Julie shifted the strap of her bag as it dug uncomfortably into her shoulder. ‘I’m sure the principal has his reasons,’ she theorised. ‘Student safety?’
‘Exactly,’ Mr Slow agreed, loudly. ‘He probably just felt it inappropriate to circulate the details.’
‘Oh, come John; we all know why he’s keeping this schtum,’ Agnes murmured. Julie eyed the clock. Third period on a Tuesday was always a challenge, as it was the bottom set: Year Nines who couldn’t care less about Chaucer or Shakespeare. ‘It’s outrageous, really. What if one of us had left the boy unsupervised with a female student? It would’ve been our fault, not his.’
‘If you’re dissatisfied with things, Mrs Brolstone, I suggest you take your complaint to the principal.’
They turned, surprised to find Marvin Caledonensis had joined them. Mr Slow immediately ducked out of their company. Agnes drew herself up, her old willowy frame strengthening. She looked at Marvin with contemptuous eyes.
‘You do, do you? I had not taken you to be a supporter of the principal’s methods, Marvin.’
‘You misunderstand me, Agnes.’ He cast his eyes calmly across the room to where Andrew Graham was sitting, his large stomach barely contained by the arms of the chair that bore him, and to Mr Eaves who sat opposite, projecting the illusion of working when in fact he too was listening. ‘I am merely suggesting you speak to the principal about your concerns, before someone else does,’ he murmured. ‘You remember what happened to Martell.’
Paling, Agnes nodded curtly and made a brisk exit as the first bell marked the start of their shift.
‘Julie,’ Marvin said warmly. ‘I had thought you wiser than to be involved with Agnes’ gossip.’
‘I thought so too,’ she admitted. ‘But she got me on my way out with her granddaughter again. You know what she’s like.’
‘Agnes and her grandchildren,’ he remarked. ‘Really, I’m not sure who we hear about more, Daisy or Dr James Ravioli.’ Smiling, he reached for her satchel. She relinquished it gratefully. ‘How are you finding our new student?’
‘She’s doing well.’ She followed him into the hall. ‘She seems to have found a friend in Bedivere.’
‘In my lessons, too,’ he said, pleased, ‘and in Arthur.’
‘How is Arthur?’
‘He’s coping. Gwen’s arrival has been good for him, I think. You heard what happened?’
‘You told me, yes. And as you know, Agnes has been giving her opinion on the matter.’
‘I don’t know why he didn’t just announce it last week. He was probably acting on behalf of James. The principal seems a reasonable man when I speak to him, yet his management of this school speaks otherwise.’
Students were starting to fill the corridors, bustling about in an apathetic effort to make it to their lessons on time. Old Wormelow always felt much cosier to Julie than the newer wing of the building, and she was glad that she got to spend most of her time in it.
‘I fear I have neglected you of late, Julie.’ Marvin smiled, and looked at her in that rare way he managed, that made a person feel worth something. ‘I know I’m never in the staff room when I should be.’
‘I’m aware of it. I had to cover for you twice last week.’
‘I’ve been encouraging Arthur to spend more time with people his own age,’ he admitted.
‘Such a thing can’t be bad.’ Julie pushed open the door to the English wing of the building. ‘The sooner the better.’
‘Speaking of teenage troubles, how are your boys?’
‘Good. Daniel’s studying Economics next year. He’s hoping to get into London; he doesn’t like the idea of being too far from home. And he’ll be able to see his father more often there.’
‘And Erec?’
‘Still sleepwalking,’ she said, briefly. ‘I think it’s his meds. They’re helping with the hallucinations, but God, Marvin: it freaks me out when I see him walking about at night. His eyes are wide open, but it’s like he can’t see anything. He was standing over my bed at four a.m. on Sunday. I nearly screamed.’
They came to her English room. Noticing that she was with Marvin, a few of her Year Nines made crude remarks, which they both ignored.
‘Will I see you in the staff room at lunch?’
‘That depends on Arthur,’ he told her, ‘but I expect so.’
