The Moment That Never Came

Tonight I watched the first episode of SAS: Who Dares Wins, which is a show where various very fit guys get put through a condensed version of special forces training out in Morocco. The training is tough and on the first day alone, 4 guys dropped out from an intake of 25. By the end of the episode the number had risen to 6 or 7.

The thing that struck a chord wasn’t the beastings, the discipline or the physical exertion. It wasn’t the psychological evaluation and it wasn’t the fact that being just physically fit wasn’t enough.

It was that recruit number 4, one of the guys who voluntarily withdrew from the course, a boxer named Adam, was flagged as a potential risk even before he quit because he had written in his 500 word application essay that the most satisfying moment in his childhood was when he laid out a bully who had been tormenting him for years at school.

During a boxing match (the first tasks the recruits got) Adam picked the next biggest guy in the group as a partner. Only problem was that Adam is 6’ 8” and the other guy was 6’ 3”. Adam is a professional boxer and he made no bones about beating down his opponent. Drill staff stopped the fight after 2 minutes and later stated to each other that Adam appeared like he had something to prove, even though he is ranked 15th in the British Heavyweight leagues and should therefore be comfortable with himself by now.

Calling Adam in for a chat, they ask him about his childhood and it turns out that he was bullied almost constantly from 11 to 17. When he punched his playground nemesis in the face the other lad lost 4 teeth, blood spurted and he was “stretchered off, job done”. Adam had stated to camera earlier on that he regarded this moment as “biblical” in its significance in his life and he then evolved into the huge, hulking fighter that he is now.

After a pause one of the drill staff says “sounds a bit excessive to me” and the other asked him if he believed revenge was the way forward.

As much as I wanted Adam to make it through, he quit later in the same episode and the drill staff who accepted his numbered arm band (the method of quitting is to take it off and hand it over) said “I think you’ll regret this and it isn’t physical, it’s lack of self belief”.

The thing that got to me though was that, although Adam couldn’t make it through the special forces training due to having a lack of mental stamina, he was still bitter about his childhood experiences, even though he had a moment that I would have gleefully killed for.

To whit…he punched a bully so hard that the bully lost teeth and went to hospital.

To as recently as this morning I have spent my life feeling bitter, twisted and angry about the bullying I experienced as a child and later as a young man. I was specifically told at the age of 4 that hitting was wrong (after having been told 3 days before that hitting was just fine if it was in retaliation).

This mind fuck was enough to neuter any sense of self confidence around throwing punches and while I had from that day until the age of 46, an inbuilt reluctance and phobia of fighting, the rage and frustration remained constant as I grew up. 

I was also told that every bad thing that happened to me was my fault and that other people had been abusive because I had “made them do it”.

The list goes on. 

There was never that Eureka moment though, when I managed to finally summon the power of Greyskull to whup a bully’s arse and send them flying into a wall with their teeth rattling around. Never a Back To The Future (part 1) reckoning where McFly Sr. manages to thump Biff so hard that it completely changes the future and makes him the happy, confident businessman and Biff the guy who cleans his car…once Marty finally gets back to 1985.

I always imagined that, had this moment ever come, I would be at peace now. When Simon Tayler gleefully punched me around in class one day and bust my nose open in front of everyone…had I broken his neck then I would have either gone to prison or been committed but I would have hurt a bully.

If when Mark Allen used to let my tyres down on my bicycle (while smirking as I impotently screamed at him to stop) I had stabbed him in both eyes with a sharpened screwdriver, then maybe I would have had counselling for years but I would have caused my tormentor pain.

And if when, in later life, I got a job with a piece of shit company where my supervisor Barbara Bellis had nothing but contempt for me and bullied me in every way except physically…well maybe if I’d socked her in the jaw then I’d have a criminal record 23 years later that would prevent me working as a teacher…but it would have felt sooo good at the time.

My feelings of injustice and desire for revenge have festered and bubbled for decades. I realised a few years ago that it was mainly due to there never being any resolution to these stories. I got hurt, the people laughed and smirked, I never got justice. 

But what I had always imagined was that, if the situations had played out differently, and I had summoned the strength to do that massive, jaw breaking, rocketing uppercut to the bully’s chin then I would be absolved of all my negative feelings of resentment and vitriol.

Seeing Adam tonight I realised that wasn’t the case. On his application form to take special forces training (albeit for a TV show where the line “go and see the medic” is uttered after anything involving physical injury or when someone quit) Adam had put that his strongest childhood memory was hurting a bully so badly that he put the guy in both hospital and potentially a dental surgeon’s office. He clearly relished this memory and was still pained by the memories of what he’d gone through as a kid. 

