Three Hours(14)

Fuck’s sake, it’s just your PTSD! You’re still in the middle of it, numb-nuts! His rational mind had to be aggressive and swear to get his attention because he had the six-pack version of PTSD with what Dr Reynolds called hypervigilance and delusions, a kinder way of saying psychosis. But delusions didn’t sting your throat, phantom smoke didn’t smart into your eyes.

He ran flat out towards Basi, his lungs hurting as they pulled in the freezing air.

The woods thinned and he saw the Junior School building and playground in front of it; the pirate ship playset with swings and a slide, and a huge old tree with parts of its roots exposed. Basi had shown him the houses they’d made for their Lego minifigures in the roots; tiny twig roofs.

Junior School had more security than the rest of the school, with a link-wire fence around the playground and building, barbed wire at the top, the suggestion and ugliness disguised by clambering ivy. The secretary always took ages to open the locked gate, huffing and puffing and complaining and making him sign something; every time; like she didn’t already know who he was.

No time.

He ran at the fence, leaping as high as he could, one foot hitting against it, bouncing against it, while his left hand grabbed the top through the ivy and his right helped swing him over, the barbed wire tearing his hands as he vaulted it.

As he ran through the playground to the building, he saw a hardback book on a swing, protected from the falling snow by the pirate ship canopy. The illustration on the cover of the book was a woodland in snow and looked so like the real school woods in snow that for a moment he paused, then ran to the door.

The secretary busybodied after him down the corridor; she must have seen his ninja-vaulting from her office window.

‘Tell Mr Lorrimer I need to see him straight away, please,’ Rafi said. ‘It’s an emergency.’

Then he ran to Basi’s classroom.

Just before circle time Basi Bukhari was looking at their scarecrows on the windowsill, waiting for springtime to guard the allotment, when he saw snowflakes. Everyone else in his class saw the snow too and ran to the windows, shouting, ‘Snow! Snow! Snow!’ But Basi was sick. Mrs Cardswell didn’t get cross with him, just with Samantha, who said it was gross. Mrs Cardswell told everyone else to go to the reading room and then Miss Price came because she was his teacher when he’d first arrived and still came to be with him when he was upset. But he was falling down the hole and no one could reach him. And then he heard Rafi’s voice.

‘S’okay, Little Monkey, I’m here, you’re safe. It’s all okay.’

‘Snow.’

‘I know. A hole.’

‘The worst hole.’

‘I’ve got you now.’

He put Basi on his lap.

‘The judge. Remember him in the boat? I was just thinking about him. His long grey beard with all the salt in it?’

‘He gave me a lemon, because I was seasick.’

‘Yes. He did. And it helped, didn’t it?’

Basi opened his eyes, fixed them on Rafi as he came back to the classroom and his brother.

‘His last lemon,’ Basi said.

‘That’s right. I have to go and see Mr Lorrimer for a minute but Miss Price will look after you and then I’ll be back, I promise.’

Rafi hurried to Mr Lorrimer’s office. It would be too dangerous to take Basi through the woods, the bomber might still be there, but this building wasn’t safe, he’d just got in without any problem. Junior School was at the top of the cliffs with a path leading down to an out-of-bounds beach. He’d gone to the beach last summer, a big group of them playing music and laughing, making more noise than they needed; challenging someone, claiming something. Too hot in the sun, they’d drunk beers and smoked in the cliff’s shadows and no one had seen; maybe the beach.

He arrived at Mr Lorrimer’s office. Miss Kowalski was with Mr Lorrimer and she smiled at Rafi as Mr Lorrimer started on about irregular visits during school hours. Rafi interrupted, trying to sound adult and calm.

‘There was an explosion in the woods, near to the path.’

‘You’re saying there was some kind of bomb?’ Miss Kowalski asked, but she was worried about him, not about a bomb; she didn’t believe him.

‘Probably firecrackers or something,’ Mr Lorrimer said, irritated. ‘Someone pissing around.’

Pissing because Lorrimer was annoyed with Rafi, and because he was sixteen so Lorrimer could use words like that. With the little kids, he probably would have said messing.

‘I heard it and saw it,’ Rafi said. ‘Afterwards I checked and found a container, the size of a lunch box, and there was shrapnel in the trees. It was a bomb.’ Trying not to speak too quickly, to sound mature, so he’d convince them. But he could see his reflection on their faces – a teenager with PTSD who imagined things that weren’t there.

‘A lunch box?’ Mr Lorrimer said.

‘Was anybody hurt?’ Miss Kowalski asked, but without urgency, just saying this because she had to, like she knew that nobody was hurt because there hadn’t really been an explosion.

‘No.’

‘Was anyone with you when you saw it?’ Mr Lorrimer asked.

‘No.’

Mr Lorrimer looked down at his paperwork, so Rafi would get the message that he was wasting his time.