Lesson Two: One should NEVER jump to conclusions…

for if you are indeed human, there is a 99.678% chance that your premature conclusion is wrong.

James Winchester IV was not what you would call a normal child.

That is, not if you took the definition of ‘normal’ as some or all of the following: getting average marks in school, having an average sort of family with an average number of children and an average sort of dog (neither too large nor too small), having an average number of friends and an average number of nemeses, and so on and so forth. These things, James had not.

James Winchester IV, in actual fact, was terribly quiet (until you got to know him – after which he was only moderately so), had a meagre frame (the kind you expected to snap in a slight breeze) and was the only child in a family that came from very old money. He had a father, Walter, who had lately taken to devoting all his time to raising a litter of racing hounds (that never won) and a mother, Yvette, who spent her time delving into the poetry of T.S. Eliot and gazing wistfully into blue skies, wishing for clouds.

James Winchester IV, unfortunately, was not destined to live past 11 years of age.

This, at least, was what he believed.

He lived at Westcott School for Boys and Girls, and spent most of his free time searching for symptoms in himself to match some obscure disease he had discovered whilst flicking through medical web pages on the internet (for if he was going to die so cruelly in only two years’ time, he must die of something, mustn’t he?).

Given his hypochondria, James was practically a piece of furniture in the infirmary – ever present. And frequently sat upon, come to think of it. Although one does not usually pick on a piece of furniture in order to hide one’s insecurities. But this metaphor has gone on too long already. Where was I?

Ah yes, the infirmary. The constant presence of Nurse Esther Mason-Smith in the infirmary made it probably the most pleasant locale in the entire school (at least in James’ opinion). She was his most reliable friend. She was quite young, and, though not obviously beautiful, had a sweet and sympathetic nature that was immediately apparent to everyone she met.

James Winchester’s was the kind of quiet and determined disposition that could achieve almost anything once the decision to do it had been made. Now, when his classmates’ parents came to visit them at the school’s frequent family events (four times a term – James’ own excellent parents never seemed able to take time out of their busy schedules[9] to be present at such events),  James had observed that almost all couples argued incessantly on one ludicrous topic or another. Andrew Harrison VI (who lived in the next room to James), he noticed, invariably sat between his parents at every family event, happily shovelling mounds of mashed potato into his mouth whilst the aforementioned couple glanced daggers at each other, which, in senses literal and metaphorical, flew straight over Andrew’s head.

As James had sat alone at the latest event of this kind, flanked by two empty chairs, he had observed Mr and Mrs Harrison’s latest debate. It seemed to have something to do with an extension cord and a lemon, but since the circular tables were too large and the general hum of conversation too loud for him to hear all the particulars of the current argument, James had great difficulty imagining how these two objects could produce such apparent discord.

“Why do parents fight so much?” James asked Nurse Esther the next day in the infirmary. His ‘arrhythmia’ had been troubling him again that morning [10] .

Esther’s kind dark eyes peered over the lenses of her glasses to rest on the small boy, who lay on the bed closest to her desk, gazing at the uninteresting white roof above him with a strange intensity. Having mistakenly supposed that James was referring to his own parents’ constant fighting, she attempted to console him with, “Don’t worry, James. When two people love each other so much, it’s easy to be offended by little things.”

James, however, had never seen his parents argue, and took Esther’s consolation quite literally. As he stared blankly at the white ceiling above he came to a most dreadful conclusion: his parents must not love each other at all.

Now, you must realise, dear reader, that James was not a stupid child. He was, though, at a time of life when it is all too easy to make strange leaps of logic that might not seem logical to a person of nine and twenty. James’ natural tendency was towards pessimism, and wherever two events should be equally likely, James always felt that the worse of the two would occur. But his pessimism was not of the usual order, where a person may sit and depressingly contemplate all the horrid possibilities which are certain to happen. James’ pessimism was instead the kind that spurred him into action. Once he discovered an evil possibility, his next thought was: ‘How can I change this?’

So, having come to the ever-so-logical conclusion that his parents must not love one another, his next thought – rather than ‘oh dear me, what a terrible life I am sure to have’ – was this: ‘What can I do to make them love each other again?’

