The following account is of events that took place fairly early in my third form year at a prestigious Australian boarding school. Due to a perception by the school that I was unusually intelligent, I had only just recently turned 12 at this point and was two years younger than most of my classmates. Despite this chronological disadvantage, I was one of the better students in the school and was in the top class for all my subjects - in most I'd earned my way there, in a couple I think they were trying to inspire me to work harder by piling up the pressure.
Now my school was a boarding school. The vast majority of boys lived at the school during term time, we only had a rather small number of day boys who, historically, had been at a significant disadvantage in school life. By my time at the school, steps had been taken to try and integrate these pupils as fully as possible into the life of the school. They arrived at school very early, and had breakfast with the rest of us. They stayed at school in the evenings, eating with us, and doing their prep (what would be called homework in many schools) at the school, and really only headed home to sleep. The idea was that this meant they could fully participate in virtually all of the schools activities, and it seemed to work reasonably well. But it could not be denied that they were still viewed somewhat as second class citizens by those of us privileged to board, and so it was actually moderately unusual for a boarder and a day boy to be close friends.
But in this particular year, I did have one fairly good friend in a day boy, Greg Fountain. Fountain was in all my classes, because like myself he was seen as something of a brain. Like myself he was younger than most of our class, but only by a year unlike the two year gap I had to deal with.
Now the simple fact is that the school was a very expensive one and the arrangement by which day boys did everything at school except sleep there, meant that it wasn't much cheaper for their families as for everyone elses. This meant that the majority - the vast majority - of boys at the school came from well off backgrounds. Not everyone was actually rich, but nobody was poor either. Most were comfortable. Fountain was one of the exceptions.
He wasn't exactly poor - but his father had died and his mother was raising him on her own. She had a decent job, but nothing special - certainly nothing that would have allowed her to pay his school fees. But what she had was a very strong personality, and that had a lot to do with why he was at our school. I didn't know the whole story at the time - I learned it over time, but I think the details are of a bit of relevance here.
Day boys came from quite a wide area - those most distant from the school had well over an hours travel by bus either way each day. Fountain came from very nearby though - he lived less than a twenty minute walk from the school. He had attended one of the local primary schools and done very well there, and had then moved onto the local high school. Unfortunately at the high school, learning wasn't exactly viewed as a major pastime by most of the boys. Fountain was bullied, very severely, by older boys simply because he was relatively quiet, relatively studious, and relatively well behaved. His work began to suffer and by the end of his first year at that school , his marks were very poor. His mother demanded to know what had happened, and eventually under duress, he told her about the bullying. She went to his school, and was unimpressed with their response. So she came to our school, demanded to see the Headmaster, laid out the issue and talked her way into a scholarship for her son. A very forceful lady, a very impressive one. It wasn't a full scholarship, it was still quite expensive for them, especially when the things like uniforms and sports gear and similar were considered. But it was possible, and from the start of second form, Fountain became a pupil at our school.
So at the time this account is set, Fountain had been with us just over a year, and we had become reasonably good friends. He was a nice fellow, reasonably well behaved though certainly no angel, and he really worked very hard in class. I think he relished the idea of a school where it was fairly well accepted that it was all right to be smart and to work hard, and where bullying was reasonably rare.
It was Monday, and the lesson was mathematics. Our mathematics classes were taught by a man named Mr Morris. Mr Morris was a gifted teacher, and a gifted mathematician, but he wasn't exactly a friendly type of fellow. You learned a lot in his classes, but you never really enjoyed the experience. This wasn't a priority with any of our classes, really, but he went out of his way, I feel, to deliberately run very efficient classes.
Each Monday, we had to sit a test on all the work covered the previous week. This was a serious business - anyone who failed to achieve a mark of at least 80% was caned. Most of the class beat that mark most of the time, but it wasn't uncommon for someone to fall short occasionally.
After doing the test, we passed our sheets to another boy to mark them. I had Fountain's sheet on this occasion, and when I'd completed marking them I was somewhat saddened to see that he had scored 79%. I looked through the test looking for any marks I'd missed, and for a moment considered adding a mark - but the one time I know that that was tried, it was detected and the two boys involved received a very severe thrashing indeed. Mr Morris had given me six of the best the start of the previous year and I did not want that to happen again. So I handed the test back. Fountain grimaced, looked for marks, and then accepted the inevitable. After Mr Morris had called out our names and we'd reported our marks, Fountain was summoned to the front of the room.
