In Too Deep (2 page)

He was drowning. There was water in his nose and mouth. He didn’t know which way was up or down. Where was the surface? He had to get to the surface. There! But the water was pushing him down. He was in a hole. He was drowning.

“Josh,” his mother’s voice called.

If he could reach her, he’d be safe.

“Josh, wake up!” She was shaking his shoulder.

“What?” He could breathe. He wasn’t underwater. He was in his bed.

“You’re going to be late. You’ve got an exam today.”

“So?” The blanket was over his head. Maybe that was why he thought he was underwater.

“I’m leaving now. I’ve got to get to school. I can’t stay here any longer. This is the third time I’ve tried to get you up.”

“Dad can take me.”

“He’s left already.”

Josh wondered where his father could have gone if the business was finished but he wasn’t going to spend too much time worrying about it.

“You’ll have to find your own way to school,” his mother said and left the room.

He rolled over and groaned. He didn’t want to go to school, especially not to write a Maths exam. He’d just have to fail.

A few minutes later he heard the automatic garage door wind itself up and his mother’s car start. The car pulled into the road, the door slowly rolled its way down and she was gone.

He sighed as he realised that he’d have to get up. If he didn’t write the exam then he’d fail the subject and have to repeat it next year. There was no way he was going to let that happen. He’d have to be at school before 8.40 a.m. He glanced over at his bedside clock: 8.20.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. He wondered if he had time for a shower. No, he’d never make it. He dressed quickly into his school uniform, checked he had his phone and grabbed his backpack.

He found his bike leaning against the wall in the garage. He’d not ridden it for months, but it appeared to be okay. Pressing button to open the garage door, he jumped on the bike and pedaled out onto the road.

The ride to school cleared his head. It was a downhill run and he let the bike carry him most of the way, arriving at the school gate just as the first bell rang. He swung in, laying the bike over and, without warning, someone stepped out in front of him. There was no way that Josh could avoid him. He slewed sideways and hit the boy with enough force to knock him to the ground. Josh wobbled as he struggled to control the bike and managed to bring it to a stop without falling off. He looked over his shoulder at the boy on the ground.

“Are you alri--” He stopped when he saw who he’d hit.

“You little shit,” Bevan said as he rolled over and glared at him. Scott and Mitch were just behind. Scott put out his hand to Bevan and helped him to his feet. “Come here!” Bevan started towards Josh.

Josh didn’t wait for him. He pushed the bike and strained at the pedals to get away.

“I’ll get you later, dickhead,” Bevan called out.

Josh groaned. Could a bad day get any worse?

He reached the bike rack, inserted his front wheel between the metal stands and glanced behind him. Bevan had disappeared together with his two friends and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe, for now at least, but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that Bevan had been waiting for him.

He’d forgotten his bike padlock in his rush to get to school on time. He’d have to take the chance that it would still be there when he got back. He ran to his classroom and made it just as the second bell rang.

Three hours later Josh left the classroom in a daze – the Maths exam had been tougher than he expected and he was sure he’d failed it. He didn’t know why he even bothered getting up that morning. He walked to the bike rack but his bike was gone. He guessed that was inevitable. There was nothing he could do but walk home and hope that his parents wouldn’t notice that his bike was missing.

He left school and began to walk up the hill. It was just past midday now and the day had turned hot. All he wanted to do was to get home, take a cool shower and get back into bed.

At the top of the hill, he turned off the main road into the side street that would take him to the cul-de-sac where he lived. He’d only gone a little way when a car pulled up beside him. Looking around with relief, he expected to see his mother who sometimes came home for lunch. Instead it was a black convertible. The top was down and Bevan was driving, with Scott in the front passenger seat and Mitch in the back.

“Hey, Josh, you looking for this?” Mitch called out as he lifted up a bicycle wheel. The tyre on it had been shredded.

“The rest is in the boot,” Bevan said. “Want it back?”

Josh didn’t answer. He just stood still. He glanced up the road but he was too far from his street to make a run for his house. Apprehensively, he watched as all three got out of the car. Bevan walked over to him.

“So you don’t think I can surf, eh?” Bevan asked.

Why had he opened his mouth? He looked at Mitch and Scott who were raising the boot lid. They must have told Bevan and now he was out to get him. He’d been right. It was no coincidence that Bevan had been at the school gates that morning.

“I … I didn’t say that.”

“No?”

