The Red Road

by Stephen Sweeney

  “Go back to the stadium, boys,” Mr Finn said before the other two teachers could say anything. His words were warm and kind, yet possessing an edge that suggested he didn’t want to have to warn us again.

  We heeded his words immediately.

  ~ ~ ~

  I was enjoying a Lion Bar while playing Mega Man II on my Game Boy. I was finding the game particularly frustrating and difficult tonight. I had bought the game during my four days off at home, the same day I went to the cinema with Rob. I was starting to regret the purchase, and I was wondering if maybe I should have bought something else.

  “Joe? Joe Crosthwaite?”

  A first year boy had come into my dorm after knocking gingerly at the door. He was likely bothered about coming face to face with the second years, in case they decided to knock him about for trespassing in their domain.

  “Yes?” I said, looking around my bookcase.

  “Phone.”

  Phone? Who could that be? My parents were still away with work and, unlike quite a lot of other parents, hadn’t come to Sports Day to watch me compete or take me back home afterwards. Still, maybe they had called from abroad to see how I had gotten on today.

  I headed for the phone, seeing the first year that had called me settling down on a sofa chair outside the box. He had clearly been about to call someone when the phone had rung for me. He was now going to have to wait about until I was finished. I probably wouldn’t be making him wait all that long.

  “Hello?” I said, picking up the receiver.

  “Hi, Joe. It’s Sam.”

  “Sam! Oh my God! How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?” Sam said, chuckling. There was a slight delay on the line as we spoke. Sam was obviously calling from America.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said, very glad to hear from him. “What’s been happening? How come you’ve not been in touch?”

  “Oh, I messed up,” Sam said. “I was dialling the wrong number for the phone. I forgot that you have to drop the zero when you’re calling from here. I was putting in the four-four part, as well as the zero, and it was never connecting.”

  “Your parents didn’t know?”

  “They did, but I didn’t tell them for ages. I thought I’d just taken the number down wrong. I tried changing it a few times, and it wouldn’t connect. I think I gave you a wrong number, too. Didn’t you get the letter I sent you? I put all the new details in there.”

  I told him I hadn’t.

  “Shit. It’s probably been lost in the post,” Sam said.

  “Hold on, I’ll get the details off you now,” I said, opening the door of the box and asking the first year to fetch me a pen and paper.

  “What time is it there?” I asked as I waited for the boy to return.

  “It’s just after two. It’s about nine there, right?”

  “Eight,” I said.

  “Ah, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to call you too early or too late, since you might have been at a cricket match or something.”

  “You know I hate cricket,” I said.

  “Oh, yes,” Sam chuckled, “due to not winning on your first go.”

  “Ha!”

  “What have you been doing?”

  “We’ve just had Sports Day,” I said.

  “Oh ho?” Sam laughed. “Hurdles?”

  “Nooooo,” I laughed. “I volunteered for the four hundred metres.”

  “You volunteered?” Sam said, incredulously.

  “Well, sure,” I said. “I didn’t want to get lumbered with something crap. But Suzuki’s okay, so he wouldn’t make me to anything bad, anyway. We actually had quite a good team this year.”

  “Did you win?”

  “Came second to Enfield,” I said. “There was only two points in it, too.”

  “That’s pretty cool.” Sam had never been one to be that bothered about sport. He tended to view exercise as something necessary, but found team games tedious. He had actually been one of the few that had enjoyed the runs along the Red Road, as it was something he could do at his own pace (even if it did stretch him quite a bit). He wasn’t even that bothered about American football or baseball, something I had come to believe all Americans supported fiercely. Each to their own, I suppose.

  I told Sam about the rest of the day, about what I had been up to since he had left, that the spring holiday had only lasted a few days, and about how all my classes were now over. I also let him in on various pieces of gossip circulating the school, one of the key points being no further murders or other incidents having since taken place. He was quite relieved to hear that. I imagined that his parents would be, too.

  “What are you doing over in Texas? Are you doing your SATs?” I asked.

  “I am!” Sam said enthusiastically. “I’ve actually been lucky in that a lot of stuff is quite similar – maths, English, science ... all those are the same. The only major differences are history and geography, and my US history is being treated as if I were still studying in England and the rest is being covered under world history. The differences aren’t as major as I thought they were going to be.”

  “That’s good,” I said, pleased to hear that the transition wasn’t causing him any grief. “Where are you being taught?”

  “At home. ‘Homeschooling’ they call it. Just until I do these exams.”

  “And you’re going to ... high school next?” I wasn’t sure whether it was high school or college that came next.

  “High school, then college,” Sam said. “You’re not staying there after you finish your GCSEs, are you?”

  “Huh?” I said. “How did you know?”

  “I had a hunch,” Sam laughed. “You never seemed all that bothered about graduating to the sixth form and having your own room and that, so I thought that you might be considering leaving.”

  “You guessed right,” I said.

  “Is anyone else leaving?”

  “Baz,” I said.

  “Oh, really? I thought he would stay there until he finished the sixth form. Where are you planning on going?”