‘Good. I miss you when you’re not there.’ Now that her class was completely gathered the shouting had started. She unlocked the classroom door. ‘Andrew keeps trying to school me on the joys of supporting the New Nationals.’
‘And you haven’t given in?’ he asked. ‘Most teachers here support the New Nationals, according to Andrew. Everyone just tells him they do to get him off their back.’
‘And the principal, too. Did you know it’s all but official? They’re only accepting new teaching applicants who actively identify with the New Nationals. I heard it from Diane. She’s seen the notes on the applications.’
‘A paper trail is official enough,’ Marvin remarked.
‘What do you tell Andrew?’
‘Oh, he knows I disagree with him completely. I think it gives him great pleasure to debate party policies with me. It keeps me clued up when it comes to discussing the school’s leanings.’
‘A brave endeavour,’ she teased.
‘Watch out for Davidson,’ he added, eying a blonde boy who ambled past and went to sit at his desk. ‘I hear he’s developed the habit of throwing his pencil case at teachers when their backs are turned.’
‘Wonderful.’
She traced him for a moment as he left, his tall lanky frame cutting straight down the corridor, and then followed the last of her students into her classroom, shooting down any vulgar questions they had about her and Mr Caledonensis.
* * *
‘Suspended?’
Garan stared at Eve, still standing by the lobby. He set his briefcase down at the back of the sofa and shrugged out of his raincoat. ‘What do you mean, suspended? For how long?’
Gwenhwyfar was leaning against the armchair. Llew fussed at her father’s side. ‘Three days,’ she said, trying to mask her disappointment. ‘It’s better than nothing.’
‘It may as well be nothing,’ Eve muttered, clearly upset. ‘What’s going to happen after the suspension’s up? I’m assuming that boy will be allowed to continue as normal. Did the principal mention if he would be putting any safeguarding steps in place?’
‘I told you; he didn’t say anything, only that he would make sure they apologise.’
‘And have him in the same room as you? I think not,’ Garan said stridently. ‘I can understand the girls being suspended, but what justification do they have for keeping him in school?’
‘We’ve logged a formal complaint,’ Eve pointed out. ‘Perhaps we can appeal?’
‘I don’t want to appeal,’ Gwenhwyfar insisted. ‘The suspension will go on his record. Hopefully he’ll learn his lesson.’
‘And why don’t you want to appeal?’ Garan took his suit jacket off and threw it on the sofa.
‘I just—I don’t want to go through it again,’ Gwenhwyfar said, distressed. ‘Once was bad enough.’
‘We’d be with you the whole way this time, darling,’ Eve assured her. ‘There’ll be no way for the principal to make you feel anything less than taken seriously.’
Gwenhwyfar doubted that was possible. ‘But it’s over now, it’s done with. It’s not like anything actually happened.’
‘He assaulted you,’ Garan pointed out. ‘That’s hardly nothing, cariad.’
She didn’t want to talk about it. Once again she felt as if she was the one who was being interrogated when she had done nothing wrong.
‘We should at least talk to the police,’ her mother said.
‘But I don’t want to talk to the police.’ Gwenhwyfar stood away from the chair. Giving up on her father, Llew padded over to nudge at her instead. ‘What good will it do?’
‘Good? It’ll do plenty of g
ood. It’ll get you compensation and a restraining order on Hector, if we’re lucky. Why are you so opposed to it? It’s your right.’
‘Hector will just say I was drunk.’ She drew in a deep breath, but it wavered. ‘He’s not going to admit to attacking me, he still says I was up for it.’
‘The police are equipped to deal with such things,’ Eve said, softly. ‘They’ll see through it.’
Gwenhwyfar rubbed at her cheeks, smearing away her sudden tears. Neither of her parents moved to comfort her. ‘Isn’t it too late? If I were reporting it, surely I should have done it when it happened.’
‘Crimes get reported historically all the time,’ Garan said, his voice short. ‘I hardly feel a week is going to make much difference.’
