THE IMAGES

FRIDAY DECEMBER 10TH 1976
DANBRAY – BELLSTREE : MORNING
Morning in the suburbs, one of the most reliable things left in the world, coming invariably every twenty-four hours and fluctuating between little or no difference each time. Bill stood looking from his bedroom window, little pain now apparent in his limbs and feeling renewed after equalising his debt last night. As usual the view was the same, nothing really changes day to day until about ten years after.
The wintry sky was overcast and the clouds loomed together thickly, as if to envelop the country in the folds of its' dark cape forever. Tall grey gas towers rose far to the left of his scope of vision, the large unoccupied and decrepit buildings around it blending into the tawdry grey and rust coloured sepulchres – these were the places half the town worked a lifetime ago. The grey bridge running over the far end of the road groaned with the strain of the morning traffic plunging headlong to its final destination, while the familiar sounds of suburbia’s machinations started again in the form of the whining of the buses, the tortured screams of the obstinate motor bike, workers moving in packs to the bus and train stations, mothers taking children to school and the zombies of suburbia spinning off to do whatever they do.
Bill tried to look at the landscape and truly see it for what it was, but he found the task too difficult for a subjective mortal. To him it was merely a sea of grey buildings relieved by yawning high flats and dull factories. A town - nothing more and nothing less, the town he had been born and raised in. He neither loved it nor hated it. The others’ hate fuelled disposition to Danbray amused him, they were from other places they cared for more but they were missing the fact that cities are cities and shitty towns are shitty towns… it’s how you live in them not what they are that matters. Sometimes the other man’s grass is always greener and the past is seen though rose tinted spectacles, he mused.
With a cursory glance at the mirror reflection of his own house across the street and then down the row of look-alike buildings on either side, Rosser retracted his head, unaffected. Lazily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he walked over to sit on the dishevelled bed and slipped his feet into the ragged grey slippers which were almost hidden by the fallen blue striped bedsheets. He stood up, stretched and switched the brown Binatone radio on. Almost instantly an untapped supply of wit from the Noel Edmunds Breakfast Show burst forth – Bill wondered why this guy didn’t simply kill himself on air, what the hell did Mhic find so amusing about the bearded retard? Bill scratched at the flesh which peeked from between the buttons of his pyjamas, rubbed viciously at his nose, then wandered out to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Unsurprisingly, the kitchen was empty and only another lazy day lay ahead.

GLASGOW
The pretty girl rested her black coffee on the oblong, glass topped table, then sat down. The movements of her undulating body only barely restrained by the semi transparent black gossamer housecoat which adhered to her like a second skin, highlighting the nudity beneath. Her pale green eyes fluttered around the small room nervously, flickering from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom before finally resting on Harris. Her eyes drank in the sculptured looks of his handsome face and chiselled features, then drifted down to the seemingly glowing skin which gaped at her appealingly from inside the new black zip-top. Harris smiled at her naturally and glanced out the window at the church steeple in the distance, barely visible, whilst the sound of ‘Golden Years’ gently illuminated the plush room’s acoustics.
Outside Park Circus was beginning to bustle with activity as the offices nearby opened their doors to the city workers once again. The faint hint of yesterdays' make-up held onto the girl’s face, flattering her already attractive facial composition. She peered at Harris from her glowing eyes, tiny lines of fatigue and sleeplessness plaguing them, quietly surveying the enigma she had known for so many years.
Harris drained the glass of chilled, fresh orange juice and rose to depart, the girl rising with him and walking across the cold, Italian tiled floor. The black gossamer material billowed as she moved revealing her uniform pale flesh beneath. With a languorous movement she slipped her arms gently around his neck as he leaned back against the door watching her dark hair falling across her face. As she leaned forward the scent of her skin mixed with ‘Shalimar’ to fill his senses as he watched her purse her lips before opening her mouth to press hers to his. They slowly kissed, passionately, encompassing all the things which had gone before, their temporary unity briefly revisited and acknowledged.
With half closed eyes she pulled back from him and ran her red nailed fingers through his long fringe to push it all back from his forehead. With deliberate provocation her hips pressed into his and a little smile manifested on her face making her nose wrinkle just enough to be sexy and amusing at the same time. Harris raised an eyebrow and kissed her left cheek where her fake black beauty spot had been last night and then he ran his tongue from beneath her ear lobe to the base of her neck making her shudder… just a little. The woman moved back from him a step and closed her garment in a slight overlap as she appeared to embrace herself. The distraction was over for both of them and it was time to go back to their own separate worlds once more.
