Boy Who Made It Rain Read online

  Sometimes a think that maybe the fellas an me could hiv done a wee bit more, you know, iz a support fur the guy. Bring him intae the clan. That we could’ve invited him oot with us sometime. Up the town. Gigs. Shoppin. But, at the end of the day, if it doesnay click, it doesnay click. It would’iv been like tryin tae fit a triangle intae a circle, or somethin like that.

  Rosie Farrell’s Mortification

  I might be daft but I’m no stupid, or the other way around. Do you think for one minute that I walked around that place and never heard a thing? Of course I heard what everyone was saying. Even my best pal was saying it, well, she wasn’t exactly saying it but she was part of all the gossip groups. Oh, I know Cora she’d have been right in the middle of them all, stirring it up. Although she told me afterwards that she was trying to shut them up, I didn’t know if I believed her. We just had one of those rubbish arguments that nobody wins. I was saying to her:

  ‘Aye some pal you are, didn’t even say a word.’

  And she was like, ‘what do you mean, ‘never said a word’ I was the one trying to make sure your name was kept out of it.’

  ‘Aye right,’ I said.

  ‘Aye right,’ she said.

  ‘You should have told me,’ I said.

  ‘You should be thanking me I never,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no way I’m pure thanking you,’ I said.

  ‘Aye right,’ she said.

  ‘Aye right,’ I said. And it went on like this for ages and nobody won the argument. I won’t bore you with the rest of it. At the end of the day I could see her point, you know, when I played all the events over in my head. I was raging though. But then when I played that in my head, you know, why I was raging, I think it wasn’t Cora I was raging at. No, it wasn’t Clem either. It was myself for not realising it. I sort of had an idea that something was going on, but I guess I blanked it out of my mind. Well, that’s what people do when they don’t want to admit the truth, isn’t it? I read that somewhere in a book about psychology or psychiatry or something like that, it was psycho something. Anyway it said that by not engaging with true events, that’s the book’s words by the way, by not engaging with true events you are consciously blanking it out of the mind. But the thing is, the harder you try to blank it out the more it takes over the things you think about. It was weird because I kept thinking about it all the time. All the time. I couldn’t concentrate in any of my classes. I couldn’t even do my art. It was mad as, so it was.

  Then I got dead para…paranoid…and thought the whole school was gawking at me when I walked down the corridor. Especially all those mongo NEDs. Cora kept saying ‘why don’t you say something?’ But I just couldn’t. I thought that if I asked him he’d have dumped me then and there. I was sort of loved up with him at the time. I couldn’t just pure ask him outright. I was terrified. But that all changed. Another part of me was like, you have to trust him if you’re going to have any future together, you have to be able to trust each other. The thing is he gave me no reason to think that anything bad was going on, apart from the gossiping and sniggers. He was just the same, nothing changed in him. And when I think back and ask myself was there any sign of anything strange going on, you know, in his behaviour, I’d have to say no. It was the same Clem as ever, but it was like one of those things that hovers over you, you know, like a bubble or a cloud or something. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Then I did something really bad. Not like bad bad, but bad enough to make me feel bad. I didn’t cry over it or anything like that, I just had this thing saying something in my head, ‘I can’t believe you did that, Rosie; I can’t believe you did that.’ Anyway, I stayed back late in the art room to start off my portfolio, I was just doing some life sketching, bowls and cups and fruit and stuff like that. Easy stuff. But it was all one big pretence. I did sketch a wee bit and I did need to get the portfolio started but I could just as easily have done it at home, the thing was I didn’t tell Clem that I was staying back. I knew his study class finished at a certain time, so I just waited till ten minutes before it was over and then I waited outside for him to come out. No, I wasn’t waiting on him. I didn’t want him to see me. We hadn’t planned it. I was actually waiting across the road so that when he came out I was ready to nick down and hide behind a car. I was standing there shaking. I was pure morto that I was doing this. That’s just not what I do. Well, obviously it is now. Anyway, the next thing I know I see Clem coming out of the school’s main doors, only he’s not alone. I thought ‘you cheeky little...’ In front of the school as well. By this time I was in bits. I was livid. I was half going to run up to them and have it out right there and then. Thank God I didn’t. But I could feel my anger getting the better of me, my hands were sweating and I was clenching them into a fist. The funny thing was though, there was this wee voice in my head saying ‘what are you doing, Rosie? You’re making a complete fool of yourself. If he catches you it’s curtains.’ So I’m hiding behind this car and the next thing I know they’re walking in my direction and I’m like, ‘oh shite, oh shite’ then I realise that I’m right in the middle of a street where some of the teachers park their cars. They’re that close that I can hear them talking. Clem’s asking how many quotes he should be putting into his essay. I mean for God’s sake! By this time I’m shifting around the parked car in case they see me. But they don’t. It’s the next car down they’re standing at. Then something weird happened, they didn’t say anything at all. They just stood there and said nothing, which seemed to go on for ages and ages. I was like, hurry up and go because my legs were killing me hunched there behind that car. But they said nothing until Croal broke the silence. She said, ‘do you want a lift anywhere?’ Then there was more silence until Clem broke it and said, ‘no it’s alright, I’m good thanks.’ Or something like that. I was like, ah that’s my boy. Then he went home and she drove away in her car…no, I can’t remember what kind; I’m no really up with my car models. When I got home I had a pure red neck for what I did. But, at the end of the day, it put all that shite in my head to bed for a bit. So even though it was bad, it was a good bad. If you know what I mean. It confirmed everything to me.

