May Contain Nuts (Short Fiction)

When the car slowed, turned off the dual carriageway and proceeded along an anonymous thickly hedged lane, I began looking around for clues.
        “Where are we?” I asked the silent woman who shared the back seat.
        “We’re nearly there.” She didn’t look at me but consulted the buff folder on her lap, holding the cover at a right angle so that I couldn’t see the contents, just a long reference number followed by a slash and my surname printed along
the edge.
        “But where are we going?” I began again, trying to prise something else from her. She had told me nothing during the journey except that, as a ward of court I was going to stay at a home. I didn’t like the sound of it, it triggered a host of fears, but every question I’d asked had been fielded back with an ominous wait and see. It was clear that my anxiety didn’t touch her so I turned my back and stared out through the grimy window.
        The car nosed onwards, a mechanical mole burrowing deeper into the green of unknown territory, trees arching overhead and shutting out what remained of the late afternoon light. The driver was an elderly man with an undulating drift of dandruff across the shoulders of his dark jacket and whose profile reminded me of Eric Sykes. He took the corners very carefully, almost overly cautious in his negotiation, and it crossed my mind that I might chance jumping out of the car the next time he slowed down. The verge, what there was
of it, looked soft enough to risk it. I could unfasten my seat belt, be out the door and away through the trees before the car had even stopped.
        I was just bracing myself for the attempt when we reached an open gateway marked only by two white painted stones half covered in moss. I looked for a signpost or nameplate but there was nothing to tell me where I was. The car continued up a sloping drive towards a grim-looking grey building.
        “This is Shelby House” the woman announced, flatly. “You’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future. They’re expecting you so I’ll just see you inside and hand over your details to Mr. Fussil before I leave.”
        The odd name registered dimly but I was too dismayed by the look of the place to respond. I just stared at the ugly grey pebbledashed walls supporting a dark tiled roof and thin, unwelcoming windows. There was no colour anywhere. I
had a vision of bare cell-like rooms and felt something inside myself whither. I guessed it was the last remains of hope.
        My obvious reluctance must have annoyed her because the woman bent down, lifted my heavy sports bag from the floor and thrust it towards me. “Come on, they’ll be waiting.” Her tone was now sharp with authority and her expression backed it up.
        I opened the car door and got out slowly, dragging my bag after me. I was still thinking about making a dash for it so I tried to make it look casual but Icewoman wasn’t fooled. She shook her head and her smile was as thin and humourless as the rest of her.“Don’t even think about it” she advised and shepherded me towards the house.
        As we walked through the main door I was immediately aware of the chill that filled the entrance hall and that smell peculiar to schools. There was no one behind the battered reception desk so the woman pushed a discoloured button
faintly labelled ‘Visitors’ and waited, one bony hand gripping my shoulder. I wanted to push her away but thought it wiser to endure the brief contact. My heart was thumping and my stomach churned at every far-off sound that filtered through the walls. At last I heard approaching footsteps descending from somewhere above us and a middle-aged man emerged from the dimness of an
adjacent corridor and advanced towards us.
        “Ah, Miss Frost.” His voice had a crackly quality to it, harsh and unmusical. “And this is...?” He peered at me over his wire-framed glasses as though examining the result of an unsuccessful genetic experiment. I stared back,
saying nothing.
        “This is Janine, Mr. Fussil. Here’s her file to bring you up to date with her case.” She handed over the buff folder. “Right then, I must go because I have a driver waiting.” She hesitated, he was already reading the file and appeared not to
have heard her. She cleared her throat and repeated “I have to go.”
        Mr Fussil looked up. “Yes, yes of course. Thank you Miss, er, Frost. I’ll take over now.” He turned in my direction but didn’t make eye contact. “Come along, lass, we must get you settled in.” He picked up my bag and ushered me down the corridor without saying goodbye to Miss Frost or showing her out. It was a fair indication that good manners weren’t a strong point at Shelby House so I didn’t say goodbye to her either.