I have not only fantasised about hurting bullies I’ve dreamed of killing and torturing them. I never actually wanted to do this but there was a time when I would have traded 10 years of my life for the chance to make a bully suffer the way Adam did. To do something that would make me realise I had the power to stand up for myself once more, and I’d see that glorious fear in the eyes of playground predators when they saw me

But it never came.

I genuinely believed until tonight that my ongoing war with my memories was due to the stories not playing out the way I wished they had. Problem is that, even if I HAD disfigured one of my tormentors…I would still have been bitter (and would probably still BE bitter) about the fact that these things happened in the first place.

Adam came across as a nice enough bloke but being hugely tall, hugely muscled, hugely scary and a competent fighter….he still wasn’t at peace with himself. His demons still haunted him and he hadn’t moved on.

I never got that moment of punching down a bully. Adam did. Now I realise that it probably wouldn’t have made that much of a difference anyway.

The Unbeatable Bully

Contains SPOILERS for the season 7 premiere of The Walking Dead. So shove off if you haven't seen it yet.

Watching the premiere of season 7 of my second favouritest TV show, The Walking Dead yesterday was NOT easy.

After having waited 6 whole months to find out exactly who it was that Negan battered to death with his barbed wire-covered baseball bat (affectionally monikored 'Lucille') the episode was emotionally draining, brilliantly acted and features THE best villain on a telly show EVER.

Negan cannot be bargained with, he shows mercy only when he wishes to and he is utterly and completely ruthless, barbaric, yet highly intelligent.

Watching him turn Rick Grimes from a defiant, equally ruthless badass into a quivering, crying wreck of a man was a masterpiece of acting from both Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Negan) and Andrew Lincoln (Rick).

Negan saw the defiance in Rick's eyes (not to mention the line "I'm gonna kill you. Not today, not tomorrow...but I'm gonna kill you!") after he had bashed Abraham and Glenn's skulls to offaly mush and this did not get a nod of respect. Instead Negan made it his mission to break Rick's spirit by throwing him into a herd of zombies and watching him fight his way through them and telling him to chop his own son Carl's arm off (as an alternative to Carl and all Rick's friends dying in front of him). Only when Rick broke down in tears, with the axe raised did Negan finally relent.

No pity. No remorse. No fear. No compassion.

Which brings me to this blog...

When I was growing up there were some bullies knocking about my village. The myth at the time was that if you bopped them hard on the nose then they would run away with their tails between their legs, crying and would almost certainly never bother you again. While this was USUALLY true there were exceptions. Some bullies couldn't be tamed and even if you did stand up to them, you had better do it fucking well and hard and not mess about. Schools of my era were run by lazy, cuntish, lackadaisical aresholes who believed all incidents of bullying to be "fighting" and would 99% of the time apply the maxim of "6 of 1, half a dozen of the other" rather than look for the root causes of a problem.

There was still the idea though of showing some "backbone" and being able to face your issues without resorting to violence in retaliation BUT being able to calmly deal with the shit that life hurled at you.

Most adventure stories for children, from the Narnia Chronicles through to Harry Potter and the Hunger Games and even my own work The Tales of Alegria, focus on bullies and tyrants paying for what they have done. They either die, go to the dungeons or suffer fates worse than death. Bullies, so the legends go, can always be outwitted by loyalty, bravery, a clear head and above all being the "goodies".

Utter cobblers.

Most bullies don't like retaliation at all and will come down on you twice as hard if you return fire with anything other than 100% aggression. When I was a police officer I was bullied by my immediate superior, a little cunt named Sergeant Neil Drapper. When I stood up to him by reporting his behaviour to the police federation (cop's union) and also the Superintendent (deputy borough commander) the Sergeant simply went into bullying overdrive in his determination to bin me AND pay me back for making him feel uncomfortable in front of his own line managers.

Krav Maga has, over the years I've been doing it, taught me some very fundamental lessons on pride, ego and calculating losses. A friend of mine recently told me that she got into an elevator where three guys were stood in it, and after the doors closed one of them grabbed her ass. She said she was afraid to do anything in case he hit her or later stalked her. My advice was "next time just don't get in the elevator. Or if they get in later, get out before the doors close". Better to risk offending someone than be trapped in a confined space with them out of a sense of "I have the right to exist unmolested".

In situations where you have unknown variants, or are outnumbered, or you are drunk (yet sober enough to still rationalise) or the person/ people you are facing are bigger than you...it is not going to help the situation in the slightest to be belligerent and stubborn. 

