Broken. Daniel Clay

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СКАЧАТЬ dad had bought her to say sorry for leaving her mother. Distraught by the theft of her iPod, Fiona Torby told Mrs Willet, who, as one of the more sensible teachers, ignored her. Unimpressed with Mrs Willet and refusing to be a victim, Fiona Torby told her mother, who was already in a foul mood because her bastard husband had left her.

      Mrs Torby complained to the headmaster, Mr Christy, a thin, balding dust jacket of a man who reminded Mrs Torby of her bastard soon-to-be-ex-husband. She slammed the door on her way into his office, then slammed a fist down hard on his desk. ‘What sort of school are you running here?’ she demanded. ‘You've had my happy, balanced daughter for less than a week and she's an emotional wreck already. You'd better sort this situation out, you balding little man, or I'll have your bollocks for earrings, and that's nothing compared to what the PTA will do to you once I've finished. I'll have you out of this job before you can say unfair dismissal. And you won't get another. Not after the mess you've made of this one.’

      Mrs Torby made several other threats, then slammed the door on her way out. It was the happiest she'd felt in weeks. Mr Christy, on the other hand, took umbrage at being threatened in his own office, and took it out on Mrs Willet.

      ‘What sort of class are you running there? You've had that happy, balanced little girl for less than a week and she's an emotional wreck already. You'd better sort this situation out or I'll… I'll… I'll…’

      He never actually thought of anything to do, but Mrs Willet got the picture. The Oswalds were picking on one of her pupils. She had to be seen to do something. Being an adult of more than average intelligence, she ran down the list of Oswalds she could complain to and went for the weakest one. In front of a form class of terrified Year 2 students, she called Sunrise Oswald to her desk and asked her to turn her bag out. Sunrise did so. There was an iPod in her bag. It was Fiona Torby's. Sunrise had no idea what an iPod was or what it did, but on a scouting expedition under Susan Oswald's bed, Sunrise had seen this bright and shiny thing and decided that finders were keepers.

      Mrs Willet picked the iPod up. Engraved across the back were the words, Dear Fiona, just because I don't love your mother any more doesn't mean I don't love you. The music's never ending. Dad.

      ‘Fiona. Is this your iPod?’

      Fiona Torby looked at Sunrise Oswald and remembered the way Susan Oswald had threatened to kill her if she didn't hand over her fucking iPod. Suddenly grasping the consequences of getting an Oswald into trouble – all of the Oswalds would kill her – she decided losing her iPod to the Oswalds wasn't as bad as being murdered by them.

      ‘No, Miss. I don't think so.’

      ‘Yes it is. It's got your name engraved on the back. Come up here and get it.’

      Fiona Torby went up and got her iPod. Mrs Willet turned to Sunrise Oswald.

      ‘Do you think stealing's clever?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Do you think stealing's big?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Do you think it's big or clever to be a thief? Mrs Torby's ex-husband worked hard to afford this iPod for Fiona. Do you think it's fair that you just came along and took it?’

      ‘Nuh-nuh-no.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘No, Miss. It ain't fair.’

      ‘No, it isn't fair, Sunrise. It's cowardly and it's wrong and let me tell you that older children who steal get taken away from their families and locked up in horrible prisons and terrible things get done to them. Is that what you want to happen?’

      ‘Nuh-nuh-no.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘No, Miss. It ain't.’

      Sunrise started to cry. Mrs Willet pounced.

      ‘Well, then, everybody. Look at the big brave thief now. Not so clever now, is she? Not so big now, is she? Sunrise, I want you to write some lines for me. A hundred lines. I want you to write, I will not be a thief. Now sit back down and stop crying.’

      Sunrise Oswald sat down but she didn't stop crying. She went home in tears. Bob Oswald said, Jesus, baby, what's the matter with you? Sunrise Oswald told him. Bob Oswald said, She called you a thief? Sunrise Oswald nodded. Bob Oswald bent down before her. Honey, he said, I'm going to teach you two words now, and if anyone ever calls you a thief again, I want you to stand up straight and look them in the eye and use them. These two words are, Prove it. You get me? Prove it. You think I'm a thief? Prove it. What did I tell you to say?

      Prove it.

      That's my girl. Prove it. Now, give me a hug, then get me a pen and some paper. I'll write your lines out for you. Don't you worry about a thing.

      The next day, Sunrise Oswald handed her lines in. Mrs Willet paled.

      ‘Sunrise. Come to the front of the class. Right now.’

      Sunrise got up and approached the front of the class.

      ‘What's the meaning of this?’ Mrs Willet held the lines up. The handwriting was huge and spidery, but all the words were joined up, so it was obvious Sunrise hadn't written them. Sunrise stared at Mrs Willet.

      ‘My lines, Miss.’

      ‘You didn't write these lines.’

      Sunrise folded her arms and gazed at Mrs Willet and followed her father's instructions. ‘You calling me a liar?’

      Mrs Willet hesitated, then opted to sit on the fence. ‘I'm saying you didn't write these lines.’

      ‘Prove it.’

      Mrs Willet stared. To her right, the classroom door swung open and Bob Oswald entered the room. ‘Which of you fuckers has got my little girl's iPod?’

      Bob Oswald was a big man in the real world. In a room full of little desks and little people, he seemed to be a giant. His shaven head gleamed. His tattoos rippled. His smell of cigarettes and sweat pervaded. Fiona Torby stood up like she was on springs.

      ‘I told Miss it wasn't mine.’

      ‘OK, sweetie. Bring it here.’

      Fiona Torby did so. Bob Oswald took her iPod from her and handed it to Sunrise.

      ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘And you,’ to Mrs Willet. ‘You think it's big and clever to bully little children?’

      Mrs Willet said, ‘No. Of course not. But I didn't bully your daughter, Mr Oswald. I simply asked her to empty her bag out.’

      ‘Yeah. Right. Sure.’ Bob Oswald walked towards Mrs Willet's desk. ‘So how many other kids did you get to empty their bags out?’

      ‘Well, none, Mr Oswald. But I knew –’

      Bob Oswald yelled before she could finish, ‘I said, how many other fucking kids did you get to empty their bags out?’

      Mrs Willet shrivelled back in her chair. She said, ‘None.’

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