The Peacock Cloak

ask of them that they make our city rich. We did not ask of them that they heal the sick. All we asked of them – the one little thing we asked – was that they protect our children, our precious little ones, and to ensure that none of them came to harm. And yet they failed; again they failed, again they betrayed the little ones. And it is has been looked into, as ever, by the proper people, and we are now at that point we always reach on these occasions when I tell you the name, or names, of the officers concerned.”
    He slowly unfolded a piece of paper, placed it on the dais in front of him and smoothed it out.
    “I have so far identified just one Welfare Officer who must take the blame, though more names may likely follow later.”
    Accuser paused, looked out over his half-moon glasses to make sure the people were ready for the full seriousness of what he was about to say.
    “That negligent and heartless Officer is…” again he paused. “That blundering and incompetent fool… That disgrace both to manhood and to our city… is…”
    And here he looked down at his paper.
    “…is Officer David Simpson of 15 Lavender Grove, Uptown.”
    The crowd booed and hissed. Accuser took off his glasses and scanned the faces below, as if to make sure that everyone present had fully understood.
    But he need not have worried. The people were already surging out of the square, bellowing with grief and rage.
    And off Johnny went with them, striding and sometimes even running through the streets, adding his own impatience to the general haste to get to 15 Lavender Grove and get the job done, and enjoying being part of a big crowd who were all feeling the same thing.
    “Welfare Officer David Simpson,” announced Screens along the way, “had been receiving a salary of seventy thousand gold crowns a year…”
    There were cries of incredulity and rage.
    “…owns a real car,” the next Screen was saying.
    You heard bits as you passed the Screens every fifty metres or so, and then in between you couldn’t hear.
    “…and this year he went for a holiday in sunny Tartary with his wife Jennifer and his two children, Horace and Portia, both at Younger’s Infant School. That’s on Upton High Street, by the way, and here are the pictures of the kids…”
    The crowd looked up at the children and hissed.
    “How would he have liked it if it had been one of them?”
    “Tartary, eh?” the announcer was musing aloud on the next Screen. “Tartary. Not bad. Not bad at all for a man who was paid to care for little children and instead stood back and did nothing while an innocent little girl was killed .”
    “The bastard, get him!” yelled Johnny, who wouldn’t have minded a holiday in Tartary himself.
    “Yes, get him,” agreed the folk all around him, hurrying earnestly through the streets, determined that what happened to Jenny Sue must never ever happen again .
    “We’re doing this for you, Jenny sweetheart!” shouted out a woman nearby, in a voice that started strong and ended with a sob.
    “For you, Jenny Sue!” the crowd yelled with her, and many joined her in angry tears.
    “Someone ought to chuck his little girl down a well and see how he likes it,” a man said to Johnny: a tiny little man with a huge moustache. “See how he feels about that.”
    Well that sounded fair enough to Johnny so he yelled it out.
    “Let’s get his little girl Portia,” he yelled. “Let’s chuck her down a well!”
    “Yeah, let’s get her,” a few people around him called out.
    But it was a bit half-hearted and quickly petered out, as if the crowd sensed that there was a contradiction here somewhere, even if it was hard to put your finger on it.
    Poor Johnny felt a bit crushed that his contribution had gone unappreciated but a kindly woman beside him put her hand gently on his shoulder.
    “We might hate her,” the woman said, “and we might well hope that she dies too, a horrible cruel death, so he can see what it’s like, and be truly sorry. But she is only a child after all, whatever we might think of her. We’ve got to remember that.”

    When they reached the sign that said “Welcome to Upton” everybody cheered, and for a little while the crowd milled about in the middle of a cross roads, wondering where to go next, growing and spreading out into the surrounding streets as more people poured in from behind. Traffic lights went red, orange, green, orange, red to no avail while cars and vans waited respectfully