In The Walking Dead last night, Negan made it quite clear before he bashed Abraham and Glenn's heads in that any and all defiance and rebelliousness over what was going to happen would result in further punishment. After killing Abraham and taunting his wailing ex girlfriend with the gore soaked bat, Daryl Dixon loses his shit, gets up off his knees and sucker punches Negan. To illustrate his point further, Negan then murders Glenn (a major character since season 1) and, unlike Abraham, lets Glenn suffer in agony before finishing him off. Then Rick promises to kill him (a threat we would have been disappointed NOT to hear from a badass, six season survivor of the zombie apocalypse like Rick Grimes), Negan simply makes him suffer a lot more, even giving him a Sophie's Choice; personally removing his own son's arm with an axe or suffering greater loss.

Bullies sometimes cannot be defeated and will thrive on watching people lose their cool. This superlative TV show made it quite clear that while Negan was aware that people felt angry, bitter or hysterical, they were absolutely NOT to act upon those emotions. He was boss and was going to prove it through inflicting pain until the resistance was gone.

A scene I cannot rewatch from the show Spartacus: Vengeance from a few years ago has, after the slave rebellion in ancient Rome, four gladiators recaptured. They are paraded at a party for local Roman elite, in shackles and on their knees. However they are still defiant, proudly glaring at their captors with contempt. This enrages one young Roman noble so badly that he asks if they can have "one now" rather than wait to watch them be publicly executed the next day. Every guest is a little drunk and the local magistrate agrees to "just one". The gladiator chosen spits out "fucking Roman dogs" as he is led away and boy does he suffer for that.

Restrained with ropes he is hung up in the centre of the room and the guests take turns cutting bits off him, while being cautioned to "not to cut too deep" in case the poor sod bleeds out and dies too early. The first person up cuts the guy's tongue out as a punishment for using foul language and insulting him. The guy dies in agony and all for his defiance in the face of capture. 

In the late 1980s I worked in the DeMontfort hotel in the shit hole that is Kenilworth, a small town in Warwickshire. I usually worked as a waiter but was drafted into a Hall Porter's role one day due to staffing shortages. A vile chef named Joe Wheeler used to bully the lower downs and had an extra beef with me due to the fact that I would answer back or even physically retaliate at his childish pokes, slaps and taunts. As I stood in the kitchen in my HP's jacket (with blingy epaulettes) I heard Joe shout "Are you joking?" and ignored him. He shouted it once more and then threw a flat, steel serving tray across the kitchen at me. It missed and I just picked it up and threw it back. The rage twisted across his face and he ran around the cabinets shouting "DON'T YOU THROW A TRAY BACK!!!"

Not "don't you throw a tray" but "don't you throw a tray...BACK!"

What Krav has made me realise is that in life there are situations where you CANNOT overcome the obstacle. Not all mountains are climbable all of the time. Everest guides will always turn back if the odds mean they are in too much danger to make it to the summit, dissapointing clients and themselves yet saving lives in the process. 

When faced with overwhelming odds there are times when swallowing your pride is enough to solve the situation. An Expert level 3 Krav instructor, once shared a story of queue jumping by a burly American tourist in London. When the instructor voiced objection the guy got in his face, threatening to thump him and he took the "least creative option" by looking away and appearing cowed, defusing the situation even though he could have beaten the guy down.

Sometimes nothing is more creative than something.

Occasionally bullies cannot be defeated and must only be avoided or complied with. Like taxes, no one likes them but unless you are creative or lack self preservation skills, you have to abide by the directive to pay them.

I like the fact that Krav always give you "soft options" or to put it bluntly "to do something by doing nothing".

Some situations are best left alone.

Nuff said.

The Long Way Round

As a child I thought bravery meant not crying, keeping your word and standing up to bullies. I also thought it included not showing fear and not making "silly" noises when confronted with something scary.

As I got older I realised most of that was antiquated rubbish from the pre and post war era, still lingering around like a bad smell from people who had their hair clipped "when we were your age" and had possibly done national service.

At about 10 or 11 when I started fancying girls I thought bravery meant actually being able to ask a girl out. I would add into that also that bravery meant not showing any emotion AT ALL if she laughed at me. Bravery extended to continuing to be stoic if, months later the girl in question and her friends would point at me and giggle as I walked past.

Watching far too much television, films and reading shed loads of violent comics and books, I had rather moulded ideas as to what bravery could and did encompass.

