"Bye you two!" Sue shouted, pushing the two hyper children out of the front door, consequently, thirty minutes late, leaving her other two boys to muse over the day while she worked for a female dog with an attitude problem.
"Bye," Pete shouted back from the kitchen table, surrounded by towering piles of badly structured, unfinished essays about Hitler's rise to power, written by his two tired classed, 10B and 10C class, who he no sympathy for; he knew for a fact that they had all gone to at least two parties involving alcohol and drugs that week alone.
In the living room, Jake lay on the sofa, watching daytime TV, although Pete knew that his son was probably already asleep. Yesterday he hadn't noticed, as his room had been almost pitch black, but Jake had enormous black bags under his eyes from exhaustion; unlike his 10B and 10C classes, he was sympathetic for Jake for the reason that he knew for a fact that Jake hadn't been to three drug parties that week. Moreover, when he thought about it, Jake had had bags under his eyes for weeks, ever since just before the first half term.
Tucking into the marking, Pete watched the time move slowly by, and by the time he had finished marking the sixty questionable essays, it was only twelve o'clock. As it was roughly lunchtime, Pete walked into the living room to his partially asleep son, curled up on the sofa, watching Bargain Hunt.
"You hungry?" Asked Pete, sitting on the edge of the other sofa.
Jake shook his head. "Not that much," he croaked; it was then that Pete also noticed the lack of baby fat on Jake, who looked more boney than Pete remembered.
"Shall I bring you some crackers, so that if you do get hungry you don't need to ask?" Jake nodded. Although, ordinarily, he was terribly quiet, today he was completely subdued, making Pete wonder whether there was something more going on. "Coming right up, Jakester."
Ten minutes later, balancing, badly, a plate of crackers, two mugs of tea and a plate with his ham and cheese sandwich, the pinnacle of his culinary skills, Pete sat down, joining Jake in watching Bargain Hunt. "Here you go," he muttered, passing the tea with roughly the same amount of sugar as Sue had put in the previous night, to Jake, who had pushed himself up.
"So, are you feeling any better than yesterday?" Pete asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Not much better. Tired," he mumbled, halfheartedly, taking a sip of his extremely sweet tea.
"How's school going?" Asked Pete.
"It's school, isn't it," Jake said, shrugging his shoulders.
"What about the bullying?" Pete asked.
"I'm not being bullied. Why is everybody asking?" Moaned Jake, glaring at his dad threateningly, despite being completely out of it.
"When I was younger I was bullied, and so was your mum; we were both outcasts - we're worried," Pete admitted, concerned about his eldest.
"I'm not being bullied, dad," Jake moaned, turning back to the TV, taking a sip of the tea that was slowly giving him energy. Just as Jake had spoken, the phone rang, lifting Pete up and out of his chair. Originally, he looked in the cradle, but he knew that would be a false lead - it was probably nesting in the bottom of the bin or something.
"Why does on one in this house put the phone back in the cradle?" he questioned, searching through the rubbish - he made a mental note to clean the kitchen. Finding the phone in the back of the bread bin - he had been on the right lines - he answered it, not recognising the number. "This is the house that doesn't know how to put the phone back in the cradle," Pete said.
"Is this the residents of Jake Brockman?" a voice asked.
"Who's asking?" Asked Pete, creasing his eyebrows.
"Mrs Thompson - I'm Jake's form tutor," the voice replied.
"I heard about the incident yesterday and just wanted to make sure he was alright."
"He's alright - exhausted, but nothing a few days of sleeping can't fix," assured Pete, wandering over to the living room, leaning on the wall.
"Oh, okay. Nothing too horrific then," she laughed.
"No, nothing too horrific."
"There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, Mr Brockman," Mrs Thompson said.
"What?" Pete asked. By this point Jake was watching his dad, wondering who was calling at this time of day.
"Have you noticed anything different about Jake?" she asked.
"My wife and I have noticed he's been a bit more subdued than normal, but I'm guessing it's down to exhaustion, as proven yesterday," Pete recounted, glancing at Jake every other second, beginning to get nervous as to what she was insinuating. As for Jake, he had gone pale, terrified about what the person on the other end of the phone was about to say, knowing that they were talking about him.
"It has come to my attention, and the head, that there is a possibility that Jake is being bullied," she admitted, wording the sentence cautiously, knowing how parents could react to hearing their child was being bullied.
