Millie went to speak and stopped. She was looking at Sanchez. They sorted out their scones again and discovered how long it took to divide cream fairly.
‘I’ve been working on a speech,’ said Millie. ‘Will you let me read it?’
Miles stared at his knife. When he tilted his head forward, his hair hung so low his eyes were completely masked.
‘Dear Miles,’ said Millie. ‘I said the most awful, terrible, horrible things. I don’t know why. I just wasn’t ever sure about you and all the things you said. I liked you from the first time I saw you and I like you even more now, even though – obviously – you can be really stupid. Changing that letter to get you back to Ribblestrop was the best thing I ever did. I am not fit to be Head Girl because I am a liar and very mean and jealous, so I have resigned the post, though I don’t know who else they will get to do it and I’m not sure if I ever had any duties anyway, but I am definitely not fit to be someone that is a role model. I hope you are not going to leave this school because I really want to get to know you better. From Millie.’
Miles said, ‘Thank you, I . . .’
‘I wrote you a letter too,’ said Sanchez. ‘It’s quite long though, so I can just give it to you.’
He passed an envelope to Miles and Miles slipped it into his blazer, his face burning red.
‘How did you swim under those rocks?’ said Millie. ‘Brother Rees says it’s completely impossible. He says nobody could do it.’
Miles picked up his teacup and it trembled in his hands.
‘I just swam,’ he said.
‘You saw Lord Vyner, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?’
Miles nodded.
‘What was the “favourite game”?’
Miles looked down. He looked puzzled, as if he was trying to remember.
‘Why are you scrunching up your eyes?’ said Sanchez. ‘Why don’t you just tell her?’
‘You said it twice, or three times,’ said Millie. ‘ “My favourite game” – were you talking about what I think you were talking about?’
Miles looked at his plate. He went to speak and stopped. He reached for the teapot and Sanchez took it away and put it out of his reach.
‘Alright,’ said Miles. ‘It’s no big deal. I used to take Sanchez’s gun, OK? I used to play Russian roulette with it.’
‘You did it twice,’ said Sanchez, angrily. ‘Twice you got my gun and you went underground, and you made Tomaz watch!’ He paused and Miles simply stared at his plate. ‘It’s not a secret any more.’
Millie leaned over and took hold of Miles’s tie. She wound it round her fist and put her face close to his.
‘I knew,’ she said. ‘It was easy to guess.’
She touched his ear and held it, softly, between her fingers. She moved her lips close and spoke very slowly. ‘Promise me you’ll never do it again.’
‘I promise,’ said Miles, quietly.
‘Promise me.’
‘I just did: I promise.’
‘Promise you’ll stop, Miles – please.’
‘I’m promising.’ He would not look up from the plate.
‘Promise me, looking at me.’
‘I promise!’
‘Promise Sanchez.’
‘I promise. I promise! I promse you both.’
‘We don’t want you dead. Do you understand that? We want you alive. You were in the water, Miles – didn’t you think, I don’t want to die?’
‘No,’ said Miles. ‘I’ve never thought that.’
‘What about now?’ said Sanchez. ‘Here. Now. With us?’
Miles looked up and the dullness left his eyes. He found he was staring at Sanchez, and then he swivelled his gaze and it was Millie’s face, still centimetres from his own. ‘But this won’t go on,’ he said.
‘What do you mean? What won’t?’
‘This won’t go on,’ he said again. He swallowed and there were tears now, rolling down his cheeks. ‘Because . . . this ends, doesn’t it? This is just an afternoon and things change and you’ll leave. You’ll go off to South America together, and you’ll be friends, and I . . . Because I don’t know. I just don’t know and I don’t have anyone – do I?’
There was a pause.
Sanchez said, ‘We’re staying here for Easter, just us three. We’re going to go somewhere nice, with Doonan. We’re just going to go for walks and read and do ordinary stuff. ‘You, me and Millie. You have loads of people, Miles.’