"79% Fountain? Very disappointing. I know you - I know if you study at all, you pass well, so even the slightest effort would have spared you this week."
"Yes, Sir."
"Bend over and touch your toes."
Mr Morris picked up his cane, lined it up across the seat of Fountain's shorts, drew it back and swung down. Fountain jerked a bit, but stayed down. The cane was pulled back up and brought down again. This time there was a gasp from Fountain, but that was the only sign of reaction. The cane was drawn back again - and then Mr Morris froze. There was liquid stain spreading on the seat of Fountain's grey short trousers, turning them black. I was transfixed, I think most of us were - all I could think of was blood.
"Stand up, Greg." Masters rarely used boy's first names. It was a something they did to show affection or concern, and that was fairly rare from Mr Morris. Fountain snapped up and his hand flew round to his backside. "Are you all right, boy? Simpson, would you take Fountain to the infirmary?"
Fountain turned around looking puzzled. "I'm not that hurt, Sir." Then he seemed to realize something and his hand came off his bottom where it was rubbing so he could look at his fingers. "Oh hell."
He held up his hand so we could all see. His fingertips were stained with liquid - blue not red. "I had a cartridge in my pocket, Sir."
Back then, while ballpoints were allowed for most of our work certain classes - English Composition most notably - still required us to use fountain pens. These were refilled by inserting clear plastic ink cartridges and we all maintained a supply.
"You stupid little boy. You've been here long enough to know that you check your back pockets before you get caned."
"Yes, Sir."
"Go and try and clean yourself up. The rest of you - page 22."
We got on with our work, and Fountain came back after a few minutes and sat down. I actually felt he was reasonably lucky all things considered - he probably would have got three or four for the test result normally seeing that Mr Morris had decided he hadn't made any effort, and I'd half expected him to get six when Mr Morris had realised the blood was ink - so to get away with two was pretty reasonable.
After school that day, Fountain and I had library duty. All boys were expected to discharge certain duties in the school and you had some say in our your spent some of your duty time. We'd both volunteered as Library Monitors. As duties went it was fairly easy - a lot of the time we could sit and read and just answer questions from those senior students who had proven unable to master the card catalogue.
"I'm in deep trouble, Rysher. My mother is going to murder me when she sees my shorts."
"Oh come on, Fountain - it's not that bad." And it really wasn't. Our shorts were dark grey to start with so the blue ink had really just left a darker splotch. You could see it - but it wasn't quite bad enough to actually render his shorts unwearable as part of uniform. At least not on normal days - occasionally we had to dress better than normal."
"It is that bad - she's going to want to know what happened, and when she finds out I got the cane, she'll..." his voiced dropped, "give me a bloody good hiding."
"It can't be that bad. You've lived before."
"She's only ever done it once, Rysh - and it was awful. A lot worse than any caning. I don't think I can handle it, Rysher - and she's said that if I get caned at school, she'll back it up at home, and I believe her."
"Hang on. She's said she'd give you a hiding if you got the cane at school - but she's only ever done it once. That doesn't really add up." And it certainly didn't. Fountain got the cane less than most - far less than me for example - but I knew with certainty, he'd had it at least two or three times the previous year - probably more than that.
"She doesn't know. I've been too scared to tell her. She's got Dad's razor strap - and it really really hurt. Rysh... she doesn't understand schools like this one. To her, getting whacked must means you've done something really wrong. They wouldn't even whack the bullies at my high school. So if I go home and she finds out I got caned - Nat, I'm on scholarship and she worries that if I behave badly I'll lose it. I don't do anything that bad, but she doesn't get it."
I could, sort of, see the point I was making, though from what I knew of state schools then (and I have heard since in more detail) most of those weren't exactly reticent in their use of the strap back then. It was true, I think, though that we got caned significantly more often than was normal in most schools, and often for lesser offences. The school was trying to prepare us for leadership positions in society and back then it was felt that meant you needed to learn a very strict sense of discipline. Fountain was well behaved but that just meant he got caned less than most, not that it never happened. There were some boys - a very small number - who truly avoided the cane - but they were considered rather sad by the rest of us, rather cowardly. By third form, most of them had deliberately earned a caning just to dispel that myth - if you'd been caned once, it was all right if it never happened again.