        Whilst the room didn’t turn out to be quite as bare as I’d feared, I hadn’t figured on having a room mate. When I saw the two single beds and the untidy heap of clothes in a corner, I stopped dead in my tracks and tried to explain. “I
can’t share a room with anyone — I need my privacy.”
        Mr. Fussil brushed past me and dumped my bag on the empty bed. “This isn’t a hotel, lass. You’ll do as you’re told while you’re here.”
        “And how long’s that?” I was shaking with anger as defiance suddenly rose up in my voice, ragged as a flag on a lone warship.
        “Just as long as it takes. Now, our evening meal is at six so you’ve forty minutes to get yourself unpacked and tidied up. There’s a plan of the house pinned on your door so we’ll expect you down in the dining room prompt on the
hour. Make sure you’re there or you’ll go hungry. I don’t tolerate lateness, lass, so be warned.”
        “I’m not bloody hungry” I threw at him as he left the room, “And stop calling me ‘lass’!” I listened as his footsteps faded and went over to examine the window. It had, I discovered glumly, an efficient-looking lock on it.

        I deliberately waited until it was two minutes after six before I quietly tried the handle of the dining room door. Inching it open, I heard the buzz of conversation gradually subside. Aware of all the eyes on me, I kept my own fixed on the polished wood floor as I walked to an empty seat and sat down.
        “That’s someone’s place” a nearby voice hissed but I pretended not to hear and examined the knife and fork beside the place setting. The knife was rounded and dull and obviously wouldn’t cut anything tougher than pie crust. Out of the
corner of my eye I saw Mr. Fussil rise to his feet.
        “Listen everyone, we have a new lass come to live with us.” He was gesturing across at me, “Stand up, Jan-eene, so we can all see you.”
        I felt the blood rise into my face and loathed him for putting me through this. Grudgingly, I got to my feet, allowing my chair to scrape back in protest.
        “Well, say hello to her, then” he instructed the rest of the room, his tone impatient.
        “Hello Janine. Welcome to Shelby” they chanted, almost together.
        Mr Fussil was still looking at me and I guessed he must be expecting a response. I managed to mumble “Thank you very much” before I sat back down, my cheeks still burning.
        It was a huge relief when the serving hatch doors abruptly opened and attention swung away from me and towards a large, round-faced woman in a blue hairnet and checked apron who began calling out table numbers. The kids from
each table filed past and were handed a steaming plate of grey, lumpy stew. Not unlike the coating on the outside of the building. When it came to my turn, I asked her what it was as I took a plateful from her. She gave me a suspicious look before answering “It’s homemade stew.”
        I nodded patiently. “Yes, but what’s in it?”
        “Meat and veg” she snapped, “Now move along, I haven’t got all day.”
        I went back to my place, sat down and began trying to identify the chunks floating in the opaque, greasy liquid.
        “It tastes better than it looks” a voice beside me piped up.
        “That wouldn’t be difficult” said another and a quiet giggle passed round the table.
        I grinned and gingerly tried a small mouthful. It didn’t taste of anything much except meat stock and pepper. I took a slice of bread from the plate in the centre of the table and crumbled it in. Two of the others copied me and then made exaggerated ‘Mmmm’ noises before choking back more giggles.
        “Shush,” I warned them, “Mr. Fussil keeps looking over here.”
        We ate in silence for several minutes then the girl to my right asked casually “So, they’ve dumped you in with Norman, then. Have you met her yet?” I shook my head. “Her proper name’s Shirley but we call her Norman because her
surname’s Wisdom — get it? She’s okay, in a weird sort of way. Not as crazy as some of them in here, anyway. There’s one or two it’s best to stay clear of — boys mostly — but we’re all pretty normal.” Her nod included the other two girls at the table before adding “I’m Gemma, by the way, she’s Alison,” she pointed to the redhead, “And that’s Sophie.” Sophie peered out from under a thick blonde fringe and offered a weak smile.
        “Hi,” I said, “I’m actually fairly normal, too.”