As Bevan came forward, Josh retreated until he was up against a tall fence. Again he looked up the road. It was empty. No cars, no people. He was on his own. From the boot of the car the two boys took out the other bicycle wheel, its rubber also shredded, followed by the frame, the handlebars and finally the seat, which was ripped. The resulting pile looked like it was ready for inorganic rubbish collection. When they had finished they walked over to stand behind Bevan.

“No more lethal weapon, eh?” Bevan sneered. “You won’t be running anyone over now.”

“It was an accident,” Josh explained.

“No shit,” Bevan said into his face. “So’s this.” And he punched Josh hard in the stomach.

The air rushed from Josh’s lungs with a whoop sound and he doubled over. Pain rushed through his stomach. He almost fell, but Mitch grabbed his arm.

“Sorry, mate,” Scott whispered into his ear as he took hold of Josh’s other arm. Together, Scott and Mitch held him securely against the fence.

Bevan struck Josh on the jaw and his teeth snapped shut, making him bite down on his tongue. The next blow was to the side of his face, close to his left eye. A ring on Bevan’s finger cut into his skin. The last few blows were to his ribs and stomach, quick two-handed punches that pushed the rest of the air from his lungs. Josh’s legs gave way and the two boys on either side let him go so that he fell to the ground.

“That’ll teach you,” Bevan said from somewhere above him as he savagely kicked him.

Josh had curled up to protect his head and stomach but Bevan’s kick caught him in the ribs and he heard something crack. Someone was pulling at his backpack.

“Not much in his wallet,” Scott said. “But I’ve got his phone.”

“Good,” Bevan said. “Now let’s get out of here.”

He heard them get back into the car and drive away, wheels spinning, covering him with clouds of acrid smoke.

Wheezing like an asthmatic, Josh lay where he’d fallen, struggling to get air into his battered lungs. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe and there was a whistling sound in his ears. His mouth was filled with blood and it dribbled from his lips. The pain travelled in waves through his body so that he couldn’t decide which injury hurt the most. This was nothing like the movies where the hero would take a series of body blows and then recover in seconds to win the war. The reality was pain so bad that he could scarcely breathe, never mind get up and walk.

“Are you all right, son?” It was a male voice, close and sounding old. “I’ve called the police. They said they’d call an ambulance. Who were they? Why did they beat you up like that?”

Josh couldn’t answer. He was still battling to get breath into his lungs and without air he couldn’t talk.

“They should be here soon. They said there was a car in the area.”

Josh thought he could hear sirens, or was it the ringing in his ears? The sound grew louder.

“Ah, here it is now,” said the old man’s voice. “That was quick.”

The wail of the siren halted abruptly as a car came to a stop. There was a moment of quiet before a car door opened and someone approached. Through the noise in his ears, Josh heard a male voice with authority say, “Good afternoon, sir, did you report the assault?”

“Yes, officer, there were three of them, hoons all of them. They just got out of the car and started to hit this young fellow here.”

“Did you see the car, sir?” the policeman asked. He was getting closer.

“Yes, it was a black convertible.”

“Did you get the number plate?”

“No, I couldn’t see it from where I was standing.”

Josh felt a hand on his shoulder and he flinched. He seemed to be sore everywhere.

“Hi, son, I’m Constable Tim Woodward. What’s your name?”

“Josh,” he panted. He raised his hand to wipe away the bloodied salvia from his lips and noticed that his hand was trembling.

“Josh who?”

“Josh … Talbot.”

“Do you know the persons who assaulted you?”

“No.” He was able to breath now although not deeply as his ribs couldn’t expand without pain.

“Any description of the car?”

Josh was unable to reply so the old man gave a brief description of the car and the occupants. The policeman used his radio to pass on the details and ordered others in the area to be on the lookout. Josh knew it was useless as Bevan would be long gone.

“Do you live around here, Josh?” the policeman asked, returning to his side.

Shakily, Josh raised his hand to point down the road.

“I think he lives around the corner,” the old man said. “I’ve seen him on my walks.”

“Is that right, Josh?” the policeman asked.

“Yes,” he said as moved slowly to a sitting position. He grimaced at the pain. His eyesight was blurry, but he could make out the figure of the policeman crouched down beside him and the old man standing just behind him. He waited for the nausea to pass.

“There’s an ambulance on its way. Is there anyone you want me to call?”

“Mum.”

“Is she at home?”

“At work.”

“Do you have her number? I can get comms to give her a ring.”

Josh couldn’t remember the number. It was in his head somewhere, but it just wouldn’t come.

“She’s a teacher. Meadowfields Primary.”