But I honestly didn't have that much sympathy for him, I'm afraid. Corporal punishment was part of our lives and we just had to cop it when it happened. If his mother found out he'd been caned and took the strap to him for that - well, it wasn't anything incredibly unusual. I'm sure he was telling the truth and it did really hurt - but that was his cross to bear. I'm not saying I felt he should just accept a belting from his mother. If he could avoid it, somehow, that was fine as well. But if he couldn't, then he couldn't and that was just the way things were.
"Well, you could maybe tell her that you forgot about the cartridge and just sat on it?" I offered that as something of a possible solution out of friendship.
"Yeah." he brightened for a second, and then slumped. "I'm not sure that'd work though - it wouldn't be as bad, but she expects me to take care of my clothes - she was really upset when I tore a shirt last year and I don't think the shirts cost as much as the pants. But it might work. Better than nothing, I suppose. Still get in trouble, but probably not get a hiding."
We got on with our reading, and then when the time came separated as we went to dinner and then to prep. These things were done in Houses and day boys were in a House of their own, so I didn't expect to see him again that night.
But as I came out of prep, he was waiting for me - he shouldn't have been in the House and day boys had buses to catch straight after prep and he was cutting it fine - although he lived close enough to the school that in summer, when it was still light, he often walked home.
"What's going on?"
" I need your help and I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't important."
"All right. How can I help?"
"Do you have any ink? Mine is all at home and I need it before I get home."
"Why?"
"Do you have any?"
"Yes, I have a bit - but why?"
"Because I'm going to ink up my clothes and tell Mum I got attacked. Tell her some bullies got me. She won't whack me for that."
"That's not..."
"I've got to. I don't want the strap, and this will work. She won't belt me if I've been bullied - not after last time. I need the ink - will you help me, or not? As a friend?"
He had me. "Of course I will - but it's a bad idea."
"It's my backside if it doesn't work, Rysher. Just get the ink."
I darted back into the prep room, to my desk and grabbed out a packet of ink cartridges and some scissors. I shot outside with Fountain - technically I was going out of bounds at that time of night, but if challenged I would simply say that I wasn't sure if I'd locked the library or not.
We ducked into some bushes and I handed over the cartridges and scissors.
"It's a bad idea, Fountain!" He snipped the top of the first cartridge and smeared it on the front of his shirt. "Can you do my back?"
"Greg!"
"Look, I've started now. You can't make things any worse and if I want her to believe this, I need ink where I can't put ink."
I took the second cartridge after he snipped it, and put ink on his back, right in the small of his back where it would be hard to reach. Of course, he could have just taken his shirt off, I suppose - didn't think of that at the time.
When we'd finished it had spots and splotches and smears everywhere on his shirt and his shorts and his socks. He wasn't wearing his blazer that day, it was still fairly warm for the time of year - but I hope we wouldn't have smeared that. That was a seriously expensive item.
Then I returned to the house, where it took me twenty minutes of scrubbing to get the ink off my hands.
The following morning, I waited outside the dining room until the breakfast bell went hoping to see Fountain and find out how things had gone. But he wasn't there - and this made me just a little nervous. As I ate breakfast, I more or less came to the conclusion that his mother must have put two and two together and I wondered at what she might have done to him which would be bad enough for him to miss school.
Our first class was geography that day - one of my favourites at the time, because I really liked the master. I was enjoying the lesson when there was a knock on the door and a boy handed a note to Mr O'Bryan. "Rysher - the headmaster wants to see you now." Everybody in the room turned to look at me wondering what I had done. A summons to the Headmaster was rarely good news, and everybody was always glad it wasn't them.
I set off very nervous taking, as long as I reasonably could to get to his study door in the old building. I knocked softly, hoping he wouldn't hear, then realised this would gain me nothing and knocked harder.
"Come in."
I drew a deep breath, opened the door and stepped in. Behind the desk sat the Headmaster. In the armchair off to one side I could see Mr Wimmer, my Form Master. There were two chairs in front of the Headmasters desk and in one sat a woman I did not recognize.
"Ah, Rysher, come here." The Headmaster was smiling slightly but this did not mean I wasn't in trouble. He was often a very pleasant man even if you'd done something wrong. He could get angry, but anger wasn't necessary for him to punish a boy - he did it because he saw it as his duty on occasion, and so the fact he didn't seem angry was only of limited comfort. As I approached his desk he said, "This is Mrs Fountain, Gregory's mother. This is Nathan Rysher, Mrs Fountain."
