J) Bond Of Union

The institution was hostile, two twelve-year-olds alone and unhappy,
the only family they had during term-time was each other.

Saturday lunchtime, hot-pot with red cabbage, pudding was semolina, a
dollop of congealing red jam, plonked to form 'Death Island' in the
middle. She hated Saturday lunch; it never varied, never altered. She
hated hot-pot with red cabbage, and the coarse grainy taste of the
semolina mixed with the mucus-slimy texture made her feel ill. The only
drink available, the only drink ever available apart from at breakfast
and suppertime was water. She always skipped Saturday dinner.

Normally on a Saturday afternoon they did enforced activities. Last
week they climbed a fell, she was lazy and if ordered to participate
hated anything more strenuous than a leisurely stroll. It seemed that
she hated most things, her lack of enthusiasm to any instruction made
her time there more difficult, but being 'difficult' was the only
control she could grasp for herself. When they weren't sweating up
mountains, they were swimming icy lakes, trudging between Here and
There submissive and oppressed. If they didn't actually go anywhere
then they had already been. 'How Many Items Can You Fit In a Matchbox'
in the morning. And then when morning became afternoon discernible only
by the lunch break, they gathered round tables in groups collective
hives of industry making collages out of dog-poo and matchsticks.
Everyday was bad there, but Saturday's were the worst.

This week was different, for reasons unbeknown and unexplained they
had an afternoon of 'free time' four and a half whole glorious hours to
escape, Two hundred and seventy undamaged minutes of emancipation. She
was light-headed with liberty and her hand trembled slightly as she
'signed out'.

'Town' she wrote in the destination column, and 'shopping' in the
purpose list. She would like to put ditto marks in her slot, it
belonged to her that half inch of white space, why shouldn't she put
ditto marks under the previous thirty 'towns' and 'shopping's'? Any
small defiance was punishable by 'gateing' though and she couldn't risk
getting gated, not today. She copied her word under the last one like
all the other dead-eyed children sedated not by dopamine but under the
force of a regime designed to rob the kids of the smallest flame of
will.

The member of staff glanced at her sideways, they always looked at her
suspiciously ready to pounce, to punish, to beat her down under their
greater force. Nothing was going to beat her today, she was in the
penalty area, on the point of scoring, three more strides and she would
be out of that door valiant, a winner.

Stalin's little henchman frowned searching for any sign, the smallest
grievance that he could use to keep her back. She smiled sweetly, and
he had no choice but to sign her out.

Holding her breath she went out through the door, not in the clear yet,
not past the end-zone, and then she was running up a flight of stone
steps baseball boots pounding the concrete. She burst through the gate
punching the air in victory she was &;#8230;free.

She didn't stop running, moving fast down Vicarage Hill, every second
lost was a second closer to returning. They'd made a secret pact to
meet on the old disused railway.

It hadn't taken the staff long to catch on, she'd formed an attachment,
had an ally. They were kept apart, forbidden to spend time together; he
had potential, a child of forces parents not scum like her. He had
earned his right of passage by lineage deserved to be there an asset to
the establishment; he wasn't low-grade filth. He wasn't there on a care
order, ward of the court, blight on the school's reputation.

Forcing them apart did nothing to kill their friendship because now
they had something on the school, a secret, they had subterfuge and
schemes to meet whenever and wherever they could.

He came running towards her, part of their strategy was to always leave
from separate gates, meeting up away from the public eye, the old
railtrack was perfect. He was grinning and by the time they exploded up
to each other they were laughing hysterically with the exhilaration of
freedom and being together again. They 'high-fived' and fell back
against a tree hands on thighs, red-faced and panting.

When he could talk he grinned up at her, "I saw a Pine Marten."

"Get lost," she said, but her words of derision did nothing to hide the
fact that she was impressed and envious.

"I did, cross my heart and hope to die I did." He licked his already
dirty finger and swore the traditional oath across his chest.

She looked sceptical. "Nah, there's no Pine Martens around here now
they've all moved up to Scotland to get away from the poachers. It'll
have been a stoat."

