Arnie, Mervin, & The Blood of Kings Read online

  “Go on, go brush your teeth and do your hair, I’ll sling on a pair of jeans and walk you to school. The meetings at 9.15am and I don’t mind hanging about if it means I get to walk to school with my boy.”

  “What about Hector? Is he not going to the meeting?” enquires Arnie.

  “No Arnie, he’s……not well.” replies his mother hesitantly.

  Arnie shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes knowingly and continues up to the bathroom, closely followed by his faithful dog and best friend Lady.

  Ten minutes later they descend back down the stairs. Arnie’s blonde mop of hair is slightly tidier than it was before but the fact is he could really do with a haircut. However, given the fact that they can barely afford a pint of milk – a haircut was something of a rarity!

  Elaine beckons to Arnie and holds out his dirty orange parker jacket for him to put on. As she zips it up for him, fag in mouth – she gives him a little smile and zips the hood right up so he resembles a slightly duller version of Kenny from South Park.

  “Muuuuuum…” he says with a sense of playful frustration.

  “There! You’re all ready for a trek into the arctic. We’d best be on the lookout for Polar Bears tin this cold though, what do you reckon?” says Elaine as she puts on her puffa jacket and opens the front door.

  “I reckon a Polar Bear would be a welcome change from some of the lads we see knocking around on this estate sometimes mum. I reckon they’d be easier to reason with to be honest!” replies Arnie sarcastically.

  Elaine sniggers as Arnie gives Lady a little pat on the head and a treat of some sort before they leave the house. As the door slams behind them the pot that holds Lady’s treats falls off of the shelf and onto the floor. Lady - being a dog, jumps straight into action and happily gobbles them all up straight off of the doormat.

  Chapter Two: The School Meeting

  Arnie and his mother stroll through the bland labyrinth of five storey housing blocks and concrete walkways, hunched over, hoods up and with their hands in their pockets as the biting cold wind whistles past their ears and the fine but substantially obstructive drizzle obscures their vision. Elaine turns to Arnie and says;

  “I take it all back son, I can totally see why you become so miserable this time of year!”

  Arnie carries on walking and looking dead ahead, not because he was ignoring his mother but because if he turned his head to address her statement fully, the cold wind would penetrate his parker’s hood and practically punch him in the face!

  Arnie shouts back “YEAH!” as this is all he can muster at the time but it thankfully serves as a satisfactory acknowledgement considering the circumstances. Luckily for them both, Arnie’s school was on the Estate on which they lived. ‘Sunny Hill High School’ shared the name ‘Sunny Hill’ with the Estate itself and was something that served as a source of ironic amusement to Arnie as clearly the name ‘sunny’ was not in keeping with the weather, and it certainly didn’t reflect any kind of personality disposition common amongst the people from either.

  As they approach the school, Elaine stops behind a six foot, cylindrical metal bin on wheels next to a concrete stair case leading into the last block on the estate, in a naive attempt to light a last cigarette before going into to her meeting with Arnie’s teacher. Arnie stops with her and cups his hands around the sides of the cigarette to block the wind from blowing out the lighter.

  Once his mums fag is lit, Arnie hurriedly leads her by the arm towards the main entrance of the school and through a bazaar of hooded children kicking a football around a water logged concrete playground.

  Another nearby group of children are stood underneath the meagre shelter provided by the corrugated roof of the bicycle racks, smoking, texting, swearing and generally doing what kids at this particular school on this particular estate do. The football rolls over to the group of kids underneath the bike sheds, the biggest of whom picks it up, hands his half-smoked fag to one of his friends and calls out;

  “Oi, Gibbsy! On your head!”

  With that the boy dropkicks the ball, booting it straight at Arnie and his mum. Arnie raises his arms quickly to protect his face and his mum and manages to deflect it into a nearby puddle. All of the kids laugh as Elaine goes to give them a piece of her mind;

  “You little………..who’s your form tutor? I’ll have you suspended!” she says angrily.

