked deflated. “I got you here under false pretences, I must confess. I brought you here and tied you up so I can kill you.”
Keith’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Me? Why?”
“I want to tell you a story.”
“Oh,” Keith rolled his eyes, “You’re going to bore me to death.”
Dickon stamped his foot. “It’s not boring! It’s not! It’s my fucking life story, you thick-headed twat. And you’re going to listen and you’re going to understand. And then I’m going to - Well, let’s not spoil the surprise. Now, I hope you’re sitting uncomfortably; let us begin.”
***
Kenny’s mother would tolerate no more excuses. You’ve had too much time off school this term already, Kenneth; she waved an envelope in his face. Look; I’m getting letters.
“Oh, but Mom!” Kenny protested and faked another coughing fit.
“Knock it off and get to that bus stop or I’ll drag you to that school by your earhole.”
Kenny left the house, muttering invective and trudged to the stop at the end of the road. If he took his time, he’d miss the bus, the one that was packed with half the school and he’d have to wait twenty minutes for the next one. It would make him late for registration but, well, a shorter school day suited him perfectly. There’d be fewer opportunities to encounter undesirables.
He stopped to untie his shoelaces and tie them again, taking great care to loop the bows just right. He reduced his stride until he was doing little more than shuffling along as though his ankles were bound together. He performed a pantomime of realisation he’d forgotten something vital, stopping in his tracks and smacking his forehead. He wheeled around and went halfway home again before stopping to repeat the shoelace tactic.
When he straightened, the bus rumbled by, chockfull of children, their faces pressed against the window, like so many baked beans in a tin. Many of them jeered at Kenny and made obscene gestures in a kind of good-natured way. Kenny scanned each window as it sailed by. If he spotted the baked bean he dreaded the most, he would be toast.
There was no sign of Daley or either of his henchmen but Kenny knew that meant nothing. They could be on the other side of the bus shouting ‘Wanker!’ at some wanker on the other side of the road.
It was too much to hope that all three would be bunking off school.
I’m never that lucky, Kenny sighed.
He reached the deserted bus stop and perched on a plastic rectangle that served as an uncomfortable seat.
So far, so good...
“Oh, look who it is! The little poof!”
Kenny froze. He didn’t need to turn his head to see who it was.
As if from nowhere, Daley and his sidekicks insinuated themselves into the bus stop. Thug One and Thug Two occupied the plastic rectangles on either side of Kenny. Daley himself leant against the timetable notice board opposite.
“Dear oh dear, the little poof’s going to be late for school, isn’t he?”
Kenny kept his eyes on the chewing-gum-soiled tarmac between his feet.
“Are you listening to me, you fucking poof?” Daley nodded almost imperceptibly. The henchmen each seized an arm, holding Kenny in place. Daley approached and grabbed a handful of Kenny’s hair. He pulled Kenny’s face upwards, his own just inches away.
“You look at me when I’m talking to you, poof. That’s what you like to do, isn’t it, you fucking queer? Look at other boys. In the changing rooms. Look at their cocks.”
Kenny averted his eyes. Daley squeezed his face and placed his forehead against Kenny’s.
“Oh, don’t be shy, little poof. Just admit it. You like looking at other boys’ big, hairy cocks. Don’t you? Say it!”
Kenny tried to wrest his face from Daley’s grasp.
“Say it!”
Kenny uttered something but his mouth was so contorted by Daley’s hand, it was unintelligible.
“What’s that? What did you say? Oh, dear.” Daley rolled his eyes at his confederates. “I do believe our little poof just told me to go and fuck myself. That’s not very polite, is it, boys?”
The sidekicks snickered.
Kenny whimpered a denial.
“Hold him.”
The subordinates tightened their grip and held Kenny upright. Daley undid his zip.
“Here’s a cock but you can’t look at it. Cover his eyes.”
Clammy hands pressed over Kenny’s face. A while later, he felt warm water splash onto his lap. The henchmen shook with laughter. Kenny struggled but couldn’t get free.
“Oh, dear,” said Daley, zipping up. “It looks like the little poof has pissed his pants.”
