Boy Who Made It Rain Read online

  My advice, as I have given throughout the years to students who have been victims of such circumstances, some scholars may say unprofessionally so, has been to provide them with two options: one, inform a teacher, which will quite possibly lead to a continuation as well as an escalation of the ribbing, or bullying if you prefer. Or, two, hit the perpetrator as hard as you can, with or without warning. My belief was that option two would determine that the hounding and discrimination would cease.

  Yes, this was advice I offered Clem at the time. He subsequently took up option two. The problems stopped for him and the school environment became a pleasurable one again. While my methods may be construed as somewhat idiosyncratic or maverick I would pose the question, was I wrong? In light of what’s occurred you could say my judgment was skewed a touch. I have gone over this time and time again, do I feel some semblance of responsibility for what has occurred? Does that absolve me from what has happened? Concretely, yes. Philosophically, no. Existentially, well on that one I oscillate.

  There are of course a few areas that require further explanation and clarification, namely, what was the school’s role in all of this? Why did no member of staff anticipate, or foresee, the peril ahead? And the girl implicated with Clem, what is her pedigree? What is her motive? No doubt these questions will all be unearthed after a proper and thorough investigation.

  Rosie Farrell’s Mum’s Concern

  Don’t get me wrong I was delighted when Rosie and Clem became an item. To me it appeared that it wasn’t just your usual boyfriend girlfriend high school romance, but a proper relationship. You know, an item.

  As a mother you always worry about your family. I only had the one so all my worry was naturally placed onto Rosie. I know it wasn’t fair on her, there were times when I tried to take a back seat and let her make her own way, make her own mistakes; but I can tell you when a mother does that and watches from the sidelines it’s heartbreaking. I just didn’t want to intrude all the time. I thought that if I gave her space to breathe that it would bring us a wee bit closer together.

  Yes, in a way I suppose thinking back I was jealous of Clem. He was playing the role I wanted to play. The role I should have been playing. Don’t take this the wrong way, it wasn’t as if I wanted the two of us to sit down and discuss the birds and the bees. Teenagers are no daft these days. They probably know more than I do now. Our Rosie could probably teach me a thing or two. As a parent you often wonder if your child…you know…if they are that way inclined. Especially Rosie. I never heard her talking about boys or having the idea of bringing a guy home. So I admit there were times when I thought that she might be a…you know…a wee bit…I remember crying about it one night because I thought it was such a waste as she is such a gorgeous lassie. But it would have been okay if she had been that way too; I wouldn’t have loved her any less. You can imagine how happy I was when Clem came on the scene and they became a real couple. A proper couple. I was genuinely happy for the two of them. It was probably relief I felt more than anything.

  I didn’t notice anything strange really, but things definitely changed. Some for the better, some for the worse. Well, she seemed happier and was more talkative around the house. More chirpy. But I could tell if they’d had an argument or something. Oh, it was don’t go near her then. There was a time when I thought the two of them had broken up as all she did was mope around the house like a funeral goer. It didn’t last though. I’d say to her things like, ‘Rosie, if there’s anything I can do, or if there’s anything you want to talk about just say.’ Then she would give you the eyes and glare at you. ‘What do you know about it?’ she’d say. I just left her when she was like that. There was no talking to her. In the space of a couple of hours it could all change though. That’s what I found difficult to deal with, all the inconsistencies. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. I don’t think she did either. Anyway, for one I was glad she wasn’t kicking with the other foot. It all seemed easier in my day.

