The Whispering Begins

~1~

Hank was born, on August the 28th 1975 to Gertrude and Harry Harris. Fairy tale parents, as his mother was beautiful and his father was handsome. Like all fairy tales there was a villain in his life. His grandmother. Louisa Harris was the Wicked Witch of the West. A common feeling amongst all her grandchildren.

Anna, his sister, was born 7th of September ’77; James, his brother was born in 1980, and the twins were still babes. He loved the role of big brother, and he played it very seriously. Possessing the maturity of a boy far beyond his years. Charles, his grandfather, thought that Hank didn’t know how to be a child. Unfortunately, this led to him being bullied by the children at his Primary School.

Harry was a second-hand car dealer and his mother was a hardworking housewife.

“With five kids, do you honestly think I’ll have time or energy to have a job?” she demanded every time Harry suggested she find part-time work. “Besides, it’s not like we need to be a double income family!”

“My father could look after the kids,” Harry suggested mildly.

“I don’t know what Louisa taught you Harry, but my mother told me that when you have kids, those kids are your responsibility, not someone else’s.”

Hank had heard this argument at least once a week. Eavesdropping through his parents bedroom door. One thing was certain he did not want his mother to work in an office. Because he was bullied he loved the safety net of coming home to see his mum; ironing, baking, whatever household chore she did on that particular day of the week.

Every time his parents had this discussion Hank was always scared he’d come home and find his mum looking for work. Deep down he knew he was being silly but he was constantly afraid of arriving home from school and seeing his mum hold a briefcase and wear a suit with shoulder pads that aeroplanes could land on.

Sometimes, once in a blue moon, one of Gertie’s old university pals would berate her for sticking under the heel of man. Gertie replied that equality and freedom, for her, meant freedom of choice. She chose to be a wife and mother to several children; it was all she wanted since she was a lonely child. If anyone was oppressing her it was her feminist friends. Eventually, she lost all her old friends. Not that she cared. It was their problem if they could not accept her for what she was.

***

Two things occurred in his eleventh year almost simultaneously that had a huge impact on the rest of his life: one; his harridan of a grandmother died. Secondly, he started Secondary Education.

He knew he should have cried at his grandmother’s funeral. Instead he was sitting in the church next to his cousin Philip, laughing behind their hands, whispering jokes about the ghastly make up she wore with that hideous candy pink hair set in a Thatcherite style. Hank’s father regularly poked his eldest son in the back. Harry leant forward more than once and hissed the word ‘respect;’ this only encouraged Philip, a well-known troublemaker, to giggle louder.

Philip inherited his personality from his father, Hank’s Uncle Mark. Mark Smythe was as old as Hank’s grandfather. Rumour had it that it was his Aunt Sarah that did the chasing. However it happened they fell in love, got married, with three children as fruitage of that love. Louisa wanted to be a nurse, Philip had a talent for storytelling, and last but by no means least was Julia, the Princess of the family.

The Smythe family lived in Luton. Famous for the airport and Eric Morecambe’s support of the football team.

Hank loved all his cousins. Philip was two years older than him so he looked up to Philip like he was an older brother. You could not get two opposites in appearances if you tried.

Hank had ash-blond, almost silver hair, true blue sparkling eyes, that when angry turned a stormy grey, which did not happen very often. Hank’s dark complexion was a complete contrast to his otherwise light hair and moody eyes. Philip had dark black hair, which reached down to his shoulders, thin in texture and often went lank after being unwashed for two days. His eyes almost matched the colour of his jet-black hair. Most of the time they sparkled with some form of mischief. An almost white complexion belied his sun-worship in the hotter months. His looks earned him the nickname Dracula—a nickname he was proud to carry.

Louisa, Philip’s older sister, had brown hair, eyes, and complexion. She felt frumpy when she was with her entire family. Feeling like a wall flower to the rest of the family. A kind and compassionate demeanour lit up her eyes and gave her a luminosity more enduring than beauty.

Julia’s hair shimmered all the colours of autumn; copper-red streaks waved down her back in unison with natural blonde locks and dark brown strands. Silvery eyes and a very cheeky smile that dimpled each side of her sweet mouth were a dangerous combination; giving her a coquettish air. Like most girls she had her daddy wrapped around her finger. She was sitting next to Anna.

