I was never bullied at school again. I should clarify: at school.
Elton John was everywhere that autumn. Every radio, every Saturday night. Get a little action in. Saturday was alright for fighting, apparently. Nobody said anything about Saturday mornings.
My mum made friends quickly. She could unmake them just as fast. The woman from work — the one who’d started all of this, who’d said he started doing judo and nobody bothers him now — no longer worked for her. His mum disagreed about why. Adult business. I thought none of it had anything to do with me.
I kept going to the judo class.
Brown Belt Steve was the judo master’s son. He was close to black belt and he liked everyone to know it. When his father asked him to demonstrate new moves, Brown Belt Steve would pick someone to demonstrate on.
He started picking me.
It was careful. A fraction of a second too long before the release — just enough to stop me falling right. Just enough to hurt. His father told him to ease up. Brown Belt Steve eased up on everything except what he was doing. He got better at hiding it.
I put up with it all lesson. I bowed before stepping onto the mat. A floor with rules.
In the changing room afterwards, he said something about my mum. He was repeating something his own mum had said. The worst of it was that he had not made it up.
He’d just taken his brown belt off. He was rolling it up.
Then he unrolled it.
The edge caught my cheek before I understood what he was doing. I got hold of his shoulders and ran him into the wall.
The changing room was plasterboard. Brown Belt Steve went half through it.
His father came in.
He looked at his son. He looked at the wall. He looked at me. He didn’t look at my cheek and he didn’t ask any questions.
*Get your things,* he said. *Get out. Don’t come back. You’re clearly not suitable material for judo.*
Neither of us said anything.
I got the bus home. My cheek had been throbbing for a while by then. I put my hand to it and it came back covered in blood.
I never went back.
Part 1: Three routes home from school. The direct one, down Chesterfield Road, is where they’ll be waiting. By November the nurses at Chesterfield Royal know him by name. Carl Douglas is everywhere. Two belts. Six fractures. Then the Minion appears in the bus lane in a blazer two sizes too big, and the lapels are exactly the right height.
Part 2: Vehicle engineering, 1974. A lawnmower engine on the bench, an inch-and-a-quarter bolt. The Bully recovered from the bus lane and came back with a different plan. He positioned himself behind. Started whispering. Then he kneed me. I turned to hit him. I forgot I was holding the spanner.
Part 3: Judo, autumn 1974. A floor with rules. Brown Belt Steve was the master’s son, close to black, and he wanted you to know it. He started picking me to demonstrate on. A fraction of a second too long before the release. Just enough to hurt. Then one Saturday morning, in the changing room, he unrolled his belt.