HALLS OF ACADEMIA BY JONAH
This is a work of fiction so be aware that every character herein is also fictitious. If you think you recognise yourself, or somebody else in here - you don't. Some places, and some institutions in here are real, but the people attached to those institutions in the story are not. At least one character is the creation of another author, Jacob Lion, in the USA. My thanks to Jacob for his permission to use his characters in my story.
The story is the latest in a series that began with "A Letter from America" and ended with "Scotland the Brave" At the start of this story we have jumped forward fifteen years.
This story is brought to you, at no charge, by Nifty. Nifty does not charge either me or you to publish this story, but it does cost money to publish it. Please consider donating to Nifty.
Chapter one
"Calm down," I said. "Just calm down."
I should know better. For some strange reason, my mind flicks back sixteen years to a night in Massachusetts. We were holed up by an enraged gunman and, as the gunfight raged outside, Jonah was telling us to get some sleep. Yes, it's possible to say the stupidest things at the most inappropriate times and the expression on Garrett's face told me that I had just done exactly that.
"You are as excited as I am," he pointed out.
"I have to admit that I feel it," I confessed, "but I'm not fumbling tying my laces the way that you are doing and it isn't even as if you are going anywhere. Is it Orientalness or Americanness that causes that?"
I caught the well-aimed cushion as Garrett good-naturedly remarked,
"Beast! I don't know why I put up with you sometimes,and you needn't think you are going to teach our new charge racism."
Being half Indian, I was probably the last person who was going to do that, but the barb was good-natured anyway.
The doorbell chimed. Garrett was nearest but, by the time he had the door open, I was standing by his side.
""Good morning! Come on in," I said as two people, a man and a woman, ushered a small boy into our entrance hall. Although we had seen photographs of the boy, I was surprised by how small he was. He was fair in complexion with blue/grey eyes and dark brown hair and his features had a pleasant effect. While he was not actually smiling, he gave the impression that he was never far from it.
"Come right on through."
The man was unfamiliar but we both knew Mrs. Treadwell, the Social Services case officer who had been helping us.
"Simon, Garrett, this is Mr. Stuart, the manager of Eastwold Children's Home. He has been looking after Lloyd and can answer any questions you may have about him. Lloyd, these are your new foster fathers. Do you want him to call you Garrett and Simon?"
"Of course we do," said Garrett. "I'm Garrett."
"And my name is Simon," I said, dropping to one knee to bring myself to his level, "and we're really glad that you're coming to live with us."
I don't know whether the boy was about to make any reply to that because Mrs. Treadwell rushed on.
"Now there are a few bits of paperwork to sort out. Do either of you have any questions for Mr. Stuart?"
"Yes," I replied. "Do you take sugar?"
From some time in childhood I have always been the tea-maker in tha family, and I wasn't about to let Garrett take over. I busied myself in the kitchen while Garrett conversed with our guests. Soon I bustled in with tea for all the adults and an orange squash for Lloyd.
"Thank you," he said. It was the first time he had spoken and his gentle, high-pitched voice came as a surprise - not an unpleasant one.
Mrs. Treadwell obtained all the signatures she needed from us and announced that she needed to see where Lloyd would be sleeping. Garrett showed her upstairs while I conversed with Mr. Stuart.
I was assured that Lloyd was a pleasant child, if somewhat shy; that he didn't have any major allergies, was not prone to fits or siezures, had never set the home on fire, nor shown any tendencies to violence or anti-social behaviour. He said that as if such things were common in children's homes. Asked when Lloyd's birthday was, he told me that Lloyd would be eight on the fourth of October.
Mrs. Treadwell came back downstairs and both adults prepared to leave.
"Has he got a suitcase or anything?" I asked.
"His things are in his backpack," replied Mr. Stuart.
Well he hadn't got a great many belongings in there, that was for sure.
So Lloyd was left alone with the two scary strangers who were to form his new family. It must have been terrifying for the boy. I remember the first time PC Drage introduced me to the Englishman who was going to look after my little brother and I after my father was killed. I had been terrified then, and there were two of us. Lloyd was younger than I had been and was on his own.
If I didn't know him to be almost eight, I would have taken him for a five or six year old. His fair skin set off his dark brown hair well and complimented the blue eyes. He was dressed smartly in shorts, T shirt, ankle-socks and trainers. His coat, I noted, was slung through the straps of his backpack. Since nobody had told him to do otherwise, he was standing nervously in the living room. I ruffled his hair.