  I felt great after that. It sort of brought us closer together in a strange way. I wanted to trust him, and I knew he trusted me. The rumours were still floating about but who cares, right? The thing is, I was wondering why nobody said anything to her, other teachers I mean. Or why she still came to school. Not that she shouldn’t have been in school because she’d done nothing wrong; it’s just that I couldn’t stand all those folk sneering at me all the time. I’d be pure stressed out of my nut. I’ve got to hand it to her she had balls of steel to continue showing her face in that school…well, because everyone gets a hard time…well, not everyone, but you know what I mean. Then all that changed, didn’t it?

  Clem didn’t say anything at first but I knew he was getting a hard time. It’s nothing new, anyone who dares to be a wee bit different, who likes a certain type of music or who wears a certain style of clothes or has a different hairstyle than everyone else even, gets a hard time. You see, you’re not allowed to be different from everyone else. You’ve all got to like the same things, do the same things, go to the same places, have the same opinions, have the same interests and have the same level of bitchiness. Schools are bizarre places because everyone is just a clone of everybody else. How depressing is that? It’s not as if I go out my way to be different, that’s just the way I am. In my mind I don’t consider myself to be different, it probably looks that way because I’m not like any of them. Obsessed with things like…crap TV. Who cares who’s in the final of Strictly Come Dancing? I mean, who gives a toss? Clem was totally different from everyone else, and I’m not just talking about his accent. He was way more intelligent also, which never goes down too well. It wasn’t really that much of a surprise that folk were slagging him all the time. Yes, it was mostly guys. I suppose it began with all the sixth-years, Conor Duffy and his cronies. Or ‘crew�
�� as they liked to call themselves. Clowns. It was mostly taking the piss and trying to imitate his accent. Cora told me most of what was going on. It wasn’t like vindictive stuff or anything like that it was more immature wee boys talking shite behind someone’s back stuff. I’ll tell you what though, they would never have said anything to his face because Clem could have taken them apart with his tongue. It was sharp. Razor sharp. No, he didn’t feel threatened by them. They weren’t dangerous or anything like that, they just thought they were great and ruled the school. They thought they were in that horrific American TV programme…that’s it, Beverly Hills 902…whatever it is.

  The NEDs were the ones who scared him the most. He didn’t like walking past them in the corridor or being in the same class as any of them. I don’t think he’d experienced anything like that at his last school. In fact I knew he hadn’t, he didn’t need to tell me. So when he came up here it must have been some eye-opener for him. I remember explaining to him what the word NED actually meant. He thought it was hilarious. He thought the way their wee neddy hats sat on the top of their heads, you know, pure pointing upwards, was dead sinister. In a pathetic way. It was all a joke at first but you just knew that they were waiting for an excuse to do something. To get him. Not that they needed excuses to do what they wanted to do right enough. I always told him to stay well clear of them. The trouble was, they knew he was new to the place, new to Glasgow, and he wouldn’t have had any friends or anything like that to back him up. In their heads they thought they could do anything and there would be no comeback for them. That’s their mentality. That’s how brainless they were. The sad thing is they were right. Who was going to do something to challenge them? The school? The Police? No chance. It didn’t seem to bother Clem at first. I think half the battle was that he didn’t have a Scooby what they were saying most of the time. Normal folk are hard enough to understand for Clem but the NEDs have their own special way of talking, it’s like listening to pure thick people talking with a mouthful of lemons. Everything is said through the nose as if someone’s constantly squeezing it for them. I haven’t a clue what they are saying half the time. Then there’s the sovvy rings that they all wear…sovereign rings; you buy them in town for dirt cheap. Pure tramps man. The problem is they use the sovvy rings as knuckledusters as much as anything else. They used to walk about the school giving people dead arms, and you should see the bruise that it leaves. Can you imagine that on the face? But Clem thought the whole NED outfit was strange. He used to call it the NEDs’ uniform. You should see them though, Glasgow’s full of them. Like a plague. A cancer. Imagine if you were a tourist and you were faced with that?

  Imagine if you had been Clem?

