Chapter 13
The Geek!
My head was a real mess for the next few days. After climbing the stairs from 1946 I had checked the floor of my room by my computer desk and chair and found no evidence of any sort of secret gateway. The green carpet was firmly down. I fluffed around on my hands and knees but couldn’t find anything. I must have made such a noise getting back into bed that Dad opened the door to check on me. He peered around the door with eyes almost closed.
“What are you doin’, Jay?” he asked in a voice cracked with sleep, “I can hear you next door.”
In my confusion I had totally forgotten that, without Lizzie’s help, Dad could hear me again.
“Sorry Dad. Just can’t sleep.”
“Well try. I’ve got work and you’ve got school. You’re not staying off again.” The door closed and I heard the squeak of bed springs from his room and then the soft click of Mum and Dad’s red bedside lamp, the one they got as a wedding present from Aunt Colleen. I looked at my Manchester United clock and saw that it was 4 AM – on Sunday morning. I giggled to myself as Dad must have forgotten as he was still half asleep. Looking at the clock I realised that I still wasn’t sure how time went about its business when I had been away. I couldn’t remember what time I had left.
What I had said to Dad was true. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was a mix of the Raynors and the smell of Albert’s pipe. During the few hours that I tossed and turned I thought that I could smell its sweet smoke and I had to turn the light on and check that Albert hadn’t followed me. I was still nervous. Now my bedroom had become a busy door to the past anybody or anything could turn up at any minute.
But then that wasn’t strictly true. I knew that it was only Lizzie who had the power of time-travel. Albert was the one who could ‘see’ things with his mind. He was the psychic one, although Lizzie had these abilities as well. I turned over again and the bed springs squeaked impatiently. After listening out for Dad I began to think about the rest of the Raynor family. What powers would these have? Would they have any at all? And, as daylight began to colour the area around my small bedroom window, I wondered what they really wanted with me. I mean, the family seemed to have enough special powers to take on any superhero. So what did they want with me? According to the Raynors I was able to ‘see’ where Lizzie’s eldest brother was. But why couldn’t they and how could they pin all their hopes on just one dream?
I sighed, closed my eyes, and sleep came at last.
Then the alarm went off.
But thank God it was Sunday. I had left the alarm on in all the excitement. The clock clumped to the floor when I reached to turn it off. I listened for Dad for a couple of quick seconds, turned over, then, without really trying, was asleep again.
Dad woke me up at twelve to tell me that I should be up. He had been out to finish a job and was getting a roast dinner in the oven. Now I Iove roast dinners. So I scrambled around for my clothes and spent the next few hours moping about, helping Dad a bit and generally getting in his way. But deep down my mind was still full of Saturday night.
Although I had all of Sunday to recover, I spent much of Sunday night expecting a visit that didn’t come. So, on Monday morning I really struggled to get up and get ready for school. Dad was making a lot of noise as usual, banging and crashing around the place. That didn’t help. When I eventually got myself out of the front door and started the slow shuffle to school I noticed how tired I actually was. I yawned all the way to the shop where I normally met Kyle. When he didn’t appear I yawned all the way to the front gates of school. A sharp breeze didn’t help my stinging wet eyes. I kept thinking if Lizzie was doing the same thing. But in 1946. I tried imagining what it was like going to school at that time but I couldn’t. So I concentrated on getting through the day.
Lessons were hard.
In tutor time I nearly drifted off to sleep and in Maths I had to fight hard to stay awake. Curly Roots also seemed tired today as she gave us some mental maths to do and fussed around her desk stapling together bits of paper together. In Design Technology I could escape the curious eye of Mr Steele and loiter and I did the same in IT. But after break and before dinner I had History and for the first time I felt completely awake. Mr Butler was my teacher. He was an old man in his fifties with short grey hair and glasses pushed to the end of his nose. Mr Butler had a posh voice and was always polite although some kids were rude in his classes and threw paper around. I could never understand that as he was an old man and was always kind to us. Mr Butler also had a passion for poetry and would read some out to the class. He could also make words rhyme when he was explaining something which kind of hypnotised you.
We had been learning about World War One for weeks now and, to be honest, I hadn’t taken much notice. You see, I’ve never really liked History. The Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Norman conquests, blah-blah. They all seemed so long ago and not important. I mean, why study dead people? When was the last time I saw a Tudor walk down the high-street? Never. And probably never will. That’s the problem. They’re dead! A big difference to us. That’s alive.
Mr Butler had brought in an old pair of binoculars that he said his Great Granddad had used during World War One. He let us all have a close look at them. The girls weren’t that bothered but most of the boys crowded around so they could touch and look through them. They were a scratched black whilst the small and big ends were a dirty green with what Mr Butler told us was a brass rim to finish. I looked through them and they weren’t that powerful. Mr Butler looked at us all over the rim of his specs and told us that they were ‘field glasses’, which he said meant battlefield binoculars.