  The group of kids just laugh, snigger and generally take the mickey accordingly before Arnie picks the ball out of the puddle and says to his mum;

  “There’s no point Mum. They never get told off. Even the teachers are scared of them.”

  “Give us the ball then Gobby!” says the boy who is now menacingly pacing up and down under the bike-sheds.

  “What this ball?” says Arnie as he picks the ball up and dropkicks it over the school fence and into the road. The boy goes from looking like he is joking to very serious in an instant. He stops pacing and points at Arnie and says aggressively;

  “You’re lucky your Mum’s here Gibbs. I’ll see you at break time.”

  “Yeah, sure……whatever.” says Arnie with a sigh as he leads his mother who can only stand by and watch, into the school.

  “You make sure you tell your teacher about him Arnie, and don’t you dare go outside at break time you hear?” she says anxiously.

  “Yeah I will, and no I won’t.” says Arnie as he looks up and smiles at his mum through the small gap in his jackets hood.

  Elaine looks down on the face of her boy infectiously smiling up at her and in the moment can only smile back at him despite her concerns.

  “Ok, good boy.” she says as she ushers him forward toward the school entrance.

  As they enter the school Arnie and his mother both simultaneously shake off the water from their coats and look at each other in disbelief and share a stifled laugh in reference to the treacherous conditions they have just endured, and the miserable atmosphere the school was currently giving off.

  Elaine is immediately knocked back by the strong smell of the school interior that is somewhere between damp dog and fresh paint. She looks around at the aqua-marine lacquered brick corridor complete with flecks of black mould in the corners and a long line of intermittently flickering fluorescent tubes of light on the ceiling and visibly shudders to herself in disgust.

  “Ugh! Well this is nice. So where do I….”

  As Elaine is mid-sentence Arnie points to a reception desk fifteen yards ahead of them on the right hand side of the hallway and says;

  “You need to speak to Miss Boyle, the receptionist first before you can see Mr Brownstone.”

  Elaine looks briefly impressed that they even have a receptionist at this school and says;

  “Oh, receptionist eh?”

  The novelty soon wears off however as she sees said receptionist. Miss Boyle was a prim and proper, older woman who was very underweight and clearly has a penchant for beige, woollen clothing who had an unmistakeable air of pugnaciousness about her, even from a distance!

  Elaine surveys what lies ahead of her, nods to herself and says in a defiant tone;

  “O.K. Let’s do this!”

  Arnie points to an adjoining corridor that leads to where his first lesson of the day is being held and says;

  “I’ve gotta go this way Mum. I’ve got P.E and I need to get changed first or I get ginched. Bye!”

  Arnie runs off down the corridor and leaves his mum in a hesitant state as she was expecting a kiss goodbye. When she really thought about it though, Arnie was in school and probably didn’t want to be seen kissing his mum goodbye in full view of all his school ‘mates’ so carries onwards to the receptionist.

  As Elaine approaches the desk she notices Miss Boyle has a very unfortunate (and ironic) wart on her chin that’s so prominent it might as well of greeted Elaine itself. Miss Boyle looks up at Elaine over her half-moon glasses with an unwarranted look of contempt. It is clear there will be no “good morning” or “can I help you” forthcom
ing so Elaine reluctantly initiates the conversation herself;

  “Er,…hello? I’m here to see Mr Brownstone, I think he’s expecting……”

  “Name?!” interrupts Miss Boyle abruptly.

  “Er,….Elaine….Elaine Gibbs,….regarding Arnold Gibbs! I’m his mother” says Elaine in a shocked tone.

  Miss Boyle then responds to this by looking at her keyboard and slowly typing something, presumably Elaine’s name, with her two index fingers into the computer. After each letter Miss Boyle squints painfully at her screen to check her work. After what seems to be an eternity for Elaine, Miss Boyle completes the data entry. She looks up at Elaine and extends her long bony finger, pointing to three small moulded plastic chairs not five feet behind her.

  Elaine looks back with an eyebrow raised as Miss Boyle remains motionless. Her arm and index finger still extended towards the chairs. She does however wiggle said finger as if to say “just sit down and shut up will you!”

