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.
This story is brought to you, at no charge, by Nifty. Nifty does not charge either me or you to publish this story, but if does cost money to publish it. Please consider donating to Nifty to keep this site going. https://donate.nifty.org/
Chapter two
I had been teaching boys for nearly ten years. I didn't need telling that their feelings could be complex. Heck! MY feelings could be complex. For instance, I was sick to my stomach at the sight of this litttle boy crying his eyes out.
I put down the bag and sat down on the edge of his bed.
"Lloyd...." I began, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Go away," was the response I got.
"When you're hurting," I told him, "someone who loves you doesn't just go away and leave you to it."
He raised his head and regarded me through a barricade of tears,"
"Please, go away," he pleaded more quietly.
I slid to the floor so that I could get my face close to his; then I clasped my arms about his neck so that, if he lay down again, he would have to lay on my arm.
"Why?" I asked quietly. "You know I'm a teacher and I've seen boys cry before. I never think any less of them for it."
"I thought you were a train driver," he said accusingly.
"You asked me if I drove trains and I said 'Sometimes'," I replied. "I'll tell you all about it later. What are the tears for?"
"I don't want it all to go away."
"How many foster homes have you been in?"
"A lot, but I always do something to spoil it. They always send me back."
I hadn't heard Garret come in but he crouched down behind me.
"Well you're not going to spoil this one," he said. "We love you too much for that. Wanna drink?"
The boy nodded.
"I'll go get you one, then you can help us put these things in your drawers 'cos you're here to stay."
The boy buried his face in my shoulder as Garret trotted downstairs.
"I love you Daddy," he said quietly.
"I love you too Lloyd - we both do," I told him.
I stood, lifting his spare frame as I did so. I could feel his wet cheek against my own.
"Come on, we'll go and give that miserable face a wash," I said.
That raised a smile as I stood him on his own feet.
Two hours later we had devoured our supper and Lloyd had retired to his room.
"He's a cute one alright," said Garret, sipping his glass of whisky.
I surveyed my own single malt as I pondered this.
"I'd like to know why the others all sent him back," I remarked. "The boy seems perfect, but Mr. Stuart never mentioned any of those other foster carers to us. There is definitely something he hasn't told us."
"Those others definitely want their heads looking at," said Garret. "How could you possibly not love a lovely child like that?"
I took a sip and smiled.
"It's not as simple as that," I told him. "Not only does Mr. Stuart know something that we don't, but Lloyd knows something that we don't. He knows that we love him, because we've told him so, but he also knows why, when it comes to the crunch, we won't love him enough. We're going to have to prove him wrong."
"We could just ask him," he pointed out.
I shook my head.
"No, that wouldn't do any good. He's too scared to tell us, and Mr. Stuart doesn't want to tell us. He told us that he doesn't start fires. I wonder what he could do that's worse than that."
"We'll probably find out the hard way," he said, draining his glass. "Coming up?"
"Er, yes," I replied, knocking back the last of my own drink.
Sometimes, only sometimes, Garret can get a little bit frisky in bed. I, of course, am an angel and would never do anything of the sort, but Garret has his moments. Not tonight. The responsibility of parenthood seems to have sobered him up - or worn him out - one or the other.
Both of us were unconscious in a very short time.
I don't know how long it was before I woke, but I know why I woke.
A small hand was inside my pyjama bottoms and little fingers were exploring what they shouldn't have been exploring. I stayed silent for awhile. He seemed very expert at what he was doing. After a while I turned toward him, throwing an arm over him and hugging him to me. He froze. I could feel him shivering.
"Want a drink?" I whispered.
He shook his head.
"Well I do," I said. "Come on."
I swung my legs out of bed and then rose, lifting him with me. Grabbing my dressing gown from behind the door, I carried him downstairs to the kitchen.
Seating him on a chair I put my dressing gown on and then the kettle, in that order.
He was dressed in the pale green pyjamas that we had bought him and his little bare feet looked cute. His handsome face, on the other hand, looked about to spoil itself with more tears. I reached down and wiped the beginning of a tear from his eye.
"There's no need for that," I said cheerfully. "Are you sure you won't have a drink - cocoa?"
He shook his head but I made two cups anyway.
"You need something warm inside you," I told him."I expect you've done that before."
"Are you going to send me back now?"
"Good heavens no," I responded. "Is that why the others sent you back?"
He looked down at his bare toes.
"Well, between you and me, I liked it, and so would Garret, but we're still not going to let you do it."
He was actually looking at me.
"That's not because we don't love you," I continued. "It's because we love you too much to let you do that. We are definitely NOT sending you back and those other people don't know what they missed. Now drink your cocoa and we'll all get some sleep. You know we're going to see the trains in the morning?"
Well that cheered him up.
He slept in his own bed after that but the smell of frying bacon was enough to rouse him in the morning without any need for being called. He put in an appearance in a proper shirt, new shorts and bare feet. His hair was newly slicked down and his face newly scrubbed.
"Are we going to see the trains today?" he asked.
"I said we were, didn't I?" I replied as I handed him his breakfast. As I said it, I realised that that was unfair. I had seen no evidence that he had a lot of experience of adults meaning what they say. Well that was going to change.
"Do you think Luke will be up?" Garret said with his mouth full of bacon and fried bread.