  You could type NEDs into You Tube and you’d see them all dancing about, smoking joints and swigging Buckie in some park or in some pure dafty tink’s house. They’d all have their arms around each other and, in most cases they’d be giving the finger. Or flashing their arses. Dead weird stuff. What do they call it? Homoerotic that’s it. The worst was the music that accompanied their NED bonding; it was all that doof doof doof crap. The sort of music that would make you want to rip your ears out of your head. You Tube was full of clips with our school’s NEDs. To be honest I don’t think they were that into their music, they wouldn’t have known a good record if it popped up in their curry and chips. What they knew about groups, bands, songs, albums and that, you could have written on the back of a stamp. That was another reason they gave Clem a hard time, they ripped him about him doing music at school. See in their mind that was only for the fags. God knows what they’d have made of Clem’s taste in music.

  Mr Goldsmith’s Elucidation

  It wasn’t for me to judge why the family chose to live in Scotland. To my recollection they have no family connections to Glasgow. Actually, I am unsure if they have any family in the Eastbourne area. Glasgow, as I am led to believe, is culturally miles away from Eastbourne. Not that I have spent enough time there to make an accurate assessment. Yes, I would say that I was slightly concerned about Clem’s moving. In the main, my concerns were about his education more than the lifestyle change; however, I understand that they are not mutually exclusive.

  As I have informed you, he demonstrated signs of excellence while here. My hope was that this would be continued. My fear was that it would be eradicated somewhat by the upheaval. On the other hand, it’s all part of being a teacher. Students come, students go. One can’t, or rather shouldn’t, become emotionally attached. That’s easier said than done I suppose. Especially given the circumstances. Some of our past pupils have stayed in contact with the school and with certain teachers. We encourage a sort of nurturing environment when our students go on to brighter and better things. I think past rectors like to take credit for their success. We all know that this is utter bumpkin, of course.

  To my knowledge his father wasn’t a wealthy man, he came from what you would call working-class stock. Clem won a scholarship to this school. It’s our way of paying lip service to discrimination, you see. Each year-group has two scholarships available to those who, by comparison, are deemed disadvantaged. Each applicant has to write an essay and go through an interview process. Oh nothing special, we simply enquire as to the applicant’s motives and try to delve further under the applicant’s skin. It’s more like an informal chat really. They can be invaluable actually; in the past we have received some wonderful essays from boys, nevertheless when the applicant comes up against the admission committee it can be quickly established that they wouldn’t be a suitable candidate for our school at all. We were unanimous with Clem. We believed that not only would he fit in well with the fabric and ethos of the school but he would also enhance it along the way. He had so much to offer, both personally and academically. I think now we are all questioning our decision-making process and our ability to be immune to hoodwinking. Of course nobody would dare raise the issue, but there were, and are, some knowing looks and gazes within the staff room.

  When Clem left the school we were informed that it was for family reasons, in that his father had lost his job and had taken the family to Scotland in order to take up a new position. I think he worked in the sales industry, as a kind of travelling salesman, however, you would need clarification on that. A difficult time for all of us, the man lost his job and, unfortunately, had to take measures to protect his family. And now this. One tends to think what would have happened if the job market had been more secure down these parts. In an ideal world Clem could have conceivably continued his education with us, but, alas, our scholarship doesn’t extend to boarding. Perhaps that should be reviewed.

  I think he fitted in well when he came here. Obviously he was different and we are always wary of the problems students in Clem’s situation can cause. By that, I mean we have to keep an eye on the students around him. That he doesn’t become isolated or ostracized within the class. That the scholarship students are not singled out for special treatment…of course, I am referring to bullying. It is a disease here in the same way as it is in the comprehensive system. Some may say in schools like ours it has significantly profound effects. You see, our students have all the clever psychological attributes to inflict deep-rooted damage upon those they judge inferior to them. It is a terrible affliction that some of those born into money carry with them throughout their lives. One does wish that this affliction, this hubris, will be their eventual downfall. In many cases I am happy to report that it is.

  Clem was free of this. Did he suffer at the hands of anyone? One thing for sure about Clem Curran was that he didn’t suffer fools; those who tried to spread their bile were quickly and effectively put in their place. Academically, Clem was head and shoulders ahead of his peers. In a sense they revered him. He was the symbol of hope to so many of us; of how you can have personality and intelligence in abundance. Money can’t buy everything, you see. Nonetheless, the odd ribbing went on, but nothing too serious or untoward. He was consistent with his temperament. No, I wouldn’t have rega
rded him as calculated; he was a normal young man. No, I wouldn’t have regarded him as a loner either, or, for that matter, an extrovert. He kept himself at arm’s-length from his peers, but he was sociable and likeable. He knew his direction in life.

  Only one incident springs to mind, it really was so insignificant that it isn’t worth noting. Clem had to be reprimanded for striking another boy. More of a slap actually, nothing of note as I said. I think the other lad was questioning, firstly, his parentage and, secondly, his sexual orientation. Apparently this had been going on for some time and Clem had hit breaking point, so naturally he lashed out and struck the other boy. You could say his anger superseded his rationale. The comments stopped immediately after the incident. If one questions his actions one has to ask if he was vindicated given the intense and systematic levels of provocation.