BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

​

                                                                          Chapter Five

 

Rodney Wilson was busy ironing when the phone rang. It was not a task he enjoyed, and by careful use of the washer and the bath, he kept it to a minimum. Anything that did not show was likely to be overlooked when the ironing board came out, and larger items like curtains and bed covers would be laid out in the bath full of soapy water, walked upon as if treading grapes, and then hung up to drip dry. House work was a chore, but one that could not be avoided, and as there was no one else to do it, or to share it, he just had to get on with it. Nevertheless, a routine had gradually emerged which was designed to keep it to a minimum, so it rarely got on top of him.

    He put down the iron, and picked up the telephone. “Hello; Wilson.” he said; in a brisk but not unfriendly invitation to the caller to speak. There was no reply but Rodney could hear a strange noise, indefinable but definite.

    “Hello,” he said again, “is someone there?”

    Again there was no response, and Rodney, now a little cross, said in a rather curt manner “OK, have it your way.” and started to put the phone down. But there was something else, a different noise. He halted, lifted the phone back to his ear and listened. This time he was sure that the sound he could hear was crying. It was seven thirty in the morning, and someone was crying into his phone. Curious now, and aware that there might be a distressed person out there somewhere he tried again.

    “Hello, this is Rodney Wilson, can I help you; can you tell me who you are?”

    “It’s Jonathan sir.” the voice said, not very clearly, and not very loud, but trying to control his crying.

    “Jonathan?” he asked, “Do you mean Jonathan Marshall; from school?”

    “It’s Jonathan Marshall.” the voice said, breaking up again.

    “Jonathan Marshall.” he said, relieved now for knowing who it was that he was talking to. “What on earth is wrong; have you had an accident?.”

    “No I haven’t had an accident, but I need some help - can you help me?”

    “Where are you Jonathan, why don’t you ring home?”

    Rodney could not hear any more words but he was pretty sure that Jonathan was crying again. He realized that there was some kind of crisis and that talking on the telephone was not the best way to deal with it.

    “Jonathan, can you hear me?” he waited for a few moments and then “Jonathan, I can come for you in my car, can you tell me where you are.”

    “I’m near the old mill in Beaham.” said Jonathan, a little calmer now.

    ”Jonathan,” Rodney was speaking very calmly, “I don’t know the old mill, but I know where Beaham is; will you go to the main road, and I will come for you now.” Rodney wasn’t sure that his words had been understood, but he felt that he should make a move. “I’m putting the phone down now Jonathan, and I will be with you as soon as I can.” He waited a few seconds. “Did you hear me Jonathan?”

    “Yes.” was all he heard , but it was enough.

    He put the phone down, had a quick look round, luckily noticing that the iron was still on and pulled the plug, then he ran to his car. In just a few minutes he was on his way to find Beaham. He had told Jonathan that he knew where it was, but as he was still relatively new to these parts he was not sure. He picked up his mobile phone, and carefully keyed the number for Mr Pickering, the Headmaster.

    “Good morning Mr. Pickering.” he said when he heard the familiar voice of the head, then went on to explain the situation as far as he could, pointing out that it was very unlikely arrive in time for him to take his classes later in the morning. Mr Pickering assured him that he would cover for him, and that he should take whatever time he needed.

    “One more thing,” Rodney asked “Can you tell me the best way to Beaham, and where the old mill is.”

    “Good heavens, that's about twenty miles away” said Mr Pickering, “what on earth is he doing there I wonder?”

    Now he knew where he was going, a quick look at his watch told him that if there were no traffic problems, he should be there in less than an hour. Rodney drove as quickly as he could through the town centre of Wixley, a bustling medium sized town, fairly busy at the moment with the morning traffic. Rodney’s composure was tested somewhat when there is a need for speed, as usual, the traffic was snarled up. But before too long the town centre was behind him and the miles passed quickly until he arrived at the village of Beaham.

     Rodney had to search a little, but found Jonathan sat on a wall near where he had found a telephone on the edge of the village. As he pulled up he looked at the boy, waiting, forlorn, cold, and scared.