Bravery when being tortured by baddies would mean keeping your mouth shut and if necessary, dying to protect secrets. It was only much later in life that I realised that no matter how hard someone is, if you attack their testicles with nut crackers or flay them alive, then they are 99% certain to confess to everything including the assassination of JFK.

Bravery was a long list of things but most of them came under the sub headings of stoicism, suppression of emotion, standing up for yourself and not being afraid to voice an opinion/ answer back.

I considered myself Not Brave for a long list of perceived failures. I don't know about now but in the 1980s, if you were attacked by another kid or even a teacher, be it verbally or physically then unless you were known to be "hard" you had to just batten down the hatches and take it until the storm of abuse had passed.

What a pansey!

Not answering back as 'Errol' stole my lunch money and stamped on my foot for half heartedly attempting to stop him. Not saying or doing anything as 'Chubs' repeatedly punched me in the face while I simply stood there crying.

Growing up there were a multitude of situations where I kept my mouth shut and to this day feel resentment for doing so. My aunt remarried a rather loathsome businessman named Barry. Very rich, very successful and a complete and utter wanker. Racist, right wing and judgmental of anyone below the 40% tax threshold, he once told a story at the FUCKING DINNER TABLE in my house about how he'd got an attack of the "screaming abdabs" while visiting a tyre factory and had shit himself. He stood up to mime how he'd been waddling with his undies full of excrement while everyone sat there and simply said nothing (or in my aunt and mother's case, giggled appreciatively like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard). If I had tried to tell the same story I'd have been shouted down or made to leave the table within the first couple of sentences. I wanted with every fibre of my being, to plunge a fork into the ill mannered twerp's eye sockets...but of course I didn't.

What a pansy!

Suppressing how I felt and simply "taking it" became a part and parcel of life. Problem was that when I got into my early twenties I then began to get a little more stubborn. I'd argue a 'little bit' and regard that as 'better than nothing' when I reflected on the incident later.

When I got into my thirties my obstinacy had become obnoxious but rarely productive. I'd stand my ground in arguments and tell people to go fuck themselves but it was mainly because I considered that the alternative was to simply stand there and take it and if I did that well...

What a pansy!

I joined the UK police in 2006 and never once stood up to my Sergeant,  a 'man' who bullied me until I quit the job. I did however get my own back by writing a book about what he'd done. But did I get my own back? Maybe not.

When I was in my late thirties my father told me over a beer the following opinion.

"You're not a coward Lance, you are in fact very brave. You're prepared to stand your ground but you just can't fight".

Later as I took up Krav Maga and tried to adopt the philosophies about Conflict Resolution and what the UK head Jon Bullock calls "the lest creative option" to solve problems I realised that bravery is a lot more complicated than simply standing still and taking a beating to prove I wasn't a sissy.

Bravery can and does include keeping my mouth shut. I had a row recently with a rude man in Boots (chemists) in town. What started off as me telling him that I didn't' like how he was speaking to two female cashiers, quickly devolved into a Monkey Dance that would have (as Rory Miller said), looked highly impressive to a female chimpanzee.

Bravery to me used to mean walking down that dark, narrow lane to prove that I wasn't going to be intimidated. Bravery was standing up to a guy (who was with about 5 of his mates) for insulting a woman I was with. Bravery was refusing to be the one that reversed when in a narrow bit of road where only one car can pass, and both of us took the initiative and now someone has to back up.

Bravery can include these things but something I've found recently, partly through Krav and partly through just being alive for 45 years, is that bravery can also be going the 'long way round' to avoid that narrow lane. It could be NOT confronting that racist guy who insulted my lady friend. It could also be biting the bullet and putting the gear stick in reverse. 

Bravery includes being able to swallow pride and anger and let yourself be humiliated if it is necessary to avoid potentially greater nastiness. A Krav Maga instructor named Nick Maison is Expert level 3 (black belt 3rd dan equivalent) and when in a verbal argument in London with a big guy who had queue jumped, he showed submission and lowered eye contact. He has my respect for this as it took what Mr Miller calls the Human Brain to be this controlled and above all lacking in ego to resolve it this way.

Being able to take the path of less badassery or what may feel like the 'coward's way' is one of the bravest things you can do, if it is to resolve a situation in a way you 100% feel is the right one, not just the easiest one.

A quote I read years ago sums this up for me:

"A true hero is someone who does what he does not knowing if anyone will ever find out why he did it".

Nuff said.

25% Off

Every Monday I utitilse the 02 Priority app on my phone to get a cheap lunch. This isn't just any cheap lunch. This is lunch for a quid. Yep, one solitary pound. Boots, the department store in town, let anyone wielding the correct 15 digit code, get a nice sandwich, nicer cake and a drink for just 100 pence. Normally the stuff would cost about £7 individually, or £3.29 on Boots's own meal deal.

