A Thousand Cuts

teeth clenched and her lips tight, the more insincere, the more gormless, she realised she must look. She should have said something but she had left it too late. She would have to wait now until they asked her who she was, or until Dr Stein introduced her, which he had no obvious intention of doing.

‘Fine,’ he was saying. ‘All fine. The stitches are doing what they’re supposed to but I’m going to have to change this dressing, young man. It may sting, just a fraction.’

Lucia cleared her throat finally and was about to say something but before she could speak the doctor removed the bandage that had been taped across Elliot’s ear. For the first time Lucia was able to see the wound. The lobe of Elliot’s ear was gone. The boy did not flinch but Lucia did.

‘I’m sorry. Who are you?’

It was Elliot’s mother who had spoken. Lucia looked at her and then at Elliot’s father. She glanced at Elliot and caught him watching her but the boy quickly dropped his gaze.

Dr Stein raised his head. ‘I assumed the three of you had met.’

‘No,’ said Lucia. ‘No, we haven’t. I’m Lucia. Lucia May. I’m with the Met. The Metropolitan Police.’

‘The police?’ Elliot’s mother turned towards her husband.

‘You have some news,’ Elliot’s father said. ‘Do you have some news?’

‘No,’ Lucia said. ‘I’m sorry. That’s not why I’m here.’

Elliot’s father sought direction from Dr Stein. He got none. ‘Then why are you here?’

‘I brought something,’ Lucia said. She unfurled the carrier bag she was holding and reached inside. ‘For your son.’

‘What? What have you brought?’

‘It’s a book, dear.’

‘I can see that, Frances. Why have you brought my son a book?’ He looked at his son but Elliot sat still. Only the boy’s eyes moved as Lucia placed the book on the bed.

‘It’s The Hobbit,’ Lucia said. ‘You’ve probably read it. It’s just, I thought it might help.’

For a moment no one spoke. Lucia straightened the carrier bag and began to fold it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’ She nodded at Elliot’s mother but avoided his father’s eye. She tucked the carrier into her pocket and made to go. Over the rustle of the bag, she almost failed to hear the sound of Elliot’s fragile voice.

‘Thanks.’

Lucia turned. The doctor and Elliot’s parents were staring at the boy. Elliot had his head down still. The fingers of his right hand were resting on the book.

‘You’re welcome,’ Lucia said. ‘I hope you like it. You’ll have to tell me whether you like it.’

Elliot’s father caught up with her in the corridor. He took hold of her elbow and pulled her around.

‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘Why are you here?’

A nurse squeezed past them. Lucia moved to one side of the hallway. Elliot’s father followed.

‘Has something happened? Is there something you can tell us?’

Lucia shook her head. ‘It’s not my case, Mr Samson. I just wanted to give Elliot the book, that’s all.’

‘Not your case? What do you mean, it’s not your case? Why are you bringing my son books if it’s not your case? Why are you bringing my son books at all?’

‘I heard what happened to him. I… I don’t know. I thought the book might cheer him up.’

Elliot’s father was smiling now but there was no humour in his expression. ‘Cheer him up? Do you know what I think might cheer him up? Arresting the kids who did this to him. Locking them away. Making sure they don’t have a chance to do this to him again. That might cheer him up.’

‘I appreciate what you’re saying, Mr Samson, really I do. But it’s difficult. From what I understand—’

‘Don’t tell me that there were no witnesses. I don’t want to hear there were no witnesses.’

‘Please, Mr Samson. It’s not my case. Much as I would like to, I can’t help you. Maybe if you spoke to PC Price—’

Elliot’s father scoffed. ‘Price. Price is a moron. He’s an idiot.’

‘He’s just trying to do his job.’

‘Bullshit. As far as I can see, no one here is doing their job. Not one of you. You’re spending your time shopping for presents and Price is sitting around contemplating how to get his finger out of his arse.’

‘I should go, Mr Samson. I really think I should go.’ Lucia backed away. As she turned, she closed her eyes and almost collided with another nurse. Lucia muttered her apologies and slid past.

‘Stay away from my son. Do you hear me? The whole damn lot of you. Stay away from my son!’

Lucia focused on the floor. She hurried on.

.

They shat in his briefcase.

Don’t ask me when, don’t ask me how. They did it though. I saw it. I wish to God I hadn’t but I was sitting right beside him when he found it.

That was the only time I heard him swear. Usually the staffroom’s like Bill Nicholson Way on a Saturday. We have a swear box, much good it does. The money’s supposed to go to charity, to some hospice or hospital, but I don’t think they’ve ever seen a penny of it. We raid it. The teachers do. You know, for ice creams, biscuits, that sort of thing. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, should I? I’ll probably get the lot of us thrown in gaol. Janet, the headmaster’s secretary, she’s the worst. If you’re going to arrest anyone, arrest her.

Samuel, though. I’d never heard Samuel swear, not until that day. I won’t repeat what he said but you could hardly blame him. Christ knows what the kid must have been eating. I haven’t ever seen a turd that colour. I’d be at the doctor’s in a jiffy if I had. And the size of it. He must have been saving up for days. I won’t mention the smell because you can imagine the smell.

He jumps right up when he sees it, like it’s a tarantula in there or something. He jumps and he knocks the table and coffee, people’s coffee, it goes everywhere. There are a few of us, you know, scattered around on the chairs, around this big coffee table that we’ve got in there, and we’re marking papers or flicking through The Times or the Sun or whatever it is we’re doing. I was reading a book, this book I got sent from the States. It’s about the stock market, stocks and shares. It’s called How to Invest Your Salary and Make Loads of Money and Retire While You’ve Still Got a Life. Something like that. My cousin, Frank, he lives in Minnesota, he’s the one who sent it to me. Reckons he’s made a hundred k in sixteen months. Dollars he’s talking about but still. And he’s basically a moron and I teach economics, right, so I’m thinking, if he can do it, how hard can it be?

The coffee. It goes everywhere. The others start hollering, moaning at Samuel, saying Jesus Christ this, bloody hell that. But I’ve seen what he’s seen and I’m watching this turd roll on to the floor, under the table, and I’m watching Samuel’s face and I can’t help but look at this turd. The others can’t see it yet but they can smell it. Vicky, Vicky Long, she teaches drama, she’s the first. She lifts her chin and flares her nostrils and starts aiming them round the room like the barrels of a shotgun. All very theatrical. She sniffs – rapid fire, sniff sniff sniff. Then the others start doing it. Sniffing. All of them. Sniff sniff sniff. By this time I’ve got my face tucked into my shirt so as the lot of them are sniffing they also start looking at me. And I’m saying, don’t look at me, it’s got nothing to do with me, and that’s when Samuel picks it up.

He could have used a plate or something. Wrapped it in newspaper. I mean, there was a copy of the Sun just lying there and that’s about all it’s good for, right? But for whatever reason Samuel doesn’t feel the need. He just reaches down and picks it up, like maybe he’s dropped his pen, like all he’s doing is picking up his pen. He holds it up. Everyone can see it now. They can see it but that doesn’t explain it. What they’re seeing is Samuel Szajkowski, this weird little bloke with his fluffy little beard, standing in the staffroom, holding up a day-old turd.

It was in his case, I say. He found it in his case.

Because if I hadn’t said that I don’t know what the others would have done. Ran out screaming, half of them. Samuel’s not taking any notice though, he’s just staring at this thing in his hand. For some reason I think he’s going to drop it on me. Throw it to me to catch. I don’t know why. He doesn’t and he wouldn’t have but when