Catch Your Death

‘He waged war against Stephen. Every day, in the playground, or on the way home, he’d be there, taunting him. It was never physical, but Stephen was the kind of kid who despised confrontation. Terry would go up to him and say something like, “I heard you called me a wanker,” and Stephen’s voice would break as he denied it. Stephen clearly did think Terry was a wanker, but he would never have dared say it, even to me.’

Kate wanted to reach into the past and hug Stephen. And slap this Terry. A vision rose up of herself stepping in, defending her boyfriend.

But she understood what it felt like to be bullied. She’d allowed it to happen to her for a long time. It was only recently that she’d had the courage to stand up for herself.

She said, ‘Didn’t you do anything?’

Paul pushed his noodles around his plate with a chopstick. ‘No. I mean, I’d say, kind of weakly, “Come on Terry, leave him alone,” but that was about it. I was scared of Terry too – he was so unpredictable – and I suppose there was a part of me that was glad. Glad that it wasn’t me. That I was the cool brother. It’s awful, isn’t it?’

Kate didn’t respond. She wondered what kind of teenager Jack would grow into. A cruel one? Or a soft one like Stephen? She prayed neither.

Paul said, ‘Then one day, Stephen totally surprised me. Terry was doing the old “You called me a wanker” routine, and “Do you want a fight?” and Stephen put down his school bag – I can picture him dropping it – and said, “OK, then.” And he stepped forward and punched Terry right in the mouth. Knocked him over.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘That’s what I thought. I felt like cheering. And Stephen coolly picked up his bag, stepped over Terry – who was too shocked to move – and walked off. I’d like to say Terry learned the error of his ways, but the next day he started bullying someone else, someone younger and more timid, but he never bothered Stephen again.’

Paul sighed. ‘I still felt ashamed that I hadn’t done anything to help. Eventually we became friends again. We had to be, really, we were brothers. Sometimes, usually at four in the morning, I wake up and start thinking about it. I wish there was some way I could make it up to Stephen. I’d ask for forgiveness, if he was here now.’

Finally there was an awkward pause in the conversation and she could see him struggling to say something.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

Instead of speaking he reached into his pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. He didn’t show it to her, just held it, gazing into space. Kate could almost hear his thoughts ticking away. Stephen used to do this too.

He said, ‘As soon as you told me your name was Kate, it rang a bell.’

‘Stephen told you about me?’

‘Yes. In a manner of speaking. It wasn’t something I’d thought about for a long time, but yes, I recognised your name straight away. I went home to check, to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, or mis-remembering, and there it was, in black biro.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Paul tapped the piece of paper. ‘A few days before he . . . before the fire, he wrote to me. He mentioned your name.’

‘And you’ve kept the letter all this time?’

‘I’ve kept every souvenir of Stephen I could. But this letter – I would have kept it anyway.’

‘Why?’

He handed it to her. ‘Read it and you’ll understand.’

She hesitated before taking the piece of paper from him, and as it touched her fingertips she felt a thrill, a shiver, as if the ghost she thought she’d seen earlier had touched her.

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