Frederick's Coat (9 page)

‘Sorry again, but I never see you socialise …’

‘I have a few friends at the university. And since we’re observing, I’ve noticed you don’t spend time with anyone who could be assumed to be a close friend,’ said Wilson. ‘Male or female. Or is that a profesional distance?’

‘I’ve wondered that myself. Blame it on my son,’ Johno said.

‘You’re quite young to own a pub. How old are you?’

‘Low thirties,’ Johno said. Sounded better like that.

‘I had you as older.’

‘Thanks. Have I taken your money for the drink yet?’ Johno joked. ‘No. That one’s on me.’

‘Thank you. I meant the personality. You’ve lived a little.’

‘No. That’s the face I was born with. Maybe business grew me up fast,’ Johno said. ‘But not as fast as bringing up a child on my own.’

‘I’m assuming Mavis living with you helps,’ said Wilson. ‘You know, a consistent female presence in the boy’s life. Guess you’re aware every pub patron knows a publican’s intimate personal details?’

‘Especially details that are wrong or exaggerated,’ said Johno. ‘I know people talk. I prefer to listen.’

‘I wasn’t prying. He has potential.’ Wilson’s hand indicated Danny’s art.

‘Just potential?’ Johno was slightly miffed. ‘I thought he’d gone past that.’

‘Don’t get defensive. Frankly, I’m certain your knowledge of art could be measured in a few sentences, if that.’

‘How to make friends …’

‘Not by sucking up and telling a parent that his son’s a genius. Talent’s no use if it’s not directed and hours aren’t spent in study and perfecting the work.’ The man had suddenly come alive.

‘He’s got that part right.’

‘Do you think Danny would be interested if I lent him some books on artists? On drawing and painting techniques, construction, perspective and balance, tone, shading, light — the list is endless.’

‘Isn’t he a bit young? I don’t want to be forcing him.’

‘I’ve thought about it and think I have books he could start with. User-friendly, as they say. I’m sure he’ll get something out of them.’

‘Thank you. He’d appreciate it.’

The tweed-jacketed arm came up and rested lightly on Johno’s arm. ‘I have books that only a handful of specialists would know of. He won’t understand them immediately, but if he possesses true talent, then at some stage he will.’

‘He’s already left me behind,’ said Johno. ‘Maybe we can come to a new room rental arrangement.’

‘Don’t be silly — sir. You insult me,’ Wilson said. ‘I’d be happy to spend time with the boy. Excuse me.’ Lifted his hand. ‘Ah, I am
reading your expression, the shadow that passed across your eyes. Think I didn’t see? Well, Mr Ryan, my life pursuit is observing and studying. So let me tell you I’m no sexual predator. I don’t have a sexual bone in my body. Probably one reason I failed to make the grade as an artist. I lacked that passion, that bubbling, charged quality so necessary to produce good art.’

‘As a father it’s natural I’d have those thoughts.’ Johno held out his hand.

‘You have no worry on that count.’ They shook on it, and from then on young Danny spent a lot of time with Wilson Reed, always at the apartment, where Mavis was happy to include him in the evening meal.

Some months passed. At first Wilson’s influence seemed to produce only confusion as Danny tried new techniques, experimented with colours and perspectives. But slowly, a different style started to emerge and went even further beyond his father’s limited understanding. If Wilson said Danny was ‘coming along just fine’, then all was well with Johno. The unconventional boy in the little hat was being steered by the academic who didn’t quite fit anywhere either.

A
fter breakfast on Sunday, Johno and Danny would either drive to Bondi Beach, or walk downtown to catch a ferry at Circular Quay, with a choice of Manly, Watsons Bay or Mosman. If it wasn’t swimming weather, then it was a ferry to Taronga Zoo, which Danny never tired of, and his father never tired of seeing the pleasure it gave him.

The boy didn’t do reproductions of big cats, bears or elephants. Instead he focused on a single aspect of each animal: a bear’s great girth, exaggerated lion or tiger paws and rippling, outsized back haunches, pearl white teeth with a smear of blood, glowing yellow eyes, whiskers like robotic probes, a head with no body attached, and always from an unexpected perspective.

At Danny’s behest they went down to Circular Quay via the Royal Botanic Gardens, walking through the well-designed park with its
long-established
trees, many of which reappeared in Danny’s paintings. Since Wilson’s mentoring and books, Danny hardly ever sketched in pencil.