I shook her hand and sat down in the chair the Headmaster was pointing at. My heart began beating a little harder and a little faster, as if I had run about half a mile. As I sat down I could see sitting on a corner of the headmasters desk were an ink covered school shirt, and ink covered shorts.
"I'll come to the point, Rysher. Your friend Gregory came home from school last night covered in ink. His mother naturally questioned him about this, and he's told her that somebody attacked him, but he wouldn't give her any details. He's physically all right, you will be happy to know - but... well, I'm not sure what you know but he's been quite badly bullied in the past, and he hasn't taken this well at all. He won't tell his mother anything else. He won't say who did it. He won't say when it happened. I'm not even one hundred percent certain it happened at school - he didn't take the coach last night. In any event, Mrs Fountain tells me that you're about the only boy he mentions as a close friend and I know you are in all of his classes. I'm hoping, that if this did involve someone from the school, you might have some idea of what is going on. Now, Nathan, can you tell me do you have any idea of who might have done this?"
I was normally a reasonably glib liar - or at least had been up until now. But at the end of the previous year, after another incident, I had decided to start mending my ways. Now I was still going to lie in this situation, but it wasn't as easy as it had been before - and as I opened my mouth I realised that Mrs Fountain was looking straight at me and that made it harder still and I became tongue tied.
"Sir, um, I, um, can't, I don't. Um..." I trailed off, and the Headmaster's face hardened a bit.
"Master Rysher. That wasn't an answer to my question. Now I want an answer from you to my question. Do you know who did this?"
I couldn't answer. I couldn't get the lie out and truth would damn me and damn my friend.
"MASTER RYSHER!" The Headmaster rose and came around his desk. He knelt down in front of me and gripped my shoulders as if to shake me. "Master Rysher... Nathan... you covered up bullying last year. Don't you dare try and do it again, my boy. Don't you dare. Now answer my question."
I remained silent and he did shake me quite hard. "Nathan. Talk to me. Listen, lad. Don't make the mistake of thinking that just because you know I won't expel you, that you can defy me again on this. Last time I beat you, I beat you in front of the entire school - don't think that is the limit of what I can do to you. If you won't tell me what I need to know..." He released my shoulders, and stood up.
"Rysher... do you know what 'in loco parentis' means?"
I was able to answer that, "In place of a parent, Sir."
"Yes, Nathan - it's a legal term and I want you to understand its implications right now. I have the full legal authority to do anything to you that a parent can do to their child. Please, Nathan - let's not explore the utter limits of that relationship. I don't think either of us want to do that. Just tell me who you think might have done this. I promise you - I'll investigate it in a way that nobody will know you told. This isn't dobbing - this is bullying, Nathan."
"I can't answer, Sir." My voice had returned.
"Nathan." Mrs Fountain spoke now. "Please tell us what you know. Gregory is upset, and he's your friend, he says. And we need to know what has happened."
Mr Wimmer rose from the armchair - and strode to the desk and picked up the shirt. "Rysher, I want you to look at what those swine did to Fountain." He spread out the shirt - it had been almost rolled in a ball. "This isn't just a few drops, they covered him." He held out the shirt, holding it by the shoulders. There were smears and lines and spots everywhere - and right in the middle of the small of the back, a handprint." The Headmaster looked at that handprint, and then rapidly looked down at my hands.
"Mr Wimmer - spread that on the desk. Rysher - stand up and give me your hand."
I froze in my seat, and shook my head quickly.
"Stand up and give me your hand."
He reached down and grabbed me by the ear. I rose with the pain as he pulled me to my feet, and over to the desk. He grabbed my right hand and slammed it down on the desk. I'd clenched my fist, but he held my wrist in place, and Mr Wimmer spread my fingers. I wasn't strong enough to resist. I began to hyperventilate. My hand covered the hand print - not perfectly, but close enough - and my reaction told them I was guilty. Mrs Fountain had stood up as well, and was looking down.
The Headmaster released my wrist and I almost slumped down. I was breathing very fast, and very heavily and he guided me to the armchair and sat me down. He fetched a glass of water and handed it to me and waited as I brought my breathing under control. When I was reasonably calm again, he spoke.
