A Thousand Cuts by Simon Lelic

my case. Much as I would like to, I can’t help you. Maybe if you spoke to PC Price—’
    Elliot’s father scoffed. ‘Price. Price is a moron. He’s an idiot.’
    ‘He’s just trying to do his job.’
    ‘Bullshit. As far as I can see, no one here is doing their job. Not one of you. You’re spending your time shopping for presents and Price is sitting around contemplating how to get his finger out of his arse.’
    ‘I should go, Mr Samson. I really think I should go.’ Lucia backed away. As she turned, she closed her eyes and almost collided with another nurse. Lucia muttered her apologies and slid past.
    ‘Stay away from my son. Do you hear me? The whole damn lot of you. Stay away from my son!’
    Lucia focused on the floor. She hurried on.

They shat in his briefcase.
    Don’t ask me when, don’t ask me how. They did it though. I saw it. I wish to God I hadn’t but I was sitting right beside him when he found it.
    That was the only time I heard him swear. Usually the staffroom’s like Bill Nicholson Way on a Saturday. We have a swear box, much good it does. The money’s supposed to go to charity, to some hospice or hospital, but I don’t think they’ve ever seen a penny of it. We raid it. The teachers do. You know, for ice creams, biscuits, that sort of thing. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, should I? I’ll probably get the lot of us thrown in gaol. Janet, the headmaster’s secretary, she’s the worst. If you’re going to arrest anyone, arrest her.
    Samuel, though. I’d never heard Samuel swear, not until that day. I won’t repeat what he said but you could hardly blame him. Christ knows what the kid must have been eating. I haven’t ever seen a turd that colour. I’d be at the doctor’s in a jiffy if I had. And the size of it. He must have been saving up for days. I won’t mention the smell because you can imagine the smell.
    He jumps right up when he sees it, like it’s a tarantula in there or something. He jumps and he knocks the table and coffee, people’s coffee, it goes everywhere. There are a few of us, you know, scattered around on the chairs, around this big coffee table that we’ve got in there, and we’re marking papers or flicking through The Times or the Sun or whatever it is we’re doing. I was reading a book, this book I got sent from the States. It’s about the stock market, stocks and shares. It’s called How to Invest Your Salary and Make Loads of Money and Retire While You’ve Still Got a Life . Something like that. My cousin, Frank, he lives in Minnesota, he’s the one who sent it to me. Reckons he’s made a hundred k in sixteen months. Dollars he’s talking about but still. And he’s basically a moron and I teach economics, right, so I’m thinking, if he can do it, how hard can it be?
    The coffee. It goes everywhere. The others start hollering, moaning at Samuel, saying Jesus Christ this, bloody hell that. But I’ve seen what he’s seen and I’m watching this turd roll on to the floor, under the table, and I’m watching Samuel’s face and I can’t help but look at this turd. The others can’t see it yet but they can smell it. Vicky, Vicky Long, she teaches drama, she’s the first. She lifts her chin and flares her nostrils and starts aiming them round the room like the barrels of a shotgun. All very theatrical. She sniffs - rapid fire, sniff sniff sniff. Then the others start doing it. Sniffing. All of them. Sniff sniff sniff. By this time I’ve got my face tucked into my shirt so as the lot of them are sniffing they also start looking at me. And I’m saying, don’t look at me, it’s got nothing to do with me, and that’s when Samuel picks it up.
    He could have used a plate or something. Wrapped it in newspaper. I mean, there was a copy of the Sun just lying there and that’s about all it’s good for, right? But for whatever reason Samuel doesn’t feel the need. He just reaches down and picks it up, like maybe he’s dropped his pen, like all