Miles stared.
‘Is that a good idea?’ said Sanchez.
‘Yes,’ said Miles. And the tears dripped slowly onto his plate.
They got back to school late, because they decided to wheel their bicycles rather than ride them, and when they got to the school gates, they walked on to where someone had tied a rope to a tree and they mucked about on that until it got dark. Then they decided that a quick stroll to the Edge would be good, because it was warm and the air was full of the scent of spring flowers.
Supper was over, so they went up to the east tower, where the orphans always had food. They were surprised to find everybody there, including all the teachers. They’d completely forgotten: Kenji had asked to make a presentation.
He coughed nervously and they sat down, unnoticed.
‘Thank you very much, Nikko,’ said Kenji. ‘Your introduction was very clear. I am now pleased to present the accounts of the Ribblestrop Towers General Holding Company, which is the name we’ve been trading under. I have the figures, if you’ll just . . . could you do the lights, Podma?’
They’d found an old overhead-projector from somewhere. Grey columns of numbers appeared on a bedsheet draped over a wardrobe.
Eric was passing the rum truffles. Anjoli came round with the hot chocolate and slipped onto Millie’s lap. Tomaz, Caspar, and Oli sat together. They had spent the day redesigning the secret doorway into the underground chambers, which everyone had been restoring.
‘I won’t go through all the ins and outs of this,’ said Kenji. ‘The details are . . . sorry, that’s the second page. The details are available if anyone wants to go through them.’
‘Just tell us,’ shouted Sanjay. ‘Is Ruskin bankrupt?’
Kenji laughed nervously. ‘Well. The items of interest are on the third sheet – that’s this one – and this is when we really started getting lucky. Ruskin, your money moved in and out of bonds for a while, which is what enabled us to offer credit to everyone, and it was that credit we put against the headmaster’s investment.’
The headmaster smiled. ‘I’m a little lost already,’ he said.
‘Our first real coup was the investment in the vineyard – it just took off and we were able to shift most of that money away to a little diamond mine. That little diamond mine . . . well, you can see on the final column. It’s now rather a large diamond mine. So we moved half of that to a whole basket of what you call high-risk enterprises, which is exactly what they were – but we did pretty well. We took a big hit on the mortgage market, but so did everyone. Where we really scored was in a natural spring in Switzerland. We bought in just before a couple of the big boys crashed – there was that bottled water scandal, you may remember it. And that’s why I can tell the school that . . . hold on.’
He searched for his final sheet. He put it on the screen. It was upside down. He snatched it off and righted it. It was a childish hand, but the numbers were clear. Seven four four, then a slash that may have been a comma. Seven nine nine, and a point. Seven. Two.
‘That’s net, after commissions.’
Ruskin said, ‘I don’t understand. What is that number?’ He was peering through his latest attempt at glasses: the lenses were taped to a coathanger that had been shaped around his head. It was working well.
‘That’s what we’re holding, as of close of play last night,’ said Kenji.
‘But is it . . . what is it? Pounds? Pence?’
‘Sterling. That’s what’s in the tins �
�� we don’t use the safe any more. Seven hundred and forty-four thousand, seven hundred and ninety-nine pounds and seventy-two pence. That is the net profit of the company, which I would like to formally hand over to our chairman, the headmaster. And we invite him to address us, of course.’
Everyone turned to look at the headmaster.
They waited for him to speak, but he remained sitting. The biscuit tins of cash were passed to him and he held them between his hands. They waited a full minute. He stood up and said, ‘Boys.’
He looked at Millie. ‘Millie.’
Thirty seconds passed.
‘I’m going to have to . . . Excuse me. Routon, could you . . .? I’m not sure what to say. Would you mind, um . . .’
A full minute went by and the children waited.
Finally, and very quietly, he said, ‘My dear friends. Thank you.’
III
It was the very last day of term.
