The Amazing Brain of O C Longbotham

by Barbara Spencer

  Every year at the beginning of December, pupils from selected secondary schools in Gloucester and Bristol met up for a carol concert. Since fairness was paramount, one year the concert was held in Bristol Cathedral, the next year in Gloucester.

  When she received the letter giving details, Mrs Longbotham’s first instinct had been to say, ‘Sorry, Philip. You can’t go.’

  You can’t blame her. After all, loads of terrible things had happened in the past. Now, just when she thought Philip had found a friend who was trustworthy, that too had ended in disaster. Her faith in Charles had been badly dented. After the hush-hush visit to Birmingham, she had come to the sad conclusion that he was a bad influence. Anna had tried reasoning with her, insisting that Cash had only kept the trip secret because he thought it would be a nice surprise when Philip won. Nevertheless, she still felt extremely agitated at the idea of Philip loose in the Gloucestershire countryside, forty miles from home.

  Finally, it was Kitty who persuaded her.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, using words that a five-year-old might understand. ‘OC’s not wandering the streets on his own. That’s just silly. He’s on a coach with fifty other kids, exactly like me. At the other end, we get off the coach and go into the cathedral. There, we are forced into singing till we’re hoarse, so that our teachers can say Bristol sings better than Gloucester, while Gloucester teachers say their kids are superior to Bristol kids. After that, we get back on the coach and return to school.

  ‘I don’t know, Kitty,’ Mrs Longbotham still sounded a bit edgy. ‘I’ve noticed a sort of wildness about Charles that worries me. I really feel he’s still too young to be in charge. If I let Philip go, it’s on one condition. You and Anna have to be responsible for him. I know I can trust you.’

  Anna entered the room just then. On hearing her name, she responded automatically, ‘Totally!’ without a clue what she’d just volunteered to be responsible for. When she found out, she was furious.

  ‘That’s direct lying, Kitty. You know I don’t approve of out-and-out lies. Especially not now, when Mum’s just begun to trust us again. In any case, how can we possibly be in charge of Phil, we’re only staying long enough to sing the first carol.’

  ‘But that’s the beauty of it, Anna. We don’t need to be in charge of OC,’ said Kitty. ‘There’s a dozen teachers and three hundred kids going from our school. Plus trillions of teachers and kids from other schools. We’ll be squashed like sardines. How can anything happen? I mean, come on … we’ve tried it, remember, and been bored out of our skulls.’

  Anna had to agree. She had already suffered the event five years to Kitty’s three. The previous year, sheer boredom made her decide to seek a way out.*

  ‘In any case,’ Kitty added. ‘It wasn’t a direct lie. Cash’ll be there. And where OC’s concerned he’s always in total control. If you’re that worried, you can ask him to keep an eye.’

  Anna nodded. What Kitty said was true. With Cash there, he’d make sure nothing happened to Phil. She also agreed with Kitty, it wasn’t worth telling Cash they were absconding from the cathedral, just in case he wanted to escape too, bringing Phil with him. Two could easily slip out of the cathedral without being seen, but not an entire class.

  There are dozens of sayings about things going wrong. You hear them all the time:

  In this case, the smooth operation of the plan depended on Cash being present. At the last possible moment, Mrs Harris pulled him out … and didn’t tell Mrs Longbotham. She’d been worried about her son for several weeks and, finally, as there had been no improvement, she decided that a visit to the doctor was needed.

  For Mrs Harris, this was a sensible decision but it was not so good for Kitty and Anna. And so, a genuine note was dropped into school by Mr Harris, on his way to work, excusing his son from the outing.

  Ten coaches set out from Bristol. For most of the kids it was a fantastic change from schoolwork and, if singing with enthusiasm was the price they had to pay, they would sing with enthusiasm.

