Nobody Came (20 page)

T
he next memory that’s imprinted on my brain is the one that haunts me the most. The morning I had my first inkling of it was about a year before I left the home.

We knew something had happened, something that wasn’t good. The head warden looked stern, the other wardens were quiet and some of the boys were pale-faced and visibly shaken.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked Marc that morning. The boys who were upset were from his dormitory. He turned to me and his face looked almost haggard. He told me that a boy, someone I had seen around but not known, had run away. Well, he had left the grounds.

‘There’s nothing new in that,’ I said, puzzled by the serious look on Marc’s face and the tense atmosphere.

‘No, Robbie, it’s not just that. He hung himself.’

‘Poor sod,’ I said sadly. ‘But why did he do it? He’d got out, hadn’t he?’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Marc almost impatiently. ‘He knew he would get caught. And he knew what they would do to him.’

I knew too. In the short time I had been in Haut de la Garenne there had been several attempts to escape, most recently Pete’s. Each time I heard of boys running away I wondered where they thought they could run to. Jersey was an island, and no one would sell one of us a ferry ticket to leave it. All they achieved out there was a few hours of dreamed-of freedom before the police found them and brought them back. My mind went to the time in the orphanage when Marc and I had thought it was worth it, and the outcome of that escapade.

I wondered if those boys who tried to run away didn’t remember seeing other white-faced culprits being dragged to the cellars for punishment the moment the police car drove away. Sometimes they were in there for a couple of days and sometimes longer. But regardless of the length of time spent down there, they were always quiet and subdued when they were finally released.

Sometimes they became the same as the boys who were taken regularly to the cellars for punishment: withdrawn and antisocial. It wasn’t that they seemed content with their own company, but that they seemed unable to cope with anyone else’s for long. Some would wander aimlessly in the grounds, and there were a few who, like Marc, had become angry and hurt after their beating.

Marc remained aloof from the other boys in the home, except for me. It was as though his anger set him apart. His voice broke into my thoughts: ‘He would have been out in a year too,’ he said sadly.

‘Guess that just seemed too long a time,’ I answered.

‘Guess it did,’ he replied, and sighed deeply.

We didn’t say much after that, but all that day and for several days after I thought about that boy I hadn’t known. I thought of his misery, a misery that must have been a reflection of my own, and for the first time in a year I felt hot tears flood my eyes.

What was going to happen to us? I asked myself. Where would we fit in once we left Haut de la Garenne on our fifteenth birthdays? I clenched my fists until my fingernails made deep, painful marks on my palms, and forced myself to think of John. John was my future. I knew he was waiting for me to come out of the home and then we would wait together for Davie to come out of the orphanage. When those days finally came we would be a family again: us three against the world.

It was that dream, which I knew one day would become a reality, that made those days bearable. But I was old enough then to wonder what happened to the boys who had no one. What did they do?

Twice now I had been given an answer to that question. First by Jimmy and then by the boy I didn’t know. I cried then. For them. For all of us.

The shock over the death of the boy I didn’t know gradually subsided. No one else had tried to run away but Marc seemed more distant than ever. He was a few months older than me and would be allowed to leave the home before I was, but given his recent remoteness I had already begun to miss our friendship that had endured for so many years. I guessed that Martin would be quite pleased when he left, because Marc’s aloofness kept him outside our little circle, no matter how hard I tried to draw him in.

‘Marc,’ I said one morning when it was just the two of us. We were sitting in a corner of the grounds where we felt we were unobserved. ‘You’ll be out before me. What are you going to do?’

A frightened expression momentarily settled on his face, replacing the tough mask that he normally wore.

‘I dunno,’ he replied. ‘There’s no one waiting for me outside. Who’s going to want to know us there? We’re different, you know.’

I wanted to say that we were almost a family. Hadn’t we been friends since we were little? I chose my words carefully as I tried to convey how I felt.

‘But Nicolas will be leaving Sacre Coeur soon and I’ve only got a year to go before I’m fifteen. We can all meet up again. Maybe share a house or something. You could live at the hostel with John until I get out.’

Marc gave me a look that made words unnecessary, that told me I just didn’t understand.

‘John’s your brother and so’s Davie,’ he said finally. ‘You’re all family.’ He spoke as though that word excluded the rest of the world from being with us.

I searched for words to tell him that I thought of him as family but I couldn’t find them.

That was the last conversation I ever had with Marc.

