by V M Jones
‘I’m not taking you anywhere. I’d rather not go to Quested Court than go with you. I don’t want you near any part of my life. And I’ve got news for you. You think you can manipulate me, but you’re wrong. You can’t. I’m not going to put a foot wrong between now and Friday, and nothing you can do will make me. In two days I’ll be packing my bags.’
The second thing
I didn’t even bother looking for my penny whistle. I knew who had it, and I knew there was no way I’d ever find it. Instead, I concentrated on being careful. Very careful.
It was easier than I’d expected. The afternoon dragged to an end, dinner came and went. Weevil said nothing, did nothing. I didn’t trust him — not one bit — but by breakfast next morning, when he was still behaving as if I didn’t exist, a tiny hope was beginning to surface in my mind.
All day at school, he didn’t even look at me once.
At last the bell rang, and I hefted my bag and trudged up the hill to Highgate. Only one more day to go! And all it had taken was a little firmness …
The white gate creaked open under my hand, and I crunched my way up the gravel driveway towards the house. Matron’s snazzy new car was parked outside the garage … she must be planning to get one of us to clean it. It was one of the few chores we all queued up for, even with Matron watching every second and growling at us to be careful not to scratch the paintwork. It was a job strictly reserved for big kids, but even so I’d never had a turn. Surprise, surprise.
I glanced up. There outside the front door stood Matron. For a second — just a second — my heart did a funny flip-flop, because that was where Matron always waited after school to choose her car cleaner. But then I saw the look on her face. My heart froze in mid flip, and flopped down through my guts with a sickening, sinking feeling. In all the years I’d known Matron, I’d never seen her look quite like that.
I stopped dead in my tracks. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever, Matron up on the veranda, me down on the driveway, my bag dangling in the dirt. Then Matron’s eyes swivelled away from me, along the driveway, towards the garage. Not wanting to — dreading what I was going to see — my eyes followed hers to the shiny red car, as if it were a magnet.
There, spray painted on the side of the car in huge bright yellow fluorescent letters, were two words:
The blood drained out of my face so suddenly the whole world swam. Even though I was standing in bright sunlight, I felt like I’d been turned to ice. When she spoke, Matron’s voice sounded as if she was made of ice too.
‘Empty your bag onto the driveway.’
‘But …’
‘Now.’
I unzipped my bag with clumsy fingers and turned it upside down. Out tumbled my lunchbox … my homework books … a couple of crumpled notices … an apple core … a broken pencil … a rumpled old sock. Matron stared grimly at it all. A saying I’d once heard floated into my mind: Innocent until proven guilty. But for Matron, it worked the other way round.
‘Put it back and come with me.’
I picked my stuff up and put it back in the bag, piece by piece. At first my mind had been numb, reeling with shock — but now it was racing. Weevil did this, and made it look like me. Somehow, some time since yesterday, he’d snuck into the garage with a can of paint …
Anywhere.
I was dead meat. Dead if I tried to defend myself, dead if I didn’t. I risked a glance up at Matron from under my hair. Took a shallow, careful breath. ‘Mat—’
‘Shut your mouth. Get up here.’
Unwillingly I climbed the steps, my bag bumping behind me until I stood in front of Matron. With part of my mind I realised I was taller than her … when had that happened?
She reached out and took hold of my ear with her thumb and index finger, digging the nails deep into the soft lobe, twisting and pulling. My eyes watered, and my neck bent itself into an agonising angle. Matron half led, half dragged me into the house, down the long passage towards the boys’ dorm. Every doorway was jam-packed with kids, utterly silent, their huge, horrified eyes following our progress through the house.
We stopped in front of my bed. It was neatly made, the threadbare blankets tucked into tight right angles in the corners, the lumpy grey pillow dead centre above the regulation turnover of sheet. Between the beds, squeezed in so tight it touched them, stood my bedside cabinet.
‘Take out the drawer.’
Feeling the eyes of every kid at Highgate on my back, I shuffled slowly forward and reached out for the cold metal handle. Slowly I slid the drawer out. My few possessions lay there forlornly for everyone to see: My torch. My Bible. My special shawl, rolled up neatly. Nothing else. I set the drawer carefully down on top of the cabinet.
