You didn’t have to use their language exactly, but you could use their style. A good sharp clout now and again worked wonders. Because he was young, he had to show he could be a hard nut too. It was pathetic really. The times he’d had to suppress laughter when one of the little villains had tried to stare him out. He’d finally begun to win their respect, so he’d softened up a little, not too much—they’d have taken advantage–but just enough to get them to loosen up a bit.
Keogh was the only enigma. He knew he could get through to the boy, they both knew it–but Keogh would laugh at him with his eyes just at that last moment before mutual understanding was reached, and he’d know he’d lost again.
Harris wondered if it was worth it. He had his choice of schools to teach in but he wanted to help his own kind. No, he wasn’t that noble. This was his homeground, He was in his element here. Besides, they paid more for teachers in ‘underprivileged’ areas. Still, Barney showed promise. Maybe if he talked to the boy’s parents they’d let him go on to art school...
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the school bell.
Going through the gates he heard the clatter of running foot-steps behind him.
Two giggling girls, both in short skirts, both with bouncing breasts, both about fourteen years old, rioted past.
‘Anyway, the crumpet’s good.’ Harris smiled to himself.
He was halfway through the first lesson when Keogh walked in. He wore his usual uniform of short-sleeved, check shirt, braces holding his trousers at half-mast, showing the full length of his heavy boots.
‘Good morning, Keogh,’ said Harris.
‘Morning.’ Arrogant.
‘Nice of you to join us.’
Silence.
‘Well, what’s your story this time?’ asked Harris. ‘Trouble with your back? Couldn’t get off it?’
A couple of titters from some of the girls made Harris immediately regret his sarcasm. This was no way to break down Keogh’s aloofness. Still silence.
Oh God, Harris thought, he’s in a mood. Christ, in my day, the kids were scared of the teachers being in a bad mood.
Now, here am I hoping I don’t upset him too much.
Then he noticed the boy’s hand. He had a grubby hand-kerchief wrapped around it but blood was seeping through. ‘Been in a fight?’ Harris asked mildly.
‘No.’
‘What then?’ Harder.
‘I’ve been bitten,’ Keogh grudgingly replied.
‘By what?’
Keogh looked at his feet, trying to hide the redness creeping over his face.
‘By a bloody rat,’ he said.
Chapter Three
Karen Blakely shrieked with glee as the dog joyfully licked her nose. Only a year old, she was fascinated by this vibrant, four-legged creature who never tired of playing with her–unless it was time for its food.
She grabbed its tail with her pudgy, little hands and pulled with all her tiny might.
The mongrel yelped with obvious relish and leapt around facing the girl again, plying her face with its juicy tongue, causing more delighted giggles and shrieks.
‘Shane!’ Karen’s mother shouted at the excited dog as she came into the room. ‘You mustn’t lick the baby. How many more times must I tell you. ’
The dog looked sheepishly at Karen’s mother, tongue hanging out, panting with exhilaration. When it saw its water-bowl being filled at the sink it trotted over and began to lap furiously.
‘Now, Karen, we’ll just have a nice cup of tea and then we’ll go out and get the shopping,’ Paula Blakely said, smiling at her daughter, who was now pulling at the dog’s leg. The dog and the little girl had both arrived about the same time; Karen prematurely, Shane as a present from Paula’s husband, Mike. It was supposed to keep her occupied while waiting for the birth of their first child, but on the same day she’d gone into labour and had been rushed off to the hospital. It had taken twelve hours though for the baby to emerge, and the pain had been enough to discourage her from wanting any more. But she loved that child, more, she thought, than she loved Mike. Maybe because she was the only thing that really belonged to her. Perhaps not quite that. It was more because Karen was something she had produced, she had introduced into the world.
Looking at the gleeful baby, Paula smiled. Or was it ‘just that she was so lovable? Paula and Mike hadn’t wanted Karen so soon, they couldn’t really afford her. They’d been lucky to get a place so quickly, dingy though it was. It was in a bad area, too near the docks, but they’d lived in Poplar most of their lives anyway, so it didn’t make much difference. And it certainly wasn’t a slum! Paula made sure of that.