‘Hi, Frederick.’ Danny’s face lit up and so did that of a large, bearded, scraggly haired homeless guy who looked to be in his sixties but could be younger. He wore a grey, herringbone coat that had seen better days, and on someone with money. At first glance he could be just another mentally ill, homeless person, but Johno thought he saw intelligence in the way this Frederick was trying to read him. Though he stank to high heaven.

‘You know each other?’ Johno surprised but hardly dismayed.

‘Haven’t seen you in a while, kid,’ said Frederick. ‘Gidday, Mister
Father. He’s got a heart of gold, your boy.’

‘He’ll learn to pick who he’s generous to,’ Johno said. ‘Of course not saying—’

‘Frederick’s very nice, Dad,’ Danny cut in.

‘I told him off the first time,’ said Frederick. He had a smoker’s deep voice.

Danny said, ‘We met one time after school. He’s a poet.’

‘That I am not,’ said Frederick. ‘Merely a lover of poetry.’

Looking at his son, Johno said, ‘I didn’t know you liked poetry.’

‘Neither did I. Not till I heard Frederick.’

The familiarity between them started to trouble Johno. He took out his wallet and handed the man a ten-dollar bill. ‘I got my generosity from my son,’ he said, meaning it but more to indicate they were moving on.

‘I wish my circumstances allowed me to decline, sir,’ said Frederick.

‘And I’m glad my circumstances put me in the position,’ said Johno. He turned to Danny. ‘Do you two want to chat?’ In case he was ending something before he ought.

‘Not today.’ Danny’s eyes went from one adult to the other. ‘Another time, eh, Frederick?’

‘At your leisure, young man. And thank you, Mister Father.’ They watched Frederick shuffle off.

‘He wears that old coat like it’s a royal robe,’ Johno said.

‘He’s pretending. Wilson told me everyone is pretending to be what they’re not,’ said Danny. ‘What are you pretending to be, Dad?’

‘Me?’ Caught on the hop. ‘Well, maybe a publican? Why are you looking at me like that? You agree I’m a pretend pub owner, or what?’ Thinking he’d pretended to be a professional criminal for a brief period in a long ago life.

‘I don’t know,’ said Danny. ‘Wilson says we all know in our hearts what we are too afraid to be. Not sure I know what he means.’

But Johno understood. Just didn’t know what he was afraid of, what he avoided and what he denied. A serious relationship with a woman, perhaps? The mother he’d seen but once for a few minutes figured
somewhere in the background too. But then he wasn’t the type for much introspection or self-analysis.

It started to rain. As father and son took shelter under the broad spread of tree they found they had company: two homeless men who obviously resented their presence. One was older, the other in his early thirties — maybe Johno’s age. Both hollow-cheeked and sallow, the same shifty eyes with a single desire writ large: where the money for their next drink was coming from.

Danny asked the older one, ‘Do you know Frederick?’

‘Sure we do,’ he said. ‘Know you, too. You’re Danny boy.’

‘You made my son a member of some club without asking his father’s permission?’ asked Johno in a slightly aggressive tone.

‘It’s a public park,’ said the younger, tougher guy. ‘Givvus some change will ya, Danny boy?’ he said, completely ignoring Johno.

Instantly Danny gave each man a two-dollar coin from his Sunday allocation. The older guy said thank you, but the second just stared at the coin, at Danny, finally at Johno.

‘Mate, can ya spare it?’

Johno was about to speak when Danny handed the man another two dollars, said, ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t say sorry.’ Johno’s tone was harsh. ‘Can you spare a kid some gratitude?’

‘Not his bloody money, is it? It’s yours.’

‘Come on, Dan. Let’s get out of here before I slap this fool’s head.’

‘No, Dad. He’s right.’

‘I said, let’s go.’

This triggered an outburst from the drunk about it all being a conspiracy and that God’s coming judgement was going to be ‘terrible indeed’.

The rain now falling heavily couldn’t disguise the fact that Danny was upset. ‘You crying, son?’

‘I should have given them all of it.’

‘No. Or they’ll be waiting each time at the entrance and others
like Frederick won’t get anything. And you know I don’t like it. Give any of them five hundred bucks a week and they’ll still want more. It never ends.’

But Danny just shook his head in confusion, a son who somehow had hidden his sadness beneath a hat without a brim, and that he was outgrowing.

