Pedigree Crush With a Twist of Passion: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Simon was anxious and grumpy and frightened. Robert was coming to visit today. He was Janet Metcalfe’s brother and he was horrible to Simon and some of the others. Robert was even nasty to Janet and she was his sister. He called Janet a spastic. He didn’t call Simon a spastic. He called Simon Mong-boy and pulled his hair when Simon walked past. Sometimes Mother called Simon, ‘Mongol.’ Simon wondered if Robert had been talking to Mother.
He stuffed all of his belongings into his rucksack as if he was leaving home for good. He had to pack everything down very hard. The hanging clothes in his wardrobe wouldn’t fit into his bag so he’d had to just stuff them under his bed as they were. Robert had never been into his bedroom. He wasn’t allowed, but Simon went through this ritual every time Robert was coming, just in case. Robert made Simon tell him what number his room was. And Robert said that he was going to come in through the middle of the night and kill him if he said anything to anybody. He couldn’t risk him getting hold of Simon’s best cardigan. That had Simon’s name inside the collar. It didn’t say Robert Metcalfe inside the collar at all, not.
Simon got frustrated when his thick fingers couldn’t do up the zip. ‘Concentape, Shimon,’ he said to himself, but it didn’t matter how hard he concentrated, the zip wouldn’t fasten and his best cardigan with the zipper up the front and leather patches on the elbows bulged out of the top of his bag. His mouth was open, tongue protruding and as he worked on the zip he dribbled onto his hand. He looked up to see if mother had appeared by magic and was very pleased to see that she hadn’t. He guiltily wiped his dribbly hand on his cardigan and went back to work. Simon had a short attention span and a short fuse. He needed things to work for him right away and if they didn’t he would get mad. Now he was mad. Under normal circumstances he’d ask one of the carers to help him zip up his rucksack, but he couldn’t do that. If he told Belinda or Jane about his zip, they would ask why he had packed everything into his rucksack. They were like that. They wouldn’t just come up and say, ‘Yes, Simon, of course I’ll do your zip for you.’ They wouldn’t do his rucksack up and walk away again. That was too hard for them, like Simon trying to hide his stuff under the bed. It should be easy, but it wasn’t. Simon had a picture of the end of the zip on his thumb and it was all red around it. If it didn’t have to have the hurt around it, it might be good to have a picture of a zip on the end of his thumb, but Simon whimpered when he saw it. He heard Belinda walking Janet up the corridor outside. That meant that Robert and Janet’s mum and dad would be coming now. Simon panicked, he grabbed the zip and pulled on it really hard, and then he was holding the end of the zip in his hand and it wasn’t attached to his rucksack any more. This was bad. ‘This is bad,’ said Simon, ‘This is bery, bery bad.’
Jane came to take him to the dayroom for integration. Simon had stuffed the rucksack under his bed with all of his important things, and all of his not so important things too, bulging out of the top. He stood by his desk, moving from foot to foot and making his noise that sounded like a cow. His face was bright red and his big eyes were bulging out of his face even more than normal. Jane called his name. ‘Simon. Simon, come on now.’ But Simon didn’t answer because he wasn’t really there. His big body was there, and his trainers were there and his brown jumper that was really green was there, but Simon wasn’t there. Simon was in his own place where he went when the world got too much for him. Matron came and made Simon come back. She gave him some medicine and he was put to bed to rest. Worrying about this gave Simon a big headache. See, Simon was happy that he was in bed having a rest, because it meant that he wasn’t in integration getting his hair pulled by Robert and being called Mong-boy. But Simon wasn’t tired. It was only half past after lunch and Simon wasn’t supposed to be in bed having a rest. He was supposed to be in integration getting his hair pulled. It was a big problem and Simon fell asleep worrying about it.
When Simon woke up, Nancy was standing by his bed. He had been asleep for a long time because Belinda and Jane had gone home and Nancy and Anne had come on duty. ‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ said Nancy laughing. Simon smiled at her. ‘Look, Simon, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Nancy stepped to one side and Simon wasn’t smiling anymore. Robert was smiling. He was smiling his nice smile, the one that was supposed to show that he was good. Nancy was still talking but Simon wasn’t listening.
‘Robert has stayed a little bit longer today because Janet’s mum and dad have taken her to the hospital to get some special shoes for her. Isn’t that nice? When we told Robert that you were under the weather today he asked if he could come and see you for a bit. Isn’t that nice?’ Nancy winked at Robert and then said, ‘Robert says that you’re his favourite. Isn’t that nice?’
It wasn’t nice.
Robert had already pulled up the chair from beside Simon’s desk. The chair doesn’t go beside the bed, it goes beside the desk. That’s where it goes. Robert sat down. Simon was frightened. He could feel his heart going thump, thump, thump.