  Elaine takes two steps backwards and sits on the middle chair directly opposite Miss Boyle staring at her in disbelief all the while.

  Miss Boyle drops her arm, turns her head back to the computer screen, squints at it and begins slowly typing again with her two index fingers. Elaine looks on in an mildly amused yet obviously frustrated state of disbelief.

  Seventeen uncomfortable minutes later, Miss Boyle announces without any obvious phone call or communication from the classroom behind her that;

  “Mr Brownstone will see you now.”

  Elaine acknowledges this injustice and gives Miss Boyle a dirty look before entering the classroom.

  There, sat behind a large attractive mahogany style desk that really doesn’t look like it belongs in the school at all - is Mr Brownstone. Mr Brownstone is a very tall and skinny older gentleman who wears incredibly thick glasses (making his eyeballs look HUGE) and similar to Miss Boyle is usually seen dressed in brown or beige coloured woollen, tweed or corduroy clothes. He extends one large veiny hand to greet Elaine while gesturing toward an altogether comfier looking chair than the one she had gotten used to over the past seventeen minutes with his other hand.

  “Ah, Mrs Gibbs, you’re right on time. Please, do sit down.” he says as if making the assumption she had just arrived.

  “You know I’ve actually been waiting outside for the past twenty minutes?!” says Elaine with subdued outrage;

  “Your, assist…, recep,….. that woman outside has had me waiting for you on those horrid blue chairs in the corridor since I arrived twenty minutes ago!”

  “The naughty chairs?” responds Mr Brownstone with a confused yet slightly amused look on his face.

  “The what now?” says Elaine with even more of an outraged tone as she realises she has been the subject of a juvenile prank of sorts.

  “Well, that’s where the children who have been sent to me for being naughty sit,…..I mean,….usually sit. I apologise for that Mrs Gibbs, Miss Boyle is new and well, I really do need the help.” replies Mr Brownstone apologetically.

  Elaine is in no mood to get into any kind of heated discussion about the school’s employment policy as she is here to discuss an altogether more important subject - that of her troubled son. To move things along, Elaine simply shrugs her shoulders and says;

  “Fair enough!”

  Mr Brownstone sits back in his chair and lets out a muted sigh of relief as he removes his glasses and reveals the more-than-amusing fact that his eyes are actually quite small and mole like, and places them on the desk in front of him. He focuses on Elaine, interlocks his fingers and proceeds to address Elaine in an altogether more serious tone;

  “Mrs Gibbs, I’m sure you are more than aware of the reason I asked you here today, it’s to discuss the recent and ongoing issues relating to your son Arnold’s behaviour at school, and in particular his lack of concentration in class, continued rudeness and sarcasm towards his teachers, and his lack of proper interaction with the other children.”

  Elaine’s face turns deadly serious at this point, as if the trivial incident involving Miss Boyle that preceded the meeting didn’t even happen. She is now grounded in the reality that her son may be in serious trouble.

  “There have been a number of incidents over the past few months which concern me. A few scraps and a few crossed words with some of the teachers would not usually give me much cause for concern Mrs Gibbs, but at the last count Arnold has been sent to my office eleven times in the last four months, and has been involved in…”

  Mr Brownstone holds his glasses up to his eyes while examining some kind of a report before lowering it and continuing;

  “…six fights. One of which could have ended up being much more serious if it hadn’t been for his brother pulling him out of a melee of fists, legs and feet! As you know, Sunny Hill High School doesn’t have a great reputation as far as violence is concerned. Two teachers and a student were stabbed last year and we constantly have to have the police come and show themselves as a deterrent to the more unwholesome element. Now that Cain has left the school Arnold doesn’t have that same physical protection he once had, and I have to be honest Miss Gibbs,….I’m concerned for his safety!”

  Elaine’s eyes widen with anxiety. She knows Arnie is more intelligent than most of the other kids and that he will use it to make the other children look stupid if he wants to. Unfortunately the children at this school in particular don’t like being made to look stupid and will in all likelihood lash out at their oppressor. Elaine just hopes that they don’t decide to lash out at him with a knife!