Professor Worthington had not been popular when she insisted that her morning science lesson would take place, as timetabled. The orphans were particularly cross.
‘We don’t cut classes,’ she said, as they protested.
‘But, Miss, we’re loading the truck! There’s so much to do . . .’
‘You can do it this afternoon.’
‘The clown costumes . . .’
‘You can finish your clown costumes tonight. The fact that you’re off to . . . where’s the first night?’
‘Budleigh Salterton, Miss.’
‘Budleigh Salterton. Well-known for its elderly population – what will they think of you?’
‘It’s going to be the best!’
‘You can play at acrobats and clowns all over your Easter holiday. I am running a science lesson and we are all meeting – that’s your teachers as well – in the pump-room at ten-thirty.’
At this, the children changed their minds and cheered. They were off like a flock of birds, knowing that something exciting lay in store. The pump-room had been out of bounds ever since the destruction of the elevator, but they knew the Brethren had been working down there, night and day. They were desperate to see the results.
Twenty minutes later, the whole school filed in. As before, the room cast its magical spell and there wasn’t even a whisper. The air was full of vapour and the pipes seemed to be breathing like some great organism. The ruptures had been repaired, the debris shifted, and in the central column stood a new lift-car. It wasn’t made of glass, though – it had a rough, homemade look about it. There were steel hoops and a mass of tarpaulin and plastic.
‘This is purely temporary,’ explained Professor Worthington. ‘We will replace the glass unit, but I’m sure you can imagine, it’s a very specialised job. This, however, will do for one quick trip – are you going to be alright, Millie?’
Millie nodded.
‘If anyone’s fearful, then go back up the steps and meet us by Neptune in about fifteen minutes. If you want a ride, step in – carefully, Anjoli! There is absolutely no need to push.’
Asilah held Anjoli back and allowed everybody else to climb aboard, teachers first. It was a tight squeeze, but with the little ones on the older ones’ knees, they were reasonably comfortable. Captain Routon sat next to Flavio, covered by six orphans. Henry and the headmaster carried another four. Professor Worthington sealed the door and studied a control panel. Millie was pleased to see that it was inside the car and tried to keep calm.
There was a dramatic bubbling and they rose up slowly. Soon, the sound of roaring water filled their ears. They moved through darkness and then the light was strangely blue. The car hesitated and bobbed.
Professor Worthington crouched to one side and turned a valve. She drew a hosepipe over her shoulder, and though everyone strained to look, it was hard to see what she was doing. The noise of water made questions impossible.
She beckoned the children to her, Millie first. Mille was followed by Sanchez and behind him came Miles. They stepped out of the lift-car into a large, glass viewing platform. They were still far underwater and the lake looked murky.
Professor Worthington turned a valve on her hosepipe and from the nozzle came a thick, soapy substance. She adjusted the aperture and all at once a bubble was growing. She folded the bubble over Sanchez and repaired the ruptured side. Then, like a conjuror, she expanded it over Millie and then Miles. She inflated it more as the three children stared up at her and then she eased them out, into the decompression chamber. Seconds later, the capsule opened and the bubble floated out into the water.
Sam and Ruskin were next, and then Flavio and Routon. Doonan went with Asilah and Sanjay. Henry had to be alone because of his size. Tomaz went with Oli and Caspar and the rest of the orphans broke into small groups at random. Within minutes, nine giant bubbles were rolling out into the depths of the lake, the children standing or sitting with their hands pressed to the soapy walls.
‘How long have you been planning this, Clarissa?’ said the headmaster, watching them go.
‘It was Doonan’s idea. It’s all about the consistency of the mix – you need elasticity, of course, but you need lightness and strength. Some of the trial runs were disastrous.’
She turned to a row of switches and flicked them one by one. As she did so, floodlights came on all over the lake’s bottom. The headmaster stared as the bubbles floated down and bounced upwards. They turned slowly and he could see the children pointing, staring, laughing . . .