"Mrs Fountain, you have my sincere apologies for what happened to Gregory - and I assure you I will make sure it doesn't happen again. Now I would normally ask you to leave us at this point, but under the circumstances, you may stay if you wish - you've a right to see what I do to bullies and I have neither reason nor desire to show the slightest respect for Rysher's sensibilities."
He went to a bookshelf and took a cane down off it.
"Rysher, stand up - and I'm warning you now, my boy, that this is just the start of your punishment."
Mr Wimmer fetched the footstool from behind the door, and lead me around behind the armchair. Mrs Fountain stood there watching this unfold with a look of total contempt on her face. The Headmaster advanced on me.
"Rysher, lower your shorts and your underpants."
I shook my head.
"Do it, Rysher, or it will be done. You are going to be flogged. I will not tolerate bullying."
"IT WASN'T BULLYING!" The words exploded out of me.
"Pardon?"
I was crying. "The ink is mine, the hand is mine, I put it on, but it wasn't bullying, Sir, it wasn't, it wasn't!"
The Headmaster stopped. "What happened, Rysher?"
"I can't say." I could confess what I had done - but I still couldn't dob in my friend.
"You put the ink on Fountain?"
"Yes, Sir."
"But it wasn't bullying?"
"No, Sir."
"Did... Gregory ask you to do this?"
I clamped my mouth shut.
"Sit down on the armchair, Rysher. Mrs Fountain, I know you said that Gregory was too upset to be involved, but I think we need him here now. With your permission...?"
"Yes, Mr Hartnet, I think so."
She sat down next to me on the armchair as the Headmaster dialed a number on his phone. "Master Fountain? This is your Headmaster. I have your mother with me. Get here NOW!"
He hung up, and offered everyone - including myself a cup of tea. Even running - as I am sure he was - it would take ten minutes or so for Fountain to reach the school. I took the tea - he made it very sweet for me - and drank it slowly.
About ten minutes (I assume) later, there was knock on the door, and Fountain was invited in. He wasn't in uniform he hadn't taken time to change. He saw me sitting there, and his mother, and our Form Master, and he slumped a bit.
"Fountain, Rysher has confessed that he put the ink on you. He says it wasn't bullying but he has refused to say anymore than that. Now, unless you tell me differently, I am going to have to assume he was bullying you, and I will have to flog him here and now. I need to know what happened, Fountain. This minute."
Greg looked at me and then at his mother and looked indecisive. The Headmaster spoke again.
"Rysher has refused to drop you in it, Fountain. Are you man enough to do the same?"
"Yes, Sir. I asked Rysher to put the ink on me. He tried to tell me it was a bad idea, but I... he wasn't bullying me, Sir."
"What happened?"
"Does my mother have to hear this?" his voice was pleading. The response came from all three adults in the room simultaneously, one word, "Yes."
"All right." He steeled himself and it all came out in a rush. "I got caned yesterday and it broke an ink cartridge in my pocket, my mother would have found out I got caned and she would have belted me, she said she would if I got caned, I was trying to cover up, I'm sorry Sir, I'm sorry Mum."
The Headmaster nodded. "I see. Well, Fountain, it's your mother's business if she chooses to administer punishment in addition to that we give out, and you really shouldn't..."
"But Sir, she doesn't understand!" I was speaking now - and they all turned to look at me. I felt my face go hot, but I continued. I was more or less resigned to whatever happened to me at this point - I'd been through the wringer and was feeling pretty limp. "Fountain was telling me, Sir - his mother doesn't know how often boys get caned here. She thinks you have to be really bad to get the cane, not just naughty but bad. And it's not true, is it, Sir. Please tell her, Sir."
The Headmaster turned to the mother. "Mrs Fountain, let me say that from all accounts I have heard, your son is a pleasure to teach. He's a kind, considerate, hon... relatively honest boy without any malice in him, he works hard, he's polite. But he's also a boy and boys aren't angels. When they misbehave we cane them, but we don't condemn them. By all means, if you feel it is necessary to punish him at home for offences at school, then that is your right. But it's not something we would really encourage, and it's a little hard on him as it doesn't happen to most of the boys, of course."
"I see. So he's been caned before?"
"Yes, Mum. A few times. I'm sorry for not saying."
"And he's going to be caned again - Fountain, I meant what I said, you're a good lad, but I can't let this pass. By rights, I should flog you, but if your mother intends to add to this at home?" He looked at her.
She nodded. "This time, yes. After that... no. But this time, yes."