"Don't they have poachers in Scotland then?"

"Don't think so, there's no queen in Scotland is there?"

"Huh?" His smooth brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Well poachers n stuff they stay close to the queen don't they? Coz
she's got all them deers an trouts an all that lot eh?"

He looked dubious but didn't say anything else; she got stroppy if he
didn't let her be right sometimes.

They started to walk along the track together the first priority was to
find a couple of sticks, no self-respecting rail-walker could track
properly without a suitable stick. They were used for rattling along
railings and poking into things that looked as though they might cover
rattlesnakes. Even then she liked snakes, he wasn't so sure and
secretly hoped that they'd never find one. He would never be daft
enough to try and handle one, but he wasn't so sure about her, she
could be a bit unpredictable sometimes. She needed looking after.

They walked and rattled and poked while the sun beat down warming the
top of their heads and lighting their dull eyes. They talked about
anything and everything, only two subjects were taboo, 'that place' and
their lives before that place. They had their special hide-out where
they talked about how life had hurt them, but it wasn't a conversation
to have while the sun smiled down upon them.

At the bridge they stopped and leaned out over the river Greta, she was
a turbulent lady all white froth and spittle. They floated twigs and
ran to the other side of the bridge to see them appear, then they'd
argue over whose twig was in the lead. They imagined themselves sailing
down the amazon on dug out canoes and discussed the best way to wrestle
an alligator. He would jump straight in with a bowie knife between his
teeth and slay it in the water, he declined to mention that he hadn't
yet learned to swim. But she knew that was dead man's folly anyway. It
was obvious that the only way to survive a hungry alligator was to make
friends with it. She would kiss it and stroke it and it would love them
and follow them back to Colditz. They laughed hysterically as they
imagined Stalin's face as they walked back into the common room with a
twenty-foot alligator following them, for that's how long their
alligator would be.

They spent some time in serious debate. The right name for their 'gator
was so important. It had to be regal enough to get people's respect,
but funky enough for him to be happy with it. Finally they settled on
Elton after Elton John. It was `seventy-seven and he was neither a Sir
nor a figure of ridicule yet, he even had hair.

Elton the alligator spent the rest of that afternoon with them.

All too soon they were at their special place, a place that no one else
in the world knew about, somewhere that only very few people could get
into. At the side of the track they climbed over and under a two string
barbed wire fence each of them would lift the top strand for the other.
He held out his hand for her to grab while she got her balance. She
hesitated for one second, she didn't need his hand. She could negotiate
a hundred barbed wire fences all stacked on top of each other, but she
desperately wanted to hold his hand so she relented. His skin was warm
and dry in hers, his little hand tiny, much smaller than hers but so
very, very comforting. She told him about the hundred fences and he
grinned challengingly at her before telling her he could climb a
hundred and twenty.

On the other side of the fence neither of them wanted to drop the
other's hand. He lowered his gaze and smiled shyly at her from under
his long fringe that almost completely covered his eyes. She couldn't
meet his gaze and looked away her cheeks burning hotly. To cover their
embarrassment she laughed softly and started swinging their arms
backwards and forwards. She tried to drag him down the steep banking.
He laughed too and soon they were skidding and scuffling along in the
shale and tree bark, each of them careful not to slip and have to let
go of the hand they held so tightly.

At the underside of the bridge they stopped messing about. The laughter
dropped from their faces and they smiled shyly at each other. They were
here and this was the place where they could let all the hurt out
without shame or fear.

He went first and crawled in shuffling to the very far end of the wedge
to make room for her to get in behind him.

Their place was a tiny shelf on the underside of the bridge barely two
foot high. Where the struts formed a rightangle a small man made cave
only just big enough for two small children to squeeze into was made.
On three sides they were protected from the world by thick limestone
bricks, underneath them was the ice-cold metal of the strut and on the
outer edge of the shelf a sheer drop heralded the rush of the
fast-paced river. The water welcomed them with a whisper and a rumble
and they felt safe.