Laughing, the trio got on the bus that had just pulled up. Kenny kept his head down and his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see the jeering faces as the news spread along the deck.
The bus pulled away.
Kenny didn’t know what was worse: the stench of Daley’s urine or the feel of it soaking his thighs.
He didn’t know what to do. If he went home to shower and change, Mom would go ape shit. She’d accuse him of pissing his own pants to get out of school. If he went to school, the story would have got there before him. He would be even more of a laughing stock than usual.
Perhaps I should just throw myself in the canal. Not only would that wash my trousers but it would put an end to all of this.
A couple of old ladies arrived, in anticipation of the time when their bus passes became valid.
“Stinks in here,” said one.
“I blame the council,” said the other with a meaningful look at the wretched -looking schoolboy with a puddle at his feet.
“They should bring back national service,” said the first.
Kenny ran away. The wet trousers clung to his legs but his face was wetter. He struggled to keep his eyes free of tears so he could see where he was going. He headed for home, deciding one angry mother was preferable to a schoolful of laughing bastards.
In keeping with his run of bad luck, Mom was still at home. Kenny let himself in and was up the stairs and in the bathroom before his mother knew what was happening.
“Kenny?” She stood at the foot of the stairs, listening to the shower run. “Is that you?”
Even as she said it, she thought it was a stupid question. A burglar wasn’t going to sneak in and have a shower, was he? Unless it was an extra-clever burglar who was trying to make her think it was Kenny...
She climbed a few tentative steps.
“Kenny?”
“What?” came her son’s voice. “I’m having a shower.”
With the identity of the mystery shower-taker confirmed, Kenny’s mother was emboldened enough to take the rest of the staircase in her stride. She spoke to the bathroom door.
“What the hell are you doing back here, having a shower?”
Kenny replied but it was muffled, perhaps deliberately.
Mrs Dickens waited, arms folded, until the boy emerged with steam billowing around him. He’d put his school shirt back on without drying himself properly. A towel was wrapped around his waist.
“Hello, Mom. Have I got any clean trousers?”
“Kenny...” She barged past him, eyes darting around until she spotted his school trousers in a sodden heap in the bath. “Oh, Kenny, what have you done to your trousers?”
“There was a dog,” Kenny explained, having concocted a cover story while he was scrubbing his legs. “A big dog. It jumped me in the bus stop and it got over-excited or something and then it peed all over me.”
“Oh, Kenny. Why do these things always happen to you? Your other pair’s just gone in the washing machine. I’ll probably have to put them through twice to get all that mud off from yesterday. I wish you’d look after your things a bit better.”
“Well, I didn’t call the dog, did I?”
“Well, where was his owner?”
“I don’t know. Well, I can’t go to school without trousers, so...”
“Oh, no!” She followed him to his room. “If you think you’m spending the day in here on your megadrive, you’m very much mistaken. You can go in your trackie bottoms; I’ll write you a note.”
“But Mom! They’m red!”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you let bloody Cujo use you as a piss pot.”
She pulled the garment in question from his wardrobe and threw it at his head. “Five minutes and I’ll give you a lift.”
“I’ll get the bus.”
“Oh no, you don’t! I’m going to make sure you get there this time, unsullied and unspoiled. And if I see Scooby Doo on my way, it had better watch out.”
She stomped down to the kitchen. Kenny looked at the bright red tracksuit leggings in dismay.
I’m going to be so easy to spot, he thought. I may as well wear a target. And everybody’s going to know what happened to my proper trousers - or what they think happened. And no matter how I try to tell them it wasn’t me, I didn’t piss my pants, they won’t believe me. All they want is another reason to laugh at me.
“Kenny! Stop bloody daydreaming and get in the car. And don’t forget your tie!”
Kenny tied a knot. It felt like he was putting his head in a noose. He caught his reflection’s eye in the mirror on his wardrobe door.
“Kenny Piss-Pants,” he muttered, predicting one of the new names that would be hurled in his direction.
Suddenly, the impulse seized him to smash the mirror and stab himself in the throat with a piece of it.
Mom honked the car horn.
No, Kenny told himself. Why should I hurt myself?
When there are plenty of others more deserving...
