Date: Thu, 25 Jan 2024 12:11:54 +0000
From: Jonah
Subject: Harrovian Life  chapter 3

Harrovian Life
by Jonah

It is a few years now since Nifty carried the story "A letter from
America".  A good few stories have succeded it and the action has moved
about a bit too.  In this one it is firmly back with Jonah in Harrow, but
some twenty years later.  Simon, Peter and Luke have grown up and in some
cases have children of their own.  This story comes immediately after
"Whiteout".  It is a work of fiction in every sense so, if you think you
recognise yourself, or somebody else, in here - you don't. At least one of
the characters was originally the creation of another author.  I'd like to
thank Jacob Lion, in the USA, for permission to use his characters.  The
story is about love - the real sort - so if you're looking for pornography,
you'd best look elsewhere.  Nifty doesn't charge either you or I to publish
these stories, but it does cost money to publish them.  Please consider
donating to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ so that he can keep these
stories coming.

chapter 3

I woke next morning to find that I was sharing my bed with Peter.  He'd got
back about half past one in the morning.  I hadn't phoned him immediately
Pat and Helen dropped me off - I wanted to clean up the worst of the blood
first.  Peter was upset enough without coming back to find the place
looking like a horror movie set.  At quarter to one, I finally telephoned.
I knew that Joe wouldn't have gone to bed under those circumstances.  Joe
had walked home with Peter, but refused to stay any longer.  Peter had
drunk the cup of tea that I gave him, then crashed on the sofa.  I don't
know when he had changed to my bed.  When he was a boy, Peter had often
shared my bed, as had Simon, and sometimes other boys as well.  That was a
long time ago.  I remember the first time Luke climbed in he assumed I
wanted him there for sex.  Given that he had become a policeman, I'm glad I
put him right about that.

Over the years I have had many opportunities to abuse children but I am not
that person.  I just couldn't do it.  I was shocked that Luke had
apparently thought that I might, but I had soon put him right, and so had
both Simon and Peter.

I showered and breakfasted and persuaded Peter that there was nothing to be
gained by absenting himself from the Old Bailey.  As soon as he had
departed I headed for the primary school in North Harrow.

I found Mrs. Manners in her office.  I didn't want to break the news by
telephone in case any of her staff decided to blame themselves.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Mr Cummings," she said.  "I wanted to see you
this morning precisely to prevent anything like this happening.  Miss
Faulds will be devastated.  She thinks the world of Adam you know.
Obviously I can't avoid telling her."

"You can't avoid telling Steve Wentworth either," I pointed out.  "Can you
ask him to pop round to see me this afternoon?  I need to talk to him and
it's best if Adam's father isn't there."

"I can ask him to call in here if that will make it easier," she offered.

"No, no! We might need a meeting like that later on, but it'd be best away
from here for the moment."

For some reason, Mrs. Manners didn't seem pleased by that, but she agreed
to pass on the message.  I left her to it and found myself a taxi to
Northwick Park.

Arriving at the post-op ward I was greeted by Doctor Warren.  He had not
introduced himself (apparently he never did), but I had got his name by
asking Pat ("Say, who was that masked man?).

"Mr. Cummings," he greeted me.  "Adam is awake, but he's very weak and will
tire easily.  There's a psychiatric nurse sitting with him.  Do you want me
to send him away while you're here?"

"Not if he's prepared to stay," I replied.  "If he can build a rapport with
Adam it will be helpful and I don't want Adam to perceive either of us as
sending the other away."

"Fair enough, in that case, his name's Connor.  I'll take you to him."

We found Adam propped up in bed listening, rather than talking, to a
blond-haired young Irishman.

Adam's complexion was always pale, and contrasted beautifully with his
almost jet black hair.  This morning it was so much paler and his rash of
freckles around his nose and upper cheeks was much more obvious.  His pale
blue eyes showed hurt, despite the fact that he was laughing at some
witticism from Connor.  I forced myself to smile.

"How are you doing this morning champ?" I asked him.

"Adam was just telling me that he misses school," Connor said.