    The building behind him was in ruins and looked as miserable as Jonathan, and, it being close to the small river, Rodney guessed that it was the old mill. He pulled a rug from the back seat of the car and wrapped it round Jonathan’s shoulders. It was the end of February, and though he had not thought it to have been a particularly cold night, he realized that anyone out all night and unprepared would not have escaped the distinct chill, or the dampness.

    “Come on old son,” Rodney said, as he helped Jonathan into the front seat of the car, “we’ll soon have you home.”

    Jonathan spoke for the first time ”I can’t go home sir.” he said quietly, very subdued.

    “Why can’t you go home?” Rodney asked as the car started to move.

    Jonathan did not answer so Rodney tried another line.“Have you been out all night?” he asked.

    A nod of the head told what he had suspected. “Why didn’t you walk back to town.”

    Jonathan seemed to take a long time answering, and Rodney was just about to try another question when he heard a sob. “I just couldn’t move sir; I couldn’t move.”

    “So you just sat there ? You must be feeling very hungry, eh?”

   Another nod of the head.

    “Ok, how about I take you back to my flat, get something to eat, and then we will sort out what to do next."

    Another nod of the head, this time with a sideways glance towards his teacher, and a mumbled, “Thank you.”

    “Right Jonathan, there’ll be plenty of time for talking later, just you get warm; go to sleep if you want, and when you’re ready, if you want to, you can tell me all about it.”

    Three quarters of an hour later the car pulled up in front of Rodney Wilson’s flat. It was actually a block of sixteen good, well appointed, and quite spacious flats, eminently suitable for a young professional single man. He had a second floor flat, with which he was perfectly happy. Two bedrooms provided accommodation for occasional visitors; the larger of which was big enough to take plenty of furniture, and a large double bed.

    This was Rodney’s indulgence, and had been ‘crucial’ in the past, at those times when a young single man didn't want to be single 'all the time'. In this connection however, a change had occurred, for during the last month or two, his long time, but until now, ‘on off’ relationship with a quite uncommitted girlfriend (from his home town of Reading,) had become very important in his life. Remarkably too so he had become in hers. Visits from other, short time girl friends, had therefore, of necessity, come to an end.

     Jenny had become a regular visitor, indeed his only visitor, and there was a distinct possibility of marriage.

    Now he had a new, and totally unexpected visitor, one for whom Rodney was quite unprepared. Jonathan was either asleep or in some kind of a trance. In any event it took a strong shake of the shoulders to rouse him. “Lets get you inside, and then we can start to sort a few things out.”

    Rodney was trying to be cheerful and friendly, not knowing yet what had happened, and why in any case, had Jonathan called on him. “After all” he considered “Jonathan had never tried to hide the fact that he doesn’t like me.” It was difficult at this stage to make any sense of it.

    He took the boy into the lounge sat him in an easy chair, still wrapped in the car rug, and then sat down himself in the chair opposite.

    “Now Jonathan,” he said, knowing that he had to start somewhere, but uncertain of where that somewhere should be.“I’m going to see about something to eat for you, and then we must talk.”

    Jonathan looked back at his teacher, but his face gave nothing away.

    “It’s seems clear that something pretty nasty has occurred, and it’s knocked you for six.” Rodney said softly, hoping the sporty metaphor might suit the occasion.“Now you know Jonathan, you don’t have to tell me a thing, and I will not push you,”. He stopped and thought for a moment. “but when you rang me you asked me to help you, and I’m here; right now,”

   He waited to see if there was any response. Sensing something, but not knowing quite what; perhaps the look of something like despair in Jonathan’s eyes, he resumed, “I do want to help you if I can.”

    He stopped again, this time getting up and going towards the kitchen. As he did he said, “How about a bacon sandwich?”

    Fifteen minutes later both of them were eating a well cooked bacon sandwich, and each had a beaker of tea by his side, and for the moment there was no need for talking.

    When breakfast was over, Rodney felt it was safe to bring them back to the subject at hand, and addressed to the boy opposite, who now appeared to have shaken off some of his gloom.