  For Philip, it was a wonderful opportunity to see more trees. Now the leaves had tumbled to the ground, they were even more interesting. He could trace every branch back to the main trunk. He stared eagerly through the window, sorting out in his head how a tree worked. It was fun travelling on a coach too. Looking at trees through a train window, he had sometimes looked up at them and he had sometimes looked down on them. From the coach, he looked right into the middle of them. He turned to tell Cash, which was when he remembered that his friend wasn’t on the coach. He stared at the empty seat next to him, wondering where he could be.

  He stood up to ask his teacher, who was sitting at the front of the coach, when he realised he felt hot. Taking off his jacket, he carefully placed it on the rack and sat down again. Next minute, he spotted a different sort of tree. This was dark green and still had all its leaves. He gazed at it through the window, instantly forgetting what he’d been about to ask.

  For the teachers, the Christmas Carol Concert was something they looked forward to from the beginning of the autumn term and, reminisced about from the beginning of the spring term. Even if every single child in the school had voted against the Christmas excursion, teachers would have kept it in the curriculum. With misty eyes, cheerful hearts and upraised voices, they carolled like birds, eyeing the vaulted ceiling and flying buttresses with awe. They were all so intent on examining the stained-glass windows high up in the walls, that two girls bent double, squiggling through a row of chairs, failed to meet their eye line. And Anna and Kitty were out of the door quicker than a poached egg can slip off a plate.

  Sadly, although they are magnificent, cathedrals tend to be very cold and draughty and OC, positioned with his classmates in rather a draughty spot, felt cold.*

  He nudged his neighbour. ‘I’m cold,’ he said, in his usual bright and slightly loud voice.

  ‘Put your jacket on, then,’ the boy sitting next to him whispered.

  ‘I can’t, I left it in the coach.’

  ‘Honestly, Phil. Okay then.’ He tapped his neighbour on the shoulder. ‘Phil’s cold. Pass it along.’

  Whispers broke out. Their teacher, who happened not to be Miss Jarvis, and had never heard of Philip’s amazing brain, was not best pleased when she heard the noise, especially since she had warned the class to be on their best behaviour.

  She glared round. ‘What’s going on?’ she hissed.

  ‘Phil’s freezing.’

  Screwing her head round, she noticed a radiator at the back of the isle. She pointed to it. ‘Tell him to go and sit next to that radiator, and no more talking. You’re spoiling things for everyone else.’

  The radiator was warm and, after a few minutes, Philip felt a bit better. Aware he would be really warm if he was wearing his jacket, he decided to go and fetch it. So, exactly as his sisters had done fifteen minutes before, Philip slipped out of the cathedral without being seen and made his way to the car park.

  By this time, he had wandered to the far side of the car park, patiently checking each coach until finally he stumbled across one that had its doors open. It wasn’t silver and grey and OC knew it couldn’t possibly be his coach. Since there was no one about to ask and it looked nice and quiet …*

  Just like Goldilocks, who found a nice warm bed to sleep in, OC curled up on the back seat and had a little doze.

  He woke up when something landed heavily on the metal floor, creating vibrations strong enough to bounce him about in his seat. Opening his eyes, he noticed that several men had climbed aboard and were now sitting up front. Shortly after, a very long black limousine with tinted windows drove up. The driver’s door opened and a man got out. Wearing a dark suit, like a chauffeur, he was a big man with a squashed-up face. OC was just working out where he had seen him before, when the rear door opened and someone else got out. This man, OC definitely recognised. He might have been muffled in a fur coat, nevertheless Philip knew him. It was the man with the knife.

  Remembering how muc
h he had liked being in a gym, Philip raised his arm to wave. That’s when he remembered Cash insisting, he must never, never, never, talk to the man with the knife ever again.

  Instead of waving, OC slid down the seat so he couldn’t be seen and, like parcels that are always being left on seats, OC remained unnoticed. He couldn’t hear what the men were talking about but he could see, peeping through a gap in the seats.

  Jim Bowie got on the coach carrying a bag. Opening it, he pulled something out, something that looked suspiciously like a gun. He handed it across and, again, he looked in his bag. This time, he pulled out an even bigger gun. The third time he delved into his bag, he pulled out woollen hats and gloves – all black.

