Seven Strange - Brian Jacques

Behind the sports equipment shed a girl of his own age was singing in a quavering voice:

“I saw three ships come sailing in,

On Christmas day in the morning.”

The tall girl and her sly-looking accomplice were sitting on upturned garbage cans, watching the younger girl intently. Smith pushed Jonathan up against the side of the hut.

“Stand to attention there. We’ll deal with you in a minute.”

Smith took his place on an upturned garbage can. The girl had finished singing, and the tall girl looked at her enquiringly.

“Well, what have you got to say for yourself, caroler?”

She answered meekly, “Please may I go, Miss Bingham?”

Robbins, the sly-looking one, shook his head.

“So you’re still not paying up?”

The girl stood silent. Her three tormentors looked at one another, and Robbins shrugged philosophically.

“Righto, caroler, it’s up to you, back here same time tomorrow. You can sing me ‘Good King Wenceslas.’ That’s my favorite.”

They dismissed the girl, but she stood watching as they turned their attentions to Jonathan. Bingham, the tall girl, lit a cigarette.

“Now, coalman, I’m Miss Charlotte Bingham.”

She dabbed the cigarette in the direction of the runty boy. “This is Mr. Geoffrey Robbins, oh yes, and the gentleman who persuaded you to come here is none other than Mr. Malcolm Smith. We are the old school insurance firm, R.S.B. Limited. It’s very simple, really, fifty pence a day and you’re insured from annoyance and harassment by any pupil at Saint Michael’s.”

Smith grinned wickedly. “Especially us!”

Jonathan looked from one to the other.

“But I don’t have any money.”

“What about lunch money?”

“I bring sandwiches and a drink.”

“Then what about bus fare?”

“I don’t live far. I walk here.”

“Hmm, you’re in trouble, coalman, aren’t you?”

“Er, yes.”

“Yes, Miss Bingham.”

“Er, yes, Miss Bingham.”

“That’s better! Right, Mr. Smith and Mr. Robbins, what do you think we should do with this horrible little creature until he decides to pay his insurance?”

Robbins dug away the grass with his heel until soil showed through. “He’s a coalman, isn’t he? We can’t have him going about all nice and clean. As I remember, coalmen always have dirty faces, don’t they?”

When he had been released Jonathan walked across the field with the girl who had been singing. She introduced herself. “My name’s Kate Carroll—now you know why I’ve got to sing carols. Robbo, Smudger, and Bingo make me sing every day. Shall I help you to wash the mud off your face?”

Jonathan wiped a sleeve against his grimy cheeks.

“It’s all right, I can do it, thanks. Are they always like that, Robbo, Smudger and Bingo?”

“Always. You’d better not let them hear you calling them Robbo, Smudger and Bingo. Everyone does, of course, but only behind their backs. Trouble is, there’s nobody to stand up against them.”

“Why doesn’t someone report them to the principal?”

“That wouldn’t do any good; no one’d back them up. Robbo was actually expelled last term for bullying, but the authorities made the school take him back. They said it was an isolated incident, high spirits and schoolboy horseplay. All Robbo had to do was apologize to the principal, not even to the boy whose books he tore up. They took him back like a shot. Saint Michael’s can’t afford to have their good name muddied by having pupils expelled because they can’t control them.”

“How long have you been singing for them, Kate?”

“Oh about two weeks or so. They won’t bother with me after another week or two. I’m a difficult case, you see, I resist paying them. If they find that you’re scared and pay up easy then it’s worse— Robbo, Smudger and Bingo keep after you hard, and the payments go up. Be like me, Jonathan, stick it out until they get fed up with you.”

“Without money I haven’t got much choice, have I?”

“I don’t have money either, that’s why I face up to them. Look, I’ve got to go now, there’s the buzzer. See you!”

“Bye, Kate, see you!”

Jonathan washed the streaks of mud from his face. He looked in the washroom mirror to check if he had missed any, and behind him he saw the boy who had been in the corridor earlier. He was smiling a warm, friendly smile. Jonathan turned around.

“Hello, my name’s Jonathan, what’s yours?” The boy had gone. Jonathan swung the washroom door open. He looked up and down the corridor, but there was no sign of the strange boy. Going back to class Jonathan felt somehow easier and lighter. He felt that he could become friends with the boy, if only he could talk to him for long enough.

Robbo, Smudger and Bingo were waiting at the gate when school finished that afternoon. As Jonathan made his way to the gate lower down he heard Smith calling out to him.

“Over here, coalman. This is your gate, come on.” Reluctantly he faced the bullies. Bingo played with his tie as she spoke to him, tightening it bit by bit.

“Now don’t forget to ask your mummy and daddy for lunch money. Say to them nicely, ‘Please, mummy and daddy coalman, I want money.’ “

“I can’t, I live with my aunt and uncle. Aunt Helen says school meals are too expensive; she makes me take sandwiches.”

“Well, does your uncle or aunt smoke? Cigarettes would do just as well as money.”

“They don’t smoke, either of them.”

“You dirty little coalman, you’re bound to get your face all mucky again, aren’t you?”

“I s’pose so.”

“You suppose so, Miss Bingham!”

“I suppose so, Miss Bingham.”

An ancient car drove up with several older teenagers inside. The driver sounded his horn. Bingham gave the tie a final tug. “There’s our ride, coalman. Don’t forget and wash your face properly before you come to school tomorrow.”

Jonathan loosened off his tie as he watched them roar off up the road.

Crossing the park he spotted the strange boy again, standing on the bridge over the boating lake. The boy smiled and waved to him, then he ducked out of sight below the parapet of the bridge. Jonathan knew it was a game the boy was playing. He decided to take part so that they could meet properly. Weaving in and out of the bushes like a soldier in jungle warfare he approached the bridge and dashed up the steps.

The boy was not there.

Jonathan looked over the bridge—there was nothing but water beneath. But there was the boy on the bandstand, conducting the empty seats on the rostrum as if a band were playing there. Waving his arms about, one hand open, the other clutching an imaginary baton, he leaned forward intently, just like a real band conductor. He turned with a mischievous grin and winked at Jonathan. Leaping down the bridge steps and keeping low in the bushes Jonathan sped toward the bandstand—knowing that his elusive friend would not be there, but enjoying the game.

He was correct. The boy had vanished again.

Jonathan scuffed the gravel with his shoes as he left the park. He was not too bothered. The boy had been wearing a Saint Michael’s uniform, so sooner or later they would meet up in school. He wondered if the boy had ever been persecuted by Robbo, Smudger and Bingo. Probably not. There was something about him, despite his cheery, open appearance; something that hinted he was not to be messed about or pushed, a certain quality about the dark eyes and firm-set jaw. If they made friends and got to know one another, maybe the boy would help Jonathan. There he was again, peering from behind a tree on Chestnut Avenue. This time Jonathan did not give chase, he hid behind another tree and peered back. The two boys dodged along the length of the avenue, diving back and forth between the trees, waving, smiling at each other, and sometimes pulling grotesque funny faces. Jonathan approached the final tree stealthily, pretty sure that this time he would surprise his will-o’-the-wisp chum. The back flap of the boy’s blazer was visible, poking around a tree trunk like a tiny red banner.