Anna Harris was a shy, awkward, child. Gangly, freckly and slightly toothy. Often forced to wear her mousy blonde hair in pigtails with pink ribbons by her mother who knew her daughter would rather wear head to toe black. All her concentration was trying to get her brother James to stop squirming in his seat. James was a mixture of his brother and cousin. He had black hair that flopped over his brow every time he moved his head, often hiding his grey eyes. Sitting on Julia’s and Louisa’s laps were the twins, Daniel and Elizabeth. Both had thick wavy auburn hair and green eyes, but that was as far as the similarities went. Daniel was a big, beefy boy. Elizabeth was petite for a baby of her age. They were only a year old and gurgled happily, unaware that they were at a solemn, sad occasion.

Hank’s and Philip’s attention span was beginning to wane. The fat Priest was droning on and on about how she had suffered and that God had now let her rest in peace. Now she was highly rewarded for her loyalty to Charles. Also her devotion to her two children Harry and Sarah. God surely could not miss how sweet and attentive to her eight grandchildren she was. Being faithfully devoted to God made her an outstanding human being and more than made sure her offspring were pure in the sight of God.

“Crap!” Hank heard his grandfather say from behind him. Philip giggled. Hank smiled rather shamefully, he did not want to laugh. Not being able to resist the impulse any further, he snorted along with his cousin.

“Father,” Harry hissed. “Not in church.”

“I don’t care where we are Harry,” Charles whispered back. “It’s all cotton woollen codswallop in my opinion, which amounts to the same thing!”

Philip could not help but laugh out loud.

“Shut up, Philip,” Louisa said.

“Grampy’s right though,” Philip said. “It is cr–,” he looked at his mother who was eyeing him carefully, “codswallop.”

Hank turned around and looked at his grandfather. The old man winked at him; his fading periwinkle blue eyes dazzling with mischief. Hank nudged Philip, who then proceeded to turn around. Charles smiled at both of them. He loved their camaraderie, their spirit – of all his offspring these two made his heart swell with pride.

“Race you to the coffee shop!” he whispered.

“You’re on Gramps!” Philip replied.

Minutes later Hank stood at the grave of his grandmother, spring rain drizzling down on him. Confused by the lack of emotion. Surely he should feel something. The Priest approached him with a sad look in his eyes.

“Are you all right my son?”

“I am confused, Father,” Hank admitted. “I did not love her, yet I miss her all the same.”

“Sometimes, son, we do not know or realise how much we love someone until they die, and then we wish we had another chance with them. Do not worry there will be a time when death shall re-unite you with your grandmother up in Heaven!”

Hank felt a heavy hand on his other shoulder. Turning he glanced up into his grandfather’s eyes, which were now fixed stonily on the pompous Priest.

“With all due respect, Father,” Charles began stiffly. “I do not wish you to fill my grandson’s head full of this dogmatic nonsense!”

“I assure you, Mr. Harris, I meant the boy no harm. I was simply answering a question. The boy was confused.”

“And he doesn’t need you to muddle his brain with more mutton headed thinking. My late wife is neither in Heaven, or Hell, or Perjury! She is there in that coffin and there she will rot!”

“But the boy did ask me a question,” the Priest said drawing in his chest. Hank was sharply reminded of Harry Secombe’s Mr. Bumble in the musical Oliver.

“The ‘boy’, happens to be called Hank!” Charles said harshly before turning Hank around leading him away from the puffed up Priest. “Want a coffee, Hank?” Charles asked steering his grandson out of the cemetery.

“Sure Grampy,” Hank answered.

“Listen, Hank, and listen carefully, your grandmother believed in that rubbish but I don’t!”

“Neither do I,” Hank replied quickly.

“What was it you asked that idiot?”

“I was confused that, well, I didn’t love Gran. But I miss her all the same.”

“Don’t miss her, Hank, we can all breathe again.”

Hank was a little relieved to know that he was not the only one who did not love Louisa Harris, as far as he could tell, no one in his family loved her.

Hank did love his grandfather though. Charles was his only surviving grandparent as his mother’s parents both died before he was born.

They walked into Toni’s Espresso. Toni’s Espresso was a coffee shop situated directly opposite the church.

As the sign indicated it was established in the seventies. A dark cream background, weather beaten by the years, helped the name of the shop stand out. Now, though, the brown paint was peeling showing age. Both ‘O’s’ were shaped like a cup of coffee with steam coming out of it. It was Hank’s favourite coffee shop, not least because it did the best coffee his side of London, because she was always in there.

