Stand By Me. S.D. Robertson

to be sick. After he was done, his throat sore and dry, he washed his face in the sink and swilled his mouth out with some water before taking a drink. He could see in the mirror that his shirt was ruined. It looked like it had been soaked in blood. He considered shoving it in the dustbin, but since it had been a gift from Lisa, he dropped it into the washing basket instead. Better to let her make the decision to throw it away.

      ‘Lisa?’ he whispered, returning to the bedroom.

      There was no answer, so he slipped on his dressing gown and tiptoed out of there, gently closing the door behind him. Leaving Lisa to sleep was a good idea, especially if he wanted things between them to be okay again any time soon.

      Mike was surprised to find two used tumblers resting in the kitchen sink. They both smelled of Baileys, which turned his stomach in its current state. Had he and Lisa had a drink together when he’d got back? He racked his brains, but there was nothing there.

      After swallowing a couple of painkillers to ease the thumping headache that had developed since he rose, Mike headed to the lounge and sprawled on the couch. He felt horrendous. And once he was horizontal, he couldn’t even muster the energy to get back up to turn on the TV. This was why he preferred to leave devices in standby, so you could turn them on with the remote, but Lisa was far too energy conscious for that. And these days, thanks to him no longer having a job, it was also a matter of saving money, so it wasn’t even like he could argue against it.

      As awful as Mike felt, he didn’t think he’d be able to fall back to sleep. He was wrong.

      ‘What am I going to do with you, Liam?’

      The boy continued to stare out of the window, as if he was alone in the room and hadn’t been asked a question. So Mike walked over to it and shut the blinds; cut off the view of the school playground.

      ‘I asked you a question, Liam. It’s polite to answer.’

      ‘Go screw yourself.’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘You heard.’

      Mike could feel himself getting riled by this boy again. He’d been sent to his office countless times before. The head was currently away at a conference, so there was no passing him along on this occasion. As the primary school’s deputy head teacher, the buck stopped with him today.

      Liam Hornby was easily the school’s most troublesome pupil. He was in Year Six now, which at least meant he’d no longer be their problem by the end of the school year. But it was only October, which meant months more of this nonsense ahead. He’d joined the school halfway through Year Five, after his parents had moved to the area, and he’d been a pain in the neck from the word go. But despite numerous incidents with other pupils and staff members in that time, he’d never quite done enough to allow them to get rid of him, like he knew just how far he could push the boundaries.

      Liam’s parents were much the same. When contacted, one or both of them would come into school eventually; often after cancelling a couple of times first. Then they’d be apologetic, pledging to take their son to task, but Mike could tell it was an act. Behind the facade, they didn’t care. You developed an intuition for these things after years of teaching. They said and did what was required to keep Liam at school. They knew exactly how disruptive their son was but did nothing about it. Why? No clue. They seemed normal enough. They lived in one of the nicer parts of the catchment area and both had jobs. Some people didn’t deserve to have kids. Had they taught him the foul language, Mike wondered, or was it something he’d picked up from being allowed to watch the wrong things on TV?

      ‘Language like that is unacceptable, Liam. I won’t tolerate it.’ Mike tried to maintain a poker face; to hide his shock at what the kid had just said to him.

      ‘Dunno what you mean. Can’t prove it.’

      Mike took a deep breath and fought to stay calm as he looked across his desk at Liam, who was tall for his age and overweight, making him quite an imposing presence for an eleven-year-old. Maybe this time they’d be able to get rid of him. A temporary exclusion was on the cards at the very least. ‘Well, I can prove the reason you’re here,’ he said. ‘Half the school witnessed you attacking poor Joshua with the stinging nettles at break time. He’s in so much pain he’s had to go home. Why would you do something so nasty to him? Where did you even get the nettles from?’

      Liam looked up at him with dead, psycho eyes and a grin to match. ‘What’s a stinging nettle? I just chased him with some leaves. It was a game. A bit of fun.’

      ‘Don’t give me that, Liam. You knew exactly what you were doing. I asked you where the nettles came from. Well?’

      The only answer he received was a shrug, accompanied by a smug look of defiance. For some reason it really got under Mike’s skin. He felt himself getting angry. It wasn’t the first time this kid had wound him up in this way. His blatant lack of respect was infuriating. And yet Mike knew it was his job to stay calm, or at least to appear that way. Liam was trying to goad him and if he realised he was succeeding, it would only make him worse.

      Joshua Banks, the boy who’d been attacked, was no angel. He’d been in Mike’s office on several occasions too, although he was much easier to handle than Liam. At least he was able to acknowledge when he’d done something wrong. Mike had no idea how the attack had come to pass. Joshua, who’d suffered nettle stings all over his arms, face and torso, had been too distressed to explain. And there was zero chance of getting a confession out of Liam.

      Mike couldn’t get over the nastiness of the incident, which he was convinced was premeditated. Since he was unaware of any nettles growing in the school grounds, he could only assume that Liam had brought them with him from outside, presumably hidden in his bag. Wearing gloves to handle them, he’d also made a point of shoving the plants inside Joshua’s T-shirt.

      ‘What do we have to do to get through to you?’ he asked, as calmly as he could manage. ‘Why are you so determined to cause trouble at every opportunity? It’s not for my good that you come to school, Liam. It’s for your own. You’re the one—’

      Mike stopped mid-sentence when he saw Liam, the little shit, leaning back in his chair and yawning. What the hell was the point?

      ‘You’re a—’

      It was the sound of his desk phone ringing that stopped him this time, although he was glad of the interruption. He’d almost said something he would have later regretted.

      ‘Hello?’

      It was Beth in the school office on the line, wanting to know if he had the key for the safe. He did and, although she offered to come and get it, he said that he would take it through to her instead. He liked the idea of getting a moment away from Liam. It seemed like a good way to cool down; to put things into perspective.

      ‘Stay where you are,’ he told the boy. ‘And don’t touch anything. I’ll be back to deal with you in a moment.’

      It was a stupid move, leaving him alone in his office like that. Mike was already thinking so as he headed back there a couple of minutes later. But it didn’t prepare him for what he found – what happened and the terrible path it led him down – when he opened that door.

      Mike woke with a start, a gasp for air, jolting upright on the couch as his eyes sprang open. His muscles were clenched and his body covered in sweat, eyes darting wildly around the room as he took in where he was – and where he wasn’t.

      A dream, thank God. An awful memory: the start of his downfall, his undoing, haunting him as it so often did.

      He lowered himself back on to the sofa and, as his hands kneaded the soft cushions, he took a series of slow, deep breaths. He focused on one spot of the swirling pattern in the ceiling above him, which had been wallpapered then painted white to hide the cracks. He stared upwards trailing the curves of the embossed lines with his eyes. And he fought to wipe his mind clean of all other thoughts. He fought to forget, or at least to compartmentalise, this recalled moment. But God it was vivid – so raw, so fresh – like he’d just