Retard (2 page)

An anticipated hush fell over the young spectators as a gift, not much bigger than Wesley’s, was placed in David’s waiting hands. Even some of the other mums had looked away from their private conversations. With Christmas only a week away, they still had time to suss the competition.

David untied the bright ribbon and began to work on the sticky tape.

“What is it?” whispered a girl.

“It’s one of the Fabled Four,” said a boy, who started bouncing up and down, his tiny buttocks thumping the floor. “I just know it is!”

After the boy was shushed, David continued, peeling back the paper and peeking within the gap.

“It is!” he cried, his excitement getting the better of him. He yanked the wrapping aside with a rip and held the present over his head. “It’s Commander Yorin from the Fabled Four!”

Some of the kids, mostly the boys again, pushing and elbowing, burst from the floor to surround their friend. All big eyes and reaching hands, they worshipped the expensive plastic figure in the box.

“It comes with his gun!”

“And his axe!”

David’s mum had drifted over to the stereo with the Michael Jackson tape, other hens clucking around her. She smiled and nodded, switching the tapes in the deck.

Christine caught the look in her eyes. Beat that, it said. You all wanted one, but they’ve sold out everywhere. My son
has
one.

Not that she was looking Christine’s way.

The already familiar bass line of Jackson’s
BAD
filled the hut. Girls, uninterested in musclebound figures for now, migrated back to the dance floor.

Wesley joined them, staying in the corner and swaying in time with the music, all the time watching the group of boys fuss over Commander Yorin of the Fabled Four.

Extract from interview between Dr. Graham Burns and David Howing, thirty-eight, currently residing in Bath. Conducted August 16
^th
.

GB: What do you remember of Wesley Stephenson and his mother?

DH: Well, I obviously remember Wesley. I don’t recall much of his mother though. To be honest, knowing what happened, I haven’t even gone back to read up on it all. I think that one should, it’s to be expected, I knew the kid after all.
I
was a kid at the time. I feel a certain morbidity enquiring into such events, you know? Most of my knowledge of what the press called The Stephenson Case was garnered at the time, and not from news reports or the tabloids. No, my mother would not allow me to view such things. The details I was privy to came through the schoolyard grapevine, or even overheard conversations between parents. You must understand that at the time, it was quite the revelation. I expect it’s par for the course now, what with children being bombed in Iraq or shot walking down the street. Old news.

GB: What do you think happened to Wesley?

DH: I remember the day very clearly despite the years. He simply wasn’t in our class any more. There had been a few incidents involving Wesley, in particular, I remember big trouble between him and a girl called Kelsey who also never returned to our class. On the day we thought he’d been caught doing something bad again and had been suspended, or that his mother simply couldn’t be bothered bringing him to school. You have to understand that we had a few of the lower income families in our class, being a Government school, and they… Let’s just say attendances were down with these families, like the parents could hardly be bothered ensuring their children came to school every day. My mother always joked that they would always be too hung over to pack their kids’ lunches so just didn’t bother taking them in. So no, it didn’t concern anyone that particular day when Wesley never showed up. I think he might have been banned from the school grounds anyway, plus it was so close to Christmas, no one paid any attention.

GB: When did you officially find out?

DH: The first day back at school in the New Year, I guess.

(David asks to light a cigarette and takes a moment to collect his thoughts through the first few drags.)

DH: The headmaster called an assembly for the entire school. We’d sit in our classes in the sports hall on the polished wooden tiles, all cross-legged and backs ramrod straight! (David shakes his head). Ah, you’re bringing back all the memories now. The headmaster had announced that a tragic event had taken place, but of course, we all knew by then. It was in the papers. The talk of the town. We sang a hymn and said a prayer, accordingly as we were Church of England, and were sent back to our classes. Aside from Wesley’s face on the projector screen, it was a pretty normal assembly from what I can remember.

GB: Any personal thoughts of Wesley?

