Chapter 1

Chapter 4

Malcolm glanced across the table at his friend. Kids of all ages filled the large room chatting, cueing and eating lunch. Teachers stood at the side of the hall, annoyed they had to give up valuable break time to watch the unruly louts; a line of dinner ladies dished out lumpy mash potato and a dollop of stew to each pupil; the chips had run out at the first helping.


Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm watched a gang of black kids picking on a first year.


He had no choice but to hand over the money, he protested and received a slap across the face for his trouble. Malcolm wondered why he bothered to resist, the chance of the gang giving up an opportunity for financial gain being slim. Malcolm caught the eye of the biggest kid in the gang.


“What are those fuckers up to?” said Trevor


“Taxing that first year.”


“Fuckin black bastards, the bunch of twats, don’t know who’s worse, them coons or the fuckin pakis?” Malcolm nodded. “They have to go around together cos no other fucker will ave em… bastards should go back where they fuckin came from, my old man recons that’s why this country’s gone to shit, fuckin likes of them taking our jobs, sponging of the state.”


Malcolm raised his eyebrows. Trevor’s ‘old man’ hadn’t worked a day in his life, even if there were no blacks or Asians, he still wouldn’t have a job; being either drunk, in prison or on the run, the thought of even trying to get a job hadn’t crossed his mind in years. Malcolm smirked at the thought… As far Trevor saw it, the fault lay at the feet of the immigrants.


The Blacks weren’t the reason for Trevor’s father failings, but Malcolm couldn’t remember the last time a white kid started at Woodhay. It seemed every week, more black and Asian faces arrived… the whites were moving out… he was moving out.


“…and those pakis fuckin stink. They must bath in that curry shit.”


One of the gang looked over. “What the fuck you lookin’ at?”


“Bunch of fuckin coons I reckon,” Malcolm said under his breath.


“Fuckin what?”


The gang turned. The scrape of metal on wood pieced Malcolm’s ears as several blue chairs parted like the Red sea ahead of Moses. His stomach tightened as a wave of adrenaline flooded his body, this didn’t look good.


The gang approached, Malcom and Trevor stood to face them.


“What the fuck did you say?”


“I said…a bunch of fuckin’ COONS I reckon.”


The black kid looked back at his three friends stood behind them. Malcolm had seen this before, the diversionary move followed up by a surprise right hook.


Before the kid had the chance Malcolm let fly his left fist, it struck the black kid square on the lip and he felt it spit under the impact. He stood waiting for the onslaught but Trevor pushed passed and grabbed the kid around the neck. The three black kids who’d stood dumbfounded at the speed of the attack burst into life. The first kid bent over and held his bleeding mouth.


“FUCKIN’ GET EM!”


A shout came from across the room,


“OI… COONS…”


Everyone stopped and turned to see where the shout had come from.


Stood in the doorway were three fifth years wearing burgundy m2 flack jackets, white school shirts with black pencil thin ties, all three had shaved heads. They walked across the room towards the gang.


“Alright Trev?” One of them said, “Havin’ a problem?”


“Alright Si… nah, just having a conversation, nothing I can’t handle.”


Malcolm didn’t share Trevor’s confidence. The skinheads’ brought with them a pleasing realise of tension as the gang retreated across the hall.


“I’ll fucking see you later” The bloodied kid said to Malcolm.


“Not if you know what’s good for ya you won’t,” Said one of the fifth years.


He turned to Malcolm, “Fucking good left hand you’ve got there kid, that coons lip split like a bastard…Its fuckin’ fat enough though, hard to miss the cunt.”


“It’ll be fatter tomorrow,” said the other skinhead.


“Shit yeah, he’ll look like right sambo,” he replied laughing.


Two of the skinheads sat next to Trevor. The other one stood staring at Malcolm; he shuffle up the bench, leaving enough room for the skinhead who promptly sat down. Without making eye contact he reached over and picked a chip from Malcolm’s plate and shoved it in his mouth. “Fucking coons, they‘re starting to take the piss,” he said.


“Yeah, we were just saying…”


“Who’s your mate Trev?”


“Sorry, where’s my manners, this is Malcolm…Malcolm…Si, Norm and Barry…”


Malcolm acknowledged each boy in turn.


“Seen you around the estate aint I?” said Barry


“Yeah” Malcolm nodded.


“Don’t live there though, comes from the posh side of town don’t he,” Trevor Said.


“Oh, like to rough it with the scum do ya?” Malcolm didn’t answer; he just shrugged his shoulders.


The skinheads got up and left “See ya later Trev, if you get any grief from the Coons, let us know.”


“Yeah, cheer's Si…see ya later,” Trevor looked up at Malcolm, “Fucking hell mate, you better watch out, that wog’ll be after you.”


“Fuck em, they need taking down a peg or two.”





Trevor put down his fork “What ya mean you’re fucking leaving?”


“The old mans’ been moved to another constituency.”


“Another what?”


“You know… a place where people vote, something to do with Labour… Oh, I don’t know…” Malcolm said shaking his head. He didn’t want to go, another reason for hating his father.


Although Trevor showed a tough exterior, the look in his eyes told a different story.


He lived on the council estate with his mother, and carried with him the same run down look both she and the house had acquired over the years. His Father left as soon as the opportunity arose, and his mother only had one thing on her mind, the relentless pursuit of the next drink.


She hadn’t wanted him anyway, ‘I told the bastard not to leave the fuckin thing in,’ being Trevor’s introduction to sex education.


Malcolm didn’t realize the importance of the ‘normal’ relationship he and Trevor had…


Malcolm moved on his seat, his bruised rib dug into his thoughts bringing with it the memory of the previous night. He'd been lucky this time though, his father only having enough time for one outburst before the drink got the better of him and he’d slumped unconscious in the chair.


Malcolm knew his father took particular care not to mark his face, a black eye being hard to hide, and even harder to explain.


The fact that Malcolm always got into fights and played rugby helped hide the abuse he’d receive, the odd bruised rib or scrape went unnoticed.


Malcolm remembered staring at the drunken man, feeling the pain of the fall in his ribs ‘One day' he thought… ‘One day, I’ll be big enough.’


Trevor sat tucking into his mash potato. He'd gone through the embarrassing ritual of handing over his meal ticket; Malcolm could almost feel his pain every lunch time. Being proud, he didn’t like having to rely on hand-outs, which Malcolm thought admirable given his parents attitude to the same.


Trevor sometimes came to school with a black eye, signifying a fleeting visit from his father. His mood changed with the infrequent visits, he never talked about what happened when his father was home and Malcolm never asked; he just knew it wasn’t anything good.


Malcolm never spoke about his issues with his Father, as far as Trevor new he had the ideal home life.


“When you going then?”


“Next week I think.”


“Great, what the fuck am I gonna do?” Trevor said as he stood up with his tray.


Malcolm watched his friend cross the hall, he didn’t answer, lost in his thoughts, wandering what the fuck he was going to do.