        Back in my room, I sat on my bed thinking and looking across at the pile of clothes on the floor. I didn’t touch anything, I just looked at her stuff and tried to get some idea of what Norman might be like. I was also wondering where she was and why she wasn’t at dinner.
        The indications were that she wasn’t a girly type — all the garments in the heap seemed to be t-shirts, sweatshirts or joggers in either navy or black. The image fitted with her nickname. The heels of a pair of trainers were visible under
the pile and the scuffed toe of an odd shoe poked out from her almost-closed wardrobe. There were few other clues except for a green plastic hairbrush, an ancient transistor radio on her bedside table and a faded denim jacket hanging off the back of a wooden chair. Both windowsill and walls were bare. No pictures or posters, although pinholes and crusty bits of Blu Tack clinging to the emulsion
suggested there had been.
        I was baffled and intrigued that there was so few personal effects. I had crammed tons of my own stuff into my bag, desperate to hang on to something of my old life, the few good bits that I didn’t want to forget about. Didn’t Norman
have any keepsakes or had she hidden them all when she heard she was getting a new room mate?
        At that point my curiosity got the better of me. I got up and walked over into Norman’s half of the room. I still didn’t actually touch anything but I peered round the partly open door of her wardrobe. There wasn’t much to see — a school raincoat and blazer; some other drab-looking clothes; a pile of magazines; a jumble of shoes and a motheaten teddy bear with a Rupert scarf. I decided the teddy bear was a good sign.
        “Seen enough?”
        I spun round, acutely embarrassed, kicking myself for getting caught and stuck for a credible explanation. As redness flooded my face I went for the obvious. “Sorry. You must think I’m a nosy cow.”
        “Yes” she confirmed, “I do. But there’s nothing worth pinching, if that’s what you’re after.”
        “No!” I protested, horrified. “Don’t think that — I wouldn’t take anything — I was only looking — honestly, that’s all it was.”
        She shrugged. “Like I said, there’s nothing worth having anyway, but keep to your own half of the room in future.”
        “I will,” I agreed, adding “I am sorry.”
        “So you said.” She opened the wardrobe wide and stood back. “Bloody mess, isn’t it?” she commented, half to herself, then began pairing the shoes and arranging them more neatly. I watched her but said nothing. “Don’t s’pose you’ve
got any chocolate or anything, have you? I’m starving. I got back too late for dinner and Fossil’s a miserable old sod and keeps the kitchen locked up like it’s Fort Knox.”
        I had two Wagon Wheels and three packets of bacon flavoured crisps in my bag. They were my emergency rations but I guessed I owed her something.
        “Here.” I sacrificed one of the Wagon Wheels and she took it like an apology. I watched, puzzled, as she examined the wrapper.
        “Just checking for any nut content — I’m sensitive.”
        “Oh, right.”
        The irony struck home and we both giggled.

        Later, we lay in bed after lights out, neither of us able to sleep, so we talked and she told me a bit about her life and I told her about some of mine. We discovered that we’d had similar experiences.
        By breakfast time I wasn’t feeling too bad about sharing and we went down to the dining room together. I nodded across at Gemma, Alison and Sophie as I followed Norman to a table in the far corner, hoping they wouldn’t feel
offended that I wasn’t sitting with them. While I was stuck in this place, I needed as many friends as I could make.
        We’d no sooner sat down than old Fossil began weaving his way over. “Good morning Jan-eene,”he paused to cough chestily,“I trust you slept well.” He thrust a piece of paper across the table at me.“Here is your timetable for the week. As you can see, we have lessons just like any normal school but as this is your first day you’ll be seeing Mr. Chumley at nine o’ clock for your assessment. Shirley will show you where his office is — make sure you don’t keep him waiting, lass. Ok?”
        “Yes, Mr. Fossil.”
        “Pardon?” His tone was sharp and I suddenly realised what I’d said.
        “Sorry. Mr. Foo-ssil.” I corrected myself hastily, trying not to smirk.