  Mr Brownstone continues…….

  “It’s not like Arnold doesn’t interact at all with the other Children. He is very intelligent and at times quite funny, but usually these things are displayed in the form of sarcasm and at someone else’s expense. Most of the time the only real reason Arnold does interact with other children seems to be in response to some sort of provocation from some of the, how shall we say,….more popular sporty children. He puts on a brave face most of the time but it’s clear to see that something else is wrong and,….well the thing is….”

  He pauses while he searches his vocabulary for the correct term but Elaine interjects and finishes the sentence instead;

  “…it’s more serious than just a bad mood.”

  Mr Brownstone stops and looks at Elaine sympathetically as he sees the helpless realisation engulf her face.

  “Yes, I think it is. He seems like he really has no interest whatsoever in integrating with the other children…or in school in general. It’s like he feels it’s all for nothing and he has nothing in common with anyone.”

  Elaine picks up straight from Mr Brownstone and continues;

  “He’s in a world of his own most of the time and it’s,…..”

  Mr Brownstone finishes for Elaine;

  “…it’s not a happy place!”

  Elaine looks at Mr Brownstone helplessly. Her eyes well up and a single tear rolls slowly down her cheek. Mr Brownstone continues in a more gentle tone;

  “Mrs Gibbs, I’m not qualified to make any kind of diagnosis, but in nearly thirty years of teaching I have become something of an expert on recognising childhood depression. I’m concerned for Arnie as he seems to be displaying many of the signs.”

  Elaine reaches into her handbag and produces a handkerchief and blows her nose loudly.

  Mr Brownstone continues;

  “However, one thing about this actually gives me hope. That being that his mood seems to be connected to the seasons. He only seems to become withdrawn around late autumn and winter, which points to it being seasonal affective disorder or S.A.D. So further to that I’d recommend you take Arnie to see your GP as there are many treatments and drugs available that…..”

  “DRUGS!?” interrupts Elaine angrily;

  “You’re suggesting my child be given drugs? He’s thirteen years old!”

  “Prescription drugs Mrs Gibbs. Prescription drugs that are designed and manufactured specifically to treat th
ese kind of…….conditions.” replies Mr Brownstone pompously.

  “Yeah, prescription drugs designed by big corporations to treat symptoms as opposed to cause because it’s more cost effective for them. Prescription drugs made specifically to dumb us down and turn us all into dribbling Zombies - starting with our children. No thanks!”

  Elaine lets out a sigh as she calms down realising that her rant was pointless, all the while her motherly instinct is screaming that there must be another way.

  Mr Brownstone tries to offer some words of support;

  “I have to say Mrs Gibbs, that having worked in teaching for as long as I have and having seen many children displaying similar signs, I have never met a child that I believed could overcome this more successfully than Arnold. These are not just words of comfort that I am offering here, these are my genuine feelings. He is……special, for lack of a better word.”

  Elaine looks at Mr Brownstone with a glimmer of hope hiding behind the pockets of tears that are balancing on the bottoms of her eyelids.

  Mr Brownstone continues;

  “He’s a very clever boy,…..perhaps sometimes a bit too clever for his own good, especially when coming face to face with some of the bigger boys. But he always has his wits about him and I believe this is something that will hold Arnold in good stead through all his troubles, and will eventually be a major factor in bringing him through to the other side. That is to say – that, and the love of his family, will bring him through. Perhaps his Father could….”

  “No!” Interrupts Elaine sharply;

  “His Father is………well, he’s not around. My partner Hector helped raise Arnie but his and Arnie’s relationship is…..not your typical Father/Son relationship put it that way.”

  Mr Brownstone nods sympathetically and reaches into his desk drawer. After some shuffling around he produces a business card and hands it to the solemn looking woman sat opposite.

  “This is the number for a child psychologist I know who also happens to be an old university friend. He’s very good and may be able to work some magic for you!“