29

They were out of coal, so had resorted to damp wood found amongst the street’s rubble. It hissed and crackled angrily in the stove.

Joseph said nothing. He was still pondering the contents of the tin, vainly applying his best X-ray vision to the mantelpiece. He only stopped when Mrs F followed his eyeline and clocked what he was looking at.

‘So,’ she said, not really aimed at anyone or anything.

‘Aye,’ he replied. His glass was empty now, but his palms still gripped it. ‘Do you think he’ll be back?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘Bert’s dad.’

‘Who knows?’ she said. ‘People like that can be difficult to understand. All mouth and no trousers, some would say.’

‘Is that what you think?’

Mrs F shook her head. ‘I don’t know much, but I do know this. Men like Conaghan don’t enjoy seeing women like me anywhere but in the kitchen. Seeing me at the zoo, regardless of what happened to his boy, well, it offends him, threatens him, I reckon. Though whether it’s enough for him to do anything about it, we’ll see in time, won’t we?’

Joseph nodded. He was in little doubt that the man would follow through on his threats. After all, his son had.

‘Do you think there will be more funny business at school? With either of the boys?’

Joseph made a gesture that was hard to read, something between a shrug and a shake of the head. There’d be hard stares and puffed-out chests from both sides, he was sure, and it was difficult to give each other a wide berth with so few in the classroom.

Both sides held weapons. Bert knew how much Joseph struggled with his reading, but Joseph, well, he’d seen Bert wet himself for goodness’ sake, so Joseph was unsure as to who would reallyhave the upper hand.

‘You’ve still not told me about what really happened, you know. About what went on to make them even come to the zoo.’

Joseph shrugged, just as he had every time she’d asked. He knew she was getting more exasperated every time he deflected, but he wasn’t ready to talk about it. ‘What’s the point?’ he said, deadpan.

‘The point, Joseph, is that if things don’t ever get talked about, then they never get out, and things have a way of burrowing down inside you. And as they do that, they spread, they spread and they fester without daylight or air. Sometimes, without you ever realising, it’s reached every part of your body, so every step, every breath, every decision you make, it’s made up of that thing, that thing that was too horrible to talk about in the first place. It takes you over. Believe me, it rules you. Is that what you want?’

‘No.’

‘Then look at me as you say it.’

He lifted his head. ‘Course not.’

‘Then for goodness’ sake, talk to me about it!’

He looked at her as his head raced to think of how to explain it. Tell her like you told Syd, he said to himself. You managed it then, didn’t you?

But this was different. She’d judge him, make him feel even thicker than he already did.

Mrs F looked at him expectantly and he grimaced.

Say he did talk. Say he told her everything that had happened and how it had made him feel. What good would it do? Could she turn back time and make it not happen? Stop the boys from calling him out, or pin back their arms to stop the blows? No, she couldn’t. She was powerless. It had already happened, so what was the point in dragging it out?

The only problem was, Mrs F was as stubborn as he was, so if he wasn’t going to talk, she was going to ask questions.

‘Syd says they went for you as soon as you walked in. That right?’

He nodded.

‘Says it was only one comment that upset you.’

A shrug this time.

‘Something about you being thick.’

‘Why don’t you just keep asking Syd, instead of giving me the third degree?’

‘Believe me, Joseph, I’ve tried.’

‘Maybe you’re not trying hard enough?

‘Or maybe she’s just protecting you.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘Beats me. I can never usually shut her up.’

‘Maybe it’s not worth knowing.’

Mrs F was on her feet. ‘Not worth knowing? I’ve had you top to toe in bruises, a complete stranger of a boy almost ripped limb from limb in my zoo, and the threat of our most precious animal, our only precious animal, being put to sleep. All this because of something happening which isn’t worth me knowing?’

She paused, her face as angry as her wild hair. Joseph knew this was the point he was meant to come clean, but still, still,he could not find the words.

‘Then, if you’re not going to tell me, all I can do is make a guess. So, here it is, here’s my guess. That boy in the classroom, he offended you. He saw something in you, the second you walked in, and thought he could have some fun at your expense. Get under your skin. So he did. He called you thick, a dunce. Told the teacher you couldn’t read or write or even spell your name. And you, because you are the most pig-headed child... no, person I have ever met in my life, you refused to prove them wrong. Because it’s easier for you to be angry and use your fists, than choose to engage your brain and try for once.’

‘I did try, all right? I’ve tried all my life. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking the same as everyone else. That I’m just thick or lazy, but I’m telling you, I’m not. I know about the alphabet, I can tell you about the vowels as well, all of them. But soon as I try to read them off the page, they start dancing.’

‘What do you mean, dancing?’

‘They won’t stay still, the words. They move about. Every time I think I recognise one, it moves to a different place, like it’s floating or something. Drives me mad, it does.’

She’d never heard anything like it. She wanted to believe him but had no idea if it was actually true. The boy was no liar and his eyes were blazing as he spoke, but it sounded so... ridiculous. Like the ramblings of a madman.

‘And it happens every time you read? No matter how big the writing is?’

‘Yes.’

She exhaled, thinking for a second. ‘Then we should get you to the doctor. Maybe it’s your eyes, maybe you just need glasses.’

He remembered the indignity of Syd’s aunt’s pair. ‘Or maybe they can slap the straitjacket on me there and then. Cos I know, I know what you’re thinking. And I know there’s hospitals down here for people like me!’ He was on his feet now, blood pulsing, fingertips gripping the table edge, nails digging into wood.

‘Only things you need to know, Joseph Palmer, are these: one, I believe you. Two, there might well be doctors, but there’ll be no straitjackets and no bloomin’ hospitals, neither. Not while you’re with me. And three? I don’t care if you can’t read. No matter what the reason. There’s plenty that can’t, and I don’t judge them either. What I do care about is this temper of yours. It’ll land you in way more trouble than not knowing your A-B-Cs ever will. There’s so much anger in you, too much for my liking. But I’ll tell you something else, it doesn’t outweigh the good in you, not by a long chalk. Look at what you did to help that bully at the zoo? Despite what he’d done to you?’

Joseph furrowed his brow and shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot.

‘Oh, I know you keep it well hidden, but I see it, Joseph. You can’t hide anything from me. So, from this point on, I’ll be asking a lot more of you, and if you do something good? I’ll tell you about it, just as I will if you do something that makes my hand itch.’

Joseph took her words in. Well, he took in what he could, and it had been quite a speech. What he hadn’t noticed was that he was no longer gripping the table. And his fists weren’t fists either.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said, the devil still very much in him.

‘You can.’

He pointed at the mantelpiece. ‘What’s in your tin?’

But she didn’t answer. As like a boxer, she was saved, though not by a bell, but by a siren. It was announcing the end of this round, and the beginning of a new one.

Their eyes leaped skywards even though they were indoors.

‘Right, get yourself down the shelter, pronto.’

‘Not with the Twyfords,’ he groaned. ‘They hate me.’

‘Don’t take it personally. They hate everyone.’

‘Don’t leave me with them, then.’ He knew they were short on time, so he had a better chance of getting his own way for once. ‘I can come with you again. To the zoo. After all, you don’t want to leave Tweedy with them next door, either now, do you? They hate him even more than me.’

Mrs F sighed, sagging as she reached for their jackets.

‘All right, then. But you do as I say, when I say. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘And you wear the balaclava I knitted you.’

‘Deal.’

‘And these.’ She threw him a pair of knitted gloves. ‘I finished them earlier.’

They were pink. Joseph’s face told her what he thought.

‘No gloves, no zoo. It was the only wool I had. Now. Hurry up, before Adolf comes knocking.’

For once, Joseph did as he was told.