        “A word of advice, lass, you’ve only just arrived so I’m making allowances but don’t push it. Watch your mouth and be a bit respectful or you’ll be sorry. Got that?” He moved round the table and stooped, his lips not far from my ear. I could smell something on his breath. I think it was aniseed. Keeping my head bowed I nodded, aware that the kids at nearby tables had stopped talking and were listening in. “Got that?”he repeated, nudging my chair.
        “Got it” I agreed quietly.
        He grunted, satisfied that he’d made his point and moved off through the tables to deal with a couple of boys who were flicking toast crusts at each other. One of them, a scowling, bean pole with luxuriant black eyebrows, stared across at me and suddenly grinned, showing two rows of tiny, vicious-looking teeth. Unsettled by his manic look, I quickly looked away. “Who’s he?” I hissed at Norman, letting my eyes slide back briefly to the scene where Mr. Fussil was now obviously being given a run for his money.
        “That’s Jack. He’s a total fruit bat. Funny but dangerous with it. He sets fire to things. Always gives old Fossil lots of verbal just to wind him up. Puts on quite a show, doesn’t he?” Norman’s tone was almost admiring as we watched Jack’s performance.
        “Mmmm.” Wary, I didn’t comment further.

        Mr. Chumley’s office was at the far end of the building, tucked away behind the housekeeper’s laundry room. The faint rumble of the washing machines could be heard through the wall as they went through their cycles. Norman had warned me that Chumley was the school shrink so the location seemed appropriate. As his door was already ajar, I knocked once and pushed it open.
        “Ah, Janine isn’t it?” He didn’t wait for my confirmation but went on “Come and sit yourself down. I won’t be a moment.” He had a file open on the desk in front of him and I guessed he was reading up on me. I remained standing and had a good look at him while he did so.
        I guessed he was in his mid-thirties, which seemed quite old to me at the time. He had untidy blond hair that flopped across his forehead but was stopped from falling in his eyes by overlarge spectacles with tortoiseshell frames. His green
tweed jacket looked well-worn, had a line of biros in the breast pocket and an engraved name badge on the lapel. G.W. Chumley. He looked like a Gordon or a Gerald to me. Possibly followed by Wilfred or perhaps Walter. Still speculating, I was staring at his blue tie patterned with horses’ heads when he eventually looked up.
        “Do sit down.” He gestured towards the armchair opposite him but I walked round it and went to stand by the window. Between the slats of the blind, I could see into a garden where a man was cutting the privet hedge with a pair of shears. I let my mind wander as Mr. Chumley began explaining why I should pay attention because his monthly assessments were an important indicator of how long I might be staying at Shelby House. There was a long silence and I realised he had asked me a question and I hadn’t heard it.
        “Sorry, what did you say?”
        He sighed, pushing the hair back from his forehead. “I asked you if you are clear about the reason why you’ve been sent here.”
        I shrugged. “Not really, no.” It was, I knew, a fine line I had to tread between co-operating and saying too much. I didn’t want this stranger inside my head, knowing the things I know, privy to my secrets.
        “You haven’t made any connection then, between your behaviour and being taken into care.”
        I wasn’t looking at him but I could feel his eyes on my back. “Dunno. I guess it must have been because I ran away from home.” I turned slightly and glimpsed him writing something down.
        “That is part of it, yes. The fact that you repeatedly ran away from home and wouldn’t give any reason for doing so. You wouldn’t talk to either of your parents about it and the social worker couldn’t get you to explain why, either. You’ve been sent here in the hope that we can help you.”
        “Is it a crime to run away because you’re unhappy?”
        “No, it isn’t a crime as such but the law says you’re too young to take care of yourself. You have to be in the care of a responsible adult. Clearly, you have a problem with your parents so someone else has to look after you until you are old enough.” He gave this time to sink in before continuing. “Do you feel able to tell
me the reason you keep running away?”
        “Not really.”
        “Do you know why?”