‘Now strip the bed. All of it. Every stitch.’
One by one I pulled the two blankets back, shook them out, folded them, and piled them on the bed next door. Picked up the pillow, stripped off the pillowcase, shook it out, folded it. Gave the pillow a shake, and laid it on top. Peeled off the top sheet … the bottom sheet. The moth-eaten under-blanket. There was the mattress, patched and darned. I glanced at Matron. For the first time, I thought I could see the tiniest hint of uncertainty in her eyes. ‘Now the mattress.’
I took hold of the edge of the mattress, lifted it, and turned it on its side. It was thin, and light as a feather. There was a metal lattice of springs underneath, bare and rusty. Slowly, I replaced the mattress.
Matron stared down at it, thinking. I didn’t dare move a muscle. Then suddenly, she stepped forward to the drawer. Reached out for my shawl with a hand like a claw, grabbed hold of one corner, and gave a sharp yank upwards.
A metal canister with a yellow fluorescent lid flew from its soft folds and landed on the floor with a hollow thunk, like the falling blade of an executioner’s axe.
In the dead of the night
‘There will be no third chance.’
‘But you promised! You said I’d have three chances, and only two are gone!’
‘Don’t you dare throw my words back at me, Adam Equinox. You have had all the chances you are going to get. You will not go to Quested Court. You will not go anywhere. You will stay here with the other children who have no one to take them in, and I personally will do everything in my power to make these the worst two weeks of your life.
‘And if you’re thinking of sneaking off like you did last holidays, think again. You won’t be going to school tomorrow, for a start. You are going to be so closely supervised you won’t be able to take a breath without my hearing it.
‘And now I shall take great pleasure in calling Mr Quested, and telling him …’ for a moment, she hesitated. ‘Telling him … you have had a better offer. That you have chosen to go to … let me see now … your new friend Cameron for the holidays. You may listen while I make the call.’
‘No! Please — please, believe me just this once!’ Even as I heard myself beg, hating myself for doing it, I knew it was useless. ‘I didn’t do it! Truly, it wasn’t me! Why would I? I’ve been trying so hard …’
Matron walked over to the bookcase and lifted down her cane. The words dried in my mouth. I felt the skin on my bum crawl and flinch in on itself, and cold sweat pop out on the back of my neck. Quickly, I looked away, down at the ground. I saw Matron’s feet walk themselves over to her desk. I heard the rattle of the receiver being lifted from its cradle, and the bips as she dialled the number.
I listened as Matron explained to Q that I wouldn’t be coming to Quested Court after all. That while it was rude of me to let him down at this late stage, the policy at Highgate was to allow children to make their own decisions. I listened to her apologise on my behalf, and say she hoped this wouldn’t mean the invitation would never be repeated, though of course that would be quite understandable in the circumstances.
Then, just as she was about to ring off, I heard something unexpected: silence. Warily, I risked a quick glance at Matron’s face. She was listening to Q, tight-lipped. �
�You … you want to talk to Adam?’ she blustered. ‘I — I’m not sure that’s possible. He may be out … some of the children went down to the … the shopping mall for an ice cream — as an end-of-term treat. You — you insist? Well, really, Mr Quested … If you don’t talk to him personally, you’re coming to get him anyway? I — I — hold the line, please.’
My heart was hammering with wild hope. Q wasn’t going to let Matron get away with it! I was saved! I felt my face split into a grin of delighted disbelief … and then I saw the look in Matron’s eyes. She put the receiver down on the desk, and picked up the cane. Flexing it between her hands, without taking her eyes off me, she said silkily, ‘Adam, dear … why, here you are. Would you please be kind enough to speak to Mr Quested for a moment, and explain the change in your holiday plans?’
I picked up the receiver, my hand clammy with sweat. ‘Q?’ I croaked.