  “To a local sixth form college, back home. As long as I get the grades and they let me in. I’ve spoken to them briefly already, and they’ve given me a verbal offer based on my mock results. What are you going to do when you finish high school? Will you go to college there or come back to England?”

  “I want to come back to England,” Sam said with total determination. “I just have to convince my folks that it’s safe for me to do so. They think that I’ll get murdered if I come back.”

  “Who you talking to, Sam?” I then heard another voice say.

  “Joe, one of my friends from St Christopher’s,” Sam replied, slightly off the phone.

  “Are you going to be long? I just want to call the others about tonight.”

  “Not much longer now I know I’ve got the right number.”

  “Cool.”

  “Sorry, Joe, that was Cody,” Sam said, returning to speaking to me. “He’s home for a bit and has a couple of his army friends over.”

  “No problem,” I said. “There’s someone here waiting anxiously to get on the phone, too; one of the first years whose parents didn’t come to Sports Day and so he’s not been able to go home.”

  “Maybe he’s been gated,” Sam said.

  “Perhaps,” I said, glancing out of the box towards the boy. “He sure looks miserable enough.”

  “Hey, maybe we should all try and go to university in London?” Sam then suggested.

  “That would be cool,” I said. “Your parents might feel better about it, too, knowing there were people there that you knew.”

  “They probably would be. I’ll suggest it to them. I’d better go, Joe. Cody is quite keen for me to get off the phone.”

  “Sure thing. Don’t be a stranger,” I said.

  “You have my number and address, so you can call or write me, too.”

  “Cool. Good to hear from you, Sam. Thanks for calling.”


  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “So you’re definitely leaving us?” Mr Finn wanted to know, at the start of what would likely be my last session with him.

  “I will be, yes,” I said.

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  “Do you think the school will still be open next term?” I asked.

  “Well, I hope so,” Mr Finn said, looking a little affronted by my somewhat direct question. “We have to think about the pupils here, and I have to consider my own job.”

  It was something that had completely slipped my mind. I had never considered what the consequences of the school shutting might have on the staff working there.

  “Have you given any further thought to what you want to do as a career?” Mr Finn asked. “You’re still not keen on following in your parents’ footsteps and going into pharmaceuticals?”

  “No. I was thinking about something to do with economics and finance. I got the idea from Carson Young, who wants to go and work in the City.”

  “I see,” Mr Finn began to smile. “Fancies himself as a high-earning trader, who pulls in a few million every year and lives around the Stockbroker Belt, eh?”

  “Ha, yes,” I chuckled. “Exactly that, in fact.”

  “It’s hard work, Joe; I won’t lie to you,” Mr Finn said. “There have been quite a few boys from the school who have headed that way in the past, and very few of them stayed the course. Many quit within the first two or three years. It’s a lot to undertake when you’re fresh out of university.”

  Exactly what my mother had said to me. There would be a ring of truth there, for sure. “I’ll see how it goes,” I said.

  “Anything else you think you might like to do? Let’s not assume that you will automatically find work there. I’m not saying that you won’t, but you should at least keep an open mind and explore as many options as you can.”

  “I ... um ...” I wasn’t sure, to be honest. Did anyone really know what they wanted to be when they left school, or were careers something that most people just sort of fell in to? Sure, when I was younger I had entertained dreams of becoming a doctor, a vet, an astronaut, a fireman. Then, as I had grown older, I had been forced to become a little more realistic and appreciate that I couldn’t simply drive over to NASA and expect them to pop me in a space shuttle and send me off to the moon, to work on the base they were building there. The truth of the matter was that I had never really had a clear idea of where I wanted to be in the long term.

  “Have you thought of perhaps studying engineering or something like law?” Mr Finn suggested.

  “I don’t think I’ve got the patience for something like law,” I said. “I’m not fond of writing essays, and I imagine that it’s a bit like that when you have to argue cases and everything. Engineering ... It’s not something that I’m particularly interested in. I like gadgets and that, but I wouldn’t be able to build or design one.”

  “Well okay, don’t wait too long to come to a decision. It will be important at the end of the day that you choose the appropriate A-Levels, to steer you in the right direction.”

  I nodded in understanding. It was the way things went at the end of the day – GCSEs to determine your A-Levels, A-Levels to determine your university degree, your degree to more or less determine your career choice.

  “If you’re keen on studying maths and economics, then another career choice could be accountancy,” Mr Finn said. “But if you’re still unsure, then there are career talks that the sixth formers are encouraged to attend. Third years are permitted from time to time, if there is space. If you hear of one happening that you think might be of interest, then do go along.”

  “Good point,” I said. “I will do.”

  “Now, how is your revision going? We both already know that your geography classes have ended. Is that the same for all your other classes?”

  “Yes, we’re either revising and doing tests in class, or we’re finishing off our coursework.”

  “Have you finished all yours?”

  “I have. Ages ago,” I smiled, feeling satisfied that I was able to tell him that.