Quids in!

I've been doing this for a while now and the only arse ache is that there is poxy network coverage inside the store, so you have to step outside to get the code up. Added to that is the 5 minute countdown from you activating the offer, to it expiring. No real problem though as the doorway is 20 yards from the food, which is a further 10 yards from the tills.

Simple.

Today I was about to pay for my stuff when the guy at the next till started moaning to the female cashier (and her female supervisor, that he'd demanded to speak to) about not getting a phone signal within the shop. He was lamenting that he had to wait "10 minutes every time" just to get coverage and that their wi-fi wasn't functioning correctly. He clearly thought it was their fault and wouldn't let either get a word in when they tried to respond. I took my phone and went:

"Excuse me, I get the same problem. Coverage is bad in here but it's not their fault, it's a network issue."

He nods at what I've said and carries on moaning at the two cashiers, misunderstanding my motivation for speaking up and assuming I'm sympathising with him.

"You see, he has the same problem. I have to wait 10 minutes, it's not acceptable."

I try again. "No, I mean it's an issue with your network. I've just had to step outside to get the code. There's no wi-fi in Boots, it's not their fault. It's a problem with your network coverage, you need to take it up with them."

There's a momentary pause while the two women look at him hopefully but it doesn't sink in and instead he curls his lip at me and goes:

"What's it got to do with you. Why don't you mind your own business?"

Typical aggressive dick. He's just received an explanation but is determined to have a good old fashioned moan at people who can't answer back and resents anyone tying to prevent that. I reply:

"Because I don't like the way you're talking to them. Instead of bullying the women why don't you just piss off?!!"

He gets immediately riled, steps back from his till and steps into my personal space, sneering "Don't tell me to piss off!"

I shove him in the chest as hard as I can with both hands and he staggers back then goes "Don't you push me!" and gets primed to throw a punch. I adopt the same stance and am expecting this to come to blows when he changes his mind. Another guy then stands in between us and asks us politely to calm down. The supervisor begins ringing her "call for assistance" bell repeatedly and in a few seconds a nervous looking security guard turns up and stands behind him.

"You told me to piss off AND you pushed me!" he says loudly.

"Because you're being rude and you got in my face. Why don't you take a deep breath, calm down and just knock it off. I've explained the situation to you, stop being aggressive."

"I'm not aggressive, you're the one who's being aggressive." He turns back to the cashier and demands that they send a complaint on his behalf to head office about having to wait for 10 minutes for the cheap lunch code AND that another customer told him to "piss off".

I take my spectacles off and put them on the counter. "Why don't you also mention that I pushed you in the chest after you weighed up to me?"

"Nothing to do with you, mind your own business."

"Haven't you got anything better to do than take your moods out on innocent people?"

I look to the worried security guard and go "Seriously?" gesturing to the irate bloke he's stood behind. The guard  shrugs and looks embarrassed, possibly one of the breed that can't get physical unless it's self defence or first aid.

The guy stood in between us again mumbles for us to calm down. I look at him and ask "You with him?" assuming he might be the guy's son or friend. He says "yes" and I extend my hand. "No hard feelings but he's being a serious idiot." He shakes my hands and goes "I know, but...."

I look to the supervisor and ask her to call the police. The elderly cashier I'm facing is still holding the card payment machine, waiting for my pin number. I enter it and go "Sorry about that, can I have a bag?" She smiles, goes "No problem" then bags my stuff and I leave, the bloke still chuntering at the till while the security guards stands there saying nothing.

When I got home I analysed this and broke it down into good and bad points. In my opinion they are as follows.

Good

1). Stood up for what I perceived to be bullying against other people.

2). Used a clearance strike as soon as my personal space got invaded.

3). Didn't back down and used neutral language to try and reason with the guy.

Bad

1). Possibly shouldn't have got involved at all.

2). Swore at him, inflaming his anger.

3). Didn't take my glasses off as soon as I'd pushed him away.

4). Didn't' have my hands up after I'd pushed him away.

75% correct. Room for improvement.

For Once It Went Right

A story to warm the cockles of your heart. Told to me by my friend yesterday about her 12 year old  nephew Alan.

Alan was on his way to school with a mate when he stopped to wait for another friend. A group of 14 year old boys from their school then stopped in front of them and one said to Alan "What the fuck are you looking at?"

Alan replied "I'm not looking at you mate, I'm just waiting for my friend."