She leaned against the back wall of the bridge and opened her legs for
him to sit between. He moved into his space and leaned back against her
budding chest. This was what each of them lived for in that awful
institution.

Anything they said echoed round the hollow space, so they whispered
only just hearing each other against the competition of the river who
also had much to say for herself. Talking in whispers like that made it
all the more secretive. They told each other things that nobody else in
the world knew. Usually they began talking about their life at the
boarding school, but inevitably it led to the hurt they had both been
subjected to. They were two wounded victims bullied both at the school
and in their other lives. Both touched by hands that never should have
touched them, both used to the ugliness of an unkind world.

She never cried, she had forgotten how she just leaned back against the
cool wall and let her pain pour out to the only person in the world who
understood her. He cried eventually when the emotion got too much for
him and she would stroke his hair softly, kissing the top of his head
and loving him.

Her stroking and kissing stopped his tears and he felt the first
stirrings of new feelings, feelings never before explored. He wrapped
his arms round her jean clad legs and squeezed them tightly to him. She
felt the warmth of his palms on her thighs and leaned back closing her
eyes and enjoying the contact of his body. Stolen moments like this
were all that made their lives bearable.

They stayed like that for as long as they dared, she ached with
feelings that she felt but didn't understand and he clung to her not
wanting the moment or the touch to end. Finally they had to move the
river told them it was time to go.

He turned towards her his body briefly rolling against hers, a moment
that both of them would re-live many times over. They came onto their
knees struggling in the small confines of the space, it took effort to
manoeuvre in and out, they were both stiff from sitting in the same
position for so long. They giggled at their clumsy performance but
eventually both of them were sitting on their knees facing each other,
neither one wanting to leave the coolness of their 'cave' for the
burning sun that had so warmed them on the way here.

He leaned towards her and she caught her breath knowing what was
finally going to happen. His lips when they touched hers were soft and
moist. And then he was gone shuffling on his knees out into the bright
sunshine. She didn't immediately follow. She was alone in their space
and she could still feel the too-brief pressure of his mouth on hers.
She put a finger to her lips to see if they felt different. Jamie had
kissed her and her heart was racing to fly with the gulls circling high
above them.

The walk back was different. Elton the imaginary alligator had died
from the neglect of being forgotten when more serious matters came to
the fore. Although they were both high on the thrill of first kisses
and innocent need, the gayety and freedom of earlier had gone. They
were on their way back to hell and there was nothing that could happen
to them between here and there to stop it being so. They didn't hold
hands and they didn't mess around and frolic, they just walked in
companionable silence. She was used to being quiet because she never
talked much in there anyway.

Before they left the railtrack they came to the old train yard, it had
long since been abandoned as a bustling station and had then been
discarded a second time. Someone had moved onto the ground and used it
as a scrap yard; the skeletons of burned out cars littered the area and
made walking hazardous.

The platform area of the station had a domed glass roof. Each pane had
been broken over the years, vandals presumably and the young hooligan
winds coming from the west in winter. It was a place of echoes and
ghosts of the past. The two children began to talk again here, brought
out of their dreams and dreads by the spirit of the station. Like them
it had a feel of being badly hurt and unwanted. Their footsteps
recalled on the slate platform. And for each step they took ten spirits
walked behind them. It felt spooky even in the full heat of the late
afternoon sun. They were the only people alive on earth and everyone
else was merely an echo from the past. They talked about what it would
be like to spend a night there, would they be brave enough? Neither of
them bragged too hard about being there late at night. Sunlight poured
through the broken panes above them and they spread their arms wide and
turned in slow circles looking up at the calyx patterns of the smashed
windows. Goospepimples rose on their flesh and they were oppressed by
feelings of long forgotten neglect.

He was the first to break from the spell that the eerie calm of the
inner station had cast over them. He didn't like it there and suddenly
without a word ran out through the broken gate and into the open area
that had once been taken over by scarp merchants. She stopped
spiralling as if woken from a dream and reluctantly moved to follow
him. Unlike Jamie she felt almost as though she belonged in that place,
she had no great fear of long dead ghosts, far more frightening were
the real people waiting to torment them further on their return to the
awful place.