  “Excellent,” Mr Finn said, looking suitably impressed. “That means that all you need to do now is pass your exams,” he chuckled.

  “Yes, that’s all!” I chuckled along with him.

  “Have you been revising off past papers at all?” Mr Finn asked. “Or are you just using your notes?”

  “Mainly just my notes for the moment,” I said. “Some of the teachers won’t let us keep the past papers, such as science, because the questions hardly ever change.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. Past papers are good for revising from. Still, at least if you know that it doesn’t change, and you did okay in your mocks, so you should be fine on the actual day.” He then picked his satchel up off the floor and began to rummage around inside, producing a booklet which he handed to me. “That’s the geography paper that you were given for your mocks,” he said. “If you base your revision around that, it will probably help you with your final exam.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir.”

  “No problem, Joe,” Mr Finn said with another smile. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

  I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

  “Very well. In that case I think we’re all done here. I like these sessions with you, Joe, they’re always very easy and straightforward.”

  “No worries,” I said, and took the paper back to my dormitory.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What work have you got to do tonight?” I asked Baz one evening, as we walked along together.

  It was a pleasant night, warm and light, and so we had decided to go for a walk around the grounds together following dinner, rather than go straight back to Butcher. With classes having ended, I knew I should start drawing up a revision timetable. Most of the others in my year seemed to be dithering somewhat, exploiting the free time we all had. I was attempting to remain focused and not procrastinate too much, even though creating a revision timetable was exactly that.

  “No work left to do,” Baz said happily.

  “Going to revise?”

  “Nah,” he said. “We’ve got ages until the exams start.”

  “Well, no, we’ve got about six weeks.”

  “That’s ages,” Baz said. “I think I’m just going to watch TV on my Game Gear, during prep.”

  “I forgot you had one of those. Is the reception any good?”

  “Most days. Sometimes I can’t get anything on it at all, though. Shhhh,” he then added, as he saw two teachers walking along together ahead of us.

  One was Mr Rod, the housemaster of Martin. The other I couldn’t quite place. I had seen the man before though, I was sure. Perhaps he was a sixth form tutor. While video game machines were permitted by the school, as long as they didn’t interfere with our studies, televisions of any sort were banned. Baz would have his Game Gear permanently confiscated if it was discovered that it doubled as one. The teachers had ears for talk of the sort of illegal equipment that Baz possessed.

  The man I thought I recognised then turned around. “Oh, hello again,” he said.

  I said nothing, unsure if it was me that had been spoken to, while trying to work out why the man’s face looked so familiar.

  “It’s Adrian Willis,” the man said as I continued to look blankly at him. “We met in church, oh, sometime last term?”

  “Ah, Adrian,” I said, now remembering the man. “Good to see you again.” Though he had recognised me, Adrian still had a searching expression on his face as he shook my hand. “It’s Joe,” I said.

  “That’s it,” Adrian said. “I knew it started with a J. Terribly sorry. It takes me a couple of occasions to remember names these days. I never used to have the problem until recently. That’s what happens when you spend all your days working at home on your own, I guess. Are you boys off to prep?”

  “I am, yes. Just got to get a revision timetable and all that sorted out. I’ve got my G
CSEs coming up in about six weeks or so. Are you helping out with something to do with the church? Evening service?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if one actually happened.

  “No,” Adrian said. “I’m actually here to give a career talk this evening. Are third years still allowed to come to the career talks?” he asked, looking at Mr Rod.

  “Sometimes,” the housemaster said. “It depends on how much work they have to do and how much room there is. It’s mostly for the sixth formers.”

  “We don’t have any coursework left to do,” I said.

  Adrian looked back at Mr Rod, who considered it for a moment, before okaying our attendance.

  “If there’s space,” Mr Rod reiterated. “Otherwise, you’re to go back to your dorms for prep as normal.”

  “Interested in a career as a freelance journalist?” Adrian smiled at Baz and I.

  I hadn’t considered it at all if I were being honest with myself. Since talking to Mr Finn and weighing everything up, I now had my heart set on becoming a multimillionaire trader, with a big house, two Ferraris in the garage, and some ex-model for a wife. But Mr Finn did raise a good point – a back-up plan wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Sure,” I said. “No harm is there? Want to come?” I asked Baz.

  “I’m crap at English,” Baz said.

  “So are a lot of the people who work in journalism,” Adrian chuckled.

  Baz mulled it over for a moment and then agreed to join me. The four of us made our way to the classroom block.

  ~ ~ ~

  “There’s room,” Mr Rod said as Baz and I waited in the corridor. “Come in, but sit at the back.”

  We walked into the classroom, quite surprised to see just how few had bothered to turn up to Adrian’s talk. Only seven sixth formers occupied desks at the front. One was Wayland Hutchings, from my athletics sessions. I had learned his name over subsequent meetings, but still didn’t know much about him. Fantasy and comic book obsessed, the teachers had suggested he would end up being a drifter for the rest of his life, as he seemed to live in a dream world.

  “Are we all here?” Adrian asked after a time.