Simon closed his eyes and made a big snore.
Nancy laughed again. Simon made all of the carers laugh. They said he had a good sense of human. ‘Will you look at that Robert, he’s having a joke with us. Come on you, sit up, I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea and two Jaffa Cakes. They’re your favourite.’
Simon loved Jaffa Cakes and he hadn’t had a lot of lunch because his tummy felt icky. Simon’s tummy always felt icky when Robert was coming. He got upset on a Wednesday when Mother came too, but he didn’t feel icky in his tummy then, just worried. Simon looked at his two Jaffa Cakes. ‘Right, I’ll leave you two for a bit. Robert, if you come to the kitchen when you’re ready cook will rustle you up a cuppa and a slice of cake.’
‘Thank you, Nancy,’ said Robert in his talking-to-the-staff voice. ‘I will.’
Nancy shut the door and Simon wished that mother was here. Mother was scary and would shout loud at Robert and call him stupid. Mother would make him go away. Robert grabbed Simon’s two Jaffa Cakes and stuffed one into his mouth, barely taking time to chew and swallow before he rammed the second one in too. ‘Hey Mong-boy, aren’t you pleased to see me?’
Simon didn’t answer.
‘That’s not very friendly when I’ve gone out of my way to come and sit with you. Whatcha got in here then?’ Robert reached over and pulled open Simon’s underwear drawer. It was empty. He pulled open the drawer underneath that one and then the last one on the bottom. ‘Hey, where’s all your shit?’
Simon didn’t say anything. But he was scared that Robert would look under his bed.
But it was all right because Robert had got bored of looking in drawers and cupboards. He looked at Simon’s cup of tea. ‘Aren’t you going to drink your tea, Monger?’ He called Simon Monger too, sometimes. Simon didn’t want his tea. He was still worrying about his stuff and just wanted Robert to go away.
‘Here, let me help you.’ He picked up the tea cup and came towards Simon. Simon was frightened. Robert put his arm around Simon’s head and hauled it up from the pillow and then he rammed the cup into his mouth, hurting him. He forced him to drink the tea, it was still too hot. Simon knew to wait for five minutes and then blow on his tea before taking a sip to see if it was the right tempica. Robert didn’t care about the temperature; he just poured it all into Simon’s mouth. It wasn’t boiling hot at all, not, but it was still hot enough to make Simon struggle. The tea spilled all down Simon’s front and Simon was upset. Some of the others spilled their tea and their food down their fronts, but Simon was High End Retardation. Simon was very careful not to spill anything down him because he liked being High End Retardation. It made him feel special but he would never be unkind and tell Janet and the others that she was a low end and that she had to get her shoes from the hospital. That would be unkind. He just kept his specialness to himself and looked at his everybody, white trainers sometimes.
Simon choked on the tea and started coughing. Robert sat back in his chair and laughed. ‘Ugh, look at the mess you’ve made, you dirty retard. Can’t even drink from a cup like normal people. You make me sick.’
Simon thought he might be sick. He couldn’t stop coughing, not, and he was all wet. His pyjamas were all wet. His bed was all wet. And he couldn’t tell. Nancy would think he was turning into low end.
Simon was still worried about his stuff. It was bery bad to tell lies. But it would be bery bad at all if Robert found Shimon’s stuff. It had Shimon’s name on it on a special label what Mrs Taylor, the housekeeper, did sewed in, ‘There’s no thing under the bed, not,’ he said.
Robert laughed and knelt down to pull all of Simon’s stuff out from under the bed. ‘You fucking moron,’ he laughed. Robert was sixteen but Simon still didn’t think he ought to use the dirty words like that. ‘I didn’t even think that you’d hidden it all. I just thought they took it all off you to stop you shitting all over it, or something retarded.’ He was laughing very hard. ‘You shot yourself right in the foot there, me old son.’ Robert flung Simon’s clothes all over the floor.
‘Clothes do not live on the floor, Shimon. Clothing lives on hangers in the wardrobe.’ Simon was distressed. He repeated this phrase over and over. Robert was opening Simon’s red pencil case. Simon didn’t like nobody touching his red pencil case. It had his name on it on the inside. Robert could see Simon’s name when he opened it. It wasn’t sewed in on a label, but it was wrote in black marker pen so that it wouldn’t come oft. Robert started taking everything out of his red pencil case and looking at it. He put Simon’s parker pen in his pocket.
Simon stopped talking about his clothes and changed his chant to. ‘Shimon’s red pencil case. Shimon’s name on it. Marker pen. Not come oft.’