Once through the gate the atmosphere was completely different. Free
from the domed glass filter the sunlight glinted off shattered
windscreens. A rat scurried across the far side of the yard, startled
by the sudden appearance of two small humans. They could hear birdsong
again.

He began picking his way over bits of old car and through a lake of
broken shards of glass.

She was scared for him, he was sure footed enough but she cared so much
about him and didn't want him to fall on the glass and hurt
himself.

"Be careful" she called alarmed.

"It's okay come on."

She picked her way delicately towards him, placing her foot in between
bits of gnarled metal not daring to jump from bonnet to bonnet the way
he had. He came back to get her and held his hand out.

"Come on I want to show you something." Carefully he led her to firmer
ground.

Bending over he picked up a handful of the broken glass and let it fall
like sand through his fingers.

She was horrified.

"Don't Jay, you'll cut yourself."

He picked up a second handful of glass. "Look Laura, it's special glass
it doesn't cut you like the ordinary stuff does."

She was fascinated.

"It's called sugar glass and is used for windscreens. If the car
crashes and you get thrown through the window it won't cut you to
shreds."

She had never seen sugar glass before. Glass that didn't cut was
fantastic. It was like having a father that didn't drink, or a cupboard
that actually had food in it, or a fire that still burned when the coal
ran out in winter.

"Sugar glass," she repeated. Even the name of it was pretty. It
reminded her of the Sugar Plum Fairy. He opened his palms and let the
glass fall to the floor then he showed her his unblemished hands. She
placed her fingers over the dusty palms and stroked them gently. No
sores.

Then she was bending down scooping up a huge handful of the sugar
glass. She was just about to grind it fiercely into the softness of her
flesh when he saw what she was going to do and grabbed her wrists
firmly.

"No Laura, No, not hard like that. Gently, silly sod. It doesn't cut if
you are gentle with it but it's still glass you know. "

She was disappointed. Sugar glass was indeed good, but it was still
glass and it would still cut her.

He picked up one large nugget of glass from the ground had put it
gently into her hand. She fingered it softly and said the word 'Sugar
glass' once more.

They were mindful of the time now.

"What time is it?" Jamie asked suddenly pulled back to the present by
an impression that something was wrong. "Oh God Laura what time is
it?"

She had no idea. Time had stood still for her that magical afternoon,
but reality bit hard, sugar glass can cut and time can't stand
still.

They began to run.

It was still over two miles back to the school. They ran and ran,
unease morphing into icy-tendrils of fear. She had to keep stopping,
her legs were longer than his but he was faster.

"Come on Laura, come on."

"I can't," she gasped fire burning inside her chest as she groped in
the summer heat for breath. "You go on. Go on Jamie don't you be late
too."

But he wouldn't leave her. Every time she stopped for breath he stopped
too urging her on pleading with her to move again.

They burst off the railway and onto the unyielding harshness of the
tarmac on the main road. After the soft earth of the track the pressure
of the pavements pounded their ankles and made them ache.

Jamie was slightly ahead of her as they rounded the last corner before
the school. He stopped suddenly and as she caught him up they knew they
were doomed. The garage opposite the Catholic Church was closed. It
didn't shut until half past five. It couldn't be closed, it mustn't be
closed.

At five thirty as the garage was closing the tea-bell would be ringing.
The kids would have filed out of the narrow door in ones and twos and
threes, their only concern what they were going to get to eat and if
there'd be any seconds that day. The garage was closed and that single
portent of doom was enough to render them almost incapable of
movement.

They were in serious trouble; the cut off point for being back in the
boarding house was five-fifteen that gave them fifteen minutes to wash
up before tea. One of the gravest crimes you could possibly commit in
that school was walking into the dining room after everyone else was
already seated. They would have to walk up to the teacher's table in
front of the entire school and face the music.

They weren't supposed to be together, they'd know, Stalin and the
others, hell the whole school would know. They were really for it this
time. The two empty chairs in the packed dining hall had already given
them away.