Harris opened the door, keeping it ajar with his foot, stuck his hands into his pockets, made a little nod of his head and took a final lingering glance at the pretty woman and departed - leaving a fraction of himself with her. The door clicked shut gently behind him and inside the woman shed the robe with a shrug of her shoulders, preparing to clean the blood of yesterday's sins from herself in the shower.

DANBRAY – ALL SAINTS SCHOOL : LATE MORNING
It was about eleven fifteen and the morning break was already five minutes down with a little stream of pupils risking reprimand by venturing out the gates to grab some hot, mid-morning food at Pete’s – perhaps even riskier was the nutritional and hygiene risks. A steady trickle of schoolchildren made the short journey back and forth to the brown shack unable to avoid the indigenous hazard that hung around the location on a fairly regular basis. There was always a small, hardcore crowd of young hoodlums who stood outside Pete's Shop mindlessly shouting and cursing between themselves and more often abusing the unwary.
The dress code for most of the Young Hill tended to be denim jackets and custom made parallels of differing colours and piped trim with many button, pocket and turnup variations utilised as the mark of individuality. Another aspect of individuality came about through the custom-made Fairisle jumpers and College tops which they sported in a wide variety of colours, arm hoops and pattern mixtures. Doc Martens were fairly standard footwear for them all with only the coolest of them seeking import options of patent colours or lacing sockets. Outside of these key common features, the Young Hill members hairstyles varied enormously – from the flat, long hair style of Status Quo’s Francis Rossi to the cropped skinhead look that had long past its popularity with the plethora of variations in between. And yet, despite all these marks of individuality, most observers saw only the commonality - which was the mark of being anti-social animals.
At the centre of the scum nebula were two of the main Young Hill crew, Fox and McCallum, indulging in their favourite recreational pastime – intimidation and extortion of the weak or defenceless. McCallum was a big guy, heavily built with large ears that competed with his unpleasant teeth for the most repelling feature about him. The bright green trousers and two sizes too small denim jacket made him stand out like a glowing neon sign. Fox, on the other hand, adopted a somewhat more sophisticated sartorial style with royal blue trousers featuring a host of pockets and large turnups - all trimmed with a bright red piping. Unlike the other tentacles of the gang, Fox wore an army surplus camouflage jacket over his pale blue and white college ‘v’ neck jumper making him stand out from the other underlings. Foxy, as he was known, was of average height with mid length blonde hair that hung around his face like a frame bordering his sharp, handsome features. It was his piercing pale blue eyes that stood out most, ugly and cold, devoid of any warmth or humanity like windows opening into his empty soul.
The young boy they had accosted looked like he was in second year at most, lovingly dispatched by his parents in a neat, good quality school uniform that was already in a dishevelled state of abuse and his glasses were tilted at a precarious, almost Eric Morcambe like, angle. Fox viciously kicked and punched at the unfortunate specimen who refused to pay protection money as the overgrown McCallum held the boy - all for a few worthless coins. Some of the other Hill crew watched proceedings with interest whilst others, having frequently witnessed such scenes, simply continued eating or chatting because to them it was just another day.
Across the road, inside the bus shelter, stood Dave and Sto.
Dave, in his RAF coat, drew on his cigarette and looked out at Fox. Sto knew what was coming.
“I hate that prick Fox! That’s the third kid he’s jumped in five minutes.”
Sto, in his big shabby Parka. Nodded and exhaled a gust of smoke into the damp shelter.
“Why don’t you just say it?”
“Say what, Sto?”
“That we’re going to grab Fox, obviously. The spineless cunt usually lets the Hill Plebes do the kids so that he can’t get tugged for it. We could toe him and then get him done for it.”
Dave grinned in reply.
“Well, it had crossed my mind.”
“Big fucking surprise. I owe the cunt anyway – him and two or three of the spineless jumped me last month. I just wish Sweeney was with them – I really hate that shitkicker!”
With a puff of smoke, Dave nodded.
“Right! So we go?”
“Might as well. We take him and McCallum – hard and fast, I don’t want to risk the whole crew getting on us.”
Dave grinned as Sto tossed the cigarette away, peeked outside the shelter and smiled back.
“Let’s rock, Jock!”
They had waited a long time to catch this pair and settle the score after numerous previous occasions of missing them in the midst of perpetration. Now, by sheer chance, they had them.