        I nodded, wishing again that I’d been better prepared the last time and that it hadn’t been raining and that I’d found somewhere warm and dry to stay instead of being picked up by a police car on a country lane and returned to my parents
like an item of lost property. My mother had surpassed herself, giving an emotionally charged performance that almost had me fooled, but when the police had gone she rounded on me with threats and accusations. I was an ingrate, a thoughtless child who had a screw loose and should be in an institution. And, in the end, she got her way because here I was. I turned and looked at Mr. Chumley, considering my words. “It’s quite simple,” I told him flatly, “I’m here because my parents don’t want me. They don’t like me. They never have.”
        He blinked and appeared to be a little thrown by my statement.“And what makes you say that?”
        “You don’t believe me, do you? It’s Ok, I knew you wouldn’t.” I went back to watching a cat — a weatherbeaten tom — stalking a couple of sparrows across a corner of the lawn. Finally, he made a frantic charge but they fluttered up into a tree well before he got to within striking distance. He slunk off under the newly trimmed hedge and out of sight. I was glad for the birds.
        Mr. Chumley kept talking and I just let it roll on over me. I shut him out and it wasn’t difficult because I’d had lots of practise. My father had often lectured me at length on my failings and how I was such a big disappointment to them both. During such sessions, I’d just keep quiet and concentrate on something else until he ran out of stream. There was, I’d long ago decided, simply nothing I could say in my defence.
        At last Mr. Chumley said we were done and that I could go. As I left, I saw that his pad was covered in notes. It seemed bad. All that writing and the fact that he’d kept me almost two hours. My silence was sure to count against me.

        It had been a long day that I was quite glad when it was nine thirty and time for lights-out. Norman obviously wasn’t ready for sleep and keen to chat as we lay in the dark and listened to the footsteps of the night staff coming down the
corridor, checking to see we were all in our own beds. Our door swung open and a torch shone briefly on each bed and a voice addressed us in turn. “Goodnight, Shirley. Goodnight, Janine.”
        “Goodnight,” Norman answered.
        “Goodnight,” I echoed, biting back the urge to add ‘John Boy’.
        Soon it became very quiet. I imagined everyone in the house holding their breath, waiting for the next sound. On that thought, I must have drifted off to sleep.
        It was a door banging followed closely by a shout that woke me.
        “What the...?” Norman sounded drowsy, her voice slurred.
        I peered at the luminous dial of my watch. It was only a few minutes after two. There were raised voices outside in the grounds. I opened the window a crack but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Then the fire alarm
went off.
        Immediately, Norman was wide awake and frantically cramming things into a suitcase. “Pack your stuff as quick as you can — come on — move!”
        I didn’t argue or stop to question why. I grabbed my bag, opened the zip wide and swept everything into it, clearing my half of the windowsill, the top of my locker and bedside chair in a matter of seconds. Then I emptied the two locker drawers and finally the small wardrobe, snatching things off hangers and screwing up favourite clothes as I fought to fit everything in.
        “Put some outdoor shoes on” Norman instructed.
        “What’s happening?” I asked.
        “I’m not sure but I’m guessing that Jack has been playing with matches again. They’ll be along to get us out any minute. We’re bound to have a fire drill now the alarm’s gone off. I’ve been waiting for this since the last time. I wasn’t
ready then but I’ve planned it since.” She sounded really excited, the words rushing out of her.
        “What plan?” I was baffled but eager to join in.
        “You want to get out of here, don’t you?” she whispered and I could only just hear her over the continuing wail of the alarm.
        “Course I do.” Light suddenly dawned and I felt a rush of adrenaline.
        “Thought so. Right, just follow me.” She was at the door, her suitcase at her feet as she peered out into the gloom of the corridor. A dim bulb glowed at the far end by the stairs. “Ok, it’s clear. Come on. We’ve got to get to Fossil’s office.”
Trusting she knew what she was doing, I followed, aware of voices and scufflings from behind the other doors as we sped past.