The lad again demanded to know "What the fuck" Alan was looking at while his own mates were loudly encouraging him to punch Alan....which he did.

Instead of hitting back, Alan simply held up his hands, palms out in a placating gesure and said "Look mate, I'm not going to fight you I'm just waiting for my mate."

The lad punched him again and this time Alan said "I warn you, I do kickboxing, if you hit me again I'll hit you back."

The boy hit Alan a third time and Alan responded with one punch which broke the other boy's jaw.

Alan's mother got a phone call from the school, demanding that she come in immediately. When she arrived the bully's mother was already there and began screaming at her, saying she was going to get Alan arrested for 'beating up' her son and how Alan was an 'animal'.

After speaking to both Alan and a teacher, his mother got a full picture of what had happened. Reemerging she was met with the same screeching woman and shut her up by shouting back "HE LEARNED KICKBOXING FROM ME. IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP I'LL MAKE YOU SHUT UP!" 

After some semblance of calm was achieved, the lad was found to be falsely claiming that Alan had attacked him in an unprovoked assault and had his mates backing him up. Alan's mother then pointed out the black eye and other bruises on Alan's face and questioned how he could have 'beaten up' the other lad if, as all witnesses said, he'd only thrown one punch.

The school wanted to put Alan in detention for 2 weeks but his mother denied it, saying the other boy was two years older; that Alan had only hit him once; and that as it had happened outside of school it was technically a matter for the police who she would go to if they didn't drop it. To ensure he wasn't put in detention she also collected him from school every afternoon.

Eventually, after looking into the matter properly the school found that the other lad had indeed started it and suspended him for 2 weeks. To really sweeten the deal, they waited until he'd got discharged from hospital and THEN activated the suspension meaning it couldn't run concurrently.

Go Alan.

Mordalayn and the Bully

This is from my novel THE CATASTROPHE OF THE EMERALD QUEEN. Aimed at readers aged 10+ it's a magical fantasy set in another world. While not specifically Kravvy, this chapter has anti-bullying themes and shows that sometimes the only thing that can stop a bully is an even bigger bully.

Recently I've wondered if the outcome would have been different if Maria had done Junior Krav. But then I'd have had to find another way to show just HOW much Mordalayn hates bullies.

Artwork by Paul Rose.

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Chapter 14

As they began to bed down for the night Stone spied that Blautin hadn’t put his flute in his backpack. He made a snatch for it and Blautin span round. 

“Give it back,” the younger boy snapped angrily as the older child grinned and held on to the flute, dangling it out of reach of the frantic swipes of its owner. 

“Come and get it,” Stone said, jumping up and dancing around. The others barely took notice but then Blautin stood still and started to cry.  

Stone didn’t stop and instead started to laugh. “Hey, what are you? A little…” 

“ENOUGH!” 

Everyone jumped and looked at Mordalayn who was sitting opposite the two boys across the fire. There was a horrible silence and Stone stared at the warrior, embarrassed and scared. Blautin stopped crying and wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his sleeve. 

“Give it to him,” Mordalayn growled.

 “I was just messing…” Stone began but was interrupted.

 “You are a bully and bullies are despicable,” Mordalayn said with limitless menace. Everyone was looking at him. Challandra was scared, knowing the Caracalic’s reputation. Leppard glanced from Mordalayn to the boys and then back. Stone handed the flute back to Blautin and then sat down, his cheeks burning with shame. He hugged his knees and looked away. 

After a long pause Mordalayn spoke again. This time more softly.

 “Bullying is vile. Would you have liked it if he’d taken something you loved?” 

Stone shook his head mutely. Blautin sat down, putting his prized flute in its silk cloth and wrapping it carefully before putting it in his pack. He sniffed the last of his tears away and looked at Mordalayn, at the same time frightened and reassured. 

The Caracalic had everyone’s attention and he spoke calmly and quietly, the only other sound in the forest the crackling of the fire.

 “To make someone weaker than you a victim only for your own pleasure is beyond vileness.” He glanced around slowly at everyone as he said this. No one could meet his eyes, even Bue and Leppard lowered their gazes. 

“Recently I saw this.” 