‘Adam? Is that you?’ I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Uh …’ I glanced up at Matron through my fringe. She was watching me the way a cat watches a mouse, tapping the cane lightly on the edge of the desk. Tap … tap … tap … ‘Yeah. It’s me.’
‘Adam, my boy — I’m concerned about this. Not about the change in plan, if it’s really what you want. But I felt I should talk to you myself, to confirm that it is your decision, and that everything is … all right. That you’re well … and happy.’
I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and blinked them furiously away, turning my back on Matron. I would not cry — would not give her that satisfaction, on top of everything else! ‘Everything’s fine,’ I lied miserably. ‘I want to go to Cameron’s for the holidays. His dad invited me.’ My voice sounded weird, like robot, or a tape recording with a flat battery.
A sigh gusted down the line. ‘Well, we’ll miss you. I won’t try to change your mind — I’m sure a boy your age does have better things to do than be stuck at the back of beyond with an old man and a little girl. Though Hannah will be disappointed … ah, well. Enjoy yourself, my boy. Maybe next holidays, eh?’
‘OK. Bye.’
I stood there for an endless moment with the receiver clamped to my ear, the words I longed to shout out burning in my chest. ‘No! It’s all a lie! Come and get me! Take me away from here — please!’ The silence drew out like a rubber band … I drew a deep, shuddering breath, but I could feel Matron’s eyes boring into my back like a drill.
‘Q —’
‘Yes, my boy?’ His voice had never been gentler.
‘I —’ My courage deserted me. ‘Tell Hannah … I’m sorry.’ I put the receiver down in its cradle as gently as if it was made of glass, cutting off contact with Q and Quested Court with a tiny click of finality.
Without another glance at Matron and her cane, I turned and walked out of there.
The idea came to me in the dead of the night. It was so simple, so obvious, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before.
The computer.
I lay for what must have been over an hour, staring at the dark ceiling … but it wasn’t what I was seeing. I was seeing myself doing it … imagining every step, every possible thing that might go wrong. I’d have to be absolutely certain everyone was asleep. I’d need to be utterly silent. I’d have to do it all in the pitch dark. How much noise does a computer make when you turn it on? I couldn’t remember. I imagined myself sitting up, swinging my legs out of bed, padding in my bare feet over the cold floor. The passage had a wooden floor that creaked. Would Matron hear me? And if she did … Did I dare risk it?
I thought of the next two weeks, at Highgate with Matron. I thought of Weevil’s face, with its smug, satisfied smile. Of Hannah.
I sat up. Looked over to the left, down the long line of beds. Weevil was a shapeless lump under the blankets, motionless. I couldn’t see whether he was facing towards me or away … whether he was awake or asleep. But the night had that deep, velvety stillness that meant it was late — really late. He must be asleep.
I could pretend I was going to the toilet. But once I passed the toilet door … then there’d be no going back.
I slid out of bed and crept to the door. There was just enough moonlight to see my way. I reached out and took hold of the doorknob … squeezed my eyes shut and turned it, millimetre by millimetre. There was the tiniest metallic click, loud as a gunshot in the sleeping room. I froze. Someone mumbled something and turned over with a creak of bedsprings. Then silence.
One last check behind me, and I slipped through the door like a shadow. Tiptoed down the passage, keeping close to the wall where the boards were firmer. To the toilet door … past it. Down the dark passageway to the rec room door. Matron’s bedroom was the next one down, at the end of the passage. The crack under her door was dark. Good.
Hardly daring to breathe, I eased open the door and slipped inside. The dusty old curtains were drawn, and it was pitch dark. I shuffled cautiously across the room towards the computer table, feeling my way forward step by step. The computer, shrouded in its sheet, looked like a ghost in the darkness. At last I reached it, slid the sheet off, felt for the on switch. This was it — the moment of truth. I pressed the switch. Obediently, the computer hummed to life, buzzing and chattering. I watched the door, my heart hammering. Nothing.