  Another car drew up and another man, in a navy pin-stripe suit, got out and climbed the steps into the coach. OC didn’t know him and he definitely wasn’t carrying a bag or a gun. But he was carrying a key, which he handed to Jim Bowie. And he did look distinctly nervous, throwing sideways glances* at the weapons.

  By now there were six men upfront who were doing quite a lot of talking, lots of arm waving …*

  plus a bit of gun waving.

  Eventually, Jim Bowie and the man in the navy pin-stripe suit left and returned to their cars. While OC was watching all of this, to his astonishment the coach started up and pulled out of the car park.

  It didn’t travel particularly fast, nor did it use the motorway. Instead it wandered through country lanes filled with cattle, sheep and trees. Eventually, they came to the outskirts of a town. The roads became busier and suddenly OC recognised Bristol. This was fantastic. A few minutes later, it became even more fantastic. He recognised the main road he and Cash used to walk down when they delivered homework. It was called Gloucester Road. He remembered that because their teacher had said only that morning they were going to Gloucester. And then, he recognised a house belonging to one of their most regular customers.

  Rounding a corner, the coach indicated right and turned into a narrow side street, made even narrower by buildings so densely packed together, they looked like a pack of sandwiches that had been sat on. Stopping, it reversed onto an area of wasteland, dotted with burnt-out cars and coaches, all with their windows smashed.*

  OC recognised this place, too. This was where his mother left her car, whenever she visited the bank on the corner. And down the main road a bit was his school. To check he looked in his Filofax for his school’s address: Gloucester Road. If he was in Gloucester Road and his school was in Gloucester Road, if he walked straight down the road he would find his school. And that was definite.

  Now the man with the knife had left, OC couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t speak to the men in the coach. Surprisingly, none of them had noticed him. One was busy driving while the others lounged across the front seats. After all, they had brought him all the way back to Bristol, which was very kind of them.

  Remembering how Grandmother always insisted that he say: thank you for having me, when he visited someone else’s house, he stood up.

  Too late! While he’d been thinking about it, the men had left the coach. Now, none of them were carrying guns. Instead, all four carried large bags. OC watched them walk across the little piece of waste ground towards a long line of buildings. He leapt to his feet, meaning to run after them, when one of the men opened a door in the wall of the nearest building and the four men disappeared inside.

  OC trotted down the short alleyway to the main road. Turning the corner, he pulled open the glass doors of the first building he came to – which happened to be the bank.

  It was not yet lunchtime – and business was relatively quiet. At least, two seconds before OC walked in, it had been relatively quiet. Now, it was a scene of chaos.

  The four men from the coach were now wearing woollen hoods, with holes cut for their eyes. One was pointing his gun at the bank clerks shouting: keep away from the alarm or I’ll shoot the manager, while another was pointing his gun at staff and customers, herding them into a corner. A third man was occupied in closing the blinds over the window and locking the glass doors. The fourth was busily ransacking drawers, where money was kept during opening hours.

  Scared that all the noise of screaming and shouting would make his head seize, OC turned to leave. One of the men grabbed hold of him and pulled him back, pushing him into the corner with the rest of the customers.

  ‘Sit down and face the wall,’ he bellowed. ‘And keep quiet. Anyone making a noise gets shot.’

  OC sat quietly for a moment until his head felt better, then began looking around. Cash had often spoken about bank robberies and how exciting they were. Now he was actually seeing one take place and it was exciting – Cash was right.

  Noticing him, one of the bank robbers yelled out. ‘Hey, you, kid. I told you to face the wall and not turn round.’

  ‘Why not?’ OC said brightly.

  ‘If you know what’s good for you, shut up and do as you’re told.’