“Old Jerry wouldn’t have been that far away,” he explained to us all when we were back in our seats, “probably less than fifty yards in some cases.”
We knew what he meant. He had shown us old videos of black and white film taken during the war. It had looked unreal because the men moved faster than real life and it was in black and white. Some of us laughed because the ‘speedy-up’ made it look like old slapstick comedy which we had all seen in Drama. Even though we watched these bits of film it still looked like it had never happened. Because it wasn’t in colour. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for the soldiers because of this. But I was interested and I remembered that Lizzie’s Dad had said he had fought in the ‘first war’.
I didn’t know what that was. I decided to ask.
Mr Butler had got out a DVD from a supermarket bag he usually used to carry things around in. He was struggling to open the case when he saw my raised hand.
“Yes, Mr Webber?”
It took a second to put together the question in my head. I wasn’t usually one of those that was confident in asking questions in front of a class.
“What was the first war, sir?”
A couple of the boys near the back of the class sniggered. Mr Butler stopped wrestling with the plastic case and turned his attention to where the camouflaged laughter had sprung from.
“What’s so funny?” he asked them directly. “It was a perfectly good question.”
He turned his attention back to me, his voice clear and controlled. “The first war was this one, Mr Webber," he said tapping the case of the DVD, "World War One or, for our purposes, the First World War.”
“Thanks. But sir,” I asked again before he had a chance to re-engage the DVD case in mortal combat, “how did it start? I mean, why did the Germans want to fight us?”
“Another good question.” Mr Butler seemed surprised at my sudden nerve. He then talked to the rest of the group.
“In fact this is a timeless question. A question that, in the struggle to find a decisive answer, has seen thousands of books written, academic debate that has lasted nearly a century and, perhaps, a second war.” He paused then returned his attention to me. “So, as you can see, Mr Webber, your question is not only a good question but one that might not be answered satisfactorily. Indeed, it might only be an opinion.”
So, I di
dn’t really get an answer. But what we did get was a map of Europe and the countries all divided up into – what was it? – alliances. That was it. Alliances. That was fine but then someone got shot and the war started.
We still didn’t know why. But a war had started at the back of the room. Big Derrick had started winding-up Mel Mulvey’s brother by throwing a rubber at him and Kieren Mulvey had started to whine to Mr Butler.
Mr Butler calmly told Big Derrick to wait outside the room whilst he shut the blinds, dimmed the lights and put the DVD on for us to watch.
The DVD was about the start of the war. The posh voice went over the course of events again and I recognised some difficult names that Mr Butler had mentioned earlier. Austro-Hungary, alliances, Ferdinand, The Black Hand Gang (that was cool), assassination. But it still didn’t make much sense. Still, I enjoyed the lines of grey soldiers; he cavalry; huge puffs of smoke spouting from the barrels of heavy guns; the dead men and horses in mud; the sad faces smoking cigarettes; the injured; the scared.
Briefly, something new.
In my imagination, without really thinking, I placed myself in the shoes of the men on the screen and tried to imagine what it was like in several feet of mud. I was a soldier, tired, hungry, missing family whilst the big bullets from the big guns crash around you. I tried to think of an excuse when the soldier in charge shouted at me to put my bayonet on the end of my gun because I was going to have to charge the enemy and fight.
I tried to think of an excuse. But I couldn’t. Not really. Like when I don’t want to get up for school you can’t suddenly make up a mysterious illness. I remembered when I came home from school the other day as I couldn’t face it because of the dreams. What if I had tried that during the first war? ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve just developed a bad cold’ or ‘I’m a bit miserable today sir’ or ‘I’ve a nut allergy’ or ‘no, not for me sir, those German bayonets look a bit sharp’. What would the officer in charge have said?
After the DVD I asked Mr Butler just that and he wrote on the whiteboard. In big black letters:
COWARD!
COURT MARTIAL
FIRING SQUAD
As it was the end of the lesson we were asked to spend the last few minutes to work the answer out for ourselves.
I got it right.
I was making my way towards the school gates at the end of the day when Donkers and a small kid I’d never seen before came up to me. Donkers was scary. He was fat and big and had a short haircut. He came from a rough estate nearby and he always smelt of body-odour and dirt.
Donkers leaned down and put his face close to mine.
“Your’re such a geek,” he breathed on me. I could smell cheese and onion crisps. “Since when have you been so interested in the bloody first world war?”
I shrugged in reply. “I dunno. Just am. I suppose.”
Donkers put a fat, greasy hand over my mouth. “Well don’t suppose. Just shud ap in future.”
Then he used the hand over the mouth to push me back against the Art block wall. I banged the back of my head. Not much, but enough to hurt.
“See ya – geek!”
Smiling, they both turned and strolled towards the school gates, happy that they’d frightened the wits out of me.
With the back of my head throbbing and my stomach bubbling like a fish tank filter I looked around to see who had been watching.
I noticed that it was just about everybody.
I straightened myself, adjusted my back pack and made sheepishly for the school gates.