New Rules

December 26, 1994 – Mill Grove, South Woodford, London

POV Oliver

Margaret had asked Oliver the previous evening to come to her office after breakfast. He could already imagine it was going to be about the incident on Christmas Eve. Looking back, even Oliver had to admit that he had completely overreacted.

It reminded him of a similar situation from his previous life. Nothing compared to the nonsense he had pulled on Christmas Eve, but the feeling had been the same. Back then, he had gotten it into his head that he was going to defeat the first boss of a video game, even though the developers had obviously never intended for it to be beaten at that point in the game.

But Oliver had decided that it had to be possible.

So he had tried again and again until, at some point, he simply couldn't stop. This time, though, it had been much worse.

Oliver had grown deeply attached to Beatrice. The little deaf girl who had sat alone at a dining table in the middle of an otherwise crowded dining hall. A girl who had only ever had her parents and had recently lost her father – one of the few people who had ever truly been part of her small world.

Looking back, it seemed idiotic, perhaps even immature, for an adult soul to lose himself so completely over something like that. After all, it was only a piano piece for a girl who couldn't even hear what it sounded like.

But to him, it was more than that.

He wanted to show her that if she – no, once she could hear – he would be there to fulfil that one wish for her: to play her father's piece on the piano.

Bea might not have understood his promise. To her, they had only been vibrations that reminded her of her father. To Oliver, it meant something else.

She no longer had only her mother and the memory of her father.

Now she had him too.

A big brother who would be there for her.

***

POV Oliver

"Come in!" he heard Margaret call through the closed door before slowly entering the execution chamber.

"Sister Margaret! A wonderful good morning to you!" he said with a radiant smile.

"You can save that," she said, amused. "Sit down, we need to talk." She pointed to the armchair that would normally have looked inviting but, to him, resembled an electric chair.

"Here – your new schedule," Margaret said, handing him an A4 sheet of paper. "I spoke to Helen yesterday, and from now on, this will be your daily routine."

Oliver carefully took the schedule from her and began inspecting it. But Margaret didn't wait for his reaction – as far as she was concerned, what he had to say about it was no longer the deciding factor.

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"From now on, you'll attend lessons with Helen in the mornings and continue your speech lessons in the afternoons," she said before he could respond. "A maximum of one hour of piano a day, including one lesson a week with Mr Scott."

Oliver's face twisted into a grimace as he began to protest. "Sister Marg—"

Margaret raised her hand, stopping him.

"Oliver, this is not a discussion!" she said sharply before her voice softened again. "We both made mistakes. You know that, and so do I." She pointed at the schedule in his hand. "This is not a punishment!"

Oliver looked down at the schedule and paused.

Damn it, she's right!

For a highly intelligent four-year-old, this plan was actually perfect. It was balanced: enough sleep, preschool lessons to challenge him academically, music as an outlet, and physical activity through a sports club.

"I understand, but I have two conditions," he said, looking her in the eye.

She frowned, visibly irritated that this four-year-old had the nerve to make demands.

"Speak!"

***

POV Frank

Frank sat in his small office at the back, working through the paperwork that had piled up on his desk over the last few days, when Danny stuck his head through the door.

"Boss?"

"What?"

"What are a nun and a four-year-old doing in a boxing gym?"

Frank slowly looked up from his papers and stared at Danny. He waited for the punchline, but when nothing came after a few seconds, he frowned.

"Well? Is there more to it, you idiot?"

"It's not a joke, Coach."

Frank was silent for a moment.

"What?"

Danny pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the training area.

"There's a nun out there. With a little boy."

Frank studied him for a moment. What kind of bullshit was he trying to feed him this time?

"And what do they want?"

"Kickboxing."

Frank raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Who, the nun?"

***

POV Margaret

Margaret had originally been thinking of football. Perhaps dancing. Something that would get Oliver moving while also teaching him to spend time with other children.

Oliver had rejected her suggestion on the grounds that if he had to do a sport, it should at least be one that might actually be useful to him someday. Kickboxing, he had explained, could at least be used to defend himself.

Eventually, she had agreed.

That didn't mean she intended to pay for him to let other children punch him in the face.

The moment she entered the gym, Margaret began questioning her decision. Punching bags hung from the ceiling, the smell of sweat lingered in the air, and dull thuds echoed from every direction.

She glanced at Oliver.

Of course he loved it.

The door at the far end of the training area opened, and a man walked towards them. Margaret studied him as he approached. Mid-fifties, she guessed. Grey hair, a nose that had clearly taken its fair share of punches, and a considerable beer belly that was difficult to miss beneath his shirt.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. That was the coach?

"Frank," he said by way of introduction as he stopped in front of her. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Hello, Frank," Oliver said enthusiastically. "I'm Oliver, four and a half years old, and I want to learn kickboxing!" Then he pointed at her. "That's Sister Margaret, and she wants to stop me."

Frank's gaze shifted from Oliver back to her. "Is this a joke? The boy isn't even five!"

"I wish it were," she said wearily. "I'm willing to allow it, provided he doesn't have to hit anyone, no one hits him, and you can guarantee me that he won't get hurt. Otherwise, we're leaving and finding ourselves a sensible sport."

Frank's eyebrow began to twitch. "Sister, you do realise this is a kickboxing gym? How is that supposed to work?"

She studied him sceptically. Her gaze briefly dropped to his beer belly before returning to Oliver.

"Let's go. We'll find someone more suitable."

Frank apparently wasn't willing to let that slide. He grabbed Oliver by the shoulder. "Boy, don't worry. We're more than suitable. By the time we're finished with you, you won't even fear God!" He shot Margaret a provocative look.

Oliver began to grin. "Buddha said: No one saves us but ourselves." Then he patted Frank's beer belly twice.

Margaret stared at Oliver in disbelief.

Frank did the same.

For several seconds, neither of them said a word. Somehow, this boy had managed to render both a seventy-one-year-old nun and a kickboxing coach speechless with a single sentence.

Oliver seemed thoroughly pleased with himself. He looked back and forth between the two of them before finally asking, completely deadpan:

"So, when do we start?"