"You live here now Lloyd," I told him. "You can sit down when you want."
"Sorry!" he muttered taking a place on the sofa.
"Don't worry about it," I replied. "I don't blame you for being nervous. You don't need to be though. You're our family now and we've got your back."
"Where's the other man?"
"He's called "Garrett", or "Dad" if you prefer, and he's in the kitchen making a start on lunch. Are you hungry?"
A nod.
I smiled as I sat next to him.
"Is there anything you don't like to eat?"
A shrug.
"Well, for lunch today, we're having sheep's eyes garnished with grated elephant's toe-nails, and for dessert it's stewed rat with custard."
"Eugh!"
I ruffled his hair again.
"Or it could be spaghetti and sausages."
"You're silly," he giggled.
"Yes, Garrett's always telling me that," I replied. "Now, shall we take your things up to your room?"
A smile and a nod together this time.
I picked up the small backpack.
"Come on, I'll show you where it is," I told him.
It was not the largest room, but it was freshly decorated with pale blue walls that posters could be stuck on, a cabin-type bed, and a desk and chair. A small table held a table lamp next to the bed. A chest of four drawers stood in the corner. On top of this item of furniture stood a small bookshelf holding a Children's Bible and Enid Blyton's "The Magic Faraway Tree".
"We can get you some more books to go with those," I told him, "and you can choose what posters you want on the wall. Do you like football?"
"A bit," he said shyly.
"What sort of things do you like?" I pressed, "rock music, dinosaurs, trains?"
"I like Thomas," he ventured.
"Very sensible," I told him. "I happen to know Thomas very well. In fact I've driven him."
"Do you drive trains?" he asked, his eyes growing wide.
"Sometimes," I replied. "If you like, we'll take you to see some tomorrow."
"Cor!" was his response, though it didn't seem to be adressed to me.
"Today though," I continued, "after lunch we're taking you into Norwich because there are some things we need to get for you. I was going to let you choose some posters for your wall but if you like trains, perhaps you'd prefer to do that tomorrow, when we go to Sheringham. We need to get you some more clothes though and you probably want some things to play with. Does that sound like a good idea?"
Nod and smile - this was going better and better. I reminded myself not to get too optimistic though.
Well, the backpack got emptied and his few meagre posessions got stowed away. He actually had a spare pair of underpants and a pair of socks and a spare T-shirt. It crossed my mind to wonder if the children at the home wandered around in their underwear while their clothes were washed and dried. It didn't seem likely. There had to be another explanation. The teddy bear appeared to be one of a job lot that the home had bought. That was it so, everything tidied away. I showed him where the bathroom was and introduced him to his toothbrush.
The spaghetti and sausages was demolished and room was still found for a scoop of ice cream, then we bundled into Garrett's Landrover Discovery. My mini might have been a bit cramped.
Leaving the tiny village of Newton St. Faith behind us we headed towards Norwich. Lloyd must have seen this road before, since he had been driven from Norwich only hours before, but he seemed to be seeing everything with new eyes. Perhaps he had been so apprehensive before that he had been unable to take it in.
He was a different boy with a smile on his face.
He probably never had been in Marks and Spencers before (you'll notice I used no punctuation between "Marks" and "and" and "and" and "Spencers") if his wardrobe was anything to go by. It didn't matter. He went in there with us and was kitted out with shirts, underwear, more socks and long trousers. We found him a sweater and a jacket for best. The school holidays had only just started so we needn't worry about uniform yet. In The Works, we found him several books, including a book on poetry that he liked, and then we discovered that they kept art materials.
"Do you like to draw and paint then Lloyd?" Garrett asked.
He liked to draw and paint. We obtained a large and a small sketch block, a watercolour set, and a set of pencils. It seemed that we had a happy boy.
He was happy to try on the new pair of shoes that we got him.
Pizza Hut only served to make him happier.
It was past six o' clock when we arrived back in Newton and Lloyd went went straight upstairs to his room.
I put the kettle on and Garrett and I enjoyed a cup of tea.
"We'd better help him put this stuff away," I told my partner. "His new jacket had better go in our wardrobe since he hasn't got one."
Garrett nodded and picked up the item in question.
I picked up the other M&S bag and went up and knocked on Lloyd's door. Opening it I went in and found our little man lying on his stomach on his bed. His head rested on his arms and he was crying his heart out.