She was a petite, pretty blonde haired girl he had first clapped eyes on a few weeks ago. Hank did a quick scan of the room with his eyes, his heart leapt into his throat. Regular as always, his future bride put the coffee cup down and picked up a baby. He did not know her name, but knew that she was meant to be his one day. Looking at her gave him a sense of familiarity; he couldn’t describe that feeling. Something inside him seemed to indicate that he should know her. Every time he wanted to go over and say hello, wishing he could pluck up the courage to talk to her. Every time his feet stood still and his mouth went dry.

“We’re sitting over there,” James said, tugging at Hank’s hand. He quickly shook himself out of his pleasant daydream letting his little brother to steer him to the saved seat next to Philip.

“What did that Priest want?” Philip asked. “If he was bothering you I’d have told him my nickname.”

Hank laughed.

“One look at you, Phil, and he might have believed you,” Anna said sulkily.

Philip gazed at his sour little cousin whilst breaking into a Chelsea bun. She looked wrong in that pink frilly dress. Gertie did not believe in making children wear black at a funeral. Philip could not help but think that Anna might have preferred to wear black. It definitely would have suited her scowl. If he had to be totally honest with himself he had to admit that he preferred Hank’s younger sister to his own.

“Hank,” Philip said.

Disturbing Hank from watching the girl leave the café. Really, what was so hard about going up to her to offer to help. Anyone could tell she needed it. Harassed, as she was holding a baby, and had a younger brother kicking her legs for a bit of attention at her side. Just say hello, he heard a small voice, she won’t mind. Hank shook his head before feeling a sharp dig at his ribs. “What?” he demanded rubbing at his sore ribcage.

“Can we swap younger sisters?” Philip asked, the gleam of mischief ever present in his dark eyes.

“No,” Hank said straight away, he loved Anna too much to share her with anyone.

“Spoilsport!” Philip sulked.

Harry and Gertrude got up and shook hands with everyone at the table. Gertie hugged Sarah and both made arrangements to visit soon. Hank had said goodbye to his family.

“Right,” Harry sighed. “We’ve got to get home too.”

~2~

The second most important thing to happen to Hank was going to, what his mother annoyingly referred to as, ‘big boy school.’

He woke up on that dreary, September morning with butterflies somersaulting in his stomach. Primary School was bad enough. Something told him that Secondary School was not going to be any better. To give him some form of confidence he made sure his hair was brushed neatly. Cleaned his teeth thoroughly. Put his crinkle free clean, crisp uniform on. Buckling up his freshly polished shoes to his feet. Lastly, he checked his bag and pencil case for all the equipment on the check list and shrugged it on his shoulders. Feeling sick with every step as he walked down stairs to get some breakfast.

“Nervous?” his mother asked.

“Sort of,” he replied.

“Just be yourself and people will love you,” Gertie advised.

“Yeah sure,” Hank murmured sceptically. He poured himself a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes.

“You only have ten minutes,” she warned, a slight note of panic crept in her voice.

“The bus stop is only three minutes away,” he said. His mother glared at him, which made Hank shovel down the cornflakes and leave in haste.

By the time the bus did turn up at the stop it was full. Hank went right to the back of the bus but it was devoid of spare seats. Sitting at the back were a group of boys a few years older and a lot tougher than Hank. There was a spare seat there, right in the corner.

“Excuse me, please,” Hank said politely. “May I sit there please?”

“No,” a boy said.

“W–why not?” Hank stammered.

“Because I say so.”

“You tell him, Ralph!” One of his friends jeered.

“How many times, Paul, it’s pronounced Rafe!”

Hank turned around.

“Yeah, that’s it Titch, turn around, leave us alone!”

“Hello,” a girl said. She was standing in front of Hank. Hank couldn’t believe it. It was his dream girl.

“H–h–hello,” Hank stuttered awkwardly.

“Look, Ralph, its Titch and Titchette!”

“Ignore them,” she sighed. “They’re only stating the obvious sizes of their brains.”

Hank smiled and laughed.

“Does Titch want to sit down on a seat?” One of the boys continued mocking. “Does mummy dwess him too?” he felt someone pull the back of his shirt collar up.

Hank began to shake with anger.

“Shut up!” He said through gritted teeth.

The gang stopped their laughing and jeering.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” Hank began, as he turned around to face this big hulking boy. “Shut up!”

The one called Ralph stood up, grabbed Hank by his school tie, and lifted him up. Hank’s feet were an inch from the floor. The whole bus was watching.