‘But what about Viola? The only reason she hasn’t been suspended is because no one’s told the principal she hit Hector!’
‘We can worry about that later,’ Eve interrupted. ‘Right now the most important thing is to make sure that this Hector is dealt with properly. How would you feel if after his suspension he goes and does this, or worse, to another girl?’
That wouldn’t be my fault, Gwenhwyfar thought bitterly.
‘I know you’re concerned for your friends, love, but I really don’t think the police will care. I mean, after all, she saved you. They can hardly charge her for that.’
Gwenhwyfar petted Llew absently, feeling isolated in the corner she had been backed into.
‘Daddy won’t mind calling for you. You’ll only have to give a statement.’
Llew left her again, bored by the half-there attention he was receiving, and plodded lazily into the kitchen. As Gwenhwyfar stared into the carpet, the woven pattern blurred and distorted into something barely recognisable.
‘Gwen?’
She didn’t look at her mother. Instead she sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie.
‘I’ll call them now,’ Garan declared. ‘You’re obviously devastated by this, cariad. Really I don’t blame you. This is awful, just awful.’
Her eyes began to dry as her yearning for comfort evaporated. Eve turned to her and offered a sympathetic smile. ‘I think it’s best, darling, don’t you?’
Gwenhwyfar nodded, feeling as if she had little choice. Their minds were made up. She supposed it made sense, but sometimes she wished that they would just listen.
* * *
Her parents were silent. It was dark now. Gwenhwyfar gazed out of the passenger window, her mind closed off. She didn’t know what she was thinking within the small box she had constructed for herself. Nothing, really; just staring: a dull frequency that birthed no words and offered slim comfort. Her father set his eyes upon the road, his hands stiff at the steering wheel. It was Tuesday evening, and they had just left the local police station. It had been everything Gwenhwyfar had expected.
‘It’s madness,’ Eve volunteered, her sigh producing no enquiry to her thoughts. ‘I mean it was assault. How can they just brush it off like this?’
‘You heard what they said,’ Garan remarked. ‘Unless we can prove that it wasn’t just a misunderstanding…’
‘Of course it wasn’t a misunderstanding. He assaulted her. How could they have heard anything different?’
‘They heard some lecherous boy kissed a girl he liked without thinking, that’s what they heard.’
‘And pinned her down,’ Eve spat out, almost choking on the words. She fell silent for a moment, and then shook her head. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have mentioned we were considering going to the police.’
‘You think that man has the time to interfere with something like this? He’s a school principal.’
‘I saw that officer’s face change when Gwen gave him Hector’s name,’ Eve disputed. ‘I’d have thought they would be a little more understanding.’
‘We can still press charges. They have Gwen’s statement. All we have to do is make a call.’
Eve ran an unsteady hand through her hair. ‘What should we do?’
Garan sighed. ‘What are we pressing for here…? Believe me, I want to see this basdun get his comeuppance as much as you do, but you heard what they said. A misunderstood kiss. A house party. Alcohol. If the police had been more inclined to overlook certain particulars, then I would have said it would be worth it. But now I think it will only cause Gwen further upset.’
Gwenhwyfar jerked her eyes to her father, and watched his half-lit profile illuminate as the car passed under the streetlights lining the road.
‘She’s been through enough already. We don’t want to give the police an excuse to put a magnifying glass over our lives—because that’s what they’ll do. Hector’s lawyers will make sure of it.’ For a short while they drove in silence. ‘Though of course it’s up to Gwenhwyfar.’ Looking in the rear-view mirror, Garan offered her a stern frown. ‘What do you think, cariad?’
She was conflicted. Despite her reluctance to talk to the police, once there she had been hopeful for their support. The more she had explained herself, however, the more their scorn had fledged into full-blown discouragement. She had thought the female officer might be the more understanding of the two, but ultimately her position had been the most unsympathetic, and had felt like a betrayal to their sex.
‘You don’t have to decide yet,’ Eve prompted. ‘We still have time.’
