toes of mine,’ said Gene. ‘Sometimes the only way to stop ’em hurting is to at the very least
pretend
that’s it me what runs this place, not you and twinkle-tits out there. I’m not about to let
her
start thinking she’s leading this investigation. Slippery slope, Tyler, letting birds think they’re in charge. Where would all it end? You want to wake up one morning and find you got some bint
in charge
?’ He bounced his car keys off his forearm and deftly caught them. ‘Well come on, then, Sammy boy, don’t hang about. Let’s go and play with a borstal full of naughty boys.’
CHAPTER FIVE: KIDDIES’ PORRIDGE
The borstal was situated well out of town, somewhere on the rugged moors north of Heponstall. Gene floored the pedal of the Cortina and took him and Sam hurtling through the outskirts of Manchester, through Rochdale and Littleborough, beyond the far side of Todmorden, until concrete began to give way to wide stretches of open country, and the buildings thinned out until there was nothing but isolated stone farmhouses beneath an oppressive, sullen grey sky.
Gene powered the car off of the main road, hurtling recklessly along smaller and yet smaller byways until at last they were bounding along what was little more than a dirt track that meandered across the landscape. Sam glimpsed forlorn trees forming tragic shapes against the clouds. He saw broken walls and derelict barns and here and there the rusting, overgrown hulks of long-abandoned pieces of farming equipment. In the far distance, a grey curtain of rain swept slowly across the horizon.
When at last they saw it, Friar’s Brook borstal appeared as an assortment of squat, unfriendly buildings heavily fenced off from the surrounding countryside. The barred gate across the track and the barbed wire spiralling along the top of it made Sam think of concentration camps.
‘It’s so bleak,’ he said. ‘It’s like something out of
Schindler’s List
.’
‘Schindler’s list of what? Holiday camps to avoid?
I’ve
stayed in worse places.’
‘All seems a bit tough, though, don’t you think? I mean, for kids.’
‘What’s the matter with you, Tyler? You gone soft? It’s a lock-up, it’s
supposed
to be tough.’
‘Half them lads in there, I bet they’ve never known anything in their lives but “tough”.’
‘Life ain’t no picnic, not for any of us.’
‘I bet they’ve never known what it feels like to be safe and warm and looked after,’ Sam mused, peering through the high fence at the barred windows and heavily bolted doorways. ‘What chance do they have? Parents who don’t care, violence at home, violence at school, no job prospects, no education, no role models.’
‘Well
I
did all right,’ put in Gene, defensively.
‘I wasn’t referring to you, Guv.’
‘And knock it off about “no education”. I’m a walking encyclopedia, Tyler, you’d be surprised. Go on, ask me how to spell
silhouette
.’
But Sam’s mind was still on that collection of low, mean-looking buildings and the unseen inmates entombed within. ‘Just think of all the wasted talent, wasted intelligence just rotting away inside that place. There’s boys in there could have been surgeons, or architects, or airline pilots, if only they’d been born a few miles across town where kids have a chance. Artists, writers – a future prime minister, who knows?’
‘Future prime minister? From round here? There’ll be a bird in Number 10 before there’s a Northerner,’ Gene growled.
‘Maybe there
will
be a bird. And one who
is
a northerner. There’s a thought for you, Guv.’
Gene snorted contemptuously and shook his head. ‘I know what’s going on in that grubby little brain of yours, Tyler. The only northern bird you want to see on top is your bit of prospective crumpet.’
‘I take it that offensive epithet refers to our colleague WDC Cartwright? Guv, why can’t you and the other boys in the department just get used to the fact that people
pretend
that’s it me what runs this place, not you and twinkle-tits out there. I’m not about to let
her
start thinking she’s leading this investigation. Slippery slope, Tyler, letting birds think they’re in charge. Where would all it end? You want to wake up one morning and find you got some bint
in charge
?’ He bounced his car keys off his forearm and deftly caught them. ‘Well come on, then, Sammy boy, don’t hang about. Let’s go and play with a borstal full of naughty boys.’
CHAPTER FIVE: KIDDIES’ PORRIDGE
The borstal was situated well out of town, somewhere on the rugged moors north of Heponstall. Gene floored the pedal of the Cortina and took him and Sam hurtling through the outskirts of Manchester, through Rochdale and Littleborough, beyond the far side of Todmorden, until concrete began to give way to wide stretches of open country, and the buildings thinned out until there was nothing but isolated stone farmhouses beneath an oppressive, sullen grey sky.
Gene powered the car off of the main road, hurtling recklessly along smaller and yet smaller byways until at last they were bounding along what was little more than a dirt track that meandered across the landscape. Sam glimpsed forlorn trees forming tragic shapes against the clouds. He saw broken walls and derelict barns and here and there the rusting, overgrown hulks of long-abandoned pieces of farming equipment. In the far distance, a grey curtain of rain swept slowly across the horizon.
When at last they saw it, Friar’s Brook borstal appeared as an assortment of squat, unfriendly buildings heavily fenced off from the surrounding countryside. The barred gate across the track and the barbed wire spiralling along the top of it made Sam think of concentration camps.
‘It’s so bleak,’ he said. ‘It’s like something out of
Schindler’s List
.’
‘Schindler’s list of what? Holiday camps to avoid?
I’ve
stayed in worse places.’
‘All seems a bit tough, though, don’t you think? I mean, for kids.’
‘What’s the matter with you, Tyler? You gone soft? It’s a lock-up, it’s
supposed
to be tough.’
‘Half them lads in there, I bet they’ve never known anything in their lives but “tough”.’
‘Life ain’t no picnic, not for any of us.’
‘I bet they’ve never known what it feels like to be safe and warm and looked after,’ Sam mused, peering through the high fence at the barred windows and heavily bolted doorways. ‘What chance do they have? Parents who don’t care, violence at home, violence at school, no job prospects, no education, no role models.’
‘Well
I
did all right,’ put in Gene, defensively.
‘I wasn’t referring to you, Guv.’
‘And knock it off about “no education”. I’m a walking encyclopedia, Tyler, you’d be surprised. Go on, ask me how to spell
silhouette
.’
But Sam’s mind was still on that collection of low, mean-looking buildings and the unseen inmates entombed within. ‘Just think of all the wasted talent, wasted intelligence just rotting away inside that place. There’s boys in there could have been surgeons, or architects, or airline pilots, if only they’d been born a few miles across town where kids have a chance. Artists, writers – a future prime minister, who knows?’
‘Future prime minister? From round here? There’ll be a bird in Number 10 before there’s a Northerner,’ Gene growled.
‘Maybe there
will
be a bird. And one who
is
a northerner. There’s a thought for you, Guv.’
Gene snorted contemptuously and shook his head. ‘I know what’s going on in that grubby little brain of yours, Tyler. The only northern bird you want to see on top is your bit of prospective crumpet.’
‘I take it that offensive epithet refers to our colleague WDC Cartwright? Guv, why can’t you and the other boys in the department just get used to the fact that people
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