Open Writing

Darren woke up shivering. It was cold in the dark. He looked at the curtain over the window. It was black. The street-lamp outside must have gone out. It was after midnight then. Downstairs he could hear loud talking and laughing. Mum and Dad had come back from the pub. It sounded as though they'd got some mates with them. Probably Uncle Tom and Betty.

He got out of bed. He wanted his jumper. It was on the chair ready for getting-up. It was school tomorrow. He put it on, catching his elbow in the hole in the front. He tugged to pull it free. Paul, who was in the same bed, was asleep. He'd pulled the blanket round him like a big sock. That was why it was cold. Darren got back into bed and pulled the blanket, hard. He wanted his half. Paul moved and muttered, but didn't wake up.

It was still ever so cold, and scary in the dark. When they'd watched telly earlier on, Debbie had said that Dracula sometimes came to England. She knew, 'cos she'd seen him. Darren shivered again. He was tired and a bit frightened. They were still on downstairs. He couldn't sleep. He sat up and turned to the wall. He banged his head, hard, on the worn patch of wallpaper. Then again, and again. Hunched in the bed, half in the blanket, he rocked, and banged, rocked and banged and shivered; and finally slept.

Then it was morning. Quiet and grey, and still cold. Darren woke up. His back was all wet, his woolly jumper soggy. Paul had pissed the bloody bed again!

Darren got out and went over to the window. He pulled back the curtain and looked out. His hopes fell - the lorry was gone and there were just the deep muddy tire marks on the grass. It was school then, Dad had gone. Puddles in the bottom of the wheel marks were spotted with rain. When old Limpy had come for the rent he had told Dad that he shouldn't park on the grass. But Dad had just said the f word, and Limpy had gone off looking mad. He didn't say anything though, 'cos Dad would have thumped him. Dad was the best fighter in the street.

Darren took off his jumper and his pyjama top. He didn't have any bottoms, mum had given them to Paul yesterday when he'd wet his. He put on his T shirt, trousers and socks, ready for school. He went into mum's room to ask for another jumper, but she was asleep. He daren't wake her up. He went to the cistern to put the wet one on there, but it was cold. He remembered - Mum hadn't lit the fire yesterday. It was Sunday and she'd got up late. They'd had the electric on instead. He went downstairs, still holding the wet jumper.

Debbie was sitting by the table. She was reading a magazine and smoking one of mum's cigarettes. "Mum'll tell you off if she catches you. You shouldn't nick her fags."

"Listen who's talking, smelly belly."

Darren winced. The kids at school all called him that. It wasn't his fault - it was Paul. "You shut up, or I'll tell Dad what you and Mike Thompson do."

Debbie looked at him, hard-faced. "I don't know what you mean. But if you make trouble for me and Mike he'll kill you. He'll kick your head in."

Darren sat down. There was a packet of biscuits on the table. He ate three, one after the other, then spoke again. "My jumper's wet. It's cold in school and I want to wear it."

"Put it round a chair in front of the gas stove."

"Yeah, it can stop there while I have my cornflakes."

"You can't have any cornflakes, there's no more milk."

"What can I have?"

"You'll have to look what there is," said Debbie with a shrug. "I'm going now."

It was still raining when Darren set off for school. His jumper was a bit damp still, but nice and warm. His feet were wet, 'cos his trainers leaked when he walked in the puddles. He ran. He crossed the road by the bend. The lollipop lady shouted at him that he should cross where she was. He pulled a face at her, put two fingers up, and ran again.

When he got to school, they were just going in. Fatty Farmer was there, shouting at the boys. "Get into line, and don't push. Stop talking." He always said that.

When he saw Darren he frowned and pointed at him. Then he beckoned with the same finger, looking over the top of it with his eyes narrowed.

"You're back are you, Westerman? Where've you been?" "Ill, sir. I've had a cold, sir." "Had a cold, have you. Have you brought a note?" "No sir. Mum had no paper, sir."

"Mum had no paper. A likely story. Did you ask her for one?"

Darren looked down at the tiles, wet with many small footprints. He didn't answer.