Dave crushed the remains of the cigarette he had been enjoying outwith the school grounds, nodded an ugly grin to Sto and they exited the slogan painted grey shelter.

Fox's blonde hair jerked as he kicked the young boy again. "Ah want your fuckin’ money son! Come on - get it across, cunt, or you're gonna get ripped!"
The boy looked up at him, the sweat dripping from his body and his face already bloodied, but he still refused to give in to them. McCallum gripped the boy in a chokehold, raised him from the ground and shook him about with a grin as he watched his mentor operate. There was some noise of disruption coming from the milling throng that drifted into the centre of the ugly scene but it didn’t stop the ongoing incident. The victim saw Fox's shiny boot swing back and his brain screamed wildly at the thought of what was coming next. He shut his eyes and felt the well of tears pulse up within himself, bladder quaking as he wished he’d just given them the money.
Dave bulldozed his way through the scum and savagely kicked at Fox’s thigh to send him reeling to the ground before he could deliver the final blow to the unfortunate, myopic schoolboy. McCallum released the spectacled prisoner almost instantly and moved forward, he stood a few inches above Sto and swung clumsily at him. Like a powerful piston, Sto's foot sank deep into the other's groin making him collapse like a sack of potatoes.
"Nice one, Sto!" Dave crooned, ignoring the growing shouts of the crowd. "Now let's take this filth to visit our wunnerful deputy head. Thank yew very much, Ma’am."
McCallum's fear of the administrative forces reprisals incited an attempt to punch Sto’s crotch but it ended with a swift, hard, knee smash in the face which cracked open the youth's nasal blood vessels. Fox loped up from the ground like a misshapen monster, shouting to his terrorist associates in front of the shop. "Come on, you fucks – handers! These poofy cunts aren't going to get away with this. Fuckin' well come on, we'll have them!"
Some of the braver parties in the gang started to move forward warily. For a tiny eternity the two sides gazed at each other in a temporary deadlock with the entire outcome of the situation hanging in the balance.
Sto and Dave remained unmoving, now defiantly holding onto the two thugs.
"You two wankers are marked. I’ll open your faces some night. Get your fucking hands off us. Hill - come on, ya bastards… take these poofs!" the struggling Fox screamed near to hysteria.
Dave punched him hard in the throat and Fox fell against the wall gasping for breath, only a stupid rasp escaping his lips as his enthusiasm waned proportionally to the feeling of debility.
Macklin turned to the rest of them authoritatively. "Any more, then? No? Your mainman’s going down and anybody comes near us better take us right out. Anybody? No? Well, fuck off, weeds!"
With stern faces, Sto and Dave promptly grabbed and dragged their captives from the immediate homeground, passing through the shocked Hill populace like Moses parting the Red Sea. Despite their injuries, Fox and McCallum still struggled and cursed as they were inexorably dragged to the school as if magnetised. The spectacled victim followed anxiously at a pace or so behind, blood slithering over his clothes and pure fear still rampant in his bloodstream – there was also an earnest determination to avoid succumbing to the urge for a hot, mid morning pie in the future.
The five figures re-entered the school gates and struggled over to the main building.

While his friends fought with the Young Hill, Harris sat immobile in the empty French classroom trying to think of some way he could prove it was Thursday. It was nearly impossible. It simply seemed like Thursday and therefore it was. Everybody accepted it and there was really little need to prove the contrary. It was a mere label for convenience. He was the only person in the tiny class - no one else had turned up, even Scorchie, the teacher, had abstained. Six hours ago he was still wrapped up in bed with Angeline and now he was back to the everyday hell of All Saints. Harris couldn’t even be bothered to leave the room when the break bell went off.
The only good thing about the room was that it looked out onto the hills, when you could see them. In his boredom, Harris gazed over to the little window in the door and watched the people go past the room with alarming regularity. He, the omniscient watcher, laughed at them and their perceived similarities. Each face was interchangeable with the next body, the individuality of the being having been suppressed to a point of almost non-existence. This rule went for the teachers as well, only it was on a different, more 'elevated' level. None of them seeing further than the end of their noses, all so wrapped up in themselves, worrying only about how to get through the day with as little trouble as possible. A hopeless existence and one which had most people by the short and curlies. The power of the rut was next to God.