‘I’ve got a right little sensitive one in you, haven’t I? Come on, let’s grab a cab and go change, then we’ll take Mavis and Wilson to Chinatown for lunch.’

‘What are the homeless people having for lunch? Where do they go when it’s wet or cold or too hot?’

‘Maybe they pretend to have what they don’t,’ said Johno. ‘We’ll ask the Prof what he thinks. Maybe he has some answers.’

His past again, like a couple of times when he’d had his restaurant, tough guys trying to muscle in on him or do the crim-talk, old-mates act. This one was on his own, heavily tattooed hands, prison workout muscles, no idea how he stood out in this bar of ordinary Joe Blow worker citizens. Could only be a bottom-rung criminal on the lookout for company — with no doubt a conspiracy to offer.

He kept staring at Johno, leaning there on the elbow-height table, his grin getting bolder with each schooner of beer, drinking fast, getting up some courage. Twice he went outside to have a cigarette.

Onto his fourth beer when he ambled up to Johno. ‘Now where’ve I seen you before?’

Johno said nothing.

‘Long Bay sound about right?’

‘Long time ago sounds better,’ Johno said. ‘Who the hell are you?’

The guy put a hand up. ‘It’s okay. I’m just one of those naughty boys used to walk round and round the exercise yard, hang out in the B Wing rec room. You know? We all see each other, faces meaning more than anything else.’ Grinning at this, making Johno remember how every criminal thinks he’s pretty hot shit.

‘You know? All waiting to get back in the race.’

‘A race?’ said Johno. ‘That how you see it?’

‘What would you call it?’

‘Let’s say I was in this same race?’ Johno hadn’t blinked. ‘We lost it, didn’t we?’

‘Win some, lose some.’

‘You read that in a book while you were killing time? You don’t look like a reader. More, I dunno, kind of ordinary, not interested in anything outside your own narrow little world. A bloke not up to much — that be right?’

‘If you were in the same residence, pal, then takes one to know one.’ The familiar smile became a snarl. ‘I was gonna say, “Here’s to old memories.” But now? Jesus, don’t let me make the mistake of asking you a favour.’

‘I won’t,’ said Johno. ‘That’s asking or doing it.’

‘Sheesh, so how cold are you, mate?’

Johno made an act of looking around at his bar getting busier. ‘Not with people I like. They come in here because they feel welcome.’

‘Lucky them.’ The guy was starting to get the hurt look that usually preceded the eruption of an emotional volcano. ‘I used to see you and your pal Shane in there.’

‘One of my customers saw the prime minister once,’ said Johno. ‘I don’t think he walked up to him and tried to be mates.’

‘Hey? Come on now. I ain’t gonna
tell
no one.’

‘So it stays where it belongs then? Back in the fucking irrelevant past.’

‘I get it. You’re in denial.’ The stupid grin was back. ‘Nothing to be ashamed about.’

‘Do I look like I am?’

‘If you don’t then you sure sound it. The name’s Duke—’

‘I don’t care what your name is.’ Johno wasn’t waiting for the surname or the supposedly funny or interesting explanation for why he was called Duke. ‘Door’s thataway, buddy.’

‘Well, I’ll be fucked, an ex-con who’s gone all born-again? Selling booze?’

‘Not selling you even that anymore. Giving you a free walk out the door before I think of more reasons I don’t like you.’

‘Is that right? Something about my
character
you don’t like, perhaps? Or do I remind you too much of— Stick your joint. Okay?’

‘More than okay. I’m delighted.’

‘Smartarse, eh? I’ll put the word around that an ex-con by the name of Johno Ryan, who used to run with Shane McNeil, now doing time in Melbourne — Barwon maximum security, I believe — has turned on his own kind.’

If it hadn’t been for the mention of Shane, Johno might have had something to say about Duke’s implied threat. But hearing Shane was back inside and at a maximum security down in Victoria?

‘You do that, pal. And tell them no ex-con gets a welcome in my joint. Save me a lot of aggro.’

The guy turned and left, Johno close behind to make sure he wasn’t coming back.

He’d thought of Shane occasionally but more often had dreams about him. In these they were usually in prison and trying to escape, or get away from an inmate mob attack. Worst of all was the dream where he was sentenced again — to life.

He could have gone to see Shane’s parents years ago, find out what he was up to. Johno’s father Laurie, once close to Bobby McNeil, hadn’t mentioned him in years so they’d probably drifted apart, or had a row, more likely. He did write Shane a letter, at least began one, but couldn’t think of what to say.

