Chapter 7
In Which Nigel Betrays and is in Turn Betrayed
As Nigel got ready for school the next morning, he found himself
thinking about Harry. When he did, he didn't feel fearful, he felt
regretful. Harry was his best friend, after all. So he decided to
approached Harry's house, that overpowering feeling of fear came back
keep a safe distance, he told himself. But it was too late. Harry,
who had been bent over pruning his chrysanthemums in the front garden,
had seen Nigel's approach.
fence as if by magic, "Come here for a bit, son."
Obediently, the boy stepped back onto the pavement.
"Hello, Harry," Nigel whispered nervously.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," the man exclaimed, "What the
bullocks is wrong?"
Nigel only shrugged and looked down.
overalls, "I've seen that look before. Still, I've got something for
for me?"
Harry was always very good about asking permission, so Nigel nodded.
Harry set his pruners down on the gate post and went into the house.
Before long he came out again carrying a large yellow and white
striped shopping bag labeled Strefford's Kids Klothes. The man pulled
an article out of the bag. It was a white captain's hat, with the
black visor and golden braid, with an embroidered picture of Pooh in a
sailor's cap on the front.
self-consciously smoothing his moustache with a forefinger, "It's
And he held the bag over the pickets.
It was a wonderful present, something Nigel would be thrilled to get
any day.
But it wasn't any day. It was that particular day.
And he hurried down the lane and didn't look back.
And events went downhill from there.
School began well enough. Evan was in class that morning, which
relieved Nigel somewhat, knowing he wasn't dead. After all, he was
down to one friend. Still, gloomy Evan hardly looked at him, much
less talked to him and that irritated Nigel. So he ignored Evan, and
it infuriated him that the boy didn't seem to notice he was being
ignored. He showed more interest in his pencil erasers. Evan sat
hunched over, methodically picking away them, crumbling one after the
other after the other into tiny bits. Before long, his desk top was
coated in eraser crumbs, as was the floor around his desk.
When noon finally arrived, Nigel took his lunch outside to the
secluded spot behind the school plant where he and Evan had always
eaten together, away from the more aggressive boys. He was surprised
to find his ex-best-friend already seated there in the corner,
morosely gnawing away at a sarnie and a bag of crisps. Nigel's first
impulse was to find some other place to eat his lunch. But as he
looked at Evan, who seemed infinitely lonely, he felt sorry for him.
So he hesitantly walked up.
"Hi," Evan replied with absolutely no enthusiasm.
Well. It was a start. Nigel sat down against the bricks and opened
his lunch bag.
"What are you eating?"
"A sarnie," Evan replied blandly, taking another bite.
articles on the pavement, "Do you want some cake?"
it halves and put the smaller one beside Evan. Before long, Evan
picked it up and nibbled on it. Nigel felt hopeful.
"Do you want half my sarnie?" Evan suddenly offered, holding out the
Nigel momentarily looked at the sandwich hovering beneath his nose in
the same way one might look at a plate of dog cack. He detested
kippers, but he hesitantly took it.
his face. In the interest of friendship, he dared to take a nibble.
He immediately gagged.
And Evan began to snigger.
"Ha! You don't like kippers!" the boy laughed out loud.
nibble and wiping his tongue with his fingers.
Yet Evan continued to giggle, his eyes twinkling, and Nigel couldn't
help but begin giggling as well. When Evan paused to take a sip of
orange juice, Nigel took the opportunity to retaliate and jabbed him
in the ribs. A stream of juice gushed from Evan's nose. Right off
both boys lunged into a good natured tussle, prodding and poking one
another in the greatest glee. Nigel was overjoyed. Evan was Evan
again and they seemed the best of friends once more.
Evan was the stronger of the two, and when he had Nigel bound up like
a wrestler, the skinnier boy thought to escape by changing his
played.
It was the game with no name, although often teachers disapprovingly
referred to it as todger tag. It was usually played when boys were
bunched up waiting for the teacher to arrive. Girls were never
adult. All one required was a hand and quick reflexes, though little
boys might chant out a silly ditty, such as "Chinese, Japanese, what
are THESE?" and then grab the other boy. As an unspoken rule, the
teacher arrived. Usually, the only evidence that boys had been
playing todger tag was when they had their hands clapped protectively
over the front of their trousers as they walked in line; evidence to
which teachers, who were always in front leading the line, were
oblivious.
"Chinese, Japanese, what are THESE!" Nigel cried gleefully, reaching
through his legs and merrily grabbed his friend's willie.
Evan's reaction came as a complete shock.
"Don't do that!" Evan very nearly screamed, wrenching away, "That's
nasty! People aren't supposed to touch there!"
Nigel lurched backwards and stood there, speechless. Evan was
absolutely sputtering.
"You're a bad PERSON! I'm going to tell! I'm going to TELL!"
And he ran off around the corner towards the headmaster's office,
leaving his unfinished lunch scattered in his wake.
So it was no surprise that at home in bed that night Nigel had another
nightmare.
Auntie Elspeth had made him a sock monkey for his 5th birthday, but he
almost never played with it. He wanted to throw it in the wardrobe,
but Mummy had insisted it sit on the top of his dresser, in case
Auntie Elspeth happened to visit. And there it sat, unjustly
disregarded, staring morosely down at him night after night. Although
poor Sock Monkey had never done anything wrong, the boy was afraid of
python-like arms.
So it was Sock Monkey who crept into the little boy's dreams that
evening. Nigel awoke in the dark, sweat gleaming on his forehead and
his pyjama trousers wet again. He leapt out of bed and went stumbling
down the hall.
"Mummy! Sock Monkey!" he cried, "Sock Monkey!"
So it was that Nigel spent another night sandwiched between his father
and mother, and there was no more Sock Monkey.
HMSVV Christmas 2011
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