School was merely the introduction which prepared people for the things to come later in life. It was like a mini society and after school came the job or whatever happens - it was all the same, just like school only in a different setting. The only way to avoid the ball trap system was to play the game by your own rules. Swimming against the tide was simply instinctive to Harris, and yet as the adage went ‘The nail which sticks up gets pounded down’.
Suddenly it struck him. What was he doing here, just sitting alone in a dingy room inside a building full of tomorrow’s lunatics? His brows ground together in concentration as he tried to discover the answer. He couldn't find one, so he stood up, grabbed his tatty BEA bag and left the room.
The corridor was busy with uniformed bodies that all appeared to be going the opposite way from Harris and he reluctantly ducked into the shelter of the locked entrance foyer of the assembly rooms. The BEA bag fell to the ground and Harris flopped against the heavy wooden doors, closing his eyes and imagining he was somewhere else.
“Jonn! You okay?” a well spoken voice asked with some concern.
Harris opened his eyes and saw the tall, thin, blonde sixth year. He grinned in response.
“Mars! What’s new, G?”
Mars jumped in beside him, towering over Harris.
“Not much. Getting a tryout for the Glasgow Diamond Basketball crew in the new year, though.”
“Well done, sport! You’ll be in with a shout there. Which is more than you were with little Netball Betty at Stevie’s party.”
Mars frowned and shook his head. “Thanks for the reminder. She was really gorgeous but…”
“Four feet too small for you, Mars. It would never have worked out… you would have been head and shoulders above her - even horizontally!”
“Yeah, suppose so. Thanks for getting me the invite to the party though, at least it gave me some time to get to know her a bit. Just not the bits I wanted to know.”
“Well, you did get to meet Bobbi – you two seemed to hit it off. Any more update?”
The tall blonde smiled a little shyly. “Yeah… we went out the next weekend. Went to see ‘The Man Who Fell To Earth’, like you suggested… and she just kept drooling about Bowie all the way through – especially when he peeled off.”
“Told you she was a big Bowie fan, G!”
“Yeah, but she wanted to watch the film – I mean, she really wanted to see it! Left me in coldsville!”
Harris laughed and nodded.
“Sorry, G, I just knew if you said you were taking her to see that film she’d be impressed – didn’t see the obsession coming out that way when I suggested it.”
The other raised his hand and leaned in with a smile.
“Well, after the film was done and I took her to the station… she made her gratitude apparent. The girl is some kisser… it was as if she saved it all up!”
“Or she was really hot after watching Tommy Jerome leaping all over Mary Lou?”
Mars nodded thoughtfully before he shrugged.
“Maybe. Anyway, you were right – she’s really nice and very funny!”
“And tall, don’t forget that!”
“And tall, yeah. We’re off out this weekend, some Golf Club do out in Newton Mearns. Might be fun!”
“Good for you, Mars!”
“Man – that name… it’s really stuck – even Bobbi calls me Mars!”
Harris shook his head and tried not to smile.
“Sorry, dude, but all through fifth year there was not a single break where you weren’t munching one of those fucking black bars of goo. You are what you eat… apparently! Anyway, it’s a good name – cool, demonic… a lot better than being named after some other planet like Uranus!”
Mars grinned and shook his head in resignation.
“Bobbi says it’s a cool name for a cool guy!”
“She’s as bright as she is pretty. I’m glad things seem to be going well… it was time for you to meet someone good for a change.”
“Bobbi says she owes you one, for introducing us. What does she mean by that… exactly?”
Harris raised his eyebrows and tried not to grin.
“Just one pal thanking another. There’s no secrets here, G!”
The other one smiled wryly and shook his head in disbelief.
“Jonn, there’s always secrets with you and whatever girl you know. I don’t know how you can go to an all guys school and know so many foxy babes – and they all like you. If you went into films or something… you would be made!”
Harris grinned shyly. “Well, time will tell. I meant to ask, where did you get the rugger top? It’s cool!”
Mars shook his head with a secretive smile. “Your old pal, Furny! Selling them for half the retail price – everybody on the basketball team bought them. Bargains!”
Harris nodded wryly as he gazed out to the quietened corridor. “Yeah… bargains – that’s for sure! A word to the wise, G, some of Furny’s sale items can be a bit… warm, if you know what I mean!”
“Really? Shit! Bobbi got me to score half a dozen of those cool American Sports Bras for her friends on the Netball team. Bloody hell!”
Harris laughed and nudged Mars. “Don’t worry, dude, they’re all Glasgow girls – it should be safe! But I’d have loved to have been in the changing room when they tried them on. Bobbi’s friends are all like her – pretty hot looking!”