Other houses in the street may have been neglected by their tenants, but hers was spotless. Soon, when they’d saved enough money, they’d move out to Barking or Ilford, not too far from Mike’s job at the garage, he was doing too well there to leave, but to a better class area, where you didn’t have to keep a dog or a cat just to keep the mice down.
The whistle on the kettle began to shrill, interrupting her reverie. She turned it off and reached into the cupboard for the tea tin. She swore when she found it was empty. Mike drank coffee in the mornings but she had never liked its slightly bitter taste. She’d been reared on cups of tea as a child, the teapot in her house rarely being cold.
She looked at Karen for a moment. Would she be all right for a few seconds while she popped next door and borrowed some tea? Yes, she was preoccupied with Shane, watching him now slurp from his food bowl. She wouldn’t belong, the baby couldn’t get in too much mischief in the few seconds it would take her.
Taking a cup from the cupboard, she quickly slipped out of the room, leaving the door open, hoping Karen wouldn’t even notice she was gone.
The baby happily watched the little mongrel gobble his food. She even tried some on the end of her finger, but spat it out when she discovered it wasn’t to her taste.
Suddenly, the dog froze. The hairs on its back stood on end. It snarled at something moving in the doorway. The cellar door, which was in the hall next to the kitchen door, was slightly ajar, and a black shape scurried from it.
Shane bounded towards.it , picked it up by its neck and shook it vigorously. A high-pitched squeal broke from the rat. Instantly, another appeared and leapt at the dog’s throat, sinking its razor-sharp incisors deep. The infuriated dog spun around in a circle, trying to shake it off but still not letting the first rat go. Then another was on the dog’s back, clutching with its claw-like feet, biting hard and ripping skin. Shane howled with pain and shock as more black creatures poured into the room.
The baby began to cry with horror as she saw her beloved playmate being hurt by the foul-smelling creatures.
More rats came into the small kitchen but these were different. These were bigger, moving more cautiously, ignoring the violent struggle with the dog. They saw the crying baby, the bowl of dog food by her side. They slid forward, sniffing the air as they went. The food disappeared rapidly. They turned to the tiny figure.
The dying dog seemed to sense the child’s danger, and jumped away from its attackers, three rodents still clinging to its body. It fell upon one huge rat which was already biting into the baby’s leg. Shane threw the monster high into the air with its last remaining strength and turned to face the others. The little dog lasted a few seconds more, fighting with frenzied desperation, and then its body was torn to pieces under a black, writhing mass.
When Paula Blakely rushed into the room, she screamed in horror and utter panic. The scene didn’t quite register in her brain. All she saw was a room teeming with bestial, furry shapes, tearing at something bloody. And then a small white shape. A tiny hand quivering above the mass of black.
‘Karen,’ she screamed.
She ran into the room, kicking, screaming, her blind panic giving her added strength and speed. She clutched at the arm and pulled. The little body came up but with two of the monsters clinging. Paula beat at them as she made for the door, her own
legs already covered in blood from the bites she’d received.
The two rats fell away, not from the blows, but because the soft flesh of the child separated from her body.
Paula ran from the house with her dead baby, screaming, holding the bloody body to her breast.
The rats finished eating the dog, then scurried back into the cellar, the larger ones first.
Chapter Four
Harris took Keogh to the London Hospital to have the boy’s hand seen to. He needed a chance like this to get on more friendly terms with his pupil, and as he had a free period for the next hour, he decided to take the boy himself. Already, on the way to the hospital he seemed more relaxed towards the teacher.
When they got there, they were told to wait in the busy casualty department.
‘Well, Keogh, how did it happen?’ asked Harris.
‘I was late, so I took the short cut by the canal,’ Keogh replied.
‘Yes, I know it,’ Harris said.