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Mordalayn had been shadowing Jared for four days in Warwick. The spell he’d placed on Queen Sophie would prevent their enemies from finding her now. However, she was still vulnerable and as long as Jared was trackable they could, if they could get to him before she came out of her death sleep, use him to find her. Mordalayn had followed him and his parents this night to a house where a woman holding a baby had answered the door. The house was in an area that Mordalayn had not explored before. He looked around. The sun was going down and he glanced at his wrist band. The crystal was still a murky shade of green. He needed to eat. He’d smelled food about quarter of a mile east from here and decided to break off to find rations. Drawing his hood over his face and pulling his robes tight around him, he leapt from the roof he was on to the adjoining one and then shimmied down the drain pipe to a path between two houses. Behind them was some coarse ground and he vaulted the fence and ran along the edge of the copse of trees, keeping to the shadows. Shortly he came to a junction and turned right keeping his back to the walls. Leaping up again he climbed silently and fluidly to the roof of a detached house and ran soundlessly across the tiles to the peak. He knew the stores here would certainly have bins out the back for disposing of unwanted food that he could forage for. He was about to move along the roof when he looked down and something caught his eye.

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“Oooh sissy dolly,” Aiden snapped at Maria nastily.

 Maria was scared. She’d gone to the shops to buy some milk for her mother and Aiden was there. She didn’t like Aiden. He was older, bigger and bullied her and the other small kids at every chance he got. The shops were only round the corner, she could see the front garden of her house from here. She hoped someone would help her but there was no one around.

 Aiden grinned at her, his smile not even remotely reassuring and held out his hand. 

“Give it to me and let me look at it.”

 Maria gripped the doll even tighter and shook her head. She knew that if she gave it to him, even for a second, she’d never see it again or he’d break it. 

Aiden moved forward, backing her up against the wall and looked both ways in case any adults were around or that nosey Community Support Officer who occasionally wandered round the estate.

 “Let me hold it for a second and I’ll let you have it back,” he said. 

Maria was on the verge of tears and didn’t want Aiden to see her crying. “Let me go Aiden,” she pleaded. “My mummy will be wondering where I am.”

 “Best give me the doll then you stupid cow,” he said trying to snatch it from her. 

Maria bolted and ran and Aiden followed her laughing. “Go on run little cow!” he whooped, easily catching her up in about three steps. 

Maria screeched as Aiden tripped her up, pushing her down on the paved slabs outside the shops. She skidded and fell, the milk carton going flying and bursting open.

 Aiden reached down and grabbed her doll in his grubby hands. She screamed as he tore it free from her grip and shook it in front of her triumphantly. 

“See what happens when you don’t do what you’re told?!!” he shouted at her.

 Maria had skimmed her knees as she fell and she started to cry. Aiden grinned and grabbed the head of her doll and pulled hard.

 “No!” Maria screamed at him as the head came free with a pop. Aiden laughed and dropped it on the floor and put his filthy trainer on it, stamping up and down on the plastic body and twisting his foot. 

Maria bawled loudly, looking on helplessly as Aiden ruined her toy. The doll was a present from her nana, who had died last year, and it was her favourite. Giving the doll one last twist with his foot Aiden turned around and walked off laughing.

 Staggering to her feet Maria looked around and ran wailing into her home, shouting for her mother.

 Aiden walked down the alley between Maria’s house and the precinct of shops. Whistling a happy tune with his hands in his tracksuit bottoms he failed to notice the cold, furious eyes that watched him silently from a rooftop across the square.

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When Aiden got home his mother was in front of the huge plasma screen TV in their lounge. She turned as he came in, her half smoked cigarette clutched in her fingers. “Get yourself some dinner, there’s microwave corned beef hash in the freezer.”

 “Whatever!” Aiden said disinterestedly and slunk off upstairs, leaving his mother in a cloud of smoke watching television.

 He went up to his room and opened the door with the sign, “Aiden’s Den. Keep Out or be Dead,” on it with a black skull and crossbones. 

He switched on the TV in his room and turned on his games console. He fell back onto his bed and picked up the control pad while a war game started to load. As the game began he became engrossed in the action, not noticing the squeak on the stairs that meant someone was coming up. 

As his door opened he hit “pause” on the pad and cursed loudly. “Mum! I told you to knock when you….” then looked up and his voice trailed off abruptly.  

Mordalayn stood glaring at him in the doorway. His rage at what he’d seen the boy do to the little girl was barely controlled as he silently closed the door. 

Aiden stammered. “What, wh..who are YOU?” 

Mordalayn moved forward and stood towering over him silent and terrifying, his hood thrown back to reveal his face. Aiden gulped, the game controller forgotten in his hands, his eyes flicking over the huge sword on the stranger’s back and the figure’s cat face, whiskers bristling angrily. Glancing around the room Mordalayn saw the chaos of a young boy’s bedroom with old sweet wrappers and magazines on the floor amongst old clothes. He looked around slowly and his eyes finally rested on Aiden.