“Tell me about it. I went to their match with Shawfield on Tuesday night – it was like a model show. Man, I didn’t even notice who had won until Bobbi and Merlyn came over at the end, grinning from ear to ear!”
“Merlyn? Long time since I saw her.”
“Well, she hasn’t forgotten you, I can tell you that. Totally forgot to tell you the other day – she said if you were over her way during the Christmas hols you were to give her a ring. Said something about Scott and… God, who was it?”
“Alicia?”
“Yeah! Scott and Alicia were going North for a couple of days before new year. Then she just laughed and Bobbi laughed and then they started whispering and laughing some more. I had no idea what was going on except Merlyn’s new bra was keeping those serious bells right in place. What the hell was that about?”
Harris’s face was a tight grin as he mentally debated about what to say.
“Scott and Alicia are Merlyn’s parents!”
Mars’s eyes opened widely and he grinned with some admiration.
“You and Merlyn?”
“Long time ago, a lot of water’s gone under the bridge since then.”
“Man! Man! She is so foxy – wow! Was she inviting you to…?”
“Just being funny, no doubt! They’re a bunch of comedians once you get to know them.”
The tall youth nodded as the bell went off to indicate the end of break. He smiled and prepared to move off for his next class. “Comedians? Neither of them seemed to be joking about the invite. It makes sense now!”
“What’s that?”
“The only thing I heard clearly when they were giggling away to one another.”
“And that was?”
Mars grinned and gave a respectful tilt of his head as he moved off.
“Something about getting all the girls over to play with the snake. I can only assume they meant… well, just goes to show – girls are the same as guys when it comes to talking dirty. You really get around, don’t you, Jonn?”
Harris shrugged innocently and smiled with a look that reflected he had no idea what was being implied as the grinning Mars joined the human tide with a final wave.
Picking up the BEA bag and moving back into the throng, Harris smiled to himself… and wondered if he still had Merlyn’s number somewhere.

McCallum's wide nose was still bleeding profusely leaving a red trail that a blind man could follow when they arrived at the little corridor that led to Montague's empire. The Assistant Head’s office was next to the Administration Department, both of which faced the Headmaster’s large domain and the tiny Medical Room. The Administration Office contained the one thoroughly desirable feature of the entire, troubled institution – Annette Cole, the School Secretary. Annette was a truly stunning woman in her early twenties, above average height with sparkling blue eyes and provocative mouth, natural blonde hair and a body built by the hand of God. Undoubtedly Miss Cole was the source of many schoolboy fantasies and induced the onset of physical experimentation in many others… if the evidence of bathroom graffiti was anything to go by. The administration staff was completed by Mrs Blake who was in her early fifties and probably created by Airfix from leftover parts. The school Head was rarely seen and some pupils had gone for years without ever glimpsing sight of the mystery man who left the majority of practical decisions to those involved with day to day life, reserving his abilities for the more macro orientated necessities. Indeed, within All Saints there were many pupils who simply did not even know the name of their school’s figurehead.
All the way up the stairs, Fox and McCallum had threatened their revenge, sworn retribution and attempted to escape the Monitors’ clutches a couple of times before finally submitting to their fate. Sto and Dave threw them against the wall outside the brown door and knocked repeatedly against the office entrance. Sto pulled his red and black striped tie open and shook his head towards Dave as they awaited admission to the sanctified chambers.
"We'll be dead of old age before he comes to the door." Dave moaned.
Montague appeared at the doorway just in time to hear the sarcastic comment.
"What's this then?" he asked the pair. "Has the circus come to town?"
Fox shouted out instantly. "They attacked us, both of them – for nothing… and hit McCallum just for asking why! Get the Police in!"
Montague's steely eyes pierced through gold rimmed specs into the two hoodlums and straight through their duplicity. "He didn't hit him hard enough then."
"Come on to fuck…”
"Shut it and stand there, Fox. I'll be out to deal with the pair of you shortly - understand, sonny? Right, you two 'guardians of the law', in here!"
Sto and Dave slouched in, aware of the argument which was about to take place - just like all the other times.
The office was spacious, illuminated by large frosted glass windows facing the door with all the walls featuring wood panelling from floor level to three feet high, above which they were off white with a series of framed images pertaining to school achievements. A large, white wood desk dominated the room, behind which sat a wide, black leather chair with another inferior one reflecting from the other side.