The boy raised his eyebrows, but went on. ‘It was just under the bridge, you know, where the old lock-keeper’s house is. Well, there was a dead cat, see, and these two rats dragging it along. Christ, you should have seen the size of them, Mr Harris. Looked as big as the cat itself. Anyway, they weren’t eating it, just sort of dragging it along, you know. So I slung a brick at them.’ He paused, studying his bloody handkerchief. ‘Well, instead of running off, they just turned and looked at me. I’d hit one, but he didn’t seem bothered. Then, fuck me–oh, sorry, they came at me. So I ran, didn’tI. Not before one had taken a bite out of me hand, though. I kicked him into the canal and jumped over the wall and ran. But the funny thing is, when I looked back, there’s this other rat, sitting on the top of the wall, watching me.
He must have run right up it after me. Anyway, I didn’t hang around, I cleared out.’
Harris smiled at the thought of rats big as a cat. Probably it had been a kitten anyway, and Keogh’s nimble mind had done the rest. But that canal wall was high, he remembered it from when he was a kid, and even Keogh would have a job getting over it. But a rat? He knew some could climb, some species were arboreal, but to scale a six foot high brick wall? That took some doing.
Just then, all eyes in the casualty department turned as a hysterical woman, clutching a bloody bundle, was half carried in by two ambulance men. A nurse dashed forward and tried to take the small shape from her, but she held on to it fiercely, her sobs racking her whole body.
It was then that Harris realised what she was holding. It was a baby. But by the look of its blood-soaked body, it couldn’t possibly still be alive. Oh, the poor little sod, thought Harris. A doctor came along and tried to soothe the distraught woman, speaking quietly and calmly, making no attempt to relieve her of her burden. Then, with his arm around her, and the nurse on the other side, he led her away. Everyone in the room appeared shaken by the drama.
There was silence for a few seconds then everyone began to talk at once, although their voices were hushed. Harris turned to Keogh whose face was drained of blood and his knees trembled visibly.
Not as tough as you pretend, thought Harris, but he said nothing to the boy.
It was a while before they got in to see the doctor, who was very young, much younger than Harris.
When doctors and policemen look like boys, old age must be creeping in, mused Harris.
‘Right, let’s have a look,’ the doctor said, beginning to unwind the makeshift bandage from Keogh’s hand. ‘Nasty,’ he examined the large teeth-marks. ‘What did it?’
‘Rat,’ answered Harris, for Keogh.
’More rats?’ The doctor began to clean the wound, causing Keogh to flinch involuntarily.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Harris.
‘Oh, that woman brought in earlier. Her baby had been attacked by rats. Dreadful state.’ The doctor dabbed ointment on to the wound and began to bandage the hand. ‘Dead of course, had no chance really. The woman’s in a state of shock, blames herself for the whole thing. We had to put her out just to treat her own wounds.’
Harris found it hard to speak for a few moments. Any-thing nasty happening to kids always affected him this way; he’d seen too many of them mistreated to be unaffected by their misfortunes.
He said, ‘But surely it’s unusual for a rat to attack a human being? I mean, I know they can attack very small babies, and even fully-grown men when cornered, but this is different. When they chased the boy here, they could have got away. But they didn’t choose to. They attacked instead.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said the doctor, taking a syringe from a tray. ‘Just a quick jab now and you’re done,’ he smiled at Keogh. ‘But as I understand it from the ambulance men they killed the family’s dog to get at the child. Tore it to shreds according to the neighbours who went in afterwards. There was no sign of them though, just a few half-eaten carcasses, presumably killed by the dog, and gnawed at by then’ canibalistic chums. The cellar door was half open, but nobody ventured down there. That’s a job for the police, I suppose.’
He placed the syringe in a jar. ‘There we are. Come back tomorrow and we’ll see how it’s getting on, all right?’ He turned to Harris. ‘The whole business is very strange. We’ve always had a few cases of rat bites and even some diseases from them, this being that sort of area, but nothing like this. It’s quite incredible. Let’s hope they’re just isolated incidents and nothing more.’
