themselves, most of the mothers working as well, so that when the kids got home from school it was to an empty house. Then, when the parents got home, they had no time for them. Still, things were a lot worse in his day. Dockers earned good money these days, so did factory workers. A lot more than he earned as a teacher. The biggest division between working class and middle class nowadays was accent.
He’d come from the same area; theEast Endhad no mystery for him, He remembered when he was at art school, telling some student friends about where he lived. ‘How colourful’, one girl had exclaimed.
Colourful! Well, that was one way of describing it. At thirty-two he was back, teaching little facsimiles of his former serf. They’d tried to give him a rough time at first, the little bastards, because art, to them, was playtime, and anyone who taught it was queer anyway. But he’d given them the treatment. He’d come down on them so hard, they were scared to whisper in his presence. Sort out theleaders, that was the trick; give them a hard time, show them up.
You didn’t have to use their language exactly, but you could use their style. A good sharp clout now and again worked wonders. Because he was young, he had to show he could be a hard nut too. It was pathetic really. The times he’d had to suppress laughter when one of the little villains had tried to stare him out. He’d finally begun to win their respect, so he’d softened up a little, not too much—they’d have taken advantage - but just enough to get them to loosen up a bit.
Keogh was the only enigma. He knew he could get through to the boy, they both knew it - but Keogh would laugh at him with his eyes just at that last moment before mutual understanding was reached, and he’d know he’d lost again.
Harris wondered if it was worth it. He had his choice of schools to teach in but he wanted to help his own kind. No, he wasn’t that noble. This was his homeground, He was in his element here. Besides, they paid more for teachers in ‘underprivileged’ areas. Still, Barney showed promise. Maybe if he talked to the boy’s parents they’d let him go on to art school...
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the school bell.
Going through the gates he heard the clatter of running foot-steps behind him.
Two giggling girls, both in short skirts, both with bouncing breasts, both about fourteen years old, rioted past.
‘Anyway, the crumpet’s good.’ Harris smiled to himself.
He was halfway through the first lesson when Keogh walked in. He wore his usual uniform of short-sleeved, check shirt, braces holding his trousers at half-mast, showing the full length of his heavy boots.
‘Good morning, Keogh,’ said Harris.
‘Morning.’ Arrogant.
‘Nice of you to join us.’
Silence.
‘Well, what’s your story this time?’ asked Harris. ‘Trouble with your back? Couldn’t get off it?’
A couple of titters from some of the girls made Harris immediately regret his sarcasm. This was no way to break down Keogh’s aloofness. Still silence.
Oh God, Harris thought, he’s in a mood. Christ, in my day, the kids were scared of the teachers being in a bad mood.
Now, here am I hoping I don’t upset him too much.
Then he noticed the boy’s hand. He had a grubby hand-kerchief wrapped around it but blood was seeping through. ‘Been in a fight?’ Harris asked mildly.
‘No.’
‘What then?’ Harder.
‘I’ve been bitten,’ Keogh grudgingly replied.
‘By what?’
Keogh looked at his feet, trying to hide the redness creeping over his face.
‘By a bloody rat,’ he said.
Chapter Three
Karen Blakely shrieked with glee as the dog joyfully licked her nose. Only a year old, she was fascinated by this vibrant, four-legged creature who never tired of playing with her - unless it was time for its food.
She grabbed its tail with her pudgy, little hands and pulled with all her tiny might.
The mongrel yelped with obvious relish and leapt around facing the girl again, plying her face with its juicy tongue, causing more delighted giggles and shrieks.
‘Shane!’ Karen’s mother shouted at the excited dog as she came into the room. ‘You mustn’t lick the baby. How many more times must I tellyou. ’
The dog looked sheepishly at Karen’s mother, tongue hanging out, panting with exhilaration. When it saw its water-bowl being filled at the sink it trotted over and began to lap furiously.
‘Now, Karen, we’ll just have a nice cup of tea and then we’ll go out and get the shopping,’ Paula Blakely said, smiling at her daughter, who was now pulling at the dog’s leg. The dog and the little girl had both arrived about the same time; Karen prematurely, Shane as a present from Paula’s husband, Mike. It was supposed to keep her occupied while waiting for the birth of their first child, but on the same day she’d gone into labour and had been rushed off to the hospital. It had taken twelve hours though for the baby to emerge, and the pain had been enough to discourage her from wanting any more. But she loved that child, more, she thought, than she loved Mike. Maybe because she was the only thing that really belonged to her. Perhaps not quite that. It was more because Karen was something she had produced, she had introduced into the world.
Looking at the gleeful baby, Paula smiled. Or was it ‘just that she was so lovable? Paula and Mike hadn’t wanted Karen so soon, they couldn’t really afford her. They’d been lucky to get a place so quickly, dingy though it was. It was in a bad area, too near the docks, but they’d lived in Poplar most of their lives anyway, so it didn’t make much difference. And it certainly wasn’t a slum! Paula made sure of that.
Other houses in the street may have been neglected by their tenants, but hers was spotless. Soon, when they’d saved enough money, they’d move out to Barking or Ilford, not too far from Mike’s job at the garage, he was doing too well there to leave, but to a better class area, where you didn’t have to keep a dog or a cat just to keep the mice down.
The whistle on the kettle began to shrill, interrupting her reverie. She turned it off and reached into the cupboard for the tea tin. She swore when she found it was empty. Mike drank coffee in the mornings but she had never liked its slightly bitter taste. She’d been reared on cups of tea as a child, the teapot in her house rarely being cold.
She looked at Karen for a moment. Would she be all right for a few seconds while she popped next door and borrowed some tea? Yes, she was preoccupied with Shane, watching him now slurp from his food bowl. She wouldn’t belong, the baby couldn’t get in too much mischief in the few seconds it would take her.
Taking a cup from the cupboard, she quickly slipped out of the room, leaving the door open, hoping Karen wouldn’t even notice she was gone.
The baby happily watched the little mongrel gobble his food. She even tried some on the end of her finger, but spat it out when she discovered it wasn’t to her taste.
Suddenly, the dog froze. The hairs on its back stood on end. It snarled at something moving in the doorway. The cellar door, which was in the hall next to the kitchen door, was slightly ajar, and a black shape scurried from it.
Shane bounded towards.it , picked it up by its neck and shook it vigorously. A high-pitched squeal broke from the rat. Instantly, another appeared and leapt at the dog’s throat, sinking its razor-sharp incisors deep. The infuriated dog spun around in a circle, trying to shake it off but still not letting the first rat go. Then another was on the dog’s back, clutching with its claw-like feet, biting hard and ripping skin. Shane howled with pain and shock as more black creatures poured into the room.
The baby began to cry with horror as she saw her beloved playmate being hurt by the foul-smelling creatures.
More rats came into the small kitchen but these were different. These were bigger, moving more cautiously, ignoring the violent struggle with the dog. They saw the crying baby, the bowl of dog food by her side. They slid
