LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 7

       June 1958

      I had been awake since the break of dawn. It was the first Sunday in June and I was going home for the whole day. I was anxious to be on my way because I hadn’t seen my mother since February. There were no visits from relatives at St Vincent’s. I missed her badly and had read each of her letters to me at least fifty times. They made me feel less isolated and comforted me, helping me to endure the bullying I was being subjected to daily. I ran my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip. I could feel the bumps and scars from being punched in my mouth, causing my teeth to penetrate and bruise the inside of my lips.

      I knew with certainty that the bullying would go on. It was the way of the school and nothing was going to change it. The only way to stop it was to fight the bully and hurt him sufficiently that he would never, ever, target you again, but I couldn’t do that because I was a coward, a boy who was frightened of his own shadow, a boy who would be bullied and abused for the rest of his days. I shook my head hard, trying to shake off the shame and fear that had taken over my life.

      Fear is like a cancer. It eats away at your mind and gives you no respite. I’d try to hide from it in shadowy corners, but it always found me. I pulled the bedclothes over my head at night, only to find it lurking in the darkness. I shut my eyes tightly to erase it, but it lay in wait for me and jumped out without warning. I felt weary from the constant battle going on in my mind. I needed the luxury of crying. I wanted to let my emotions out without the fear of someone seeing me. I wanted to sleep without fear.

      Sleep without fear. I doubted if I would ever be afforded that luxury again. Jimmy Wilkinson had made sure of that. He was a constant reminder of my weakness, my cowardice, my shame and humiliation. He had destroyed any small amount of belief I had in myself and I could find no way to excuse my lack of action. I had lost my self-respect and felt like shit. He almost destroyed my belief in God and weakened my faith in the power of prayer. That dreadful night would live with me forever.

      It was in my second week at Vincent’s that I was woken in the middle of the night by Wilkinson. He was kneeling by the side of my bed and had shaken me gently to wake me up.

      He held out an unlit roll-up. ‘Do you fancy a smoke?’

      ‘I – I suppose so,’ I whispered. Bernie and I had often spoken about the dangers of Vincent’s. I knew I should refuse, but I couldn’t. It seemed that all my senses had been paralysed with fear and that to refuse his offer would be unwise.

      ‘Follow me and no noise.’ He waited silently by the dormitory door as I climbed out of bed. When I got near where he was standing, he crouched low and hurried along the corridor that ran parallel to the dormitories. I followed him in the same crouching manner until we reached the first-floor showers and toilets. He ushered me in and closed the door behind us quietly.

      A match flared into light and briefly illuminated our surroundings. The plain white ceramic tiles that covered all four walls reflected back our gloomy shadows. Wilkinson’s face appeared chalky white as he puffed the roll-up into life and his watery blue eyes stared at me in a peculiar way. I felt uneasy. The match went out and we were plunged into darkness. I could just discern the red glowing tip of the cigarette as it wove intricate patterns en route to and from Wilkinson’s mouth.

      ‘Here. You have it,’ he whispered. I took the offered cigarette and puffed in a welcome lungful of smoke. My teeth began to chatter and I clamped them tightly together. I knew in my heart that I shouldn’t be in this place, that it didn’t feel right. I gulped in another mouthful of smoke.

      Bernie and I had bought several roll-ups off Wilkinson by this time so while I already regarded him with fear and suspicion I was at least on first-name terms with him.

      ‘I think we should go, Jim. We don’t want to get caught by Arnold.’ I reached out to hand him back the cigarette. ‘I – I think we should go.’

      ‘In a minute.’ Wilkinson’s voice sounded husky. ‘I’ve just got to do something first.’

      I jumped like a scalded cat when I felt him starting to lift my nightshirt. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Stay still, you little wanker. You knew you’d have to pay for that roll-up.’ He pushed me hard, face first, against the tiled wall. ‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to stick it up you. I’m just going to put it between the tops of your legs.’

      My legs felt weak and I’m sure that if it wasn’t for the fact that I was pressed up against the wall they would have crumpled under me. Sweet Jesus. Please help me. Mary, mother of God. Please help me, my mind screamed out. I could feel his hand on my buttocks and I clamped them tightly shut with straining muscles. His breath was warm against the back of my neck and coming out in short, laboured gasps. Oh, Jesus. Please help me. He was fumbling with his own nightshirt and with absolute horror and revulsion I felt his erect penis pushing against me.

      Suddenly, without warning, his right forearm smashed into the back of my head.

      ‘Loosen up your legs,’ he said through gritted teeth ‘or I’ll break your fucking neck.’

      His arm was pushing my face onto the wall. I felt dizzy and confused; the initial blow on the back of my head had hurt me and I thought I might pass out at any time.

      ‘Loosen your fucking legs,’ he repeated.

      I think I may have lost touch with reality for a few moments as I suddenly became aware of his penis sliding rhythmically in and out between my upper legs. I clenched my eyes tightly shut and tried to erase from my mind what was happening to me. I’d never felt so completely alone and unloved. There wasn’t a person alive who could help me and now I had been deserted by God and the Blessed Virgin.

      Wilkinson let out a shuddering gasp of breath and pushed me even harder against the wall. I could feel a warm viscous flow trickling down my legs and I couldn’t help but let out an involuntary cry of anguish. I felt defiled. He pushed his mouth up against my left ear.

      ‘If you ever mention this – I’ll fucking kill you.’ He hit the back of my head with another forearm smash and pulled away from me, opening the door quietly. ‘Stay there until I’ve had time to get back to bed.’ The door closed behind him and I stood alone and trembling in the dark.

      Time seemed to stand still. I leant against the wall, not moving, alone in the darkness. I haven’t a clue how long I stood there – maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour; time meant nothing to me. It was the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway that brought my frozen heart back to life; it hammered against my ribs and forced me to scamper into one of the cubicles and close the door quietly behind me. The footsteps stopped outside and I could hear the handle of the door turning.

      Fear took hold. I was unable to move and every nerve in my body was tingling in terrified anticipation. With a resounding crash the door was flung open and the lights switched on.

      ‘Are you in here, Fenton?’ It was Brother Ambrose. He had found my bed empty on his two-hourly check. ‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’ I let my breath out in an audible sigh. Ambrose was alright – a grandfatherly kind of man with horn-rimmed glasses,

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