Bottled Up

25 | bring a-round the (tea) cosy

Hugh wouldn't hurt a fly.

Well, Ben thought, except for the time Hugh had attacked those sheep during a Christmas concert — but that was different.

"Tea?" the headmistress asked.

She was holding a teapot covered in what appeared to be a handknit tea cosy in the shape of a snail. Ben shook his head.

"No, thank-you," he said.

The headmistress gave him a look. Poured out a cup of black tea anyway, shoving it towards him. Then she poured a second one for Louise.

"Drink," she said.

Ben didn't know what to do; he drank. The warm liquid tasted vaguely of cinnamon, honey and peaches. He actually felt much better.

"Thanks," he said.

The headmistress smiled.

Louise frowned, her tea untouched. "There must be some mistake. Hugh wouldn't deliberately hurt anyone." She looked over at the young boy. "You didn't do this, did you, darling?"

Hugh stared at the elephant paperweight.

"Hugh?" Louise prompted.

He took a deep breath. "I d-did it."

Louise froze. She looked so small in that chair, Ben thought, like a child sitting on a bus, her feet dangling above the floor; Louise moved with such swagger and purpose that he sometimes forgot how short she was.

Davies slid a piece of paper across the table. "I'll need one of you to sign this." Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "It's paperwork saying that you understand the suspension, and that you agree to speak with Hugh about it."

Louise stared at the paper as if it might bite her. Ben uncapped a pen, scribbling his signature on the dotted line.

"Done," he said.

They gathered Hugh's things. Ben shook Davies' hand, muttering something vaguely apologetic and non-committal, and then they were stepping out into the grey January gloom. Hugh was gripping the straps of his knapsack so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Hugh," Louise said. "What's going on?"

They'd paused at the top of the steps. Louise crouched down, her face unusually serious; the breeze ruffled the brown strands falling out of her ponytail.

"It's alright," Ben said, placing a hand on Hugh's shoulder. "You can tell us."

Hugh's bottom lip was bleeding, as if he'd chewed through it. His bruised eye was swelling up, and Ben felt a pang of anxiety. How many times had he cleaned up James after a fight? How many times had his older brother staggered home from the bar, singing a drunken tune and covered in a stranger's blood? He'd assumed — no, he'd hoped — that Hugh hadn't inherited his brother's penchant for violence, but what if he'd been wrong?

Hugh sniffled. Scuffed his shoe.

"Hugh," Louise said gently. "Why did you hit that other student?"

Hugh's small shoulders hunched. "H-h-he c-c-called m-m-e—"

He broke off, his face twisting in frustration. Louise squeezed his hand. Ben's heart was beating fast, and he forced himself to breathe.

"It's okay," Ben said. "Try again."

Hugh took a deep breath. "He c-c-called me a r-r-retard."

Ben went very still.

He'd never felt rage like this before. Fire raced through his veins, hot and hungry, burning away all his common sense. He wanted to hunt this boy down. He wanted to tell Hugh that he was going to string this boy up from a telephone wire and laugh as he cried.