He tore it up without asking himself why.

D
anny lay on his bed, Johno sat on the edge, summoned home from the bar after a call from Mavis at four on a weekday afternoon.

Speaking softly as he stroked his boy’s head, Johno said, ‘Mavis says you were bullied. Some kid hit you?’

Danny stared into space, like someone stunned at life betraying him. ‘Just because of my painting and drawing.’

‘I wondered how long it would take to bring out bad behaviour in some kids,’ Johno said.

‘Why? People used to like my art. I never got bullied before. Everyone knew I preferred being on my own, but now some of them are calling me a no-mates, and other worse stuff.’

‘Your talent will make some kids jealous. A wonder it didn’t happen earlier,’ said Johno. ‘Do you know the boy? Is he in your class?’

‘It’s three, not one,’ said Danny. ‘And they’re a year older — twelve.’

‘Older, bigger and not even from your class?’ Johno could feel the anger rising. ‘So, what happened? How did it start? What did they say?’

‘That I’m a pretty boy and my art is shit. I don’t know how they heard about it.’

‘The whole school will know. You have a rare talent.’

‘Am I pretty — like a girl?’

‘No, but you’re one handsome kid. That’s how you were born.’ But Johno could see that his son might be perceived as slightly effeminate — the silky skin, the trusting eyes, the perfectly sculpted features.

‘They said I spend half my life looking in the mirror and the other half doing my dumb drawings. But I don’t.’

‘I know you don’t, or not the mirror thing.’

‘And arty-
farty
? Like it’s shameful, or I blew off in class? A
pretty
boy?’ Danny gave his father an imploring look. ‘I’m not pretty like a girl, am I, Dad?’

And when Johno didn’t respond immediately, he said, ‘So what if I
am
arty-farty and look different? I’m not doing anything to them.’

‘Don’t worry about them saying that. Mavis said you’re in pain. Where?’

‘I hurt all over. Three of them were punching me …’

Violence roiled in Johno’s stomach.

‘What did you do when they hit you?’ Why was he hoping his son wouldn’t say he ran?

Danny did say it. ‘I ran away, but they chased me and held me on the ground.’

Johno had to bite his tongue and say, ‘Keep going, son. I’m your dad, your best—’ No. A father was what was needed now, not a friend. ‘I’m here for you.’ Yet feeling ashamed at his son running.

‘I felt wet on my shorts …’

‘That’s all right. It’s only a reaction. Could happen to anyone if it’s three on one and they’re older.’ Though not to Johno, not at any age.

‘Wasn’t me,’ Danny said. ‘One of them peed on me. And laughed. They grabbed my hat and said I’d never see it again, that I was a weirdo for wearing it.’

‘It was too small for you anyway. We’ll get you another one.’ Must contain the rage or he was of no use to his son. ‘Other kids saw this?’

‘Lots. They were laughing, too. Holding their noses and carrying on like it was me had wet myself.’

‘You tell your teacher?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Then I’m a telltale. That’s worse than a pants-wetter.’

Johno had no answer to that. ‘Okay. You talked to Mavis about the bullying and then what?’

‘I had a bath and Mavis called you.’

‘I mean, what are your thoughts now?’

‘I hate them.’

‘You think about hitting them back? One by one?’

‘I don’t like fighting. I’ve never had a fight. Don’t want to either. It’s stupid, people going crazy punching each other, rolling round on the ground. Blood. Pain.’

‘So how do you think you’ll stop these boys the next time?’

‘Run faster? Go tell the principal?’ Danny seemed more hurt and confused. Johno found it hard to believe his son could be so blind to his own peers. ‘Or I could change schools? I’d rather do that. Can I, Dad? Please?’

‘Do anything you want,’ said Johno. ‘Except change schools.’ Or run away, or raise the idea of going to live with his mother.

‘Why can’t I? I wouldn’t do any art at the next school. I’d know better. Do it at home.’

‘One day you’d forget. It’s in you. Like it is in some kids to get jealous, or pick on you because you’re different. Your good looks won’t change.’ How to say the next bit?

‘Danny …? My father told me the way to stop a bully is hit him back five to his one …’

‘I don’t fight, though. I couldn’t even give one for one.’

‘Sometimes you have to.’

