Scott’s face broke into a reluctant grin. Tulsa was so laid back it was difficult to take stuff seriously when he was about. Whatever happened in the future, he would never regret having the agent as part of their little household – even if the house was really too small for three guys. Even that hadn’t fazed the American for long. Within a few days of his arrival, he had installed a thin plywood partition across the living room to make a third bedroom, explaining to Scott that his family had been carpenters for three generations. ‘My dad wanted me to go into the family business. I wanted to be a soldier.’
The last few months, Tulsa had taught him a lot. Responsible for his welfare while his dad remained in hospital, he had driven Scott to and from school, the silhouette of the four-by-four unfailingly parked by the entrance to the school yard, well in advance of the bell, although it became quickly apparent that no one was interested in him, the little country area as peaceful as it had always been. One week, for lack of anything other than births and deaths, the front page of the local newspaper had shown a picture of a heifer that had trampled down its fence and galloped wildly along the village high street, stopping only to munch flowers and grass as it passed, leaving gouges on lawns like the devil’s pitchfork.
‘When you finish with us, why don’t you go back to the States and become a possum warden. It’d make a change from guarding people,’ he said, half-joking. He didn’t particularly want Tulsa to go but his absence would mark a turning-point; freedom from danger – something he prayed for every night.
‘Do you want me to pick you up at the usual time?’ Watching out for stray pedestrians, Tulsa indicated and slowed.
‘Wow! There’s Hilary.’
Before the agent had a chance to stop, Scott opened the door and leapt out, waving at two girls strolling towards the school gates. The taller of the two, Jenny, had been swimming captain all the way up the school. Not content with that she had recently added school sports captain to her growing list of titles, competing in both swimming and athletics at national level. To a stranger, Jenny would have been marked down as the tough one. Tall and athletic, she made Hilary walking beside her look quite petite and yet, as Scott knew, Hilary didn’t scare easily and was a crack shot. Exempt from school uniform, sixth-formers were permitted to wear casual clothes, provided they were clean and tidy, and nearly all the girls now wore their hair long and loose. Even Hilary had given up on her pony tail, her ash blond hair sweeping across her shoulders in the light wind.
‘Yes, that’s fine. Thanks, Tulsa,’ Scott spoke over his shoulder, not paying any attention. ‘Hi, Hilary. Good half term? Did you miss me?’ A delighted smile swept across his face.
‘Not long enough – but it was good to see Mum.’
A dark-haired, serious-looking boy, his heavy spectacles refusing to stay put like his hair, which flew up and down as he moved, jumped his way through the queue of cars waiting in line to deposit their load of students. Placing his hand on the bonnet of a Range Rover to stop it moving, he peered through the passenger window on his way past, smiling perkily at the driver.
‘What’s your sister doing here, Travers?’ he called to a tall, well-built youth busily dragging his sports kit and school bag from the back seat.
‘Hi, Jay, she’s got a shoot.’ Travers slammed the back door and raised his hand in a salute. ‘Thanks, Tash. See you at dinner.’
Flashing a friendly smile at Scott, Jameson wrapped his arm around Hilary’s shoulders, planting a brotherly kiss on her cheek.
Okay, so it was only Jay, and he saluted all girls this way. It was part and parcel of his character, over-the-top excitability that gathered people around him in droves. It was only when Hilary became involved that Scott felt a twinge of jealousy, rather like indigestion circling his guts, wishing he could be as casual.
‘The problem with you, Hilary…’ Jameson began.
‘Oh! So now I have a problem,’ Hilary retorted, a spot of pink erupting on both cheeks. Even after nine months in an English school, she still found it difficult to relax and let the ragging wash over her.
‘My dear girl, we all have problems. Scott, as you well know, has about two zillion…’
‘Hey – I protest!’
Travers grinned. ‘Jay’s spot on. Everything with you is so serious.’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Jameson regarded Scott, a bewildered expression on his face. ‘Is this a doppelganger I see before me? You’re not supposed to be here. You said you were back Saturday. What happened?’
‘I…’ began Scott.
‘So, what’s my problem?’ Hilary interrupted, smiling gamely.
