Free A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines Page B

interesting to tell us?’
    No hands went up.
    ‘No? What about you, Casper?’
    Billy was bending over, inspecting his hands under cover of the desk. Pink weals were stamped across his fingertips. When he opened his fingers the weals broke into segments; each segment resembling a bump of nettle-rash. He blew on them, and cooled them with his tongue.
    ‘Casper!’
    Billy sat up and put his hands away.
    ‘What, Sir?’
    ‘What, Sir. You’d know what if you’d been listening. Have you been listening?’
    ‘Yes, Sir.’
    ‘Tell me what we’ve been talking about then.’
    ‘Er… stories, Sir.’
    ‘What kind of stories?’
    ‘Er…’
    ‘You don’t know, do you?’
    ‘No, Sir.’
    ‘He’s been asleep again, Sir!’
    Billy scraped his chair round and shouted above the laughter:
    ‘Thee shut thi mouth, Tibby!’
    ‘Casper! Tibbut! You’ll both be asleep in a minute. I’ll knock you to sleep! The rest of you – QUIET .’
    He slid off the desk edge and took one step down the nearest aisle. The result – quiet.
    ‘You haven’t heard a word of what’s been said, have you, Casper?’
    ‘Yes, Sir – some of it.’
    ‘Some of it. I’ll bet you have. Stand up, lad.’
    Billy sighed and pushed the chair away with the backs of his knees.
    ‘Right, now you can do some work for a change. You’re going to tell us any story about yourself, the same as Anderson did.’
    ‘I don’t know any, Sir.’
    ‘Well you can just stand there until you do.’
    Mr Farthing began to pace across the space between the board and the desk.
    ‘There’s always somebody to spoil it. There’s always someone you can’t suit, who has to be awkward, who refuses to be interested in anything, someone like you, Casper.’
    He pivoted round on one foot and thrust an arm out at Billy.
    ‘I’m giving you two minutes to think of something lad,and if you haven’t started then, the whole class is coming back at four!’
    There was a general stiffening of backs and looking round wide-eyed, accompanied by grumbling and interspersed with Eh’s and threatening encouragements.
    ‘Come on, Billy.’
    ‘’Else tha dies.’
    ‘Say owt.’
    ‘If I’ve to come back I’ll kill him.’
    Billy tried to blink back the tears shining in his eyes.
    ‘I’m waiting, Casper.’
    Mr Farthing sat down and nudged back his jacket sleeve to look at his watch.
    ‘We haven’t got all day, Casper.’
    ‘Tell him about thi hawk, Billy.’
    ‘If anyone else calls out, it will be the last call he’ll make!… What hawk, Casper?… Casper, I’m speaking to you.’
    Billy continued to show Mr Farthing the top of his head.
    ‘Look this way boy when I’m speaking to you.’
    Billy looked up slowly.
    ‘And stop sulking just because somebody says a few words to you!… Now then, what’s this about this hawk? What is it, a stuffed one?’
    The shout of laughter from the class spilled the first tears on to Billy’s face, and left Mr Farthing looking about in surprise at these opposing reactions to his question.
    ‘What’s funny about that?’
    Tibbut half stood up, placing the weight of his body on the desk top as he shot one arm up.
    ‘Well, Tibbut?’
    ‘He’s got a hawk, Sir. It’s a kestrel. He’s mad about it.He never knocks about wi’ anybody else now, he just looks after this hawk all t’time. He’s crackers wi’ it!’
    Billy turned on him, the movement releasing a fresh head of tears into wobbly halting motion down his cheeks.
    ‘It’s better than thee anyday, Tibby!’
    ‘I told you, Sir, he goes daft if you say owt about it.’
    ‘Right, Casper, sit down.’
    Billy sat down and wiped his cheeks on the shoulders of his jacket. Mr Farthing rested his elbows on his desk and tapped his teeth with his thumb nails, waiting for Billy to collect himself.
    ‘Now then, Billy, tell me about this hawk. Where did you get it from?’
    ‘Found it.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘In t’wood.’
    ‘What had happened to it? Was it injured or