    “OK Jonathan, take your time, and take it easy. Just tell me what you want to tell me.”

    “Thank you Mr Willson,” he answered, seemingly out of context to the question, but in a voice that was much stronger, than the hardly heard mutters, which up to now was all that he had managed.

    “Thank you.” Jonathan repeated, somewhat uncertain. “Thank you for coming for me; I didn’t know what to do; I wasn’t sure where I was at first.”

    “But why did you call me?” Rodney asked, saying what he had been thinking.

    “I found that piece of paper that you gave me at school; it had your number on it.”

    Jonathan rushed the last bit as if by way of explanation.

    Rodney was somewhat nonplussed. At least he knew now why he had been called, but it was hardly a vote of confidence; that it was purely because there was no-one else. But putting that aside he continued to gently question his unexpected guest.

    “But why didn’t you call home?” the question seemed obvious, but since Jonathan had not done so, he had to ask.

    “I couldn’t ring home sir; not after what I’ve done.”

   'Is this it?' Rodney was waiting . ‘Am I going to find out what is going on?' Rodney continued to wait but Jonathan had stopped, and something in his face told Rodney that there was still a hill to climb.

    He got up from his chair and walked slowly around the room and then back to his chair, but did not sit down.

    “I know that you have a problem Jonathan,” he started, in a quiet but steady voice, “and it is clear that something happened that has disturbed you; but it looks as though you don’t want to talk to me about it. Is there someone else, someone who you feel closer to, who you would like to talk to?”

    Rodney was feeling frustrated that Jonathan did not seem able to trust him, and had not responded to his suggestion, so he decided to end the session and perhaps try later.

    “Ok,“ he said, “lets leave it at that for now; but there is something else we must do."

   He looked straight at Jonathan. “Your mother is going to be very worried about you,” he maintained his steady face to face position. “so we must let her know that you are safe.”

    He took a few paces until once again he was facing the boy. “Will you phone her and let her know where you are?”

    Jonathan stared back with a blank look, but made no reply.

    “Will you let me ring her then, she’ll be out of her mind you know?”

    He waited for a response but there was none. Suddenly he was angry and before he knew it he lost his temper. “Jonathan!” he shouted, so loud that it made the boy jump, “For God’s sake will you think about what you are doing?”

    Still shouting but not quite so loud “Why do you want to punish your mother, is that what this is all about; what has she done to you?”

    Jonathan, shocked into action at Mr Wilson shouting, shouted back “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing; it’s my dad.” his voice quickly tailing off to a whisper.

    “But your Father is dead,” Rodney’s voice was quiet again, “what do you mean?”

    “I trashed his grave.” Jonathan slumped back into his chair “I got a big stick, and I trashed his grave until there was nothing left of it.”

    So there it was. In four words it was out ‘I trashed his grave’.

    Rodney sat down, feeling drained. He reached forward and put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder.”I think we can move on now.” he said, “I think the worst is over.”

    With that he picked up the telephone, dialled a number, and in just a few seconds he was talking to his headmaster, Mr. Pickering. “Yes, I’ve got him with me now, we’ve had something to eat and a long talk.” Mr. Pickering was asking some more questions, then Rodney was talking again.

    “Jonathan has told me the gist of it, but for now I think it’s best to let it lye for now; I’m sure he will tell you himself before long; but first of all we must get in touch with his mother.”  Again he listened while the head was speaking. “Oh’, that’s good; that’s very good.” There was another period of listening, before Rodney spoke again. “Right; OK; I’ll be in touch soon.” and then he put the phone down.

    “That was Mr. Pickering, and he told me that your mother rang the school, and was told that I had gone to find you. She knows that you are safe, but she is very worried. She doesn’t know why you ran away, but said that the main thing is that you are safe; and whatever the reason Jonathan, she wants you to go home.”

    Rodney was glad that some of the pieces of the puzzle had started to fit together, but he knew that the full picture was still a long way off.

    “How about I take you home now Jonathan; what do you say?”

    “Yes please.” was all Jonathan could manage.