‘Darling girl.’ Jameson beamed down at her, instantly diverted. ‘When a guy asks if you’ve missed him, not only is it impolite not to respond – after all, common sense will tell you that he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place if he hadn’t missed you – but when someone like Scott who openly adores you…’
‘Watch it!’
‘Deny it, and go to hell,’ Jameson retorted, a wicked glint in his eye.
‘I’m not going to hell.’ Scott suddenly grinned, his grey eyes leaping into life.
‘You must let him down gently,’ Jameson continued his lecture. ‘Pointing out that it was good to see your mother, is not the way to go about it.’
Hilary glared around the circle of friends. ‘Honestly, you lot, why I ever became friends with you in the first place…’
‘Because we’re the nicest guys in the class.’ Mary, her dark hair now shoulder-length tiptoed up behind Travers, placing her hands across his eyes.
He knocked them away and, wrapping his arms round her, dropped a kiss on her hair.
Mary smiled at Hilary. ‘Don’t take any notice of Jay, he obviously ate sugar for breakfast.’
‘I did not,’ Jameson said, switching his manner to lordly, ‘I will have you know…’
‘New girlfriend!’ Scott exclaimed, remembering that Jay mostly got out of hand when he’d met someone new. ‘A new girlfriend – I bet you. Someone he met at half-term. So who is it? Come on, Jay…’
Mary kicked him on the ankle, surreptitiously jerking her thumb.
Scott caught the direction and his eyes widened. He swallowed down the words ‘tell us all about her’.
‘So let me tell you my news,’ said Hilary quickly, picking up on Mary’s gesture. ‘You’ll never guess…’
‘Hang on a minute, you lot. Get in line.’ Jameson darted to where Jenny was standing next to Hilary, head bent, pointedly scrabbling about in her bag trying to give the impression she hadn’t been listening. Jameson grabbed her hand, raising it in a victory salute. ‘This, in case you have never met her before, is Jenny – my new girlfriend. Jenny, meet my friends.’ He gave a mock bow, ignoring Jenny’s discomfort, her face scarlet.
‘For the last time, Jay, I am not your girl-friend,’ she retorted in a flustered tone. ‘We happened to spend last weekend together, that’s all.’
‘Whoa!’ Travers backed away, his hands up in the air as if fending her off. ‘Come off it, Jenny. You can’t go round spending weekends with guys and then say you’re not their girlfriend. I mean – think about your reputation.’ Travers grinned mockingly.
‘Shut up, Travers. You know perfectly well it wasn’t like that, because you were there. It was indoor athletics, you know, the nationals,’ she quickly explained. ‘Travers’ brother Beau was scheduled to compete in the hurdles so Jay and Travers went along to watch. I was in the four hundred, and we sort of got talking. But don’t you dare tell people I’m your girlfriend – I’ll sue.’
Jameson placed his hands over his heart. ‘It’s not for want of trying. Give me the word, tip me the wink, and I’ll be there. I have been your devoted slave, ever since… um… help me out here, someone!’ He gazed dewy-eyed round the little circle of friends. Removing his specs, he batted his eyelashes at them, and even Jenny spluttered with mirth at his antics.
Scott could tell his friend had, once again, fa
llen under the spell of a girl and was covering his real feelings with play-acting. That’s what girls never cottoned on to with Jameson, believing him shallow and flippant when they first met him, not realising that his charm and gaiety disguised a very serious and quite brilliant thinker. Eventually, though, even the most resistant succumbed to his charms.
Travers, on the other hand, was the opposite. Good-looking and athletic, girls swooned before him, even though he was not a great talker unless you got him onto the subject of his particular sport – rugby. He and Mary had been together now more than a year and seemed a permanent fixture.
He eyed Jenny, guessing her show of annoyance was play-acting too.
‘Besides, Jay,’ the sports captain struggled to keep her expression serious, ‘I never go out with guys shorter than me.’
‘Ouch, ouch, ouch!’ Jameson hopped up and down on one foot. ‘Below the belt. Besides, I’m only shorter because I had my hair cut yesterday.’