‘Will you stop rabbitting on like a fucking retard,’ said Robert. He came up to Simon with a red felt tip pen and waved it in front of Simon’s face. Simon thought that he was going to draw a picture right on him. ‘We draws on paper, not on walls, not’ said Simon weakly. Robert laughed, if he had been going to draw on Simon’s face he suddenly changed his mind. He pulled the covers back and Simon grabbed them and pulled them back up to his chin. Robert slapped Simon across the face and tears came into Simon’s eyes. ‘Don’t do that, play nice,’ said Robert pulling the covers back again. This time Simon didn’t do anything. A tear ran out of his eye but Simon wasn’t really crying; he was too frightened to cry. It was a tear from the sting in his eyes after Robert slapped him. He looked down at himself and the front of his pyjama top had come up a bit showing his big tummy. Robert grabbed some of his tummy and pinched it hard. Simon cried out because it really hurt him. ‘Got a dick under all this flab, have you?’ He flicked Simon hard on his tummy. Simon was confused. Dick was the handy man and gardener. He came three times a week on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but he had his own bed in his house somewhere else. He lived with Missus Dick and didn’t sleep in Simon’s bed.
‘Well, have you? Have you got a dick?’ he started pulling at the front of Simon’s pyjama bottoms.
‘No,’ said Simon, hoping that it would make him stop. Robert thought this was very funny and laughed a lot. ‘Oh Mong-boy, you are grade-A priceless. Haven’t got a dick.’ He kept laughing all the while, pulling Simon’s pyjama bottoms down. And then he took hold of Simon’s willy. This was bery bad. If a stranger touches you there, you have to tell. But Robert wasn’t a stranger and Simon couldn’t tell.
Robert started writing something on Simon’s willy. Simon couldn’t read it, but he knew his letters c-o-c-k and then a gap, s-u-c, it tickled and Simon’s willy started to get big, like it does sometimes, and then they have to up his tablets to stop it getting big. Robert got very angry. He yelled as though Simon had hurt him. ‘Agh, oh fuck. You fucking filthy queer. Simon hadn’t got mad and punched him. Maybe Simon’s willy had got hot as well as big and it had burned him. Simon was too frightened to get mad. Simon just wanted him to go away.
Robert got even angrier. He made a big fist and grabbed a bunch of Simon’s pyjama top in his hand. He was going to punch Simon right in the nose and Simon knew it was going to hurt a lot. He screwed up his eyes and waited.
Robert grunted and threw Simon back into his pillows. He turned around and punched the wall beside Simon’s bed, making his picture of sunflowers nearly fall off. He leaned over Simon and roughly ripped his Pyjama top open. One of his buttons flew off and rolled under his chest of drawers. Mrs Taylor would be mad with Simon and would tell him off for not looking after his things properly. Simon didn’t have his eyes closed anymore. He was terrified and could hear his heart going thump, thump, thump very fast. ‘I want to smash your dirty fucking face in,’ Robert said. ‘I want to hit you so hard that you never get a hard on again. I want to ram your teeth down your throat.’ He took the felt pen and wrote g-a-y, gap, b-o-y on Simon’s bare chest.
Simon didn’t feel well. He got a big pain just under his armpit. He felt sick. The pain was really bad. Really, really bad. Badder than any bad pain he’d ever had before. His eyes went big and bulgy and he took a breath in and didn’t let it out again. He was rolling on the bed and making a strangled cry in his throat but he couldn’t get any sound out. Robert shouted, ‘Oh fuck,’ and grabbed a rubber from the pencil case. He tried to rub the red felt tip from Simon’s chest. This wasn’t just a fit; it looked like a fucking heart attack. He had to remove the writing before he called for help. The rubber wasn’t working. He ran over to the sink in the corner of the room and rubbed Simon’s flannel with soap under the tap. Simon was bucking and writhing and still clutching his chest when Robert started rubbing vigorously on his skin to get the marks off him. He cleaned his chest and then, repulsed and disgusted, he grabbed his penis and cleaned the obscene slogan from that too, before covering Simon up and pulling his blankets back over him. He’d left large, dripping wet patches on Simon and he had red marks on his chest, genitalia and face. It couldn’t be helped. He was going to have to yell for help or Simon was going to die. He didn’t give a shit about that but he did care about his own safety. He didn’t want to get the blame for this. Simon stopped writhing and lay still. His eyes were wide open and his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth. Robert screamed and nurses flooded the room.
Nancy pulled out Simon’s pillows, laying him flat, and instantly began CPR while Anne ran out to ring an ambulance. Matron came into the room and took over the chest compressions from Nancy while she covered Simon’s mouth with her own and gave him resuscitation. They didn’t even notice Simon’s wet clothing or the marks on his skin. Robert watched on, horrified, terrified and fascinated. Watching somebody die had been the scariest, most awesome fucking thing that he’d ever seen.