"Oomph woofle woof woofle boomfle," I replied.
Lloyd nearly fell off his chair with laughter.
"I said," Garret repeated, after he had swallowed, "do you think Luke will be down this weekend?"
"Yes, I know you did," I responded, "but you weren't setting Lloyd a very good example. It'll depend what shift he's on. He hasn't said he's on this weekend."
Luke, at twenty-seven, was a constable in the Metropolitan Police but, when he had some time off, he would often come and work signalboxes on the North Norfolk Railway. My father had been a sergeant in the Met and I still had the medal that he earned when he got himself killed. I felt proud when my step-brother joined.
The mention of Luke called to mind that Lloyd still had a few people to meet. Jonah still lived in the flat in Harrow, together with Flash - his golden retriever. I'd not be surprised to see him in Norfolk in the next few days, if we didn't forestall him by going down to Harrow. He'd certainly want to meet his new grandson. My own grandparents had passed on a few years back, which was a pity. Fergus and Janet would have loved Lloyd, and he'd have loved going to see them. Pete and his wife, Marion, lived in Colchester with their son Adam. He was six and into everything they couldn't stop him from being into. As Marion was bearing their second child, it was increasingly Pete who had to do the stopping. Garret's father, Yori, was still in Massachusetts. At almost eighty, he still involved himself in all sorts of things. Garret's cousin Riku had a home in Hampshire, but you would never find him there. Riku was a world-famous violinist and concert pianist and, that being so, the world was where you would find him - almost any part of it. His partner, Stephen, was also his agent and was easier to find than Riku was (which wasn't saying much). Garret's mother was also still alive, so far as we knew. He hadn't seen her since his boyhood, which didn't upset either of us.
Breakfast things were soon cleared away and washed.
"Lloyd," I said, "go and put on some shoes and socks, but not in that order, and pick up your coat. I don't think you'll need it, but we'd better have it with us."
He disappeared upstairs. Garret looked at me.
"Still having doubts?" he enquired.
"I shook my head.
"No, I never had those. He's the tops, but just one thing."
He raised an eyebrow as I continued.
"If he climbs in bed with you, make sure he keeps his hands out of your trousers."
He looked incredulous for a second then burst out laughing.
"Is THAT all?" he chuckled.
"It's serious," I replied. "It's got him thrown out of several homes. Just imagine what that would do in a mixed-sex marriage. Either father would be embarrassed at being molested, or father would enjoy it too much and mother would object when she found out. Either way, he gets sent packing. He needs to know that we're not upset by it but, at the same time, he's not going to get molested."
"Roger that," he replied, but he was still smirking.
I slapped his delectable rear.
"Get your mind out of the gutter," I told him, "and let's get cracking."
I suspect that Lloyd saw the last bit of that as he came downstairs but he seemed happy enough. We piled into my mini and strapped in.
This time we weren't headed for Norwich, but in the opposite direction. It took us a little over half an hour to get parked up in the railway's staff car-park at Sheringham. Actually, that's not quite right. Parking in Sheringham isn't quite as bad as all that. Most of that time was spent driving there. The actual parking only took a minute or so. We mounted platform two and walked over the bridge to platform one.
"Hey up Simon - Garret," said Ben Pigeon as soon as we got there. "Who's this young man?"
"This is Lloyd," I told him, "and he wants to see all Thomas' friends."
"Well," he responded, "I'm pally with Thomas myself, but I've got the J15 on the front of this lot and she's always been one of Thomas' favourites."
"We'll take a look at her then," I replied. "I don't suppose he's ever seen a J15 before."
Ben gave us one of his trademark smiles.
"Young Spragg's firing for me," he said. "Tell him I said it's alright for you to take him on board. I don't think he'd have stopped you anyway."
"Not if he wants a drive next time he's firing for me he won't," I replied.
I asked Garret to find us some seats so he climbed aboard the crimson and cream train.
The gleaming black engine at the front was simmering quietly as I pointed out her polished steelwork, tall chimney and huge dome to Lloyd. This locomotive has appeared, over the years, in British Railways' livery, in LNER black and also in Great Eastern Railway blue (when that happened, we called her a Y14). It didn't matter what colour we painted her - she looked good.
Young Paul Spragg was in charge on the footplate and he was more than happy to have us aboard.
"You'll know who the signalman is at Holt then?" he said to me.
"No, I didn't," I replied. "If that's the case, we'll probably have to catch the 2.14 back."
Paul swung open the big firehole door and dropped a couple of shovelsful of coal in the back corners.
"If you do that, you'll have the B12," he told me.
Ben swung onto the footplate.
"All ashore that's going ashore," he called out, "unless you're riding up with us."
"Garret's in the train, " I reminded him, "and you'd lose your ticket if you got caught with Lloyd on here. We couldn't possibly pretend he's twelve."
"See you later then," he said as I lifted Lloyd down onto the platform.
We found the compartment that Garret was keeping for us. I lifted Lloyd so that he could stick his head out of the window.
"If you look to the back of the train," I told him, "you'll be able to see the guard wave his whistle and blow his flag."
"You're silly," he giggled, not for the first time.
With two blasts of the guards whistle, and an answering "poop" from the J15, our train was in motion.