In the distance they heard the loud clanging of a fire bell. Automatically, the groups chattering in the school yard looked down at their watches, knowing it was the five-minute warning.
Still laughing, the six friends made their way through the school-gate, the year-sevens, who had only been at school for a couple of months, drawing politely back to let the sixth-formers into the yard first.
The comprehensive school had had its origins in the grammar school system, which had been popular in the previous century, although none of the present generation had even heard of grammar schools and, some years previously, in pursuit of modernisation the red brick turrets of the old school had been torn down to make way for a two-storey glass building. The severity of the radiation leak from the Iran nuclear disaster had forced school authorities to coat the windows with a special polymer, which meant lights were needed twenty-four-seven. It was only in the last few years that levels had dropped low enough for sports to take place outside again. Now, in summer, the grassy playing fields had once again become a gathering place rather than the school library.
Travers gave the youngsters a friendly grin as he passed. ‘Were we ever this timid?’
‘You weren’t but we were,’ Mary said. ‘So, Hilary, your news?’
‘Later, later, later,’ Jameson chanted. ‘And we will be, if we don’t hurry. I’ve got important stuff to tell you, too.’
‘And me.’ Travers wrote a word on his hand to remind him what it was.
‘Let’s meet up at break and you can tell us then.’
The bell rumbled into life again. Automatically students broke into a run, aware they had less than two minutes to get to class, and anxious not to earn a late penalty. With a wave the six friends parted. Jameson clutched Scott’s sleeve to stop him moving, his gaiety vanished.
‘You weren’t expected back till the weekend? What happened and why didn’t you call me.’
‘A lot happened.’ Scott smiled gratefully. ‘And two in the morning was too late. Come on, it can wait till break.’
Hilary’s voice rose to a squeak. ‘They were shooting at you?’
‘No, that’s just the point,’ Scott frowned. ‘They were shooting at Dad – I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘But you might have been killed,’ she spluttered.
Scott shrugged, outwardly trying to appear calm and unconcerned, his pulse racing, thrilled that the possibility of his being killed had really upset Hilary. So she did care after all. Damn Sean Terry and his veto. ‘They obviously still want him dead – and if he gets involved again…’
Heads nodded sympathetically, knowing how seriously injured Bill Anderson had been, escaping death by millimetres.
‘But a secret entrance into the Embassy,’ Jenny added. ‘How cool is that?’
‘Oh,’ Scott gulped, his expression uncomfortable as if someone had trodden on his toe. ‘I shouldn’t have come out with that bit – it’s not supposed even to exist.’
‘Who are we going to tell?’ Jameson said. ‘A donkey looks over my fence most mornings until I feed it a carrot, and the neighbours live in France.’
‘Honestly, Jay.’ Jenny poked him in the ribs. ‘This is serious. So what are you going to do, Scott?’
‘Stop Dad going ahead with it,’ Scott said, glad he had spoken out. It didn’t come naturally though, not after years and years of keeping his thoughts hidden. It was nice to share and it made everything… Scott paused, trying to find the right words… less intense, more ordinary.
‘Good luck with that.’ Jameson peered round the little group their feet bunched up against the wall, the three girls facing the boys. It was a tight squeeze for six but no one complained. At least it was quiet without class mates barging in and disturbing their private conversation.
The previous year, Jameson had discovered a half-empty cupboard in the basement corridor. Realising its potential, he had immediately put a ‘Hazardous Materials’ sticker on the door then, swiping the key from the secretary’s office, had made a copy before replacing it on its hook.
‘If anyone asks,’ he said when Scott questioned the wisdom of his action, ‘I shall freely admit to conducting an experiment into the unquestioning obedience of the great British public.’
Scott groaned. ‘You’ll never get away with it.’
‘Course I will,’ Jameson grinned. ‘I have a reputation for conducting strange experiments and no teacher is going to admit to being taken in, especially not Fallowes, our beloved leader. Besides, no one ever comes down here. Even Wesley hasn’t weaselled it out yet.’
He’d been right, and they’d now had sole occupation for almost a year, something Scott considered quite unbelievable in a school strapped for space.
‘Jenny, did you bring the cake?’ Jameson said now.