Nurse Esther, in observing the blank stare the ceiling was receiving from James, was sure that her attempt to console the boy had been woefully unsuccessful. James and Esther were separated by a full 17 years, and though both perceived almost instantly that their natures were quite similar, their temporal separation resulted in the former regarding the latter with great admiration (always unspoken, mind you) and the latter regarding the former with a combination of amusement and affection, having recognised in him a younger and male version of herself. So, though both dearly loved to observe and to reason, it did not always follow that their conclusions were correct.

And so it was that James concluded (from his parents’ total lack of argument) that Yvette and Walter Winchester did not love each other. This negative conclusion now attained, it followed that James must do something about it.

He knew that his parents would never come to fetch him if he simply asked – they never paid him the slightest bit of attention in that way. They had always given him the most popular toys every birthday (sent in nice packages with no human contact whatsoever) but had never listened to his annual requests  (posted to his parents one month before each of his last three birthdays) for a simple set of Lego blocks (as he very much liked to build and create things, he discovered, after Nurse Esther Mason-Smith had given him a smallish packet of Lego blocks for his 6th birthday).

If his parents would not come to him simply by his asking, then he must somehow get the school to send for them. But the school always requested his parents’ presence at the frequent family events, and they never came to those, James reasoned. And so it followed that the only way his parents would take him out of the school was if he were to be so bad that he was expelled.

This presented a slight problem for James, as he had never been very good at behaving badly. He’d tried it once or twice, mainly out of curiosity, but the resulting feeling did not sit well with him at all. So, he decided, if he was to do something bad enough to cause his own expulsion, he must first do something very good to balance it.

“Thanks Miss Mason-Smith, I’m feeling much better now,” James said. He promptly sat up and made his way back to his classroom.

Some minutes after James’ unnoticed return, Andrew Harrison VI (boys at this school invariably had Roman numerals attached to their surname, their parents being wealthy and pretentious [11] ) looked up from his work and said, “You’re even quieter than usual today, Jimmy-boy.”

This may seem like a kind thing for Andrew to have said, but when spoken through a sneer it sounded more like a threat. Andrew Harrison VI was a large, indelicate boy, with a quick mouth and a slow wit. He was also the type of boy to be pleased with exactly the opposite of what one was doing. Had James said anything at all that morning, Andrew might have told him to shut his trap; had he been doing his work instead of staring into space, Andrew might have stolen his workbook and thrown it out the window. There is usually one like Andrew in every class. It was for such children that God created Comeuppance.

James might have done well to have noticed this pattern of behaviour in Andrew, but as it was, he was thinking to himself how much he disliked being called ‘Jimmy-boy’, or, really, any variation on the name ‘James’. James was his name, after all, and he quite liked it. So he did not respond, but simply frowned.

This did not please Andrew Harrison VI.

With one great heave, the large boy yanked James’ chair out from beneath him. James crashed to the floor with a cry of surprise, landing hard on his backside. Simultaneously, and with the fluid motion of a well-practised and hardly-ever-punished bully, Andrew Harrison withdrew his arm and returned his attention to his notebook, as if nothing had happened.

Mrs Bartlett-Cooke, with her head behind a book, had not seen a thing. Dobbing would solve nothing, James knew. He ignored the quiet sniggers of his classmates, sat back in his chair without a fuss, and returned his thoughts to the task at hand.

He must do the good thing before he did the bad thing, he thought, or he’d never be able to bring himself to do it. But what was a good thing he might do?

Just as this question formed in his mind, from the desk behind his he heard Nadine Alcott-Bradley [12] complain that their table did not have any blue or red pencils at all. James looked at his own table’s pencil supply and saw three blue and four red pencils. Taking one of each, he quietly made his way towards Nadine and placed them on the table, beside her hands.

“Oh James, why did you do that?” Nadine asked sweetly. Not even James’ powers of observation would have led him to guess that this sweetness was put-on – Nadine’s parents always came to the family nights and she always charmed them into getting anything and everything she wanted.

Thinking he was about to do Andrew Harrison VI a great favour, James said, “Andrew overheard you saying that you needed blue and red pencils.”

“Andrew?” Nadine gave James a strange look. “Then why are you giving them to me?”

James leaned forward and lowered his voice to the quietest whisper, saying, “He doesn’t want people knowing how much he enjoys doing nice things for other people. He’s an anonymous charity sort of boy.”

James’ generous lie could not have been a more opposite picture of Andrew’s character.

Nadine’s sweet expression suddenly vanished, to be replaced by a look of surprisingly violent disgust. “I only said I didn’t have blue or red pencils so I’d have an excuse to stop working on my poster.”