"Bullied? What kind of bullying?" Asked Pete, watching Jake as his eyes went wide open, both of their stomachs dropping like a tonne of bricks.
"I'm going to get some more tea," Mumbled Jake quickly, feeling stripped of his dignity; standing up, losing his balance and almost toppling over, Jake walked out of the room, only to be stopped in his track by his father, who, grabbed him by the shoulder, raising his eyebrow.
"We don't know, Mr Brockman. If you could talk to Jake, and get him to open up, then we can sort all of this out. I'm sorry about all of this," Mrs Thompson apologised.
"On, don't worry. I will talk to him now. Thank you, Mrs Thompson." The call ended, and Pete put the phone down on the side, rather hypocritically considering he was the one who complained about not being able to find the phone. "I thought you said you weren't being bullied," Pete burst out.
"I'm sorry, please don't be angry. I just thought I could handle it," Jake mumbled, looking distraught, Pete sighing deeply.
Bending down so that he was eye-level with Jake, Pete spoke: "I'm not angry. I just wished you would have told me or your mum earlier, so that we could have sorted it all out, earlier. Look, why don't we go upstairs and talk about this." The two trudged through the mess, up the stairs, and into Pete and Sue's room, lying on the double bed, Jake crawling on next to him. "Who was it?" Pete asked.
"Just some boys in year ten," Jake muttered, fiddling with his sleeves.
"When did it start?" Pete then asked, looking down at his tiny son, who was curled up against him.
"Near the beginning of the year," Jake replied, realising how long it had been going on for - what, three, four, months or so.
"What type of bullying?" Asked Pete, repeating the question that Mrs Thompson had asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," Jake grumbled. "I'm tired."
"I know you are, but the sooner we finish this, the sooner you can go to bed," Pete assured, rubbing Jake's back gently, comfortingly.
"It's nothing. Just names," Jake claimed, obstinate to tell him the truth, still subconsciously playing with his sleeve, catching Pete's eye. Not saying a word, Pete changed position so that he could easily roll up Jake's sleeve, revealing something he definitely wasn't expecting.
"Did they give you these bruises?" Pete inquired, looking at his mottled arms. Jake didn't reply but avoided all possible eye contact with his dad. "What did they do, Jake?" Pete asked again.
"They took my lunch money, or my school bag, to begin with," Jake croaked, cautiously, unwilling to continue. Then they started calling me names, and they beat me up, behind the bike shed, 'cause I'm an idiot and I'm short and fat and ugly," Jake burst out suddenly, after a few minutes of silence.
"Oh, Jake," Pete sighed, pulling him into a dad-sized hug. "You may be short, and there is nothing you can do about that, but you're nothing else."
"Why would they do that, then?" Asked Jake.
"I don't know, Jake," Pete admitted, wishing he could have eased his son of this pain, this burden, much sooner. A thought struck Pete - what if yesterday was to do with it all, so he asked Jake. "Was yesterday to do with any of this?"
"I may have been staying up a bit late to revise," Jake confessed, sheepishly.
"And you haven't been having meals at school like you said you had, or breakfast - all you've been having since half-term was a portion of a meal smaller than Karen's?" Pete quavered, shocked. Jake nodded again. "No wonder you fainted yesterday."
"Can I please go to sleep, dad?" Jake asked.
"Of course," Pete said, getting up and picking up Jake, who was incredibly light, cradling him almost, taking him to his room and letting him sleep - no wonder he was so light, and that would explain the never ending use of long sleeve shirts and the bags under his eyes - why, how, had neither he or Sue noticed that their son had slowly been deteriorating in front of their eyes?
Ben and Karen charged through the front door like a stampede of elephants, followed by their exhausted mum.
"Don't wake up Jake, Ben," Pete shouted, engulfing Sue in a hug.
"How's your day been?" Sue asked her husband. "Ooh, the kitchen looks nice," she commented, walking into the outstandingly tidy kitchen.
"I tell you later, after the kids have gone to bed," Pete said, turning on the kettle.
"What happened? Has Jake been sick? Is there something wrong?" Sue questioned, immediately thinking the worse.
"No, nothing like that. You could say today was actually quite beneficial," Pete assured - finding out about the bullying was quite pleasing as now they could sort it all out, and not let Jake deal with it himself, which clearly was not working.
