The Standing Water (41 page)

The hand twitched;
the massive face gazed down. It seemed that face was considering – a tooth
nipped a lip, the eyebrows arched and fell. Weirton’s hand jerked towards me.
He wagged his first finger not far from my nose.

‘But I’m a fair
man,’ Weirton said, ‘and you’re not normally a bad lad. I’ll let you off this
once. But remember Ryan, any more displays of carelessness, and my hand will
not be so restrained!’

I was allowed to
continue down the corridor. Though I hadn’t had the full whacking, my backside
still hummed, my legs wobbled, my knees ached. In the bogs, as the rain pounded,
played its melodies in the gutters, I repositioned that glove so my jeans
clasped it more firmly. I gave it a couple of minutes then walked back to
Perkins’s. I half-smiled at Jonathon – he understood I’d succeeded. When no one
was looking, I raised my satchel from the ground, held it next to my jumper as
I slipped the gauntlet in. I fastened that satchel up, knowing – for the moment
at least – that glove was safe.

The Diary of James Ronald Weirton

Wednesday, 21
^st
September, 1983

… and as I strode
into the hall, I tried to convince myself what I’d seen in the briefcase was
just a mirage. I
had
to believe it – I mean, how could the thing have
got in there? To accept it as anything more than a hallucination really would
mean I was going potty. Just too much stress, that’s all. I told myself my
rational mind hadn’t deserted me yet even if my eyes insisted on tricking me!
OK, at one point I did wonder if I should stride back to the staffroom, bring
my briefcase into the hall, whip the gauntlet from it right before the startled
kids, but I soon mastered myself, reminded myself that vision was no more than my
nerves playing up. And, though those nerves sparked and fizzled, once I was in
front of the children, I automatically slipped into an assured performance. My
voice boomed, taking possession of the hall; it thundered through the first
hymn in a way that could give the kids no doubt who was in charge. I told them
about the theft. I’ll admit my oration was dramatic. Think it was partly my
anger spilling over at that dreadful crime, at this horrendous modern world in
which such things can take place. I’m also sure it was all the anxiety jostling
through my body, but I couldn’t resist frightening them. Brought up Lucy’s
demise –
that
made a few lips wobble. Gave some biblical examples of how
the Lord dealt with human sins in the past – Sodom and Gomorrah, Cain scorched with
his shameful mark, Noah’s Flood. And – by God! – looking out of those windows,
anyone would have thought we were in for a second Deluge. The rain was slamming
down, making – I thought – a great backdrop to my diatribe. And – who knows? –
maybe one day the Lord really will lose patience with this wicked modern world
and send plagues and catastrophes upon us. Perkins and Leigh exchanged a look
as I raged and bellowed. Well, this is a Christian school, this is a Christian
country so why shouldn’t I cite the Bible? Or nowadays can half-educated lady
teachers question the Word of the Lord? Wanted to tell them there are more
things in heaven and earth than their tiny minds could dream of. A thunderbolt
from heaven could wipe the sneers from their faces quick smart! They’re the
type I could quite happily see turned into pillars of salt for their female
presumptions.

I was still shaky
when I started teaching my class. Couldn’t stop thinking about that damned
glove. Kept seeing the thing in my briefcase. I decided that as soon as break
came, I’d take my bag into the staffroom, have another look. Until then I’d
keep the section in which I’d seen the gauntlet firmly zipped. Also couldn’t
stop thinking about the rain. For hours it must have been hammering – belting with
a fury unusual even for Emberfield. As I watched the heads of the pupils bent
over their tasks, I couldn’t chase the idea from my brain that such a downpour
really
might
be a punishment. Got me worrying about my own sins – Lucy,
Marcus. Thank God some of the kids finished, and I had to go and check their
work. Thank God we also had no outbreaks of bad behaviour, no kids triggering
my rage by getting all their sums wrong. Even that numbskull Darren Hill got
half his right – that hiding yesterday must have had some effect. We did,
though, have a bit of entertainment in the morning’s first half, supplied by
that buffoon Ryan Watson. The lad was walking down the corridor to the toilet
when he managed to stumble over his own feet, lurch right into my room, trip
himself up and end up sprawled on the floor. The clown even knocked over my
briefcase – scattering pens, rubbers, bits of paper. Boy looked up with such a
simpleton’s expression – eyes wide, mouth hanging – that I almost laughed
despite my heavy mood. My class certainly had to fight their giggles, had to
brandish my palm to make them stop sniggering. Actually, that joker’s antics
did make me feel better, jerked me out of my nervous despondency. Jolted my
brain into realising the obvious – that only papers and stationery could have
been in that briefcase. He’s not a bad lad Ryan, doesn’t provoke my fury in the
way Stubbs and Richard Johnson do. I just rounded off his little show, his
comedy routine with a bit of ridicule and with three solid whacks when he was
bent over after picking up the stuff he’d spilled. Think the poor lad feared I
might give him a full walloping, but I let him go. Guess I was grateful to him
for bringing me back to reality, for his clown-like capers making it so clear there
was no way that awful glove could have been in my bag.