"In that case, I think a conventional six will do. Mrs Fountain, Rysher, we need the armchair. Fountain, bend over the back of the chair."
Mrs Fountain picked up her handbag. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not see this. But I will see you at home this evening, Gregory - don't be late."
"Yes, Mum."
"Oh, and Mr Hartnet - what will happen to Nathan?"
"What he deserves."
"Could I ask you... could you go a little easy on him? He's been a good friend to my son."
Then she walked out the door.
I watched Fountain take his punishment. The Headmaster lined up the cane, drew back and swung with force impressive. Fountain yelped at the first stroke, and the second, and the third, but after that the sobbing was constant and barely seemed to change in tone or volume as the last three came.
"Stand up. Rysher, come here and bend over the chair."
I did so - my legs were shaking - not enough, I hope to be noticeable but enough that every step had to be deliberate and forced. When I was in position, he tapped the cane across my bottom. He took an age tapping before he drew the cane back and I had a second to brace myself before it cut down. I needed that second if I wasn't to shriek, I knew.
I saw stars when the cane hit - a flash of light, a bolt of pain. The second stroke was far, far worse, and when the third came I couldn't help myself, I cried out.
"Stand up." I did so and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand.
"Rysher - take Fountain to your dormitory and lend him one of your spare uniforms to wear. You both look a size. Then both of you get to your classes."
We walked across to the House, and up to my dorm. Once there, I pulled out a spare set of clothes and handed it to him. He stripped off to his underpants and I was amused to see ink spots all over his body where it has soaked through his clothes and hadn't yet been removed by washing. He reached for the shirt and I stopped him.
"What?"
"Bloody Day Boy - you haven't got a clue have you. You're in a dormitory after being caned - you've got to show me the damage. It's a rule!"
"You Boarders are seriously strange, you know that?"
"Come on, let's see your stripes."
He dropped his underpants and I looked at his bottom. On the right cheek was the remains of the original ink spot, and just above and below it, two lines, now bruises, that showed the marks he had received the previous day. Overlaid across his white bottom though were five fresher tramline marks - I couldn't make out a sixth stroke, though I know he had received it. It was an impressive set, but nothing I hadn't seen before.
"You have to show me yours as well."
"True enough." I undid my belt, and pulled my shorts down and then my undies. I craned my eyes around to look, as he looked as well. My marks were less impressive, though still worth seeing, I think."
Then I pulled my trousers up, he dressed and we headed to class.
The following morning, once again I waited outside the dining room, and this time he arrived with the other day boys. He was carrying a paper grocery bag, which he handed me. "It's your clothes."
I looked at the Prefect on the door.
"Can we run this to my dorm?"
"Both of you? Oh, all right - but if you're not back in ten minutes, I won't let you in, and you'll go hungry."
"Thanks."
We ran off, and back up to my dorm. A couple of boys running late for breakfast ran out, so the room was empty. I opened the bag - my uniform, neatly washed and ironed - it had rarely looked this good.
"Did she whack you?"
"Yeah. It was pretty awful?"
"What happened?"
"I got home on the bus, and went inside. She was waiting for me in the lounge room. She told me I had to go to bed straight away, so I went up to my room and changed into my pyjamas. Then she came up with the strap, and put the pillow on the end of the bed and told me to bend over it. Once I was down, she pulled down my dacks. She saw the ink marks and made me go have a shower. When I was finished she wouldn't let me get dressed until she checked the ink was gone - she made me shower again to get rid of the rest of it. No respect for my privacy, I have to say. Anyway - when I was finished, and she was happy, she made me bend over again - without my pyjamas and she gave me six really hard ones. Three on my legs - and then three on my bum. That was horrible. I don't ever want that again. You want to see?"
"Sure." I hadn't been going to ask, but I was interested.
He lowered his shorts and his underpants and I gasped at what I saw. His bottom was a mass of bruising, his legs had a red marks laid two inches across just at the top. It all looked like too much to me. I'd see a lot of bruised bottoms - but this was truly bad.
"Hell, Greg - you should see one of the Matrons... that's not on..."
He spun around, his fist clenched. "Shut up. She's my Mum and she did it because I deserved it. So shut up."
"Greg..."
"It won't happen again, Nathan. School is school. Home is home. Either by itself is all right, I think. Bringing them together is just a bit too much. But she said it won't happen again - and my mum's never lied to me."
I just nodded. I had to.