"Okay... Right, what do we have in the way of dinner?" Sue muttered to herself, looking at the time; four thirty. Opening the fridge, she picked out eggs. "I'm absolutely jaded; we can have scrambled egg again."
"I'll sort out dinner," Pete decided, taking the eggs from her hands and putting them back. Go and sit down," Pete coaxed, pushing her out of the kitchen.
"As long as Angela doesn't come again," Sue said, walking upstairs, investigating what her kids were doing. As usual, Karen was playing with her teddies, re-enacting that week's episode of Britain's Got Talent, but, as for Ben, he was not in his room doing some berzerk experiment. "Ben?" she called, listening to the muffled sounds of giggling coming from Jake's room. "What are you doing Ben?" she questioned, opening the door to find her youngest son giving Jake, who was asleep, mind you, a makeover with a marker pen; the classic moustache and glasses. "That had better not be permanent," Sue snapped, taking the pen from his tight grip.
"Ow," Ben moped, pulling a face.
"Why don't you play with Karen, or watch TV, or play in the garden?" Sue suggested, listing all the safest options.
"But I want to play with Jake!" Ben whinnied.
"But Jake's asleep right now. You can play with him tomorrow, but at the moment, you can't."
"You take the fun out of everything!" Ben shouted, storming out of the room."
"Don't shout at your mother," Pete shouted from the kitchen. "It's not nice, it is?"
"But you're shouting at me!" Ben shouted back.
"We're in different rooms, though!"
"Life's so unfair!" Ben shouted, slamming the door to his room, only to come out again two minutes later wearing a pirate costume, running downstairs and into the kitchen shouting mutiny.
"You are not holding a mutiny Ben - go and get changed," Pete said, seizing the sword Ben was welding out of his hand, in the interest of everyone's safety.
Once the kids were all in bed, Sue and Pete sat down in the living room, the Tv playing quietly in the background.
"So, how was your day?" Sue asked.
"I found out what was wrong with Jake," Pete said, taking a sip of his tea.
"And…" Sue trailed off.
"I was right. He's been being bullied since the beginning of the year," Pete revealed.
"What do you mean?" Sue asked, unwilling to believe her husband.
"I got a call from his tutor at lunch - she was just checking up on him, but then told me that she thought he was being bullied."
"And did you confirm this with Jake?"
"He has all these bruises on his arms. He hasn't been eating or sleeping - that's why he fainted yesterday," Pete explained.
"Oh." Sue had been left speechless.
"The good thing is that we can now sort all of this out," Pete said.
"I need something stronger," Sue said, putting down her glass of wine, standing up. "Do we have any gin or something?"
"I don't think we do," Pete said, creasing his eyebrows.
"What a shame," Sue said, sitting back down. "Are you sure he's being bullied?" Questioned Sue, trying to dismiss the idea that his poor baby boy was really being bullied - he was supposed to be going to the best school in the area!
"Come with me," Pete said, standing up and taking Sue's hand. The pair walked up the stairs to Jake's room. Opening the door, Pete knelt down next to Jake's, seemingly expansive, bed, and rolled up his sleeve, the dim light coming from the hallway illuminating the copious number of bruises on Jake's arm. "I can assure you, he's being bullied," Pete said, looking at his wife, who's mouth was wide open, like a fish, ruminating the information in her head. "We need to be a lot more vigilant," Pete continued.
"It's preposterous!" Sue whisper-shouted. "I have a good mind to call up that school right now and stick their 'outstanding' Ofsted report right up their first-class, oversized posterior."
"What are you doing in my room?" Jake muttered, his eyes half open, his face still covered in the marker from Ben's 'game', making Pete chuckle.
"Your mum was worrying," Pete said.
"About what?" Jake asked, a realisation appearing in his head just as he said it. "You told her?" he snapped.
"We need to get this sorted," Pete said to his son.
"By telling everyone? The more people that know, the more I'm going to get beaten up tomorrow!" Jake shouted, sitting up, pulling his sleeves back down, as if by doing so made him less vulnerable to the world.
"Ah." Once again, Sue was stumped by one of her children.
"I promise you that won't happen," Pete said, although he knew there was no way of knowing what would happen when Jake went back to school.