***
Kenny’s mother dropped him off at gates of his school, Hangham High. The yard was deserted. Kenny believed he might be in with a chance of getting into the building unnoticed.
Just as the car pulled away, the bell rang, before Kenny had chance to remember he still needed a note about his leg wear Kids of all ages poured from the doors. It was break time and Kenny could only have been in a more public setting if he’d been on stage in Assembly.
A group of Year Sevens laughed and pointed at the incongruous red trousers. Some Year Nines recognised him at once.
“It’s him! The kid who pissed his pants in the bus stop!”
“It’s Kenny Piss-Pants!”
The cry became a chant. Before long, practically the whole school was involved. Kenny turned to run through the gates but a couple of teachers on duty there prevented his escape.
“This isn’t Comic Relief day, Dickens,” sneered Mr Wright, the Maths teacher.
“Your nose is supposed to be red not your legs,” laughed Miss Rose (Art). “I hope you’ve got a note for those trousers, Kenny.”
“Um, my mom forgot it, Miss.”
A Year Eight girl piped up. “Ask him why he’s wearing them, Sir.”
“That’s a good question,” said Mr Wright. “Why are you sporting such outlandish leg wear, Dickens?”
“Um...” Kenny’s face flushed to match his trousers. “Our washing machine’s bost, Sir. My school trousers am trapped inside it. Both pairs, Sir.”
“And your mother would corroborate this fanciful tale, would she?”
“She was going to do me a note, Sir. Only she forgot because she was trying to get through to the repairman, Sir.”
“Hmm.” The Maths teacher was sceptical.
“He pissed his pants!” the Year Eight girl announced with a cackle worthy of a coven.
“That’s quite enough, Naomi,” said Miss Rose sternly.
“Detention is in order, I think.” Mr Wright produced a self-carbonising pad of slips. Miss Rose put a hand on his arm to stop him clicking his ballpoint and starting to write.
“He can do lunchtime with me. Can’t you, Kenny?”
“Um, yes, Miss.”
Mr Wright put his pad away. “Too soft; that’s your trouble,” he grumbled. The bell rang. “Right, you lot. Let’s have you back indoors. In a line, Barry Patterson! In a line!”
Reluctantly, the kids filed through the doors, back to get their minds moulded and filled. Kenny stayed put.
“Come on, Kenny,” Miss Rose urged. “Get to class. I’ll see you at lunchtime, okay?”
“Yes, Miss.”
Kenny trudged inside with his hands in his tracksuit pockets. Miss Rose watched him go with a look of concern clouding her pale features.
Kenny appeared to be walking purposefully towards his History lesson but at the last second he ducked into the Boys’ toilets and locked himself in a cubicle.
If I can stay here until lunchtime, I can sneak across to the Art room while everybody’s going to dinner...
He put the lid down and sat on it. Damn; he’d left his bag in the car. He didn’t even have a book to read to help him pass the time. As he waited, he relived the nightmare scene from the bus stop.
He would get them back. Daley and his sidekicks.
They were going to be so fucking sorry.
***
Kenny was jolted out of his revenge fantasy by the sound of someone coming into the toilets: a couple of boys, laughing. A third came in and his voice chilled Kenny’s blood.
“You watch the door,” said Daley to one of his henchmen, and “You, spark up!” to the other.
They’re smoking! Kenny froze. He lifted his feet from the floor in case they peered under the cubicle door.
Soon the air was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke. It tickled Kenny’s throat; he had to clamp a hand over his nose and mouth.
“Gis a drag,” urged one of the sidekicks, “Come on, Deel; you’m hogging it.”
“You can bloody wait,” said Daley. Kenny was filled with an all-consuming hatred of the sound of that sneering voice. How he would love to cut out that vicious tongue!
“There’s hardly anything left!” complained the sidekick. “Just the nub end.”
“Knob end!” chuckled the other.
“Shut up!” said Daley. “You did check the bogs, didn’t you?”
“Um...”
“Because if there’s any spies...”
“Well...”
“This one’s locked!” Daley pointed at the red rectangle above the handle. “How can it be locked if there’s nobody in here?”