 “The necklace you’re wearing. Give it to me,” he said flatly.

 Aiden’s hand went up to the chunky, gold necklace he wore. It was a present from his father for his tenth birthday. “What? No way. Get lost!” 

He scrambled to his feet and made for the door but Mordalayn grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, clamping his gloved hand over Aiden’s mouth to stifle the boy’s yell of fear. He tugged hard at the necklace which snapped free with a jerk, two of the links clattering to the floor and Aiden yelped. 

Casually placing the chain into a pocket of his robe Mordalayn tossed Aiden back against a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room. As he reached for the door handle Aiden found his voice.

 “Don’t take that. Please! My dad gave me that.” He started to cry. 

Mordalayn paused for a second then turned. He glared at Aiden and his green eyes narrowed. “You laughed at that little girl’s tears today,” he said slowly. “Remember how this feels.” Then he opened the door and closed it behind him. He lithely crept down the stairs and walked past the lounge doorway, Aiden’s mother was still engrossed in her TV show and never noticed as Mordalayn made for the open kitchen door and vanished into the back garden.

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Maria’s mother Sylvia kissed her forehead as she slept, heartbroken about what had happened. She’d disinfected Maria’s grazed knees and cuddled her while she cried herself to sleep. “That boy Aiden is utterly vile” she thought, but the police either couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything about his behaviour. Each time they either failed to return her calls or simply sent that useless community support officer round to deal with it. The officer had tried to visit Aiden’s home to discuss the matter with his mother but she had simply screamed at her to go away. The only advice the police were willing to give now was “tell Maria to keep away from him.” 

She stroked Maria’s hair and pulled a stray lock away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Sighing, she stood and pulled the door half closed, the landing light casting a subdued beam into the room. Taking one last look at her sleeping daughter she went downstairs into the kitchen. 

Making for the rubbish bin Sylvia pulled the white bin liner free and checking there were no holes in the bag she tied the yellow string tightly at the top and opened the kitchen door. She walked the ten or so yards to the large wheelie bins on her driveway and opening the nearest one she tossed the bag inside. Before she could close it a thick voice spoke quietly. “Don’t be frightened but please don’t turn around.”

 Sylvia jumped with fear. “What do you want?” she stammered. “I haven’t got any money on me.” 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the voice replied. “I just want to give you something.” Sylvia twitched her head but there was only a shadow behind her, the low light on the driveway was not enough to see by. She closed the dustbin lid and rested her hands on it. After a pause the voice continued. 

“The boy who hurt your daughter today will never do that again. He is sorry and he wants you to have this to make up for his actions.”  

Sylvia glanced to her right as a paper bag was placed on the lid of the wheelie bin next to her. The gloved hand withdrew and after a long silence she slowly turned round. The driveway was empty. Breathing out heavily she placed one hand on the wall to steady herself. Then she delicately picked up the bag and walked into the kitchen to see what was inside.

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Next morning Maria came downstairs for breakfast bleary eyed and grumpy. She was still upset and was surprised to see her mother making pancakes at the cooker, singing softly to herself. As Maria came in she smiled broadly.

“Hello my little angel” Sylvia said, wiping her hands on a tea towel, hugging Maria then kissing her cheek.  

“What’s the special occasion mummy?” Maria asked, looking confused and taking her seat at the breakfast table. They only usually had pancakes on special days like Shrove Tuesday or sometimes on a Sunday.  

“Well my sweet, today is a special day because your grandmother has bought you a new doll.” 

Maria thought about this and even though she was only 7 she wasn’t stupid. “Mummy, how can nana buy me a doll?”

 Sylvia smiled again, barely able to contain herself. “Look in the bag darling,” she said, nodding to the white paper packet on the table. 

Creasing her face in confusion Maria leaned over the table and took hold of the packet. She placed it in her lap and opened it. Reaching inside she pulled out the contents and gasped.

 Inside was her doll, but different. It had golden, curly hair down to its waist. which shone in the morning light from the window.

 “Oh mummy, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, holding it up and smiling. Sylvia put her arms around Maria and laughed. “Yes my dear, it’s lovely,” She saw her daughter’s face light up with joy and wondered who had been the one who’d put things right.

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“So, remember when you tease or bully someone else you cause them pain that can usually not be taken back.” 

Stone, who’d taken the flute, bowed his head in shame and after another long silence Leppard said, “I think we all need to try and get some sleep now. We have an early start in the morning.” 

The boys began silently arranging their packs as pillows. No one spoke and no one would look directly at Mordalayn in case they met his steel gaze.