GETTING IT RIGHT (2)
Treating Howard Properly
Howard was about average height for his age and, although he was carrying a bit of ‘puppy fat’, he looked as though he could go either way in future: muscular guy or fat slob. Looking at the certificates for swimming and the medals for wrestling and athletics that adorned his lair, I don’t reckon that ‘fat slob’ is exactly likely at least until after he leaves school.
So, I had a problem: was this little guy telling the truth? Even worse: if he was, should I pretend that, as far as knots is concerned, I am a complete dolt or . . . When life lays out silken bedclothes before you why does it then scatter them with itching powder? OK, fight or flight.
I picked up one of the more depleted rolls of gaffer tape. That way I wouldn’t have either to pretend that I was no good with ropes or to subject Howard to my best roping. If I had to tie him up, I thought I would try to make a game of it. “OK, Prisoner, hold out your hands.”
“No, no please, Mister. I have to be tied with my hands behind me.”
Howard turned round and presented his hands facing away from him. I bound his wrists with more layers of tape than should have strictly been necessary. If I had to do the job, I was going to do it properly. “OK, Prisoner, hop in.”
“No, not yet. You haven’t finished. You have to tape my arms and legs as well.”
This was starting to get wearing. “OK, kid, you asked for it.” I used the rest of that roll of tape binding his upper arms to his torso. Howard tested my work. I thought I detected a sigh of satisfaction before he leapt up onto his bed and held his legs out. I was beginning to get the idea that my charge expected me to do my job well. His mum must have been a real tyrant. I collected another roll of grey gaffer tape. The next few minutes saw a very cooperative Howard having his ankles, his calves and his thighs swathed in plenty of layers of tape. “Right, Prisoner, rollover and I’ll cover you up.”
“No, no, Mister, please.” I wasn’t sure whether Howard was just playing along or not. “No, seriously, Stephen, I could still stand up. You need to stop me from straightening my legs.” This was getting more than a bit dodgy but cash speaks the language of an impoverished undergrad so . . .
. . . By the time I had fastened a belt round Howard’s waist tightly enough so that it would not slip down past his bum and used what looked like a dressing gown cord to bind his already taped-up ankles before tying the end round the belt, he certainly couldn’t straighten his legs. Howard lay there face down on his bed and rolling from side to side. Still he didn’t seem to be too distressed.
“OK. On your side, I’ll cover you up.”
“What, no blindfold tonight?”
“Oh, come on, you’re taking the piss now.”
“How much are they paying you?” I felt like getting that roll of packing tape I saw on his desk and wrapping as much of it as possible round his head so that it would really hurt when he pulled it off. But, you know me, I’m much too nice. I got a roller bandage from the desk and bandaged his head at eye level comprehensively finishing off with the clip thing that was in with the bandage.
“Right, good to go bye-byes now?”
“I could rub this off, you know.”
That was it. No more mister nice guy. I did take that packing tape and wrapped it round Howard’s mummified eyes. I didn’t care any more what he thought about the top layer of the tape overlapping the bandage and catching in his hair. That was surely the lot. “OK, Prisoner, that’s your lot. Now just settle down. I don’t want to hear any more demands. I’m off to do some uni work.”
I don’t know what reaction I expected but probably not, “Thank you, Stephen, nigh’ night”.
Getting Howard Up
I was confused: I was being offered a lot of money to babysit what seemed to be a very biddable kid. Why did his parents want him tied up? How had he scared off his previous babysitters? Was he going to be alright tied up like that all night? However, I was being paid well and I was going to have more time than I had expected to work on my dissertation before turning-in myself. I decided to leave both bedroom doors open.
Come midnight, even without my earbuds in, I had made good progress even though I did creep along the corridor to stand in the door to Howard’s room several times just to check on him. He had obviously moved between visits but seemed to be sleeping each time I checked. I thought it was time to call it a day but I wasn’t exactly sure how much sleep I would get. I stripped down to my boxers, set my phone to wake me in two hours’ time and went to sleep. I visited my charge at two-hour intervals and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully every time I visited him. Much to my surprise, I actually got quite a lot of sleep myself in between check-ups.
At eight o’clock I thought it was time to wake Howard so I looked in again. He had dislodged his duvet and the dressing gown cord was hanging uselessly from his ankles. The bandage round his eyes was still more or less doing its job but that was mainly due to the packing tape that had prevented it from dislodging completely even though it was no longer as tidy as when I had left it.
Howard obviously heard me coming and swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit on it with his head thrown back in an attempt to see under the bandage.
“Morning, Howard.”
“Hi, Stephen. Not very good at tying knots, are you?” (I thought ‘how little do you know?’) “My fingers were much too near that knot that was supposed to stop me standing up.” Howard slid off the bed just to make his point. “Never mind, I won’t tell Mum and Dad.”
“Need the loo?”
“Nah, I’m good.” That kid must have the bladder of an elephant.
“OK. Still, better get you untied ready for breakfast.”
No not yet.”
“Uh?”
“You need to gag me before you take the photo.”
“What photo?”
“The one to prove to my parents that you tied me up properly.”
“What!!?”
“I’ll be grounded until Spurs win the FA Cup if they think I didn’t remind you.”
“Watch it, Shorty!” What I could see of Howard’s face was grinning. He seemed like a stoical little guy.
“Plus, you won’t get paid if you don’t do it.” The kid has a way with words. “Yeah, use my phone; it’s on my bedside table.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the gag last night?”
“I didn’t want to have to sleep with anything in my mouth. You won’t tell mum, will you?” I obviously couldn’t decipher his expression accurately but, if that’s what his parents wanted, I wouldn’t want Howard to disabuse them of the belief that I had earned my money conscientiously. From what my charge said, he obviously didn’t expect me simply to tape his lips together uselessly so I examined the array of things on Howard’s desk.
TBC
And there seems to exist e very strange system of punishemnts in Howard's house
