someone’s standing over you, his fist around a great big turd, you don’t want to take any chances, do you?
We watch him, the rest of us. Or I do, Vicky does, Chrissie Hobbs does. Matilda and George, they turn away. They don’t want to see it. The rest of us don’t want to see it either but, like I said before, your attention’s kind of drawn to it.
Chrissie, she’s the first to respond. Here, she says. Let me get something.
And Vicky’s saying, don’t touch it, Samuel, put it down.
It was in his case, I say again. Someone put it in his case.
And Samuel, he doesn’t say a word.
He was almost lucky. The people who were there, they were nice people, kind people. I wouldn’t call them Samuel’s friends. Samuel didn’t really have any friends, except Maggie, although some friend Maggie turned out to be. They weren’t his friends but they would have helped him. To clean things up. To sort out his case. They would have helped.
He was almost lucky but then Terence walks in.
I call him Terence. I refuse to call him TJ. I call him TJ to his face because I don’t want to make a fuss. It’s important to him so I say let him have his little nickname. He might not be so keen on it if he knew what some of the kids say it stands for. Tosser Jones, they say. I hear them and I pretend I don’t. Toss Jism. That’s why they call him TJ. He thinks it’s because they all like him. He thinks I like him too. I don’t but what can you do? I work with him. I have to get on with him. It would be awkward for the others if I didn’t.
You’ve met Terence, right? So you’ve got a fair idea about how he might react. When Terence walks in, Samuel’s still standing where he’s standing, still holding this thing in his hand. Chrissie is in the kitchen. She’s got a carrier bag and the washing-up bowl and she doesn’t know which one to bring. I’ve moved away by now so I’m with the others, on the opposite side of the table. We turn to look at Terence and he sees the expressions on our faces and then the lot of us turn around again to look at Samuel.
Poor bugger.
Poor bugger: what am I talking about? He’s a murderer. I keep having to remind myself. He was a murderer. He shot three children. He killed a teacher, an innocent woman. And I’m feeling sorry for the bloke. This psycho nutcase maniac. I’m acting like he deserved compassion.
What’s that?
Well, I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. If he hadn’t done what he did, he might even have deserved it. The sympathy. These people you’ve talked to showing him pity. But not now.
Terence told everyone. The teachers, yes, but the teachers were always going to hear about it. Terence told the kids. He’s friendly with some of them, too friendly if you ask me. He wants to be one of the lads, you know, just a mate, which is not what he’s here for, is it? It took him a moment or two to understand, to realise what was going on, because all of us started gabbling at once. But after that he thought it was hilarious. It was like he wished he’d thought of it himself. So he tells his little buddies and his buddies spread the word and in six or seven minutes the story’s all over the school. For Donovan it was the perfect result. I mean, no one would have been able to prove it was Donovan but it was, of course it was. Even if it was Gideon who did the deed, it would have been Donovan who had the idea.
I had a word with Samuel after that. Everyone knew the kids were giving him a hard time but there’s a line to be drawn somewhere, isn’t there? I couldn’t tell you where, I couldn’t point and say, there, that’s the limit. But shitting in a man’s briefcase. It’s not the kind of thing you stand for. The line, well. It might as well be the horizon.
Go to the headmaster, I say. Tell him what’s been going on.
Samuel shakes his head. I’ve tried, he says. I’ve tried already. He makes to move past me but I hold his arm.
When? I say. What did you tell him?
Samuel just sort of shrugs. Not a lot, he says. Nothing specific. I told him I was finding it hard. I’ve told him more than once.
And?
And that was as far as we got.
But what did the headmaster say? He must have said something.
He told me it was hard. He told me teaching was hard.
Samuel, I say, that’s not good enough. You need to tell him about… about this. About everything. He’ll do something. He’ll have to. I try to make a joke, I say, you’ve got proof at least now, haven’t you? Exhibit number two, your honour.
Samuel seems to consider it. He doesn’t laugh of course but he seems to consider it. So I’m thinking he might go and speak to him but in the end he doesn’t. In the end I have to force him into it.
We’re in the staffroom. This is after lunch one day. I forget when exactly. November maybe? December? It’s me and Samuel and George, although George wanders out after a while, which leaves just me and Samuel. And we’re both minding our own, both of us just reading, when the headmaster appears at the door.
Janet? he says and takes a step into the room. He looks at me. Have you seen Janet?
I say, no, sorry, I haven’t, and he scowls, like he’s convinced that actually I have and I’m not telling him just to spite him. He takes another step and peers round the corner into the kitchen. For just a second or two he’s got his back to us and I don’t even need to think. I give Samuel a dig. I hiss at him. I say, go on, Samuel. Go on. And I give him another prod.
Samuel gets up. He looks at me. He’s trying to decide, I can tell, but he’s running out of time because the headmaster’s finished in the kitchen and he’s turning round and he’s heading for the door and he’s virtually out of the room.
I make a face and Samuel shakes his head. I clear my throat, like I’m about to say something, and I don’t know if the noise startles him or what. He says, Headmaster. Like the word was caught between his tongue and his teeth and just needed a jolt to knock it loose. Headmaster, he says again.
The headmaster stops. He turns to look. Meanwhile I get up and I say, excuse me, and I nip between them and into the kitchen like I’m going to make a coffee. Or that’s what I’m hoping it looks like. The headmaster, though – either he forgets I’m there or he doesn’t particularly care. More likely he doesn’t care. I could have settled into one of the armchairs with a Coke and a bucket of popcorn, and I doubt it would have made any difference.
Headmaster, Samuel says again and Travis says, Mr Szajkowski. What is it?
May I have a word? Just for a moment?
A word? says Travis. He checks his watch. He glances towards the door.
It’s just, I have a problem. I was hoping… I thought perhaps… I was hoping that you could help.
Travis sighs. I can’t see from where I’m standing but I can just picture him rolling his eyes. A problem, he says. But of course you do. I would hardly have expected anything else.
Samuel hesitates. For a moment he doesn’t say anything.
Well, Mr Szajkowski? Please, don’t keep me in suspense.
I’m… I’m having a spot of trouble. With the children.
Again the headmaster sighs. Trouble, he says. What sort of trouble, Mr Szajkowski? With which children?
And Samuel, the silly sod, he thinks he shouldn’t name names. It’s not important who, I don’t expect…
If it’s not important, Mr Szajkowski, then why do you feel so obligated to bring it to my attention? I’m rather busy, as you can imagine.
And for a moment Samuel doesn’t know what to say. He looks across the headmaster’s shoulder and he catches my eye. I nod at him. I nod twice.
They defecated in my briefcase.
This from Samuel. He just comes out with it, just like that.
They did what?
They defecated. In my briefcase.
Who defecated in your briefcase?
I didn’t see anyone do it. But I found it. I still have it, in fact.
You kept it?