“You better curb that gob of yours Titch or we’ll curb it for you! You’re a little bug to be squashed! Understood?”

“Perhaps it’s about time someone squashed you,” the girl stated calmly.

Ralph put Hank back on his feet, straightened Hank’s tie up, and turned his attention towards the girl.

“And you are?” He asked, a sneer creeping along his thin, rough lips.

“Rachel Snow,” she replied smartly.

“Lucky your girlfriend was here, Titch,” Ralph leered at Hank, “and,” he said turning towards Rachel, “it’s bloody lucky for you, Rachel, that I don’t thump girls. I take ’em out instead. Friday night that suit you?”

“In your dreams,” Rachel replied. Her green eyes narrowed with obvious hatred at this insolent, loathsome boy.

Hank stepped between Rachel and Ralph, he stared at Ralph with his eyes turning to a stormy grey.

“Find your own species,” he hissed threateningly.

Ralph was about to reply but the bus stopped outside the school gates.

“Later, Titch!” Ralph threatened before shoving Hank out of the way so that he, and his gang, could get off the bus first.

Oi’s and ouch’s echoed through as they thumped others back into their seats to make sure they did.

Once Hank and Rachel were off the bus, Rachel turned to Hank.

“Where are you supposed to go?”

“Er, I think I’m with F1,” he said. He took out his timetable and looked at the top. “Yes, I am with F1.”

“Pity,” Rachel sighed. “I’m in J1.”

Ralph had not moved too far from them.

“Same tutor as me Snow!” he yelled. “’Cept that I’m in J4. Johnson, don’t like back chatters.” He looked at her face and appreciated the horror. “NOT!”

“Morons,” Rachel murmured. “At least I am not in the same year as him,” offering Hank a smile full of sunshine.

Hank smiled back. “See you around?” hope evident in that small query.

“Sure.”

~3~

Hank wandered into his tutor group. He chose a seat in the back corner of the classroom. He did not want any unnecessary attention drawn upon himself. There were already a few other people in the room; two of them were rowdy boys. He would do the best he could to avoid those two. He hoped the class would settle down soon. He had a headache already.

Something strange had happened to him the moment he locked eyes with Ralph. Some sort of whispering niggled his mind. He felt he should have known who he was. Felt as if he should be a friend to him. One day it would become important.

Suddenly his head was clear and a more mundane thought struck him. Making him kick himself on the shin. He forgot to tell the girl his name. Perhaps, he thought, at first break time.

His tutor was a woman; a Ms. Fennel. She looked strict: she was not old but she had the demeanour of a woman twice her age, and she had her hair in a tight French plait.

“I am Ms. Fennel, not Miss, not Mrs. Ms – got that, class,” she said in a clear crisp voice.

“Yes, Ms. Fennel,” the class droned.

“Good. We’ll start the day with the register, which I do not happen to have on my desk,” she looked up. “Would someone like to volunteer to get it for me, please?”

Hank looked around the classroom and not seeing anyone else put his or her hand up in a hurry, he offered to fetch it.

“I’ll go,” he said, getting up.

“Thank you, and your name?”

“Hank, Ms. Hank Harris,” he answered.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris.”

Hank left the classroom. He could hear the sniggers and the jeers. The two boisterous idiots that annoyed Hank earlier had chanted ‘Teacher’s Pet!’ at him. Hank was already counting down the minutes to break time.

When the bell rang he immediately jumped out of his seat and made sure that he was the first out of the door. Luckily it did not take him long to find her. She was standing against a wall. Heart in the back of his throat. Approaching her like he would Venus were she suddenly to descend to Earth. Did this girl realise how pretty she was?

“Um,” he began blushing. “I didn’t tell you my name.” Rachel giggled. “It’s Hank. Hank Harris.”

A shadow fell across them both and Hank turned around only to look up in the spotty face of Ralph.

“Lets yank Hank!” He exclaimed.

Hank gulped when he looked into Ralph’s sky blue eyes, as that strange feeling of déjà-vu washed over him.

“Hank,” he heard a soft, small voice say. “Don’t bother, it’s your first day of school. You’ll only get into trouble.” Hank turned around and Rachel slipped her hand in his. She gently and quietly led Hank away from a potentially dangerous and damaging fight

“See you around loser!” Ralph leered. “Rachel, pick you up at seven okay!”

Rachel just continued walking away, ignoring him completely.

