No Friend of Mine by Ann Turnbull Page B

said Lennie, and immediately wished he hadn’t spoken.
    “Oh, Walf gave it to him!” said Bert, and the cry was taken up, “Walf! Walf!”
    “Walf Wilding!” sniggered Alan.
    “Our posh fwend, Walf!”
    “He’s
not
my friend!” exclaimed Lennie furiously.
    Bert pushed his face into Lennie’s. “Lennie Dyer is an arse-licker. Say it.”
    “No!”
    Bert seized Lennie’s arm and twisted it behind his back. “Say it.” He pulled harder, and Lennie winced. “Say it, Dyer.”
    “No,” gasped Lennie.
    Bert pushed forward, and Lennie fell on his knees. Before he could get up, Bert had jumped on him and grabbed his hair, pulling his head up. “I said, say it.”
    Lennie kept silent. He knew that whatever Bert did, he wouldn’t say it. Nothing could make him. He might have to die, but he wouldn’t say it.
    Bert pushed Lennie’s face into the dirt. Lennie felt grit in his mouth; a stone cut his lip and he tasted blood.
    “Say it!” Bert snarled, pushing down on Lennie’s head.
    “Say it! Say it! Say it!” chanted the mob.
    And while they chanted, Lennie was thinking, desperation sharpening his wits.
    He grunted.
    “He’s saying it!” cried Reggie. “Let’s hear him, Bert.”
    Bert released the pressure.
    Lennie lifted his head and brushed stones from his face. “All right,” he whispered, licking at a trickle of blood. “I’ll say it. Let me get up first.”
    “Get up, then.”
    He got to his feet. His legs shook. He drew breath and looked around him, made sure of their attention. Into the waiting silence he said, “Bert Haines is a gorilla.”
    A ripple of nervous laughter went round the crowd. Bert’s face darkened. Then someone at the back of the crowd jumped up and down, arms dangling, and scratched his armpits. The caricature was taken up and copied, laughter bubbled and broke free, and soon everyone was laughing and play-acting at being a gorilla and making grunting noises and pretending to swing from trees. Alan and Reggie joined in with gusto.
    Bert turned on Lennie and hit him. The blow sent him staggering against the wall. A second blow smashed into his cheek and nose and he felt blood flowing fast. Lennie thought, this is it; he’ll finish me now. But Bert had lost his supporters. The others called out, “Here, that’s enough!” “Give him a chance, Haines.” “It’s not fair!”
    And then a door opened along the street and a woman shouted, “What’s going on over there?” and they ran, all of them, Bert included, and Lennie was left wiping the blood from his face and smiling.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    Lennie manoeuvred his bicycle out of the shed and wheeled it down the back garden path. Dad was hoeing between rows of radish and spring greens.
    “Off to work?”
    “Yes,” said Lennie. He had a delivery job at the butcher’s now – Saturday mornings and an hour after school. This week, summer half term, he’d been helping out in the shop as well.
    He paused by the pigeon loft. “I’ll take the young birds out for a toss this afternoon if you like. Martin’s taking his out to Hazeley; I said I’d go with him.”
    “Good idea.” Dad was better, but not fit enough for an eight-mile cycle ride; and Mary had a boyfriend; so these days it was usually Lennie who took the birds on the longer tosses.
    He wheeled the bicycle out of the gateway and cycled down the lane. The grass verges were bright with dandelions and the air was summer sweet. It was going to be a warm day.
    In the High Street he passed Reggie Dean, and called hello. Reggie was all right now; a bit of a dope, but friendly enough. There was no one at school Lennie didn’t get on with these days except Bert Haines, and Bert never bothered him any more – he kept out of Lennie’s way. Bert had lost his hold over the other boys since the gorilla incident; he had only to start throwing his weight around and someone was sure to be loping about with hunched shoulders. What with that and the school pantomime, Lennie had