He wasn’t at supper that evening, and by bedtime boys were whispering to each other, speculating about where he might have gone. It was two days later when the news of his fate reached Haut de la Garenne and spread almost instantly around wardens and boys alike. When I heard, it was like being punched hard in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe for the pain.

Marc had made it clear by his actions that he didn’t want to be cut down from a tree. He didn’t want to be found with his tongue poking out between his blue-tinged lips. Neither did he want anyone’s last memory of him to be of the piss and shit that had stained his legs. Nor did he want to be placed in a coffin; he was scared of the dark.

He went into town without permission, not that that really mattered. He went straight to a camping shop and bought canisters of butane gas, the sort people use for camping stoves.

He took them down into a wartime bunker half a mile from the home, a place where we had slipped off from time to time to have a sneaky smoke.

He used a pocket knife to pierce the canisters and lit a match.

I hope it was quick for him after he ignited that gas.

He had his wish; his body was not placed in a coffin and lowered into the ground. There was very little left to bury.

M
arc’s death was just before my fourteenth birthday but when it came I was in no mood for celebrating. The only thing that cheered me up slightly was when Blake told me that I would now be allowed to leave the home once a month to go into town, so long as I asked for permission first.

The very next Saturday I headed into St Martin to look for John. I’d heard from other boys that he would probably be staying in one of the hostels for Haut de la Garenne leavers, and I asked at all of them until someone said yes, he had a room there. I sat on the steps and waited, and an hour or so later John came round the corner with a couple of friends, looking very grown-up in smart trousers and a shiny blue jacket.

‘Robbie!’ he yelled, and came running up and slapped me on the back.

We went to a café nearby and just talked for ages. I told him all about Marc dying and he frowned and shook his head sadly and sighed. ‘Of course he could have lived with us. Stupid idiot!’ He patted my shoulder sympathetically.

He asked how I was doing with my schoolwork and what I was planning to do when I left.

‘I wanted to be a draughtsman, maybe do some kind of engineering drawing,’ I told him, ‘but the teacher says I would have to stay on at school longer. So I’ve decided to leave at fifteen and they’ve got me an apprenticeship with an electrician.’ I looked at him anxiously, seeking his approval.

‘Good,’ he nodded. ‘Get away from school as soon as you can.’

It was so wonderful being with him again that I nearly lost track of time, but John was keeping an eye on the clock. ‘Don’t be late back or they won’t let you come again,’ he said. We arranged where we would meet the following month, then he walked me part of the way back to Haut de la Garenne.

The third memory that’s imprinted on my brain is a mixture of pain and triumph – but it was the pain that came first.

A couple of weeks after my visit to John, I heard that Davie was being transferred to Haut de la Garenne. He had been too disruptive. The nuns had tried solitary confinement and probably several other punishments but to no avail.

Spud and his bullying friends came up to me that morning.

‘Oy, Garner,’ said Spud. ‘Heard your baby brother’s arriving soon. Prettier than you, is he?’

At that moment Parker appeared and I knew from his face who had told Spud.

‘Go on, answer them, Robbie. Don’t be rude,’ he ordered.

A wide smirk spread across Spud’s face. ‘Hey, Parker, do you think the baby one’s as pretty as John?’

I thought of Davie’s trusting face and his complete inability to suss people out.

‘Oh God,’ I thought. ‘All these bastards have to do is tell him there’s a bag of sweets for him if he goes with them.’

Reading my mind, they laughed.

‘Hear he might be a bit friendlier than that big brother of yours. He’s a miserable bugger is your John. Heard the little one might like fancy dress and parties.’

They all sniggered at that, especially Parker.

I didn’t react so they soon got bored with their game.

Parker sneered at me, ‘Go on, Garner, get lost. You’re not worth bothering with.’

I didn’t need any persuasion to move away as quickly as I could.

That group had always scared me, and when I heard about Davie’s imminent arrival I panicked. Even though it was the middle of the day and there was a good chance I’d be missed, I left the grounds and ran into town to find John. Breathless, I blurted out the story about Davie’s fall in the orphanage and how trusting and innocent he had become now. I told him about the transfer and the thinly veiled threats from Parker and the bullies. I asked him if we could all run away together to save Davie from what surely lay in wait for him.

John put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Calm down,’ but I could tell he was worried. He thought for a bit. ‘Running away’s not the answer. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. But you’re too young to get a job, you haven’t got any references and you’ll end up back there or on the streets. You’re doing all right with your schooling. Don’t want to mess that up. You’ve even got an apprenticeship lined up. No, you have to stay put.’

‘But what about Davie?’ I asked in despair.