The rest of the day did not fare much better. His only friend was in another class and everybody else was nasty and cruel to him. Hank did not understand why he was the target. Even going out of his way to help. It seemed he was being bullied for being too nice. Maybe he would take a diversion to his grandfather and talk it out with him.

He ran out of his last lesson, which was English, to make sure he got to the bus first so that he would not have to have an encounter.

“Look who it is!” a voice he had heard enough of by now leered. “It’s Hanky Chief. Gonna go home and snivel on mumsy?”

“You better be careful, Raffle Ticket,” Rachel said, as she was walking towards them.

“Only a coward has a girl stand up for him,” one of Ralph’s mates jeered.

The rest of the gang laughed, though Ralph was hesitant. Turning to the one who made that statement with a flash of anger – Hank was not sure but the scowl silenced them.

“Actually,” Hank began slowly. “My grandfather say’s only a coward picks on those smaller than themselves.”

By now a crowd gathered round to watch. Ralph turned towards his gang; the expression he held on his face made them back away; and some others who also understood the look.

Damn, the crowd thought as one, was this first year gonna get it! Ralph chucked his bag at one of his mates. Tossed his coat at another one. Then he spun around on Hank.

“I warned you this morning, Hanky Chief, what happens to someone when they talk back to me. No one does, and gets away with it!”

Ralph swung a fist at Hank successfully smacking him on the nose and flooring him. Rachel frowned at both of them. Hank got up on his knees. Casually wiped the dirt off his trousers. Crimson droplets dappled onto his white shirt made him frown. His mother worked hard on that. No one disrespected his mother! Everyone laughed at this beaten eleven-year-old. This only served to make Hank angrier. Strengthening his resolve. Planting his feet firmly apart. Scowling at the gang who mimicked Titch to him. Rachel saw Hank’s eyes change colour. Though she did not know him well she understood this did not bode well for Ralph!

“I am not a Titch!” Hank exclaimed slowly and quietly.

The laughter stopped. Ralph turned around furrowing his brow in confusion. Once he had floored someone, they usually stayed floored.

“Prove it!” Ralph challenged.

Suddenly Hank swung his rucksack right smack bang on Ralph’s testicles. Ralph grabbed them and sunk on the floor. Face contorted in pain. The crowd really was interested now. Someone sarcastically hummed The Good, The Bad and The Ugly tune. Rachel rolled her eyes. Ralph soon recovered and stood back up. The mystery hummer stopped. Only a gentle breeze dared flutter by. They were all waiting to see what Ralph would do.

“You really have guts don’t you?” Ralph asked. Rachel was looking from one to the other.

“Like I said,” Hank replied shrugging his rucksack back on his shoulders. “I am no coward AND you bloodied my crisp white shirt that my mum spent ages last night ironing even though she was dead on her feet.”

Ralph looked at the gang standing at a fair distance behind him. Impressed more by this boys respectful attitude to his mother than by anything else.

“What’s your name?” Ralph asked in a much friendlier tone than he used before.

“Hank,” he replied. “Hank Cliff Harris.”

“Mine’s Ralph,” the older boy replied holding out his hand. “Ralph William Green.”

Hank shook the offered hand. Immediately he felt that something big had just happened between them.

“Sorry about that unpleasantness Hank,” Ralph said.

“That’s all right,” Hank said.

“Boys!” Rachel groaned.

“So,” Ralph began. “What’s with the name?”

“My mother is a huge Shadows fan,” Hank replied.

“You poor thing,” Ralph said in a tone of pity. “Hey, gang, we got a new mate!”

The rest of Ralph’s gang all came forward, they were all relieved that their leader was in a happy mood.

“I’m Paul,” one said.

“I’m Jack,” another said.

“I’m Alfred,” the last one said.

“Hank,” Hank said plainly.

Hank turned around to ask Rachel if she was all right, but Rachel had stalked off somewhere else. His heart sank.

“Bus is here,” Ralph said roughing Hank’s hair. “C’mon dreamy head.”

Hank looked at the bus. “All right,” he sighed. He straightened up his bag on his shoulder and walked up the steps. He was still slightly nervous of Ralph.

When he got home he ignored his mother’s quizzical glance at the blood on his shirt and set to his homework.

One thing spoiled his euphoric mood. As he was walking down the aisle he saw Rachel looking out of the window obviously miserable. Tomorrow, he thought, he’d try to make it up to her tomorrow.