"You know the rule, Westerman, as well as I do. If you're off you have to bring a note. Go and wait outside my office. Face the wall till I come."

Darren walked down the corridor slowly. What would Farmer do to him? He wouldn't hit him would he? Just for an old note? He'd tell him he'd bring one tomorrow. It was true anyway, he had been ill. When he got to the office, he stood outside it. He didn't face the wall, but stood by the door, as though he had been sent with a message. There was a lady sitting there, with a new little kid. She looked at him.

"What've you done?" she said.

"Mr. Farmer said I've got to stand here, 'cos I didn't bring a note."

"Quite right, too. There you are, Janice. I told you the headmaster was real strict. You'd better be good."

Mr. Farmer soon came. He took no notice of Darren, but went straight over to the lady. "Good morning, Mrs. Watson. Will you come in, please?" They both went into the office. In the corridor, lines of children began to move up towards the swing doors at the end. It was time for assembly. Soon Darren's class came by. Tracey Fisher held her nose as she passed. Mrs. Taylor was already in the hall, playing the piano real loud. So she didn't see Tracey. She didn't see Darren quickly join the line either.

After assembly, they went back to the classroom. It was maths, and Mrs. Taylor was doing some sums on the board. Darren didn't know what they were, but he watched the board carefully. When she asked questions he sometimes put his hand up too. Once she asked him, and he looked up at the ceiling and pretended to think.

"I was just going to say it miss, but I've forgotten."

The class laughed knowingly, and with a frown of impatience Mrs. Taylor moved on. Soon it was playtime. It was raining still, so it was indoor play. There was a box of comics to read. Then lessons again. It seemed a long time till dinner. It was good at dinnertime. The free dinners queue was always the shortest. There were chips and seconds of pie. After dinner they had to go out, 'cos the rain had stopped. It was cold, and Darren went to the dinner lady.

"Can I go in, miss? I want to go to the toilet."

"Hurry up then. And don't mess about or I'll tell Mr. Farmer."

Darren went in, and sat down by the warm pipe where the coats were. There were lots of coats and Wellingtons. He felt in some pockets and found two ten-penny pieces. He went outside again, and hid them under a brick by the wall.

In the afternoon, Mr. Farmer came round looking very angry. He said that someone had stolen some money, and that he was going to call the police if they didn't own up. Nobody said anything. Then everybody had to turn out their pockets, and he searched the boys while Mrs. Taylor searched the girls. Then he went off to three D next door.

Then they had P.E. Mrs. Taylor told everybody to get changed. Darren went over to her.

"Please miss, I haven't got any kit."

"Well, that's just too bad, Darren. You'll have to do it in your pants and vest."

Darren looked at the tiles and said nothing. He couldn't tell her he didn't have any on. Besides, what would she make him do then? When the class went down to the hall, Darren stayed in the room. She didn't notice till they came back.

"Darren Westerman - I told you to do it in pants and vest!"

"I couldn't miss. I've been poorly and mum said I hadn't to do P.E." It worked, she didn't say anything else ...

Finally it was home time, and raining hard, again.

Darren ran home, collecting the twenty pence on the way. He was cold and wet. He wondered if there would be cartoons on the telly. Maybe they'd have fish fingers for tea.

When he got home the door was locked. Mum was out. He sat on the back step, his back to the wall and his hands in his pockets. He waited miserably. The porch kept most of the rain off. After ages, his mum came home with Paul. The fire was alight, and she had got some fish fingers. After tea he went down to the shops. He got some chewing gum and some pretend cigarettes. He went over to the field where the kids play football, but there were some big 'uns there and a police car. So he went home after a bit. Uncle Tom was sitting on the settee with mum. The telly was on. Debbie was out with Mike Thompson. Paul was in bed. Darren sat in the chair, with his feet tucked under him.

Later on, mum and Uncle Tom went down to the pub. He ate his sweets and watched some spacemen, the news, some fighting and some kissing. It was good. When the telly changed programmes he got some biscuits and went upstairs.

It was cold in the bedroom as he got undressed. He shivered, pulled his half of the blanket off Paul, and got into bed. He ate his biscuits, then banged his head on the wall a few times. The street-lamp went out.