Against the Tide by John Hanley Read Free Book Online Page A

He glared back then turned to his clerk, who was biting his lip, clearly trying to suppress a giggle or two. ‘The charges, please.’
    The man coughed, and in a dry voice, just on the right side of hysterical, read out the list of complaints from various members of the public. There was no mention of the Dutchman. In the excitement, he had been overlooked.
    Phillips listened, made notes and showed his disbelief. He tapped his pen on the desk, weighing his words. I expected a gale of outrage but was surprised when he spoke softly.
    â€˜I will need to consult with the constable on this before I summon your parents and your headmaster. This sort of behaviour has to be stamped on firmly and I do not wish any technicality,’ he stared directly at me as he stressed the word, ‘to influence the correct course of action. However, I will say this. If I were your parents, I would thrash you until you begged forgiveness and, if I were your headmaster, I would seriously question your right to wear those uniforms.’
    He let his final words hang in the air then stood up and nodded to the clerk. ‘Dismissed, for further reports.’
    â€˜But, sir. Don’t you want to hear our side of the…’ I spluttered at his retreating back as he waddled out of the room.
    Alan and the others bounced out into the street. I followed more thoughtfully. To Alan it was all a huge joke. He didn’t realise how vindictive someone like Phillips could be. At best, there would be serious embarrassment for the family. At worst, we could all be expelled or even birched, or both, and all because of my bloody-minded former girlfriend.
    Released into the sunshine and the clatter of traffic at the busy intersection, the remnants of our honour guard could contain themselves no longer. They slumped against the ornate granite wall, their chests heaving with laughter.
    â€˜Well, I think my clever brother should treat us all to some grub and an espresso. You lot coming?’ Alan had brushed down his uniform and was admiring his reflection in the arched window.
    I tugged some coins from my pocket. ‘Here, you treat them. I’m not in the mood.’
    â€˜Oh, I suppose you’re going off to mope about your bloody girlfriend. Come on, man, forget the bitch. Come and drown your sorrows in some of Luigi’s finest.’
    â€˜No, thanks. I’ll just wander about a bit… perhaps pop in for a cup of tea with Uncle Fred.’
    â€˜What, “Red” Fred? You bonkers or something, man? He’ll bore the pants off you. Besides, if Dad finds out, he’ll lose a wheel. You know how he feels about him.’ Alan seemed horrified. Our mother’s elder and only living brother had been disowned by the family, not only for his extreme politics, but also for the fact that he was living in sin with a Spanish woman at least twenty years his junior.
    â€˜I’ll take the chance. Meet you at Snow Hill at six and, Alan…’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜Don’t forget to pack tonight. I’ll get you up at half-five and down to the boat by half-six. I’m training at seven so I’m not going to wait for you.’
    â€˜Okay, Mummy.’
    The others laughed.
    â€˜And, Alan, try not to get arrested again if you can possibly help it.’
    He chased me across the road and halfway up Old Street, studded boots echoing off the walls, before he collided with a pram, which appeared from a doorway. He tumbled into the gutter, much to the amusement of the cadets, who had trotted after him.
    While he apologised to the startled woman, I turned into Union Street. Stopping outside one of the three-storied terraced houses, less dilapidated than its eighteenth-century neighbours, I knocked on the blood-red front door.

7
    Malita peered at my uniform. She wore no make-up and her thick black hair, pulled back in a tight bun, pinched an already tired face into a caricature of resentment. It softened when