‘No! Why can’t you just move me to another school?’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Then come and tell them not to touch me again — please? Give them your scary look.’

‘I’ve never had that look, not for you.’

‘At work sometimes. The restaurant and at the pub. I’ve heard your staff say you’re scary when you’re angry. You’re scary now being angry at these boys. A couple of times at me.’

‘But …?’

‘I wasn’t actually scared.’

‘No reason to be. Not of me.’ Johno wanted to embrace the boy, end his pain. Yet he also wanted to hear him say he’d stand up to these boys and fight them tomorrow.

Felt guilty when Danny’s grip on his hand tightened.

‘I could either go talk to your school principal, or, I could teach you a few moves.’

‘No!’ Danny recoiled. For just a moment he seemed as fragile as a girl. ‘I hate violence. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I don’t bully other kids.’

‘I’m glad to hear that.’

A little surprised, Danny asked, ‘Did you bully anyone at school?’

‘Never. My dad and Gramps brought me up not to bully but also not to accept being bullied.’

‘I don’t remember you teaching me that.’

‘I didn’t have to. I could see you were never going down that path.’

Danny half turned away. ‘Like I’m never going back to school, either. I’m not.’

‘You are, son. Because you have to. I can’t even go with you and talk to these boys. Not how it works. A lot of kids get bullied. It’s something you have to sort out for yourself, even if your teachers intervene.’ Couldn’t suggest getting others to help, not to a kid who’d never made friends, not how he was. And Johno hadn’t exactly made a lot of friends either, more acquaintances. He rarely accepted invitations to parties, to any social event; always had running his pub as an excuse.

‘It’s not fair.’

‘I know. Not fair you’ve got good looks and artistic ability, either. Not fair we live here in a nice air-conditioned apartment and I have a successful pub, while people like Frederick are homeless.’

‘Did you take your dad’s advice?’

‘Yeah. I did.’

‘Can you tell me how?’

‘No. Or then it’s boasting. I just stood up to bullies and — I still would. Like you have to.’

‘I’m not fighting. I’m too scared.’

‘We’re all scared. But you know who’s the most scared? The bully.’

‘No.’ Danny didn’t believe it for a moment.

‘He’s scared of other kids laughing at how dumb he is. He’s scared of the kids who are better at sports showing him up. And he’ll be shit scared of girls — afraid they’ll reject him or, even worse, laugh at him. Most of all he’s scared of being seen as a coward. Because that’s what every bully is at heart, a coward.’

Danny said nothing, and with his face turned away Johno couldn’t read where he was going next.

‘I could teach you how to throw punches that will hurt. And how to use this.’ Johno tapped his forehead. ‘Your forehead’s like a sledgehammer. Takes an opponent by surprise. Even if they gang up on you, as long as you hit them back they won’t come again. You’ll feel better giving a bully a taste of his own medicine.’

‘How do you know they won’t come back even if I do hit them?’

‘I’ve got quite a bit of experience. Either you fight back or they’ll walk all over you.’

But Danny looked horrified at the thought. His head went from side to adamant side as he muttered ‘No’ over and over.

Johno said, ‘I’m not suggesting you take them on tomorrow. Just think about what can happen if you let bullies push you around.’

‘Will you do anything then, Dad?’ Danny seemed to be soliciting some form of bizarre comfort or assurance.

‘I could go talk to their dads and if they won’t hear their little boys are lowlife bullies then …’ He shrugged. ‘Can I show you just one punch, see if you like it?’

‘No.’ Danny shook his head. ‘Please don’t make me do it.’ Tears rolled down the cheek Johno could see.

‘If I make you do anything, son, it’s always for your own good.’

‘If I bullied someone what would you do?’ Danny rolled over.

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Just say I did.’

‘I’d let you know how unhappy I was. Tell you you’re a coward. Would you like to be called that?’

‘No.’ Danny said, ‘Would you hit me?’

‘Have I ever?’

‘I’ve never been a bully before. What if I was?’

‘You wanting me to say it?’ said Johno. ‘All right. If you hit a smaller kid younger than you then I would show you what it’s like. But as we’re only talking theory …’

He took his boy in his arms and told him what he always did: how much he loved him. ‘I’ll meet the school principal. See what can be done.’

‘Now.’ He held Danny away from him. ‘One thing you can do is draw these drongos.’ Saw his son had never heard the word. ‘What do you call big dopey boys who act like apes?’