  OC wasn’t bothered about the threat. He didn’t understand it anyway. Besides, it was much more interesting to watch. He stared round the room, reading the big sign over the grille:

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said in a loud, firm voice. He got to his feet, customers clawing frantically at his jacket trying to make him sit down again. Ignoring them, he walked up to the grille. ‘I’ve just remembered. I keep my money in this bank. You can’t possibly take that, it’s mine.’

  Immediately, there was dead silence.*

  Even the manager, who had been pleading not to be shot, shut up. So did the customers, most of whom were crying. The bank robbers froze, their hands grasping bundles of notes, suspended in mid-air.

  One of the men laughed. ‘How much d’ye want, kid?’

  ‘I have saved three hundred pounds in this bank.’

  ‘Three hundred pounds, eh. No big deal.’ The man carefully counted the money, licking his finger to stop the notes sticking together, and shoved the bundle through the grill. ‘I’ve added a hundred for interest. Now, get over there and shut up.’

  Carefully stowing the notes in his Filofax, OC sat down again, perfectly content, not even noticing the filthy and very envious looks other customers were directing towards him.

  He didn’t notice the robbers disappear, either. One second they were there, the next they were gone and a moment later police had taken their place.

  Even more confusion followed. It was as if everyone had been wound up with a huge key. They jabbered, they shouted, they cried hysterically, they fainted. OC took one look and, aware that if he waited around his brain would definitely seize, walked out of the door and made his way back to school.

  Before taking children on a school trip, teachers are required to attend a training course, to make sure they can count children on and off a bus or coach correctly. If they pass they are awarded a certificate of competence in counting, which is meant to reassure parents that if someone goes missing, the teacher would spot it.

  Fortunately, with so many teachers gaining that particular certificate, Philip’s absence from the coach had not gone unnoticed. Naturally, Kitty and Anna knew nothing of their brother’s disappearance, nor indeed of Cash’s non-appearance. They had spent a fabulous couple of hours wandering in and out of shops and were now waiting demurely by their coach for the ride back. And since their coach was one of the first to leave, they were away long before Philip’s absence was discovered. His jacket was there but no Philip. The teacher was frantic, the rest of the class furious.

  ‘Trust Phil,’ they muttered. ‘But he’s like a bad-penny, Miss, he always turns up.’

  Although the words brought comfort, they weren’t exactly good enough for the teacher, whose job it was to bring all her charges safely back. The cathedral was searched and the police called. By then the coach driver insisted they left, otherwise 48 children would be late for lunch, and he would be late for his next job.

  ‘I expect Phil has gone back with the Cash,’ a helpful student called out, unaware that Cash ha
d not put in an appearance, either. ‘They’re best friends, Miss. Stop – worrying. I bet he’ll be there when we get back.’

  Finally, and somewhat reluctantly, the anxious teacher told the driver to go, leaving the matter of the missing boy in the capable hands of the police.

  Although the coaches carrying the school children had left Gloucester considerably later than the bank robbers, they used motorway rather than a country road. As anyone will tell you, country roads are devilish slow but totally brilliant if you need to keep a low profile.*

  As OC entered the school gates, coaches bringing the pupils back from their morning’s outing were just arriving.

  The teacher, spotting him immediately, yanked open the door of the coach, screaming, ‘Philip, how did you get here?’

  OC looked up and smiled. ‘By coach.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. Do you know what trouble you’ve caused?’

  Philip shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, don’t do it again. Now, I have to phone the police and tell them we’ve found you. In future, stay with the group.’

  Anna and Kitty quickly learned about OC’s disappearance. They were furious but also extremely worried in case school contacted their mother.

  ‘Why on earth did you leave the cathedral?’ Kitty stormed. She pointed an indignant finger at the bedroom wall. ‘What does your poster say?’

  ‘Do not leave the house,’ OC said. ‘But Kitty, I didn’t leave the house, I left the cathedral.’

  ‘A cathedral is the House of God. House – OC – house! So you don’t leave it, OK!’

  OC nodded. ‘Sorry, Kitty.’

  ‘So how did you get back?’