        We took the back stairs and just as we reached our goal we heard the shouted instructions for everyone to evacuate the building. Norman grabbed the door knob and pushed. “Good,” she muttered as the door swung inwards,“He was obviously in too much of a hurry to lock it behind him. His windows haven’t got any bars or locks. The front porch is directly below so we can drop our bags down onto its roof so they’ll be out of sight, then we can come back for them after the drill. There’s a trellis up the side; it’s a fairly easy climb.” With that, she pushed up the sash, leaned out and dropped her suitcase. It landed with a dull
thump. I handed her my bag and she repeated the action. “Now, we’d better get going.”
        Out on the lawn, two members of staff with clipboards were trying to do a rollcall by torchlight. Kids were milling about in groups, despite attempts to get them to stay in orderly lines. We mingled, getting ourselves noticed and watching
as the flames took hold. Jack had done a good job this time, old Fossil had dialled 999 and a fire engine was on its way.
        By the time it arrived, the roof was well alight. Surprising, considering it was slate, but then I guessed it was the timber underneath that was burning. As slates began to come loose and came crashing down, Norman and I stood well back for safety, eventually melting into the bushes as everyone else watched the drama.
        Still in our nightclothes, we retrieved our belongings from the porch roof without incident, everyone else being somewhat preoccupied round the other side of the building, then we changed in the bushes and made our way down the drive.
“What now?” I asked as we approached the gates.
        Norman shrugged. “Don’t know really. I hadn’t thought any further than actually getting out. I’m not even sure where we are.”
        “Got any money?” I wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. “Well, I’ve got a fiver but that won’t get us far, even if we can find a bus route. It won’t be long before they realise we’re missing and send out a search party so we need to get as far away as we can as quickly as possible.”
        Trudging up the dark narrow lane with our heavy bags, unsure where we were heading, the shared euphoria of our escape rapidly ebbed away. Ten minutes or so passed and we were both panting with effort when a car’s headlights came
round a bend. We threw ourselves into the hedge and froze as the car passed us, slowed and stopped beside the gateway of a meadow. The driver got out, opened the gate, walked round some bushes and out of sight.
        Norman grabbed my arm and hissed in my ear “Bet he’s gone for a pee. Quick, let’s grab ourselves a lift.”
        Before I had a chance to answer, she’d run over to the car, opened one of the back doors and climbed in. I considered my options for all of half a second before following her. “You’re bloody nuts” I whispered, “We’re bound to be caught now.”
        “Just be quiet and keep your head down. If he’s had a bit to drink and is on his way home there’s a chance...” Her voice trailed off as the man approached and yanked open the driver’s door. He belched as he got in and turned on the ignition, oblivious of the fact he now had two girl stowaways crouching in the back.
        The car was a Volvo, a bit of an old banger and he drove it with complete disregard for its poor road-holding ability so, uncomfortable as it was, we sat on the floor, firmly wedged in beside our luggage. We suffered the long journey in
silence until, eventually, we felt the car slow and turn, then the crunch of gravel under the tyres before it stopped. The driver got out and locked his door. We waited for a minute or two before untangling our cramped legs and getting out, relieved to be clear of the beer-smelling fug. Conscientiously, I remembered to push the button down to lock the door before I closed it.
        “Any idea where we are?” I breathed.
        “Haven’t a clue but at least we’re a fair few miles on from where we started.” Norman sounded cheerfully unconcerned and was stretching and yawning.
        I glanced back at the car and blinked, trying to focus on what had been written in the condensation on the back window. The word WARNING then, underneath, MAY CONTAIN NUTS. Norman followed my gaze and said “I left
the driver a little present on the back seat, too — a pair of my knickers as sort of payment for the ride.” She read the look on my face and grinned. “Oh, think about it, Jan — who’s he gonna tell?”

        Norman’s instinct must have been right because they never caught us and, when I look back on it now, I feel a connection and wonder how he’s dealing with it — that secret she left in his keeping. I fancy he broods it like a cuckoo’s egg
added to his own dark clutch, turning it over from time to time, fearful that someday a strange truth might suddenly hatch.