She felt her cheeks beginning to burn with the humiliation and shame of
having to stand out in front of everybody. Despite the heat of the day
he was leaning into her and trembling. She put her arm around his
shoulders and hugged him into her side.

"We'll go in and face them together." She said bravely.

"No we can't they'll kill us." He said terror rising in his
voice.

They both knew that they had already been caught out but she finally
agreed that it might be better if they didn't walk into the dining room
together.

He went first while she hid round the corner for another five minutes.
She had to push him in the back to make him move his feet seemed to
have become adhered to the ground. She felt sorry for him and would
gladly have taken his punishment along with her own if she could have
saved him. She waited for what seemed like five minutes. Several times
she almost turned tail and ran, but where would she go? And how could
she run when Jamie had just walked into that awful place alone?

She pushed open the left hand, of the large double doors. The drum of
noise and clanking cutlery stopped and not a sound was to be heard as
she stood just inside the door.

Stalin rose from his seat and glared towards her.

"And here's the other wanderer." He said sarcastically. "Come on, come
here." She walked slowly up to the head table where the eight teachers
sat. With the exception of one little boy, every single pair of eyes in
the place burned into her back with glee. "Well?"

She said nothing but looked at her feet horrified to see a large clod
of muddy grass sticking to her base-ball-boot.

"Well?" He repeated his sergeant-major voice booming in the echoey
hall.

She flinched.

"I'm sorry I'm late Sir." She mumbled in a tiny voice.

"Oh make no mistake girl we'll get to the pathetic apologies later,
what I want now is an explanation. Well Girl where have you been till
this time?"

"Town Sir."

She knew, knew without an iota of doubt that no matter how thorough his
grilling Jamie wouldn't have betrayed her and told of their secret
place. That was theirs alone and no matter what punishment and
humiliation was brought on them nothing could take away their happy
afternoon. But still she couldn't resist letting her eyes glance over
to his table.

He was sitting with his head down not daring to look in her direction.
Her heart went out to him. She saw him not as her Jamie, the boy who
made her pulse race, the only person in the whole world who she truly
loved, she saw him as a frightened little boy. He looked so small and
fragile bent over in his chair. His place setting was empty he had not
been allowed to get anything to eat. Tears streaked his sheet-white
face and he looked sick. Gone was the healthy bronze tan of just
one-hour earlier. Had the afternoon been worth it to put him through
this, to put herself through it?

Yes it had.

"Don't look at him girl he can't help you now. You're going to be sorry
for leading him astray I can promise you that."

She believed him. Both he and his hench men and women knew how to make
her suffer.

The punishment when it came wasn't so bad. The waiting outside Stalin's
office was interminable. She was to be gated to a chair for the rest of
the term. Jamie was gated for a week. After all 'the vixen had led him
astray'.

For the rest of the term every moment of free time was spent sitting in
the same chair. She was not allowed to talk to anyone, or even to read.
The only hardship there was not being able to sneak five-minute
meetings with Jamie in the laundry room or the corridors. She didn't
mind being gated to the chair; her imagination helped her pass the
time. One day she'd be free from there and two years later Jamie would
be released too. They could be together then and once they were sixteen
nothing and nobody would ever be able to part them again.

But nothing worked out as they planned.

At the end of term they said their goodbyes. She was going off to a new
set of foster parents for the holidays and he was flying half way
across the world to be with his parents. They made sure no one was
looking and then risked hugging briefly. Smiling bravely they promised
to see each other after the holidays.

He never came back.

It was as though Jamie had died, none of the teachers would tell her
anything, thy cruelly delighted in her distress. She grieved her lost
love and never saw him again.

The years passed and she grew into a woman. She went through failed
marriages and had children. Over the years she thought about her first
love often and never forgot him or how much he meant to her in those
days of stolen comfort.

She was alone again and at a particularly low point in her life when
the phone rang.

"Laura? It's Jamie &;#8230; I've been looking for you for
twenty-five years."

She had learned how to cry and a lone tear coursed down her cheek as
she pressed the phone into the side of her face.

"Hello Jamie," She said, "I've missed you."