"Yes, well he's only missed it once.  Today doesn't count," I told him.
"Is it hurting Adam?"

"It's bound to hurt when you've got injuries like Adam has."

At that moment, I too was feeling a pain.  A blond-haired, Irish one.

"Why don't you tell me where it is hurting him Connor?"

Adam had known me many years and could spot the warning signs.  Connor
couldn't.  I saw the boy screw up his eyes as his nurse said,

"Well there's the obvious pain in his wrist...."

"As if it's been slashed?" I queried.  Still he didn't spot the danger.

"Well it has been slashed so you'd...."

"Connor, I'd like to have a word with you about bedside manner, but it
isn't a word I could use in front of a nine-year-old.  Perhaps you'd like
to step into the corridor for a moment."

"Oh I couldn't do that. I have to stay here because...."

"CONNOR!" I shouted.  "GO AWAY!"

The youth stood and then hesitated.  He was afraid of me, but equally
afraid to desert his post.  Adam didn't seem at all put out by my outburst.
He'd been expecting it.

"Connor," I said quietly.  Adam was still one step ahead of him. He knew
that deathly quietness was more threatening than shouting.  "Go out into
the corridor and you will find Doctor Warren.  Tell him that I have told
you to leave.  Tell him that a job such as the one that was entrusted to
you requires an intellect greater than that of the elephant hawk moth and
greater perception than an anenome.  Tell, him that, rather than sending
you back in here, he'd better find somebody who possesses those
attributes."

I was sure that I'd been unjust to him.  For all his thick skull, I was
sure that Connor possessed a kind heart, but I was appalled at his bedside
manner and I couldn't believe that I'd had to prevent him from telling Adam
that he was on suicide watch.

The youth departed.  It took a while because, after every two or three
steps, he would stop and look back, as if trying to decide if he really
dared to go.  I kept an expression on my face that left him in no doubt.
He certainly didn't dare to stay.

"Now, young man," I said to Adam, "where were we?"

Adam giggled.

"It's not funny you know.  You think I was hard on him don't you?"

He nodded and then closed his eyes.  That looked as if he had momentarily
forgotten that he had a headache.

"Does your head hurt?" I asked him.

"Yes," he whispered, having learnt his lesson.

"Have you told the nurse ?  I don't mean Connor.  Have you told a proper
nurse?"

"No." Still whispering.

"Well headaches aren't caused by cut wrists, so it must be something else.
We'd better tell the doctor."

"Tell the doctor what?"

Doctor Warren was good at appearing silently.

"Adam has a headache," I told him.

"Hmmmm! How long were you talking to Connor?"

"You don't talk to Connor, you listen," I pointed out.

"Well he listened to you," he replied.  "So did most of the hospital come
to that."

"I'm sorry," I replied penitently.

"Oh no, you were right.  When I asked mental health to send us a nurse to
stay with Adam, I think they sent down the person they most wanted to be
rid of.  I've explained to them now that that isn't what's wanted."

"Am I going to school tomorrow?"

It seemed strange for Adam to be actually contributing to the conversation.

"You're not strong enough yet," said the doctor.  "When you cut your wrist,
you cut off the blood supply to quite a few parts of your body.  That did a
lot of damage, so you'll be with us for a few days yet."

"More than a week?"

"Probably much more.  We don't know yet."  That seemed to cheer Adam up a
bit, and I couldn't help wondering why.

"How would you like your daddy to come in to see you this afternoon?" I
asked.

"Alright," said the boy.

When I got home, my first action was to put through a call to the Central
Criminal Court for Peter to call me during recess.  He called about half an
hour later so I told him to go straight to the hospital when he finished.

Steve Wentworth arrived at about half past two.  I made us both a cup of
tea and then got down to business.

"First of all," he began, "let me say how sorry I was to hear what
happened, even though I was half expecting it."

"You never mentioned that you were half expecting it."  I pointed out.  "If
you had we might have prevented it."

"Well, if we could have found out what upset him, we could have prevented
it."

"But not in time."  I said.

"Mr Ito, It is not the fault of either the education office or the school
that your grandson tried to commit suicide."