‘I want you to stop worrying. If you can keep your head down for a few days then you’ll be all right. Those evil buggers won’t hurt you or touch Davie. Trust me,’ he said, and somehow I did.

Of course they caught me returning. They guessed where I had been. In bed that night, I was dreaming of running along the beach but suddenly my legs wouldn’t move. I tried to put one in front of the other but nothing happened. There was something heavy pressing down on me, keeping me there. I heard a voice whispering to me. My eyes sprang open. It was Blake. His hands were pressing on my chest, holding me firmly against the mattress.

‘Garner, you’ve been bad,’ he said. I smelled the fumes on his breath and knew he had been drinking. Another figure emerged behind him. I saw Parker and my heart sank. Parker liked hurting people. I tried to open my mouth to tell them that I didn’t know what they were talking about, but already hands were under the bedclothes, pulling at my arms, rolling me out of that warm sanctuary.

I felt a knee in my back, a hand in my hair. My arm was behind my back and, as I had seen happen to other boys, I was propelled from the room.

A hand covered my mouth, but even if I had been able to scream, it would have been useless. Everyone in the dormitory would have tried to still their breathing, tried not to draw attention to themselves. I wondered how many boys were peeping through their eyelashes at me and wondered if they felt grateful that it was me who was being taken and not one of them. Of course they did.

They dragged me down the dimly lit corridor to the stairs that led to the cellars. They were pushing me so hard that I slipped and nearly fell down those narrow steps.

They took me to a room that I hadn’t been in before; a room that was almost square, without any furniture, but with a bath that resembled a large trough in the centre.

‘Take your clothes off, Garner.’

I began to shake. Parker smirked, moved towards me, pulled the cord of my pyjamas with one hand and yanked them down with the other.

‘You’ve been out with that brother of yours. We saw you. Thought you were clever, didn’t you? We told you, Garner, you have to get permission. That cocky bastard brother of yours should have known that too.’

I opened my mouth to deny it as a vicious punch in the stomach made me double up, gasping for air.

‘We didn’t say you could talk,’ shouted Blake and I heard Parker snigger again.

He let me watch what he did next. His eyes gleamed when he saw the fear that must have been written all over my face. He picked up a towel, slowly wrapped it round a piece of metal piping and slammed it into my ribs. The air rushed out of my lungs and through my mouth. I spun round and Blake’s belt slammed hard against my legs. I was naked from the waist down and clutched my hands in front of me to try to protect myself.

Behind me I heard water gushing into the bath. Twice more that pipe whipped across my ribs. I fell down and my pyjama jacket was pulled off me. Two pairs of hands lifted me up and threw me into the icy water.

I felt the warmth of a body just behind my head and again the whiff of alcohol reached my nostrils.

‘I think we should drown you, Garner. You’re such a useless little sneak.’

It was Parker’s voice, and his hand that went round my neck. My eyes goggled with fear, my legs thrashed, my arms flayed uselessly in the air. I tried to pull at that hand, but the grip only tightened. My head went under the water. I tried to hold my breath but couldn’t. Water went up my nose, into my mouth and everything started going black.

They pulled me out of the bath, laid me on the floor and thumped my back until I vomited up the water I had swallowed, laughing all the while, then they left me wet and shivering in that chilly room.

I curled up on the floor shaking not only with cold but also with fright. I knew the door had been locked from the outside because I’d heard them do it as they left.

I don’t remember how long I lay there. I fell into a dazed sleep and was woken by a foot kicking me in the ribs. Again I felt the flick of Blake’s belt against my naked flesh and curled up even tighter to try and protect myself. A hand grabbed my hair, yanked it hard, and pain tore through my scalp. I crawled up onto my knees, trying to lessen the pain in my head.

‘Get up, Garner,’ ordered Blake. I stood shakily, hanging my head.

‘We’re going to take you back now, Garner. So what do you do the next time you want to see your brother?’

‘Ask permission,’ I replied softly.

He threw my pyjamas at me and told me to put them on. My fingers were so numb from cold that I couldn’t do up the buttons on my jacket.

They laughed at me.

‘Not such a cocky one now, is he?’ Parker asked Blake.

‘Nah, he’s a pathetic little creep this one.’

‘What are you, Garner? Say it, go on say it.’ Parker was in front of me, his cold eyes looking into mine.

‘I’m a pathetic little creep,’ I repeated, trying not to cry.

They took me back to the dormitory and I climbed into my bed. I wanted to crawl under the bedclothes and stay there forever. I wanted to feel safe, but I had forgotten what that feeling was like.