Troy didn’t know what being put down meant, but there were sadistic
grins on Paul and Tom’s faces as they grabbed his arms and bundled him
outside. After dragging Troy ten metres down a freezing corridor, they turned
into an unlit cloakroom and shoved him into a corner with a coat hook digging
his back.
‘Fists up, you French weed,’ Paul grinned, as he made a boxing stance.
The fifteen year old was bigger than his pyjamas and his muscular torso showed
where his top was too small to button over his chest.
Troy raised his hands, but Paul was too strong. His first punch batted
Troy’s defences aside. The second was an uppercut that smacked his lower jaw
and made his teeth clatter.
‘I’ve got plenty more where that came from,’ Paul laughed, as he grabbed
Troy around the neck, bent him over and brought his knee up into his guts.
Troy groaned and belched as his throat filled with burning stomach acid.
Paul backed away after a couple more punches, only for Tom to drag Troy out
of the corner and hook his ankle, sending him sprawling across the floor.
‘Stings don’t it, froggy?’ Tom smiled.
Troy groaned as he rolled on to his back, then sat up, clutching his
stomach and coughing.
‘We can do what we like to you now,’ Paul added. ‘Fancy raising your
hands to Williams! You just signed your own death warrant.’
Troy was defenceless, lying in the dark with two heavyweights looming.
He hurt in a dozen places and blood drizzled from his nose. Out in the corridor
he heard wailing and saw Mason’s legs as Williams dragged him past the
doorway.
Paul hitched Troy off the gritty lino, intending to knock him down again,
but Williams called from the far end of the corridor.
9

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