I still wanted to
check though, just to make sure. Break came, but – before I could get to the
staffroom – I had to have a tiresome discussion with Perkins. She wanted the
kids to stay inside as if a bit of rain would kill them. Getting increasingly
presumptuous, Mrs Perkins is, questioning my decisions. Might have to have a
word with her, put her in her place. Anyway, told her to shepherd the kids into
the playground then strode to the staffroom. I urged myself not to show fear –
as soon as I’d got the door closed, I yanked the briefcase open, unzipped that
section. Absolutely nothing there. My lips let out a long stream of breath, my
shoulders sagged in relief. Don’t know how I could have ever believed that
glove was in there – it’s just the damned thing looked so solid, so
real
.
Wiped my forehead and marched out to supervise the kids, grabbing my mac from
its peg on the way. Knew we could have a riot if I left the children with
Perkins too long! And that woman thinks she can tell
me
how to do my
job! Mind you, when I got outside, I realised how wet it was – kids running and
splashing on the water-glazed playground. Knew if it got much worse, I
would
have to keep them in. Thought what fun
that
would be – ninety
hyperactive kids locked in a humid school! As the rain bashed my hood, I
pondered the day’s events. Pretty worrying, those blasted hallucinations –
wondered if I should tell the doc. Thought maybe I should keep them to myself –
wouldn’t want to end up in the looney bin! Sometimes, though, I wonder if I
might be better off there – it’d be more restful than that damned school and
that’s a fact! Might have to go fishing this weekend, try to unwind. That’s if
all the rivers aren’t flooded. Anyway, those sullen lowland rivers would never
match the pure streams I fished in Montana. Where would one find such clear torrents
on this pathetic island? Just in the mountains of Scotland, maybe.

The rain went on
crashing down and I had to relent, let the kids stay in during lunchtime and the
afternoon break. School ended, and I got ready to set off home – though it’s
not as if there’s much comfort there. Bad atmosphere in the house, our meals scoffed
in silence. As I started up the car, I wondered if I should begin eating in my
bedroom, if I really should get a little TV in there – better than trying to
swallow when confronted with Sandra’s sour face, Nick’s sulkiness. Edged past
the pond. The hateful thing was back to its old size, having greedily gobbled
its share of rain. It’s reconquered all the land that got scorched and cracked
in summer. I despise that damned pool, but somehow – as I inched by – I
couldn’t yank my gaze from it. Some weird fascination made me stare at that
pond as I shivered and sweat seeped. Was happy to be driving out of blasted
Emberfield – even down a bendy road with so much water smashing onto my
windscreen it was hard to see. Drove faster than I should – though it’s not as
if I had anything worth speeding towards.

Monday, 26
^th
September, 1983

Dreamt again of
Marcus, the pond, Lucy, the gauntlet. Had that damned recurring nightmare of
the church at Salton, with the bell tolling and the earth quaking over the
graves. It’s not as if things aren’t apocalyptic enough. Those damned rains
around Emberfield – never seen anything like it! Day after day the water just
keeps dropping from the heavens. If it goes on much longer, we’ll have to start
building an Ark! Forty days and nights of it and I’m sure the whole town will
be swamped! Already some outlying farms and hamlets flooded. Not so bad here in
Goldhill. Had the council on the phone, telling me I’m under no obligation to
go in. Well, I’ll be damned if I abandon those kids, let a little water stop me
doing my job. Do worry a bit when I run the car through those deep puddles on
that windy lane, but I’m a man who’s faced down bears! I’m not going to be
beaten by a foot or so of brown liquid! It’s ominous though when I’m teaching
and the rain’s hammering with such fury hour after hour. If Emberfield was
depressing before, it’s beyond miserable now. Just one dripping sodden dreary
mess. You know, sometimes I think it wouldn’t be so bad if the Lord
did
drown that place! I feel guilty saying so, but my lips twitch into a smile when
I imagine that town where I’ve spent so many unhappy hours under miles of
water. And it does make me grin to picture all those dull office boys and
prissy housewives thrashing around in the flood with their horrible children
and tasteless garden gnomes, those thick bumpkins and inbred farmers struggling
next to their sheep and cows. I’d love to see those kids who’ve streaked my
hair with so much grey in deep water – Dennis Stubbs, Darren Hill, that
simpering unbearable Suzie Green, that smug Helen Jacobs: they’d all be
laughing on the other sides of their faces as they drowned in the waters of
God’s wrath. Better stop thinking like that. Got bad enough with Marcus Jones.
One drowned kid is more than sufficient for one teaching career!