DH: (Laughs) He came to my Birthday party. Did I tell you that? I can’t really picture him being there though. You know what kids’ parties are like. Mother thought it would be a good idea.

Every class has a Wesley. There’s always a boy and a girl, both at the bottom of the ladder. I don’t mean to be cruel. This is school, and I imagine it’s the same to this day. There’s a pecking order, a social class system even at that age, and sadly, someone has to come last. In our year, that was Wesley.

He never really got on with anybody else. Kids would try but there was always something missing with him…some social cornerstone missing from his (David taps his head). Kids like that get all the support nowadays: teaching assistants, laptops, the whole thing, but this was the eighties. No one gave a crap.

GB: Did he have a hard life at school?

DH: Of course he did. They all do, people like him. It wasn’t his fault, poor bastard.

GB: Can you give any examples?

DH: Oh, plenty. He’d cop it alright. Retard. Spastic. All that. I had nothing against Wesley personally. We were
kids
. We didn’t know any better. He was different. Just one of those things. (David pauses). The same shit goes on in schools now. People are more pc about it though. I imagine you can get sued nowadays for calling a kid retarded.

He’d always be dressed shabby, with stains on his faded uniform, torn trousers, beaten shoes, things like that. It didn’t help. Plus a runny nose and sometimes he’d drool on the table, so other kids didn’t want to sit near him. Not that he was completely brain-dead, you know? The teacher had placed him in the yellow group, which was mid-ability, as opposed to us on the red table and the complete cabbages over on blue. He could do the work when he was in the mood yet he’d drift off into his own little world. That and the social…misunderstandings? Well, that was Wesley. As I say, every class has a boy and girl Wesley. I bet you can remember yours from primary school.

GB: Does your mother still share the same views?

DH: (Twisting his cigarette between thumb and forefinger) No. She…she died in ninety-eight.

GB: My condolences. In your opinion, could anything have been done by the school system to prevent the tragedy?

DH: To be honest, I don’t know. It’s common knowledge that more resources and training are thrown at those with educational difficulties now. Back in…when was it? Yes, eighty-seven, it was a different world. Would I blame the school for what happened? No (Laughs). I’m no expert but it’s common knowledge who was to blame for what happened.

GB: May I ask what you do for a living, David?

DH: I work in a tile warehouse. What has that to do with anything?

3.

Lying in the darkness, listening to the talk and laughter coming from the television downstairs, Wesley opened his eyes. From the strip of light beneath his closed bedroom door, he saw the vague shapes of his shelves, the toys sat within, and his small desk and chair.

He licked his lips, heart thumping, and waited. Just a few moments more.

The television continued.

He peeled back the duvet and lowered his bare feet to the floor. If his mum was still awake, she’d hear the slightest creak of a floorboard. She’d already threatened him with a smack if she caught him out of bed one more time.

Standing, he held his breath and dared a step towards the light switch.

With no furious footsteps thundering up the stairs in response, he tiptoed across the carpet, flicked the switch, and blinked in the sudden brightness.

His prize lay within the desk drawer; something he had taken from his mum but hadn’t yet had the opportunity to return. She had lots of things he liked to look at, such as the shiny golden lighter Aunt Sally had brought her back from Spain, and the ceramic kitten on the high kitchen shelf. Wesley didn’t dare take anything like these as his mum would realise straight away. His current obsession had been hidden for three days now, and his mum was none the wiser.

He crept across his bedroom, using clear patches of carpet as stepping stones. To hurt his foot on a Matchbox car or stumble over a pile of clothes would end in disaster. He allowed himself another pause to listen for an angry approach.

Inside the desk drawer, surrounded by pens, crayons and random small toys, sat one of his mum’s thick shopping catalogues.

He snuck it back to his bed. The page he wanted had the corner folded over for quick reference.

The catalogue offered clothing with a few pages of homewares and toys to the back. Wesley flicked to the toy section, and finding his folded marker, spread the pages wide.

A section, a
whole
section, dedicated to the noblest of heroes, The Fabled Four.

