Chapter 1

Chapter 7

The move to St Nick’s boarding school for boys came quicker than Malcolm expected. He didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to his friend; he came home on the Friday and got told he’d be starting a new school on Monday. It came as a relief to Malcolm’s pearents, but came as a shock to Malcolm; one minute his life revolved around the tough east London school with grey crumbling buildings, the next; he found himself being driven down a long avenue with trees on either side wearing a grey uniform with a matching blazer belonging to one of the best private schools in the country.


The heavy car crunched over the pebble drive and came to a halt.


“Here we are,” his mother said.


Malcolm didn’t say a word.


They unloaded the car and walked into the large entrance hall carrying his two suit cases and a satual full of books. His mother filled out some forms, and before Malcolm knew it, she climbed in the car they’d arrived in and it pulled away.


The feeling of abandonment shook him as he stood in front of the impressive school entrance, the grandness of his surroundings lost as he watched the black Jaguar disappear down the long drive and out of sight.





Malcolm stood in the hall waiting for his driver. It’d been three weeks since he watched his mother leave. He cast his mind back that day, it seemed so long ago now.


A voice came through the crowd, “Master Wright?”


“Yes, here…”


“This way sir,” said a tall middle aged man in a black suit.


Malcolm passed his case to the driver. He’d not seen this one before.


“The names Derick, pleased to meet you.” Malcolm shrugged, “Your Father is away on business this weekend…”


“Oh well...”


Derick placed the case in the boot and opened the door for Malcolm. “Yes…well, Mrs Wright wanted to join you but had to wait in for a parcel; she’ll be there when you get home.”


“Ok,” he said as he climbed in the back of the Jag which had been kindly supplied by the government.


“How’s your time at St Nick’s been so far?”


“Ok I suppose.”


“Make any friends?”


“A few.”


“It’s important to in a place like this.”


Malcolm averted his gaze from the car park where various boys were being hugged by smiling mothers and firm handshakes were offered by stern fathers. He turned to face the driver “Why’s that?”


“The same reason wilder beast mass together, Safety in numbers, that way you’re less likely to be picked off by predators.”


“There’s not many lions prowling about the place.”


“Predators come in all different shapes and sizes, believe me.”


“Did you go to school here?”


Derick laughed, “No, God no…but I’ve picked up enough boy’s like you to have seen what a place like this can do to a boy, it’s more like the Serengeti than you think.”


They reached the end of the drive and passed through the ornate cast iron gates, the expensive car glided down the road as if it had its own air of superiority.


“It’s been ok, they call me cockney though, because of my accent, I didn’t think I had one.”


“You have compared to this lot. They were all brought up with a silver spoon in their mouth.” He paused, “I know we’re not supposed to talk, but it’s such a long journey, and I like to get to know people… do you mind? Just tell me to shut up anytime.”


“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind at all.”





Class finished for the day and Malcolm walked down the long corridor to his dormitory, a first-year burst through the toilet door with tears in his eyes and hair dripping wet. Malcolm had seen it before, he watched the first year run down the hall. The toilet door opened, and two older boys emerged laughing. Malcolm saw the ginger one hand something to the other.


“What you looking at?” Malcolm kept walking, “OI, I SAID WHAT YOU LOOKING AT?” Munch said again.


Malcolm focused on his dormitory door, 'keep walking, keep walking….' he thought.


The boy nudged his friend. “Bollocks, come on,” he said, then turned towards the sports hall. Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief and without looking back pushed opened the heavy oak door.


He walked over to his bed, each one identical to the other lined up perfectly in two rows down either side of the long wall of the room. Beside each bed stood a metal cabinet for belongings to which a code was issued at the beginning of the term.


Malcolm walked past the first year. He lay on his bed with his face buried in his pillow. Malcolm knew he’d received a dunking. He should have given them his money; he must have resisted, as he’d done once.


Malcolm sat on the edge of this bed, his memory taking him to the noise of a flushing toilet, the cold water cascading over his head. He struggled to breathe as the water filled his nose and mouth. In the panic he’d pushed back against the large boy who held him down, but he might as well been pushing against a brick wall for all the good it did.


Through the cascading water he’d heard the boys laughter as they held his head in the stinking bowl, hands searched his pockets and found two conkers, a boiled sweet and a fifty pence piece.


Malcolm struggled with all his might, he not wanted to lose his ‘sixer’. It’d been his best one yet and had reached its status without any sign of giving up.


Once the boys found the money, they realised their grip and Malcolm pulled his head from the cold water. He’d knelt gasping for breath then spat on the floor. A long line of dribble clung to his face. He brought his arm up and wiped the sliver away with his sleeve. The smell of bleach burnt his nose, still, it could have been worse.


The boys left with his belongings; he turned his head to see his best conker fall to the floor. It rested in a gully. In a match it had held strong, but gave little resistance to the heavy black boot that landed on it from a great height, he winced as he watched his prize being reduced to a pulped mess on the floor.


The memory brought back the dread he’d felt that day, and the empty loneliness only a school full of so many could bring. His second year status gave some protection, the influx of younger kids providing easer pickings for the bullies.


Malcolm looked at the boy sat three beds down and knew how he felt. “Bastards,” he said to himself.


The ‘dunkings’ came and went as the balance of power changed. The head boy had the power to control the situation if he wished, he’d either stop it or encourage it depending on his attitude. The head boy at the moment was a bully himself, so dunkings were commonplace.