‘Neanderthals, retards — though we’re not supposed to use that word.’

‘Like a few other words and subjects they get precious about.’ Johno shook his head.

‘And show my drawings to other kids so everyone’s laughing at the bullies?’ Danny warmed to the idea.

‘You got it. Get everyone on your side. Show your class teacher, too, and tell her why. Say I told you to show her, in case she turns on you. Make them
uug
-ly.’

But in the morning Danny had no drawings of the bullies to present and he refused to go to school.

‘You have to go, son. It’s the law.’

‘Dad? You were in jail.’

Johno had to think fast — the subject had never been discussed. ‘Yes. For breaking the law. Where they could send me again if you don’t go to school. You’re running late already.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘How about I phone the school and say you won’t be in till after lunch? You, Mavis and I can talk about it.’

‘I don’t want to talk to Mavis. I love her, but I can’t talk about this with her.’ The look he gave suggested he couldn’t talk to his father either.

‘How about Wilson?’

‘He works on Wednesday morning.’ Danny knew his mentor’s schedule well.

‘But you’d like him included in our discussion?’

‘I guess. But I’m not going back to be bullied by those turds.’

‘I said I’d come talk to the principal.’

‘How will he stop them after school? Dad, I can’t go back …’

‘Change the music, son.’ Johno had had enough. ‘How long have you known I was once in prison?’

‘Ages. Can’t remember my mother, but I can hear someone’s voice talking about it.’ Danny grabbed his father’s hand again. ‘I’m not ashamed of you, Dad. Never.’

‘Not ashamed of myself. I did it and paid my dues.’

‘For what?’

‘This has got nothing to do with bullying.’

‘You asked me first.’

‘Because you surprised me.’

‘Were you a bank robber?’ Danny asked.

‘That would make me a bully.’

‘Why?’

‘If I walked into a bank with a gun and pointed it at a terrified teller?’

‘Even worse if she was a woman.’

‘Exactly. I pinched trucks carrying goods that were easy to sell, with a mate I’d grown up with. If you want a lesson in life, then you should know that he’s back doing time in a maximum security prison. That’s what happens if you’re a criminal who doesn’t wake up.’ He felt a twinge of guilt at speaking about his closest friend like this. Yet it was the truth.

‘I heard you once say, having me to bring up saved you,’ said Danny.

‘You got elephant ears or something, kid? What don’t you hear?
Sure, having you to look after did save me.’

‘From what?’

‘Saved me from myself,’ said Johno, and saw his son didn’t understand. ‘Being responsible for you made me a better person.’

‘And is that why my mother left you? Because you weren’t a very good man,’ Danny added, ‘like, back then?’

‘One moment you don’t understand. The next you’re one step ahead of me. I wasn’t a good man.’

‘And now you are.’

‘Yes,’ said Johno. ‘Now, seeing Wilson isn’t around this morning, why don’t you come to school with me and I’ll talk to the principal? I’ll talk to these boys, too.’

‘Dad …?’ Danny suddenly looked frightened and vulnerable. ‘Every class before loved my drawings. Now kids are saying I’ve got something wrong with me. Have I?’

‘Only if being different is something wrong,’ said Johno. ‘Course there’s nothing wrong with you. One day you’ll all be grown up and guess whose name they’ll have on their mean tongues. I bet kids said cruel things about every major artist throughout history. It’s because most of us are ordinary and don’t understand talented people. Why would an art lecturer put so much time into you if he didn’t know how special you are? Come here, kid. Gimme a big fat hug.’

Feeling that slender body, wondering if the Ryan muscular genes were ready to start popping out. He thought not.

Letting Danny go, he said, ‘And you are not sitting around here all day waiting for Wilson’s opinion.’

‘I can paint while I wait.’

‘You can but you’re not going to. I’ve got jobs for you at the pub. We’ll meet Wilson here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go and see the headmaster.’

‘Principal,’ Danny said and winked. ‘What sort of jobs? You know I get bored, Dad.’

‘Not very nice jobs. Cleaning the beer cellar. The toilets.’ Johno
wasn’t sure if this old-fashioned approach should be applied here but that wasn’t stopping him. ‘Kinds of jobs people who leave school early do. So find your oldest clothes and let’s be going to work.’

The principal said he’d have a word with Danny’s antagonists but that he couldn’t speak to every boy, and, though the school was anti-bullying, it was impossible to eradicate the practice.