“I’ll get them to look it up.”

The policeman stood and spoke into his radio handset, but Josh couldn’t make out the words. He closed his eyes again and leant back against the fence. Time seemed to compact. He could hear voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The whooshing in his ears came and went, came back again. The policeman hovered nearby, a vague shape just out of his field of vision.

Another vehicle pulled up. Its engine had a throatier sound. Josh opened his eyes. An ambulance was at the kerb. Two figures got out. One talked to the policeman briefly while the other went to the back of the van.

“Hi, Josh,” said the ambulance man as he knelt beside him. “My name’s Stan. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Beat up.”

Josh felt the man’s hand on his head as he examined the cut on his cheek.

“That might need stitches and your eye’s gonna swell up.”

Josh grunted (he could have told him that!), then winced as the pain in his ribs stabbed through his chest.

“Did you lose consciousness?”

“No.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Here and here,” Josh said moving his hand over his chest and stomach.

Stan pulled up his school shirt and felt the ribs gently.

“Could have a couple of broken ribs, but you’ll need an X-ray to make sure. We’ll get you to a hospital.”

“No.”

The other ambulance man was coming towards him with the stretcher from the back of the van.

“You’re pretty banged up, mate,” Stan said.

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

A car screeched to an abrupt stop behind the ambulance and his mother launched herself out of the driver’s seat, hurtling towards him.

“Josh, they said you’d been attacked!” she said breathlessly. “What happened? I thought you were at home.” She was on her knees beside him now, her hand on her chest, her face creased with worry.

“I went to school,” he told her.

“Is he all right?” she anxiously asked Stan.

“He’s got some injuries I think should be looked at but nothing life threatening. We’re about to load him up and take him to the hospital to be checked out.”

“I’ll follow you there.”

Josh wanted to protest. Here were these adults making decisions for him and all he wanted to do was go home and lie down. He tried to say something, but his mother turned away to speak to the policeman and Stan was talking to his colleague who was standing next to him with the lowered stretcher bed.

After cutting the straps to the backpack to remove it without causing him too much pain, they lifted him gently onto the stretcher and covered him with a blanket, which made him feel idiotic. Then they wheeled him to the back of the ambulance. His mother came round to watch him being loaded in, her face white. He wanted to tell her that he was all right, but being moved around had made him dizzy. He closed his eyes as the rear doors shut.

They arrived back home in the late afternoon. Josh had a big white envelope containing his X-rays and his chest was strapped up tight because of the cracked rib they had found. They’d stitched the cut on his face and a dressing had been applied over it. They’d wanted to keep him in overnight, but he’d insisted on going home. His mother had prescription painkillers in her bag, although they’d given him an injection for the pain at the hospital, which made him feel spaced out.

His father’s car was in the drive and he opened the front door as Josh and his mother approached. Josh stumbled on the doorstep and his father helped him in, supporting him as he walked into the lounge. Josh lowered himself carefully onto the couch and tilted his head back on the headrest. He was stiff and sore and his head swam. He didn’t know whether that was from the knock on the head or the drug they’d given him. His mother said something about needing a drink and left the room. His father sat down beside him on the couch.

“Who was the bastard?”

Josh didn’t say anything.

“The policeman called here. Said he’d be coming round later to get a full statement. Are you going to tell him who they were?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll only make it worse.”

“Worse for who?”

“Me.”

“They’ll do it again?”

“They will if I tell the police.”

“The police can stop them.”

“Yeah, right.”

His father leant forward and rubbed his eyes. “What a prick of a day,” he said almost to himself.

“You should try mine,” Josh said, trying to smile. It hurt. “Where’d you go today? I thought you said it was all finished.”

“I had to tell everyone they didn’t have jobs anymore and that I couldn’t give them their wages as the bank has frozen all the company’s accounts. Then I had to meet with the liquidators. In the middle of the meeting your mother phoned to say you’d been beaten up. It couldn’t have been worse.”

“Not my fault,” Josh protested.

“I know, Josh.”

They sat in silence.

“What happens now?” Josh asked.

“With me or you?”

“With you – us – what happens to us?”

“We’ll be forced to sell the house. I’m not sure how long that’ll take. We’ll have to rely on your mother’s salary for a while so it’s going to be tight. Don’t count on any Christmas presents this year.”

“I don’t care about the presents, Dad. Just don’t sell the bach.”

“There’s not much I can do, Josh. It’s in the bank’s hands now.”

“It’s a bit of a mess.”

“Yes, it is. You as well as me.”