‘Oh, look. Trust Anjoli . . .’
Anjoli had burst his bubble and he and Israel were swimming. They swam to their friends, waving, and then they both flipped upside down and made for Doonan. Doonan was sitting, his elbows braced against the walls, staring in astonishment. The two diving boys flipped the bubble over and watched with delight as the young man rolled. Then they torpedoed upwards for air.
‘They’ve got more guts than me!’ said the headmaster. ‘You wouldn’t get me out there. I’ve always been a dry-bob.’
He had not noticed that Professor Worthington had drawn the final sphere over him and now climbed into it with him. She put all her weight against one side and they were rolling, the headmaster losing his balance so the bubble moved faster. In seconds they were floating too, waving to the children as they sailed by.
‘What’s that?’ said Oli, to Tomaz.
‘Where?’
‘At the bottom. I wish we could steer this thing!’
Caspar said, ‘What if all three of us lean together? Where do you want to go?’
‘There! Quick!’
Oli gave directions and they managed to bring their bubble lower and round to a shelf of rock that reared up from the mud. An ugly fish peered at them and flipped away.
‘Look,’ said Tomaz.
‘Oh my,’ said Caspar. He pressed his face against the bubble.
‘That’s what they were looking for,’ said Oli. ‘There it is!’
Something was shining bright as fire. It was caught in one of the floodlights and, as the boys’ bubble moved past, it appeared to glitter. The blade was jammed tight in a fissure of rock. The carbon-casing had been worn by the water and most of it had flaked away. Twelve diamonds shone from the hilt: when the light caught the boys’ eyes, they found they blinked and turned away.
‘We must get it!’ cried Caspar.
Tomaz was shaking his head. ‘Leave it.’
‘Yes, but that could be really valuable. It’s worth a fortune!’
Tomaz looked back, for their bubble was rolling slowly past. The sword was deep in the rock and he remembered an old story from somewhere – who had told it to him he could not recall – and he knew it was safe.
They watched it until it disappeared and Oli said, ‘Shall we go up?’
‘Yes,’ said Tomaz.
Caspar nodded.
Some boys said they saw crocodiles. Captain Routon said he saw trout and would run a fishing club next term. Miles saw Lord Vyner, but said nothing, though he waved when he knew Millie and Sanchez
wouldn’t notice.
The voyages lasted no more than five minutes, for the bubbles started to dissolve, getting lighter and lighter. They broke the surface at roughly the same time and Anjoli and Israel were waiting, ready to burst them.
The children and their teachers made for the shore and soon found firm ground under them. They walked up out of the lake, the water running from their hair and clothes. They stood together in the warm morning sun, like explorers who’d found land. For a moment they were silenced by the beauty around them – the beauty of spring and the beauty of their school – and they simply listened to the birdsong.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As usual I am grateful to Venetia Gosling for her sensitive editing, and to my agent Jane Turnbull for her constant support. I’d also like to thank Jane Tait for her keen proofreading eye. I try never to forget the encouragement of my family, and I’d also like to thank Mike Hemsley, Lucy Greig, Paul Beamish, Rachel Beamish and Canon Bill Anderson. Two close friends – Wes Williams and Ed Gaughan – are also in this book, in spirit, and I thank them for their wise counsel over the years. Finally I must thank the British School Manila’s 11AC – to whom the book is dedicated – for being the class I have most enjoyed teaching in fifteen happy years as a teacher. Amanda, Akila, Charu, Shaun, Mustafa, Kristen, Charles, Kristoffer, Mykie, Philippe, Patricia, Regena, Nayantara, Chelsey, Veronica and Paolo: thank you for tolerating my mood-swings, and providing fine therapy.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andy Mulligan was brought up in South London, and educated at Oxford University. He worked as a theatre director for ten years, before travels in Asia prompted him to re-train as a teacher. He has taught English and drama in India, Brazil, the Philippines and the UK. He now divides his time between London and Manila.
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