James frowned.

“All Andrew has proved,” Nadine continued, “is that he is a nasty little eavesdropper and that he makes actual nice boys do all his running around.”

James’ frown remained in place.

Nadine’s look of disgust also remained firmly fixed.

This scenario had not gone at all as James had planned.

“You might as well take these back,” she snapped, thrusting the pencils into his hands, and revealed her own stash (which she had hidden under her desk). “I don’t need them.”

James could not help but be rather amused by the episode, as he walked back to his desk. He’d done no good to either Andrew Harrison VI or Nadine Alcott-Bradley, as he’d originally intended. The only person to gain from the situation (in Nadine declaring him ‘nice’) was himself. Oh well, he shrugged to himself, he’d meant well, and so was satisfied that this could count as a good deed.

James had much greater difficulty thinking of something bad to do. He became momentarily excited by one idea, but realized that it was an offence which would not lead to anything more than a lunch-time detention and looks of horror from all the girls. Besides, he so disliked the sounds and smells involved. No, it was a bad idea.

Then James had a better one.

Bethany Ashton-Cox, who also sat beside him, was out of the room, making a slow visit to the girls’ toilets. Her poster[13] sat, unattended, on her desk.

Taking his scissors, and humming loudly to attract attention, James proceeded to cut her poster into pieces. Andrew Harrison VI, on James’ other side in the row of three, finally looked up. “What’re you doing?” he demanded.

“Oh, just cutting Bethany’s poster into lots of little pieces,” James replied and placed the remains of Bethany’s poster back on her desk. He grinned at Andrew in as evil a manner as he could manage. But James Winchester could not look evil even if he tried – his grin was all teeth and no vice.

At this point Bethany Ashton-Cox returned to the room, and upon seeing her ruined poster, James with scissors in-hand and Andrew with a purple pencil, immediately began to wail, “Mrs Bartlett-Cooke, Mrs Bartlett-Cooke, Andrew’s cut up my poster while I was gone!”

Andrew, flushing with indignation, stood up from his chair. “I did not!” he shouted. “James did it!”

Now Mrs Bartlett-Cooke was standing over them, looking grave.

“He did, I swear,” Andrew said, pointing again at James.

“Andrew,” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke began to scold, “nobody would believe for a second that James would do such a thing.”

“But he’s holding the scissors!”

All the other students were looking up now, and appearing doubtful of Andrew’s declaration. Though James was hardly ever noticed in general, he was invariably quiet, or nice, or agreeable; but never naughty. Andrew, however, was a much likelier candidate for such an offence – even if James was holding the scissors. It was more likely that Andrew had done the deed and then shoved the scissors into James’ hands.

“He’s not lying, Mrs Bartlett-Cooke,” James said in his quiet way. “I cut up Bethany’s poster.”

“James, you don’t have to agree with people all the time, especially at a time like this,” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke said in an aggravated manner.

“But I’m not just saying it to agree with him, Mrs Bartlett-Cooke,” James replied, his voice growing a tiny bit louder. Though at first he had been slightly amused, he now began to feel dismay at the prospect that he might never be blamed for anything, even with an admission of guilt and the weapon still in his hands. And if that were the case, he’d never be able to get home, and never be able to make his parents love each other again. He began to feel desperate, and, as he spoke, desperation lent a volume to his voice that no teacher or student would have expected of him. “I cut up Bethany’s poster.”

“Now, James,” said Mrs Bartlett-Cooke, “if you keep this up, I’ll have to punish you for lying.”

“But I’m not lying,” James said.

“Really, he’s not,” Andrew interjected.

“I’ve had enough of all this fibbing!” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke said sternly. “You’ll both go to detention today, and that’s the end of the matter.”

James frowned and Andrew growled. Bethany continued to sob, her artistic efforts reduced to a jigsaw of irregular oblongs.

“Come this way, Bethany,” Mrs Bartlett-Cooke said. “You may bring your things away from Andrew and sit over here with Camilla Carter-Smith-Burke.”

Bethany did not appear to be particularly happy with this arrangement. James thought she was just the kind of silly girl who would prefer to sit by a rich boy who cut up her work than a poor girl who was only there because she was smart.

James shook his head, thinking to himself that the world was a very, very strange place. He felt that he did not understand it one little bit.