Mind you, when the
rain crashes so mercilessly, you understand those primitives who wrote the
early parts of the Bible. Really does feel like someone up there has got it in
for you. Makes you wonder what you’ve done to anger Him. There’s plenty in
Emberfield to provoke His rage. There’s what some adults – especially the ones
who seem so prim, so holier-than-thou on parents’ evenings – get up to after a
few drinks in the pub. Suppose adultery’s always been a small-town amusement,
but these jokers with their ‘wife-swapping’ take the whole thing further. Even
heard all the chaps put their car keys in a bowl then, with their eyes shut,
draw a set out and acquire the owner’s spouse for the evening. And these are
exactly the type who are always ranting about morals! Quite a few other
small-town sins I’m sure God would like to punish – bit of wife-beating here
and there, that hypocrite Davis swindling his customers. It’s not like their
kids are much better – I’m amazed what wicked ideas they get in their heads
despite my efforts to batter some decency into them. Scary thing is, elsewhere
in our nation it’s much worse. Our cities are becoming modern-day Sodom and
Gomorrahs, full of lust and violence. Wouldn’t surprise me if one day the Lord
decided He’d had enough, drowned our country in a big tidal wave just like with
Atlantis. Imagine all the prattling lefties, scrounging immigrants, striking
workers, mincing gay boys silenced under miles of calm sea. What peace – what
bliss! However, the Bible says we shouldn’t cast the first stone, and I do have
my own sins to worry about. Hope if some Judgement Day is coming, I can face
the Lord. But there were good reasons for me to act as I did – I just hope God
will understand.

Had a disturbing
drive back from school. For a start, there was Marcus’s pond spread all over
the road! It was even lapping the opposite pavement. It’s deeper and deeper
each day – frays my nerves to hear the engine growling as I inch the car
through it. Can’t help feeling that accursed boy – or what we might call his ‘spirit’
– could extract some revenge. Irrational, I know. Just have visions of the car
being dragged into that pool, of it sinking, of the brown waters rising against
the windows, of filthy trickles seeping inside. Saw the gauntlet on my way
home. Just hanging there in the rain, a couple of metres in front of the car,
looking as solid and real as the day I saw it in my briefcase. Third such
vision since then. Really wonder if I should ask the doc for some pills, if any
exist for such maladies. Add them to the damned chemist’s shop I’m swallowing
every morning. Seeing the doc in a few days – don’t expect good news.

Picked up the new
TV on my way home. Hadn’t told Sandra or Nick about it. Strode through the
house with the thing as their mouths dropped before marching into my room and
banging the door. Like being a student again with my own bedsit – weird sort of
confined freedom. New TV’s a bit of a triumph, especially as I’m in the
doghouse with my family. Guess the walloping I gave Nick last night’s done little
to improve relations. Sandra’s straining herself to show her disapproval even
more theatrically. Well, let her playact all she wants – I can just turn up the
telly, mask the sounds of her pacing about, sighing and slamming doors. At
least I have one little space in which I can block everything out. Can’t shut
out the rain though. Even with the telly on full blast, I heard it pounding.
It’s still crashing down as I sit and write.

Wednesday, 28
^th
September,
1983

Damned rain just
gets worse. Had an odd experience on the way to school. Last night I’d had that
recurring dream of trying to bury Lucy, but being unable to because the ground
is too wet. Well, I glanced towards the cemetery as I was driving past and –
the place was waterlogged! Headstones and crosses poking out of blasted pools!
They’ll be sticking no stiffs in there for a while. Weird how I dreamt of it
before it actually happened! Wonder if I’m developing some strange psychic
sense. It’s unnerving! Does pressure the mind when you’ve got some bones you
don’t know how to dispose of. Must have been insane to lumber myself with them.
Seemed like a good idea at the time. I do have the odd dark chuckle after
presenting her to the kids, watching their faces, seeing them gawp, imagining
their little minds whirring. Good disciplinary tool and that’s a fact! But will
I be stuck with that grinning skull forever, with Lucy’s rickety frame? Even
when I’m teaching, I’m aware of her grimly hanging in the cupboard. Do wonder
sometimes if that girl’s haunting my dreams, if her ghost’s getting its
revenge. But how would I get rid of her? Couldn’t bury her in a field – if
anyone discovered the skeleton, we could have a blasted manhunt! I might end up
having to answer all kinds of tricky questions.