  Then I went the other way and my main concern was that Rosie and Clem were spending far too much time with each other. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for them, but at that age you need other friends around. I didn’t want her to become too reliant on him. I used to think stupid things like: what do they find the time to talk about all the time? That’s only because me and my ex used to sit for ages glued to a bloody television screen and say nothing to each other all night then go to bed. And do the same thing the next night. It used to destroy me. But those two were always cackling away or ‘discussing’ something. Usually music, films or other stuff like that. I felt heart sorry for wee Cora because she was suddenly bombed out. I think that’s when I became wary of Clem, not in a bad way, in a motherly way. Well, think about it, he was up here all the way from somewhere down south with no friends, didn’t know anyone in Glasgow by all accounts, and here he was spending all his time with our Rosie. Splitting up her and her friends. That’s how some folk could have seen it. There was just a time when I thought that he was taking a loan of her; that everything was on his terms, what they spoke about, where they went to, what music they listened to. I was worried that he was having too much control over her. It’s not that I didn’t like Clem, I had to take care of number one, and that was Rosie. I didn’t treat him differently or become overprotective, Rosie would have seen through that in a flash.

  There was something about him that didn’t sit well with me. Nothing sinister. One of those imperceptible things. To this day I can’t put my finger on it, but it was something, you know what I mean? It’s hard to explain really, it could have been the way he looked at you…no…no, nothing like that. The way some people have a specific stare that makes others feel uneasy. They call it something, don’t they?…That’s right, a thousand-yard stare. Clem had one of those. Then at other times I thought to myself, there’s no way he’s as old as he says he is. Some of the things he’d come out with made me think that he was some old grandad. I didn’t understand some of the garbage he spoke, not garbage but all that intellectual talk about books and the like. I couldn’t be bothered with it all. He must have thought I was interested, or he was trying to impress me. Young people do that. I did the same when I was young. Trying to impress boyfriends’ parents, or brothers and sisters. I was impressed at first but then it grated on me.

  No, there’s no way I’d have said anything to Rosie. Sure at that time she thought I was the beesneez, I didn’t want to spoil that. I suppose you could say that I was being a bit selfish, but I fought bloody hard to get Rosie on my side and, when I had her, there was no way I was going to let anything, or anyone, come between us.

  Yes, I stayed quiet. For my own sanity as much as anything else. Look, I couldn’t exactly go up to her and say that I don’t fully trust your boyfriend. Tell me a mother who does. She’d have only told me to bugger off and mind my own business. I would have done the very same if it was my own mother. I knew where she would have been coming from.

  How did I react? Jesus, how would you have expected me to react? When I found out the first thing I thought of was our Rosie and how she was feeling, that was my first thought, protecting my daughter. After I knew she was okay my mind switched to Clem. When I first heard of it all, I just knew he would have been right in the middle of it, I knew it, and I was right…I was right.

  Looking back it’s easy to see that he was lonely. A wee lonely boy. I feel for his parents, coming up here to make a new life and having to deal with what they’re having to deal with now. Poor people. We’re all dealing with it really, I suppose. One moment of madness and suddenly there’s a succession of victims, who’ll be dealing with it for a lifetime.

  A mother knows her daughter, and I know our Rosie would never have allowed herself to get caught up in something like that. No way. So I’m pretty confident the whole thing will get resolved as everything comes out in the open. I’m not too worried because they’ll find the truth sooner or later. You can’t keep anything a secret around here. The thing is I’
m sick for our Rosie having to stay in that place and answer question after question, day after day. Even I’ve had to answer a load of questions, but that poor lassie has been repeating herself over and over again until she’s blue in the face.

  And where are his parents in all this? That’s what I want to know. No matter what happens, when they realise that our Rosie has had nothing to do with it, do you think the people connected to the others will forget about all this? No chance. And they’re a bad bad lot, I’ll tell you that. We will have no other option other than to move. I’ve already been on to the council about locating us to the other side of the city, or even to another city. I can’t be doing with all the looks and gossiping. To be honest I’ll be glad to get out of here. A new start for the both of us, that’s what’s needed.

  Maybe we’ll even go to England. Somewhere by the sea. That would be nice.