Kenny held his breath but he knew discovery was inevitable now. Daley kicked the door of the adjacent cubicle open, setting the walls to wobble. His face appeared over the partition, leering down at Kenny like a gargoyle.
“Oh, this is just perfect!” the gargoyle gurgled with glee. “It’s our old mate, Kenny Piss-pants!”
“Where?” said one of the henchmen.
“In here, you pranny,” said Daley in a despairing tone. “Come out, come out, little Kenny Piss-pants!” he sang.
“Drop dead!” said Kenny. He leaned away from Daley’s hand which was swinging at him like a cat’s paw in a goldfish bowl.
“Let’s get him out, lads!” Daley dropped out of Kenny’s sight. “Gis them matches and your Maths book.”
Kenny heard them tearing pages and striking matches. He screamed as burning sheets of paper flew into his cubicle. He backed against the wall, screeching.
In flames, the rest of the exercise book landed at Kenny’s feet. Kenny made a cautious attempt to stamp it out before jumping over it and sliding the latch. He wrenched the door open. Two pairs of hands seized him and threw him against the sinks. The henchmen held him still while Daley looked him up and down, sneering in contempt.
“Oh dear, oh dear! What will the Head say when we tell him who we’ve caught smoking in the shitter? Not only that, he was trying to burn the school down, Sir. What do they call that? Arson?”
“Arson!” laughed a sidekick.
“Bum-son, more like,” added the other. Nobody laughed.
“Give him a fag,” Daley commanded.
“I don’t smoke!” Kenny sounded indignant. Daley grabbed his cheeks and squeezed.
“Well, you’m going to start. Got to have your breath smelling of fags. And your fingers. It’s proof!”
The henchmen looked at their leader with renewed respect and awe: Daley thought of everything!
Kenny tried to wriggle free and avert his face but Daley only got rougher. He held a cigarette to Kenny’s lips.
“Puff on that, poof!” he laughed.
Kenny coughed and spluttered as his body rejected the unaccustomed smoke. His legs buckled as the queasiness of his first nicotine hit overwhelmed him. At a signal from Daley, the sidekicks released him. He sank to the floor.
Daley led his cronies out. Seconds later, the piercing cry of the fire alarm rent the air.
Kenny curled up on the cold linoleum. The caretaker, doing a sweep of the building, found him there, yanked him to his feet and dragged him out to the playing field.
Where the whole school was lined up to be counted.
A roar of derision went up when they saw the red trousers of the culprit - because word had already got around that Kenny Piss-pants had tried to torch the school.
Hmm, thought Daley, monitoring the crowd’s response. They’ll think he’s a hero if I’m not careful.
***
As soon as the fire brigade declared the building to be safe for re-entry, the Head of Hangham High dismissed the rows of pupils. They were too rowdy for his liking and the sooner they were back indoors, knuckling down to some serious learning, the better.
He was left with O’Toole the caretaker and a quivering wreck of a boy with bright red legs.
“He’s the one, to be sure,” said O’Toole, holding Kenny by the collar of his blazer. “I caught him in the act, so I did. He was after burning the whole feckin’ place down, so he was.”
“Thank you, O’Toole,” the Head smiled thinly. “What happened to your school trousers, boy? Or did you set fire to them as well?”
“No!” Kenny protested. “I never! They’m in the wash.”
“Well, do you have a note?”
“Er - no, my mom forgot, Sir.”
“Sir,” O’Toole interrupted, “I think you may be drifting off the point a little. The lad just tried to burn the fecking school down.”
“Thank you, O’Toole; I’ll deal with this. I imagine the fire-fighters left you quite a mess to attend to.” He looked pointedly at the main building. O’Toole released the young hooligan and sloped off, muttering.
“Alone with the would-be arsonist,” the Head’s face darkened. “Right, you little shit. Go and wait outside my office. We’ll get your mother in and probably the police as well.”
“Oh, but, Sir!”
“In!” the Head roared stale coffee breath in Kenny’s face. Shoulders slouching, Kenny shuffled back indoors. The Head watched him go.
Little shit. Try to burn down my school, would you? A taste of the slipper would make the Head feel better at least. He followed the boy indoors but when he reached his office, of the little shit there was no sign.