Each with their own unique weaponry and battle motion, the Four had been reproduced as six inch action figures, straight from the cartoon. Commander Yorin, the formidable leader, with his bulging muscles, great axe and shotgun. Sasha, exotic dancer from the sands of Persia, complete with ninja kick move and whip. The archer EagleEye, whose pack contained a glow in the dark dagger and bow and arrow with real shooting action. Finally, the last of the Four, and Wesley’s favourite: Globin the Wizard. A young magical apprentice who never failed to cause trouble with his mixed up spells, complete with removable hat, spell book and action move.

In the picture, some lucky kid grinned over a rocky terrain containing a battle-ready Fabled Four, their weapons either in hand or close by. In the boy’s hand, flying him over the heroic quartet, was Darkclaw, the dragon master and sworn enemy of the Realm.

Wesley read the descriptions over and over, memorising the features and included weaponry of each character. He would have one, at least
one
, in just over a week. Hopefully Globin. He’d asked Santa for Globin, and Mum had promised.

His mum had sat him down and told him how Christmas really worked. Santa couldn’t give every kid all the toys they wanted. How could he afford that? Really, the parents of all the kids had to buy the toys for Santa, who then delivered them come Christmas Eve night. That’s why he had to be good for her, because the parents made all the decisions.

Christmas. He
had
to get Globin of the Fabled Four.

Besides, his mum and Aunt Sally bought things from the catalogues all the time and never paid for them.

The bedroom door slammed open, booted from behind.

“I knew it,” his mother snapped, standing on the landing. “I knew I heard you sneaking about!”

Wesley scrambled back across his bed, the catalogue slipping from his hands and falling to the floor. He quickly crawled beneath the duvet.

“I told you, Wesley, if I caught you out of bed one more time…” One hand stayed glued to her hip, while the other jabbed and poked the air.

Wesley thought she looked quite silly in her fluffy pink slippers and matching nightie, the one with the two naked cartoon kids. Love is…

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” his mother screamed. “Can’t you ever
ever
do as you’re told? I knew I shouldn’t have let you go to that party. All that sugar and running around.” She growled and looked down.

Picking up the open catalogue, she spread the pages wide and stared at the pictures, like Globin studying an ancient, magical text.

“I was wondering where this had gone,” she said. “Guess I know what you’ve been doing up here.”

“I want one,” said Wesley.

“I’m sure you do, you little pervert. Which one in particular?”

His mum turned the catalogue around, revealing a double page full of posing women in lacy lingerie.

Wesley’s eyes widened. “What? No. It wasn’t that page!”

“Get to bed,” she said, “and
fucking stay in it
.”

She flicked off the bedroom light.

“Mum?”

“What
now
, Wesley?”

“Why don’t the other kids like me?”

She paused, her hand on the door handle. “They like you just fine. You were invited to the party weren’t you?”

Wesley sat up. “No one would dance with me though.”

“That’s because you’re the best dancer,” she said. “Come on now. Sleep.”

Wesley lay back down. “I promise I’ll stay in bed.”

“Be sure you do, and no more of this.” His mum waved the catalogue at him and closed the door. “Christ almighty…”

***

David held the Commander Yorin action figure, his friends gathered around him while they chattered and adored the present.

Wesley stood on the outside, surrounded by other kids who had no interest in The Fabled Four and danced like jerking marionettes. His mum was right, he
was so
the best dancer. Other mums lingered around the double-deck stereo, drinking tea and nibbling on slices of Birthday cake. No one paid any notice to the skinny boy with his eye on the Commander. Even his mum, who sat alone in the corner, smoking and brooding, paid him no attention.

“David?” he called. The boys hadn’t heard him over the music. They weren’t ignoring him. They just hadn’t heard. “David!”

Wesley started forwards, weaving between the bad dancers and the one kid—there was always one—trying his hand at break dancing. He thrashed and rolled around the floor in the throes of an apparent fit.

“David! Can I see?”