That was it - battle lines drawn.

"No, it isn't Mr. Wentworth.  Since it is Adam's welfare that has suffered,
I think we should blame the individual who is employed to ensure that that
very thing doesn't happen."

He spotted the danger too late.  He had come here trying to deflect blame
and had only succeeded in deflecting it toward himself.  The battle of
recrimination was not of my choosing.  I had more important fish to fry.
So, for that matter, had he, so why was he so keen to come in here talking
of blame?

"Mr. Ito, I didn't come here to...."

"No you didn't so, having got here, why did you immediately start doing it.
You opened the conversation by talking about what you now say you didn't
want to talk about.  Why would you do that?  What are you afraid of?"

"We really should be trying to find out why he did it."

"I agree Mr. Wentworth so why, when you first came in here , did you
immediately talk about something else?"

"Sorry, I was in shock."

"Mr. Wentworth, if I feel sympathy, it is for my grandson.  You're not
going to get me to feel sorry for you instead."

"No, I'm sorry.  Well, there are two or three things that may cause a child
of Adam's age to cut school."

"Bullying," I said, "or perhaps the first stirrings of sexual development.
If there was PE yesterday, there may have been somebody he didn't want to
change in front of.  He may have developed a crush, or somebody may have
one on him.  He may have begun to suspect himself of what he thinks of as
innappropriate sexual preferences, or there may have been sexual abuse by
an adult."

He couldn't hide his surprise.

"Yes, well," he said, "I think we can discount most of those."

"Most of them?" I queried.  "Which ones do you think we can discount?"

"Well there was no PE lesson yesterday."

"Which leaves all the others."

"Sexual abuse isn't as common as some people think."

"It doesn't matter how common it is.  If it happens at all, it's wrong."

"And nobody worries about sexual preferences nowadays."

"His mother is violently homophobic, to the extent that she is now serving
a sentence for hate crimes" I didn't want to tell him that she was in a
mental institution.  He'd have had Adam committed to one too before the
week was out.

"So we've got some idea of what it could be, but no idea of what it
actually was," he summed up for me.

"That's right," I affirmed.  "I now know what you could have told me
yesterday, and my grandson is in hospital because you didn't."

"i'm sorry you feel that way."

"Have you any children Steve?"

"Not of my own, no."

"Then you can't know how it feels and you'll have to content yourself with
being sorry.  Now, no more apologies, no more shifting the blame and no
more summing up what we've already said.  Where do we go from here?"

"We need a mental health professional to talk to Adam.  That's the only way
we can find out what actually caused him to..."

"Steve, the hospital are already arranging that."

"It should have been done through the education authority."

"No sir.  They are dealing with an incident that occurred here in this
flat, and not during school time.  It may have been triggered by your
visit, or it may not, but that doesn't mean you can take over.  You have an
instance of truancy to investigate, but you can't do that until he is well
again,"

"With respect, Mr. Cummings, it's probably all part of the same thing."

"With respect, Mr. Wentworth, so what?  At best it only means that the
hospital will end up doing your job for you."

"Do you think there is any point to this conversation then?"

  "Yes, I do.  A child's life could depend upon it.  You wouldn't be much
of a school welfare officer if that didn't mean anything to you."

"I think, Mr. Cummings, that we've found some common ground."

It had taken long enough - no, I didn't say that.

"I hope we have Steve.  Shall we leave it there?  The hospital will
obviously do all it can and Adam's family will do all that we can.  If you
or the school find out anything in the meantime, please don't hesitate to
get in touch."

It was another hour before Peter got back from the hospital.  He didn't
look happy but, then, I didn't expect him to.  No wonder the medical
profession preferred him not to attend.

"How is he?"

"He's getting better.  At least he's starting to get a bit of colour in his
cheeks."

"Any colour in particular."

Jonah, I don't need racism from you."

"And you're not going to get it.  Now come on, you were brought up better
than that."

"Sorry.  I'm just tired is all."

"I know son.  Your dinner is on the worktop behind you.  You'll feel better
with that inside you."

I could see it being a long evening.