The computer screen gave the room an eerie blue glow. If anyone woke up and came into the passage, they’d notice it for sure. Taking a deep breath, I slid onto the computer chair and tapped in my password, every keystroke loud enough to wake the dead: ***********
I logged into my e-mail. The connection hummed and buzzed. It had only been two days since I’d last been on the computer, though it felt like a lifetime; but there were five messages, all from Q, each more urgent-sounding than the last. I didn’t have time to read them all; couldn’t risk it. I clicked on the last one.
adam please confirm all is well are you getting my emails is this all open and above board h. says youd never cancel and were worried sorry to harp just wanted you to confirm one last time but don’t feel bad youve got your own life to live and youre only young once but please do respond to this even if its just one word to say youre ok love q
Love, Q.
It was the only time in my life anyone had ever used that word to me. Even though I knew it was just a polite way of ending a letter, my heart swelled. Q never said anything unless he meant it. Staring at my screen, I imagined him in front of his own computer … he could easily still be awake, working on the next instalment of his Karazan computer game series. The connection between the two computers hummed. I glanced down at my keyboard, memories flooding back. There were the keys: Alt. Control. Q. The magic formula Q had developed on the same computer mine was linked to now … the keystroke combination with the power to transport you into another world. Karazan. It wouldn’t work on this computer, of course — only on a computer like Q’s, with a VRE Interface. I knew that. But still, if only … If only there was a keyboard command that would whisk me out of Highgate and into the library at Quested Court, in front of the fire …
Was I crazy? I had no time for dreaming now!
I checked the door. Clicked on New Mail. Typed in: PLEEZ CUM AND GET ME! I didn’t dare write more. For Q, that would be enough.
I clicked on Send. The computer made a ghastly GLUNK! — its warning when you did something wrong. The sudden jolt of noise sent a spurt of adrenaline through me like an electric shock. I checked the door: nothing. Then the screen: The message could not be sent. You must specify a recipient for the message. I clicked on To, and typed: Q. Send.
Checked the door.
A dark figure was standing in the doorway, watching me.
Waiting
We stared at each other in silence. All I could see was a dark silhouette in long winter pyjamas, but I could imagine the look on his face as clearly as if it was broad daylight. The smile … the shine of triumph in his eyes.
All the anger I’d been fighting surged up inside me in a giant wave. ‘Get away from me
!’ I hissed. ‘Leave me alone! I hate you!’
The figure took a step backwards. ‘S-s-sorry …’
I blinked. The wave of rage gurgled away like bath water disappearing down the plug hole. I gaped at him with my mouth open. It wasn’t Weevil — it was Frankie, a little kid with a stammer, his bunny clenched under one arm. ‘Frankie?’ I was out of the chair now, padding towards him in the cold light of the computer. He backed away from me, his eyes wide and frightened in his thin face.
‘I th-th-th-thought I heard a b-b-b-b-b-’
‘Shhhh. There’s no burglar — only me. I didn’t mean to yell. I thought you were … someone else. Frankie — no one must know I was here. Don’t tell, OK?’ He shook his head wordlessly. I put my hand on his shoulder. He was shivering. ‘Back to bed now. Quiet as a mouse, huh? And remember — not one word to anyone. Promise?’
‘P-p-p-promise.’
He turned and stole away down the passage like a little ghost. I turned the computer off, covered it carefully with its sheet, closed the rec room door, tiptoed back to bed … and lay there in a cold sweat of relief, my heart hammering hard enough to wake the whole of Highgate.
I knew Q would come. Probably just after three o’clock, when I’d normally be getting back from school. Or during afternoon tea … or maybe just before dinner. One thing I knew for sure: he’d come.
I spent the morning locked in the bathrooms on my hands and knees, cleaning the shower stalls and toilets. I thought of the other kids at school: the end-of-term lip-synch concert … the staff-versus-kids softball match … the sausage sizzle. Most of all, I thought of Q roaring along the highway in the big green four-by-four, his bodyguard Shaw at the wheel, every second bringing them closer to Highgate.
Matron and Cook had pies for lunch, from the corner bakery. I sat by myself at the far end of the dining room, making my slice of bread and jam last as long as possible, breathing in the smell of rich gravy and flaky golden pastry. Matron didn’t take her eyes off me once.