‘Would we have to go to court?’
‘Probably, yes.’
It wasn’t hard to envisage how that would unfold. She suspected it would be much like Ravioli’s questioning, but worse.
‘I’m not sure. I mean, it was definitely worth trying, but like Dad says, it sounds like it wouldn’t go anywhere.’
‘We can’t know that,’ Eve objected.
‘Yeah, he shouldn’t have done it. Yes, it was horrible. I just—I really don’t feel like having to convince a bunch of strangers that I wasn’t asking for it. Especially not when it’s probably not going to result in anything, right?’
She looked to her parents. Eve’s mouth hung open as she tried to find the right words. Garan’s face was set like stone, his eyes far off at the end of the road.
‘We don’t know if it will result in anything,’ her mother said, finally. ‘But if you can face it, it’s worth a try.’
‘But that’s just it. I don’t know if I can face it. I mean, quite frankly, I have more important things to worry myself with. Like school, and not being told I’m a liar.’
Eve looked to Garan for protest, but found no support.
‘I don’t think it’s worth it,’ added Gwenhwyfar.
‘Garan.’
‘I’m sorry, but I think in this instance, Gwenhwyfar’s right. Considering everything—and I don’t say this lightly—it’s just not worth pursuing.’
Gwenhwyfar could tell that her mother didn’t agree, for she sat back violently and cast her gaze out of the window. For a moment Gwenhwyfar thought she was going to press her opinion further, but she said nothing.
‘I think you’ve made the right choice, cariad.’ Garan offered her a half-relieved smile. The car turned another corner and then the next left, and soon they were driving through the suburbs of Upper Well Street, closing in on their still-new home.
* * *
It was Wednesday evening when Gwenhwyfar was reminded of Free Countries.
She was sitting on her knees at her desk, huddled by her computer, when a small window popped up to fill the screen. Irritated, she clicked it away, but it followed her from page to page. Only when she looked properly did she realise that it wasn’t just any pop up window. It was trying to say hello.
There was a small box in which she could key in words, like an old-fashioned messenger portal. When she failed to cross it away, the pop up box grew impatient.
Is anyone there?
She didn’t know what to do. Her instincts told her to ignore it for fear it was a virus, but curiosity soon prevailed.
Who’s this?
Nothing. She waited two minutes in apprehensio
n, watching the clock tick by. Finally,
Free Countries. Are you there?
She faltered, considering.
Yes, I’m here.
We said we’d get in touch. Hope you don’t mind.
How did you find me?
When you visited our page we made a note of your IP address. We noticed you were online. Not to worry, we severed the connection so your interaction with Free Countries cannot be traced.
Who is this?
I told you, Free Countries.
She considered turning the power off. As her finger crept closer to the restart button, text flashed up again.
If you’re not interested in our cause, we’ll leave you alone.
If you are, we’d like to meet.
Are you interested in working with Free Countries?
Panic flooded through her. Suddenly she felt as if she’d done something dangerous, that this was too suspicious. She pressed the power button before she could stop herself. Relief washed through her as her computer rebooted with a clear screen. Nervously Gwenhwyfar waited for a few moments and then opened up the Internet, just to be sure.
That wasn’t very polite.
Her heart froze.
My computer crashed. Who are you?
I told you, Free Countries.
No, I mean, what’s your name?
She waited while the pop up window digested her question. It seemed to chew it over for a while.
If you’d like to work with Free Countries, we can meet and I can give you more information.
Gwenhwyfar frowned.
I’m not meeting anyone unless you tell me your name.
More deliberation. She picked the last scraps of nail polish away from her thumb.
What is your name?
Isolde, the pop up box relented.
Really?
Yes, it’s Celtic.
You’re a girl?
Yes. I’m Irish.
Gwenhwyfar suddenly felt less threatened.
Are you interested in Free Countries?
She thought for a moment.
Yes. Where can we meet?
Is the park by Woodlands Road good for you?
The Future King: Logres Page 16