  Rosie Farrell’s Period

  I was standing in the cubicle, the last one as you come in the door, it’s nearer the window and it’s the cleanest, by a mile, and I’m changing my tampon when I hear this faint sound of ‘Rosie.’ I said nothing. Then another whisper/shout of ‘Rosie.’ It was Clem. I froze. Then one more ‘Rosie.’ I mean can a girl not even change her bloody tampon in peace? This was too much. Next thing I know he was inside the toilets. The girls’ toilets. Inside. The flippin girls’ toilets. So I totally iced up. Statuesque. Like that game we played as weans. I could hear him checking the doors. I sat on the seat and put my feet up to the door, careful not to make a sound. My red Diadoras ready to block any entry. Or boot him full force in the balls if he dared try to enter. My red Diadoras covering the first and last words of the phrase CORA KELLY’S SEEN MORE JAPSEYES THAN AN ORIENTAL OPTICIAN. Poor Cora. ELLY’S SEEN MORE JAPSEYES THAN AN ORIENTAL OP sounded much better.

  I could feel my heart beating faster and faster, which made me even more nervous in case it revealed my position. More whispers. Whispers. Whispers. The idiot was pure making all these mad whispering noises as if he was talking to himself. I listened carefully and realised what he was doing was reading all the graffiti on the doors. I heard The Smiths being read. He’d know that that was my handywork. I didn’t want him to see his influence staring right at him. Validating him.

  My legs were shaking so I had to release them. God, I was so unfit. Bugger it, if he’d peeked over it was his funeral. I could have had him frogmarched out of this school with a blanket lobbed over his dome for perv actions in a flash. I could have screamed rape, sodomy, burglary, anything. I had him by the short and curlies. Then just as I pulled my red trainers off the door and relaxed them on the smelly floor the main door swung open. And what did the bold Clem do? He only shot into the cubicle. Clem shot into the cubicle next to mine. I could make out his breathing. I gave a wee hee hee to myself. That’s what you get arsehole! The sound of heels clicked off the floor. I could tell they were cheapo shoes. The click was a cheapo click. Instinct. Probably Primark or Dunnes. They clicked into the cubicle next to Clem’s, two down from me. The Mamas and the Papas go to the bog. I was quiet mama. Clem was terrified papa.

  The sound of the knickers being taken down sounded familiar. Please don’t be a shite. I kept saying in my head. Then the pssssshhhhh sound started. Music to my ears. It was a relief. I imagined what Clem was thinking during all of this. Was he finding all this arousing? The thing is, and this is the totally pure weird thing, I recognised the sound of that piss. I wasn’t buzzing. I did. If memory served me right it was the bold Cora in there. It was Cora. Defo. It was confirmed when she didn’t wash her hands (Cora for some reason never washed her hands) and left humming that dire Oasissong Wonderwall, which she loved. She always hummed because her voice sounded like a dog ripping a couch apart.

  As soon as Cora left the toilet Clem scarpered as well. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I put the thing inside me and flushed away the old one that had been floating in the water all that time. I washed up and bolted out of there. I figured I’d go find Cora and tell her how her piss sounded. Tell the minging cow to wash her hands after touching her fandan as well. She wouldn’t be that difficult to find. Then I had another great art project idea, I thought I could do something on toilet graffiti, questioning the salacious (a Clem word) writings with a more subtle and positive type of graffiti art. A kind of Banksy for the school generation. I could have had the good things written on the left wall and the bad things on the right wall of the cubicle. I’d call it toilet tennis. Brilliant idea! Was it too late to change? I put it out of my mind for the time being. So I shifted out the bogs and bumped into this pure weirdo of a wee lassie. A future NED in the making.

  ‘Ir you Rosie Farrell?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Ir you Rosie Farrell or no?’ She barked back. ‘It’s a simple question.’

  ‘Aye, what of it?’

  ‘That Inglish guy is lookin fur ye.’

  ‘Clem?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it. The guy wey the funny name.’

  ‘Where did you see him?’

  ‘He wiz hangin roon the fird- an fourff-year lassies’ bogs.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nuffin, jist asked if ye where in there. Seemed desperate.’

  ‘For the toilet?’