As they left the hospital, Harris noticed Keogh was still trembling.
‘What’s the matter? Did it shake you up?’ he asked kindly,
‘Nah, it wasn’t that. I just don’t feel so good that’s all’
Keogh wiped his good hand across his brow.
Skiving? Wondered Harris. No, he did seem a bit white, and he couldn’t fake the perspiration on his forehead. Perhaps it was the after-effects of the injection.
‘Okay, you run along home, and take the day off tomorrow if you still feel the same. But make sure you go back to the hospital to get your hand looked at.’ Harris knew he wouldn’t see Keogh tomorrow now, he’d never miss the opportunity of a day away from school. Ah well he’d been the same as a boy. A chance for a day off couldn’t be ignored.
‘Cheers,’ said Keogh, and disappeared around a comer.
On the way back to the school, Harris thought about the rat incidents and the possible implications. He’d seen plenty of the disgusting creatures when he was a boy. He remembered the time years ago when he and his family had sat down to the Sunday lunch and their cat had appeared at the open window, carrying a dead rat in its jaws. They’d laughed at the idea of the cat bringing home its own Sunday lunch as they all jumped up and shooed it away. Another time, one of the neighbours had claimed she was chased down the street by a rat. Her husband had come out with a poker and had run after it, but it had disappeared into one of the bombed houses.
Harris thought they were a thing of the past now, which showed how out of touch you could get living in the top fiat of a house in King’s Cross. He supposed they existed just as much, but sanitation experts had driven them literally right underground. Lots of companies had sprung up and made quite a profit out of their extermination. Still, he supposed there wasn’t too much to it, it was just that both incidents had happened on the same day. This wasn’t the 14th century!
Chapter Five
The old warriors used to gather every night on one of the few remaining bomb-sites left in the East End of London. It was an old churchyard, just off the busy main road of Whitechapel and quite near Aldgate East underground station. It was thick with shrubbery and littered with open tombs. A single tower was the only remains of the once majestic church. That night six of them had gathered, safe in the knowledge that they couldn’t be seen from the road. All were slowly destroying their insides by their incessant drinking of methylated spirits. All had reached the depths of despair, had given up the will to exist with the rest of the world. They rarely spoke to one another, their tormented minds were too occupied with
their own misfortunes to concern themselves with anybody else’s.
Among them was a woman, although barely discernible from the men in their shapeless rags. Mary Kelly was forty-nine, but she looked twenty years older. She cursed the others, cursed herself and most of all, she cursed God. The same God she had worshipped half her life in Ireland. As a child, she’d often gone to Mass three times on a Sunday and once every day of the week. She’d even gone into a convent at fifteen, but the solemn, solitary life had not suited her vivacious, although very religious, personality.
Returning to her home town of Longford, she soon found life too dull for her natural exuberance. Her priest had tried to dissuade her from leaving, but one day, in the confessional, she’d told him something that had made him wonder if it wouldn’t be best for her to go. Best for the boys in the town anyway.
The old priest wondered how any child so deeply religious could have developed such a sinful lust for sex. He finally decided he’d have more chance of saving her wayward soul if she remained in the town under his surveillance, so he visited her parents and persuaded them to make her stay.
They had six other younger children to support, so at first they weren’t too eager to retain this extra mouth, but of course the parish priest. Had great influence over his flock.
However, the following Saturday, Mary confessed an even greater sin, this time concerning his young, newly-appointed priest.
She left the following Monday to the relief of the old Father, whose ageing mind could no longer cope with the complexities of this promiscuous saint. Young father Aloysius had denied the whole affair on being directly, and rather gruffly questioned, and the old priest had been left in an even more confused state of mind. Surely, a girl so young and obviously devout could never make up such lies? But then again, if she were so devout to God as her record had shown, how could she be so incited by the evils of the flesh? His only answer was to pray for her soul and offer up a Mass to save her from eternal damnation.