Jenny nodded, carefully easing a chocolate cake from a plastic carrier bag.
‘What’s it in aid of?’ Mary eyed the cake covetously. ‘That looks… oh! I could eat the lot, I’m starving; I didn’t have any breakfast.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Travers muttered. ‘Remember your poor starving boyfriend. Besides, I don’t want you developing strange bumps.’
Mary blushed and kicked him with her foot. ‘So why the cake, Jenny?’
‘Because,’ Travers broke in, ‘Jenny won the four-hundred and is now British Schools Champion.’
A chorus of congratulations hit the air, Jenny’s face as red as a beetroot.
When it had died down, Scott said, ‘How did you get involved, Jay?’ He nodded his thanks as Jenny handed him a piece of cake, unravelling a roll of kitchen paper to use as a plate.
‘Travers wanted to meet up with Beau…’
‘Haven’t seen him for months,’ Travers added. ‘Not since summer. He rang to tell us he was competing in London, so I thought I’d go up and surprise him. I figured he’d probably fly us back and check in on the parents at the same time. You know what he’s like. Anything for a lark.’
Beau, Travers’ older brother had always been Scott’s absolute hero at school. The most eccentric of the three, his maxim in life was never to sit if you could sprawl and never to drive if you could fly; and he had become the proud owner of a twin-engine Cessna on his eighteenth birthday, which he now kept at a local airfield near Oxford.
‘Anyway, we went to the games but he was a no show. I rang Natasha. Luckily, she was coming this way for a shoot in Plymouth and she offered us her floor for a couple of nights.’
‘And I tagged along.’ Jameson ignored the interruption. ‘You were busy swanning around Switzerland, and I thought a jolly in London just the thing for half-term. Good dinner and a show.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Jenny,’ he announced with a grin.
Jenny ducked her head, staring down at the floor.
‘I refused to go,’ Mary said, ‘when Travers told me they’d be flying back. You know how I hate those little machines.’
‘But Beau’s good.’
‘I know that, Travers, it�
��s the size of the aircraft I object to. If I fly, I want something that’s bigger than me, with four engines.’
‘You’ll have to go a heck of a long way to find that,’ Travers said indignantly. ‘Besides Beau’s Cessna is top-range – Dad made sure of that. You’d never find better even in a commercial aircraft.’
‘Stop arguing, you two,’ Hilary broke her silence. ‘How you’re ever going to survive fifty years of marriage when you can’t get on for five minutes without arguing…’
‘Married? Travers and Mary? That’s not news; that’s a bombshell.’
‘No way, Jay, Hilary’s yanking your chain. Besides, Mary understands perfectly well that I’m off to play rugby for at least the next five years. If there’s a chance I can make the England squad, I’m going for it.’
‘Oh my God! Travers, you’re such a liar. Last time we spoke about it, it was, “possibly three to five years”. Now, it’s “at least five”!’
‘You’ve got to be sensible, Mary,’ her boyfriend retorted indignantly, his face flushed. ‘In five years, we’ll only be twenty-one. That’s no age to get married.’
‘So we’re breaking up?’
A chorus of protests hit the air. ‘No way!’
‘Hell will freeze over first,’ Jameson added.
‘But why athletics?’ Scott said when the laughter had died away.
‘Ah,’ Travers beamed. ‘Beau decided, since he couldn’t play rugby because of his jaw, he’d take up athletics for a lark. Knowing Beau, he’s only good at it. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. You remember that company that makes our specs?’
Scott nodded.
‘Well, after the shenanigans in Holland, the European Court of Human Rights got involved.’ Jameson took over the story. ‘Don’t you know about it, Scott?’
‘Well, no.’ Scott frowned. ‘I was too busy getting Dad right. I wonder why he’s never mentioned it?’
‘Why the fuss?’ Jenny said. She pulled her specs out of her pocket. ‘We all wear specs outside – it’s sort of normal.’
‘I know, but we don’t need to now – that’s the point. Radiation’s way down. Besides, that wasn’t the real reason,’ Jameson broke in eagerly, his normally studious face vividly alive.
Turning Point Page 8