  ‘Naw, fur you.’

  ‘Where is he now, any idea?’

  ‘Naw.’

  ‘Well, thanks anyway.’

  ‘Ah heard that he wiz shaggin that inglish teechur?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The wan wey the blond hair an big tits.’

  ‘First I heard.’

  ‘Well am telling ye right now.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Haven’t a Scooby.’

  ‘Your arse you don’t.’

  ‘Don’t get wide,’ she said. This was a definite contender for the future queen of the NEDs.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Witz he doin hanging aroon the girls bogs fur in the first place?’

  ‘Dunno, you’d better ask him that.’

  ‘Pure weirdo if ye ask me, man.’

  ‘Anyway, what way did he go?’

  ‘Haven’t a Scooby.’

  ‘Well that’s a big help.’

  ‘I just thought a’d tell ye he wiz lookin fur you.’

  ‘Okay, cheers.’

  ‘A heard that Fran McEvoy was goin tae kick the shite oot ay him iz well.’

  ‘Well you heard wrong, didn’t ye?’

  ‘Touchy.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in class anyway?’

  ‘Aye, so?’

  ‘What class are you in?’

  ‘Haven’t a Scooby.’

  ‘There’s a surprise,’ I said. ‘Well, whatever your name is, it was nice talking to you.’

  ‘Aye, whitivir. Nae bother.’

  I headed off but before I turned to go down another corridor she shouted back at me.

  ‘It’s Izzy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ma name’s Izzy by the way.’

  ‘Good for you,’ I said. But that wee lassie pure freaked me out. All those things she said about Clem. I knew it was all too good to be true. I knew something would get in the way. Or someone. I was dead realistic about it in my own head. Even during the times when we were getting on like John and Yoko there was always this thing pure nipping away at my head and telling me that a bomb was about to explode. If truth be known, I was a bit pissed off that I just couldn’t get on with enjoying the whole thing instead of always thinking negative thoughts. That was dead annoying. It made me really defensive and on edge. I don’t think I was a good person to be around at that time. The whole Croal thing was nothing by comparison. Nothing.

  But there’s only my word for it.

  Cora Kelly Talks About Her Musical Taste…in a Roundabout Way

  A wiz the last one to see Rosie before it all happened and I’ll tell you what, if she wiz goin to do anything she would have told me first. As her best mate she would have. No dang
er.

  And if she didn’t say anythin, which she didn’t, I would have spotted somethin a mile off anyway. No danger.

  She wiz just the same Rosie that day apart from havin women’s problems, which we all have, and we all have a pure mad off day, but nothin that would lead us to that. No danger.

  The thing that made her really annoyed that day wiz Clem. He wiz actin like a pure rocket. I always thought he wiz a smart arse. He thought he wiz pure cool as and dead good-lookin. Pure lookin down his nose at us coz he thought he wiz this pure big brainy guy.

  He warped her mind. After she met him she started listenin to all this mad music, you know that type of music that messes with the head. You just need to look at what’s happened in America because of that mad music people listen to. Loads of people get killed in schools over there, don’t they? And in Germany as well! No, I’m not blamin it all on the music. Anyway, she wiz one of those people that didn’t believe in all that stuff, she wiz a pacific person. Eh? Someone who believes in peace and all that. A pacifist, whatever.

  The last time I saw her wiz in the toilets. They wouldn’t let anyone see her, apart from her maw.

  Conor Duffy Offers Insight

  A told him from day one. Stay well away man. Don’t go anywhere near them. But a suppose all that guff aboot him and Miss Croal brought them tae him more than the other way aroon. All a kin say is that he must have been pure mad with the rage when it happened. His heed must have been mush by that stage. Rid mist ivrywhere. Pure mad as, man. Pure mad as! Thir wir hunners ay lassies greetin their eyes out when they heard. Some guys as well. A heard thit Rosie’s maw wiz movin tae a different area. A think that’s fir the best. Specially roon here.