Montague was a large man wearing a dark blue suit, in good shape and probably in his mid-forties with close-cropped black hair and narrow glasses. He stood behind the desk, folded his arms and placed his head back a little before he spoke.
"So, what's the story then, Storey?" The man asked with unconscious wit.
"He finally slipped up. As usual he was extorting money from the junior members of the school. The big, hard, gang psycho picking on a first year – as usual. This time we happened to actually see it and hear it happen, instead of merely knowing it!"
"How the hell did McCallum get into that mess? It's not the bloody Mafia you're in, you know!"
Dave stuffed his hands into his pockets, tilted his head and then chimed in.
"You know how he got into that state, sir. They attacked us and when that didn’t work they tried to get the rest of the Hill team to do us up. Maybe you remember what happened to Brian Thompson before summer? Well, he’s still in hospital and when he gets out he won’t be walking too well again. And if memory serves me correctly, no one saw anything and no police action was taken. We won’t let that happen to us!"
Montague looked at them seriously.
"These kids will have the law and the whole education committee around me. Fine, they need to be punished, they're animals, but you can't go around like self imposed vigilantes! There are laws, you know… you two could be done for assault."
Storey's eyes screwed up behind his blue tints. "What do you suggest we do then, sir, ask them if they'll come up and see you? Ask them not to do us the way they did Thompson?"
"Listen, Storey, your Monitor badge doesn't give you the right to talk to me like that. Remember your place in this school, you are pupils – not police. Don't forget it!"
"You can have your badge back any time you want – sir! You don't get threatened in the street by this scum. Do you have any idea what these… animals are like, what they do? As far as I can see, you’re not attacked when you’re going about your own business outside. It's all the time to us, day in - day out. We’re looking over our shoulders every time we go out, even down to the shops! Their victim, by the way, is probably in the medical room having his nose reset!"
"They'll be punished, you can be sure of that - but there'll be more to it. These kids know the system and are smarter than most lawyers!" Said Montague with some evidence of fatigue. "And you two just happened to bump into them when they started on this kid, eh?"
Dave rolled his eyes and the two of them stood in silence.
Montague's anger built up inside himself, he could do without all this bother. It was getting to the stage where he spent more time dealing with discipline issues within the school than he did with developing the institution. Christ, his life was becoming a catalogue of trauma - things were bad enough at home with a near alcoholic wife and two daughters who were at the age where everything was a battle… as it was, the only thing to look forward to was some peace and quiet in the school, but that was obviously too much to hope for.
"Listen!" The Assistant Head demanded. "I don't want any more strong arm stuff, this school's got a bad enough reputation as it is. We’re trying to build All Saints into something that doesn’t strike fear into parents minds when their children enrol here, trying to make people forget all the things that have happened here and the acts undertaken by the more undesirable pupils. Those two will be dealt with, but I don't want to see you two back here again in these circumstances. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, is it?"
“Should we ignore this kind of thing in future?” Dave inquired.
“No, Macklin, obviously not! But you don’t have to go looking for trouble, do you?”
The tall youth almost laughed before he spoke. “Trouble tends to come looking for us more than we look for it - these confrontations aren’t limited to school time!”
Sto felt his rash coming up, as it always did in moments of irritation or worry.
"Do you think you can protect us when we’re in the real world, sir?"
Dave's scowl crept into his voice. "Or at least support our decisions in school?"
Montague mentally groaned, walked to the door and opened it with a nod to them. "Right lads, out you go! We’re finished here."
He walked into the grey corridor and the other two wandered out behind him. Fox's hate was almost tangible, his visual threat was unspoken but absolutely categoric - as was the silent acceptance of the challenge from the two youths.
"Inside you two!" Montague ordered the Hill boys.
He stood watching Macklin and Storey walk down the corridor for some reason he couldn't put his finger on. Their voices echoed throughout the corridor even though they spoke silently. The taller one turned to the other as he spoke.
“Best way to give this school a good reputation is to get rid of scum like that, exterminate them!”
“And their families, the bastards breed like cockroaches!”
"Yeah and look what happens when you try to do anything about the violence, the system gives the scum a slap on the wrist and we’re told to watch out we don’t get done for assault! Jesus!”
"Yeah." The reply came back. "It's just as well we can protect ourselves – unlike Thompson!"
The corridor door blasted shut and Montague closed his mind to that matter and reverted to the problem on hand. Retirement couldn’t come soon enough for him.