Mindscape

by M. M. Vaughan

  “Are you sure?”

  Chris nodded. “Yes,” he said, and he meant it.

  Sir Bentley reached out and placed his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “You are a special boy, Christopher. I’ve known it since the moment I met you. The way you have dealt with this all, that you can forgive him, well, it’s a lesson for all of us.”

  Chris felt himself turn red. “What’s going to happen to him now?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Well, I had a rather interesting call this morning from someone you may remember—your favorite author and ex–Myers Holt pupil Clarissa Teller.”

  “Really?” asked Chris.

  “She’s offered to look after Ernest.”

  Chris looked confused. “Why?”

  “Well, I don’t know if you remember, but Dulcia, Ernest’s mother, was best friends with Clarissa when they were at Myers Holt. Clarissa always blamed herself for the death of Dulcia, or Anna, which is what we all knew her as then. Of course, we didn’t know that she wasn’t actually dead. We’ve all struggled over the years with what happened to Anna and the other pupil, Danny, but of all of us, it affected Clarissa the most. She never really came to terms with it—I think that’s why she never had children of her own, and I’m sure that’s why she puts all the money she earns into helping children in need. She’s offered to look after Ernest as her way of repaying Anna for what happened that night. She’s flying in this afternoon to meet him. I’m sure that—”

  “Can I come in?”

  Chris and Sir Bentley both turned to see Chris’s mother in the doorway, smiling.

  “Ah, Mrs. Lane. Of course, I’ll leave you to it. Chris, we look forward to seeing you back at school.”

  “Thanks, Sir Bentley,” said Chris as his mother walked in and sat down in the armchair by his bed.

  “I got you the juice you wanted,” she said, “and some grapes and crisps, in case you get hungry. I got you a magazine, too.” She pulled it out of the bag and placed it on the bed. “I wasn’t sure what you’re into—I hope it’s okay.”

  Chris looked over at the front cover and saw the cartoon fire engine that he had loved when he was five years old. He smiled. “It’s great, Mum. Thank you.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, looking relieved. “Is your head still hurting?”

  “No, it’s fine. They gave me some more painkillers.”

  “Good, good.”

  There was a brief moment of silence until, finally, his mother looked up into Chris’s eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, darling.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying that, Mum,” said Chris gently.

  “But I am,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how I let my life get like this. Ever since your dad died, all I did was think about what I had lost instead of thinking about how lucky I was for what I still had. All this time I’ve had this wonderful son, and I never stopped to appreciate that until I nearly lost you. All your friends and teachers were telling me all these wonderful things about you last night—how honest and kind you are—and I felt so incredibly proud and thankful that I have a chance to make it up to you . . . if you’ll forgive me.”

  Chris felt a lump in his throat. “Of course I do, Mum.” Then he placed his hand on his mother’s and took a deep breath. “I can help you, Mum.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I don’t know how much they told you about my Ability, but one of the things I can do is take away memories. I can make you forget everything that hurts—if you want that.”

  Chris’s mother looked at him for a brief moment and then shook her head. “I don’t want that.”

  “But it would make you happy again.”

  Chris’s mother gave his hand a tight squeeze. “I am happy. I’m happy that I have another chance to be a good mother to you, and I need those memories to remind me how lucky I am to have that. I promise you that everything is going to change from now on.”

  “Okay,” said Chris. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  Chris smiled, then lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes.

  • • •

  Chris returned to Myers Holt a week later to a hero’s welcome. There were only two days left until the end of term, however, and everything that had happened was soon forgotten under the mountain of things they had to do—something that Chris and the others were grateful for, as nobody wanted to dwell on the fact that they would soon be saying good-bye to Myers Holt.

  Aside from packing their belongings, they had other responsibilities. The commissioner had amassed a vast number of cases for them to solve, eager to put their powers to good use before they left. Miss Sonata had managed to get them to cram in two more exams, and Maura, who kept bursting into tears every time she saw them, had enlisted their help to clean the facility in preparation for the summer shutdown.

  And then there was the matter of Ms. Lamb.

  “Come on,” said Philip as they toasted marshmallows over the open fire in the Map Room. “We’ve got to come up with something.”

  Everybody put their heads down in thought, but despite coming up with countless ideas since Rex had first suggested playing a prank on Ms. Lamb, they still hadn’t managed to come up with a single one that they had all been able to agree on.

  “Itching powder in her boots?”

  Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I’m not going anywhere near her feet.”

  “I could pen a venomous poem in her honor,” said Sebastian. He shrugged his shoulders as everybody rolled their eyes.

  “Shave her head when she’s asleep?” suggested Rex.

  “Rex! That’s awful!” said Daisy, her first contribution to the discussion.

  “Fine, then,” said Rex, glaring at Daisy, “what do you suggest?”

  “Well . . . ,” said Daisy in a quiet voice, “I was thinking . . . that . . . well . . .”

  “Spit it out,” said Rex.

  Daisy took a deep breath. “I was thinking that maybe we could do something nice for her.”

  Everybody looked at Daisy for a moment in total silence. And then, in unison, they all burst out laughing.

  “No, really!” protested Daisy, her face turning red as she watched them all collapse in giggles around her. “I’m serious!”

  Although Chris found the idea as ridiculous as everybody else, he could see that Daisy was beginning to get upset and did his best to pull himself together. He sat up and motioned for everybody to be quiet. “Hey—come on, let’s just listen to Daisy for a second.”

  Daisy gave Chris a grateful smile as the laughter began to die down.

  “I know she’s not been very nice—”

  “Well, that’s the understatement of the year,” interrupted Philip.

  “But we all know that’s because she’s unhappy. Remember how Chris found out that she was most scared of being lonely? And then she had her heart broken by that man. She’s got no friends, she lives by herself, and not even anybody at her work likes her. . . .”

  The smiles on everybody’s faces were slowly disappearing.

  “And that doesn’t include all the things we did to her this year. Attacked her with a dog”—Chris gave an embarrassed half smile and shrugged—“followed her on a date, listened in on her private conversations, watched her in her own house—”

  “All right, all right!” said Lexi. “You’ve got a point. What were you thinking?”

  “We’d need a bit of money. . . .”

  “I’m not buying her chocolates,” said Rex, his lip curled at the thought.

  “No, not chocolates,” said Daisy. “I was thinking of something else. . . .”

  • • •

  The next evening, whilst the pupils of Myers Holt sat on the steps outside their school and used their Ability, Ms. Lamb sat in her small apartment eating a microwaved meal for one, completely unaware that she was being watched.

  “One for me,”
said Ms. Lamb, lifting her fork to her mouth.

  “And one for you.” She cut up a piece of chicken and, using the same fork, fed it to Medusa the cat.

  Ms. Lamb skewered another piece of chicken and lifted it to her mouth.

  “Another one for . . .”

  Back at Myers Holt, Rex turned to the others. “This is disgusting. It’s not going to work. Nobody’s coming.”

  “Shh!” said Daisy, her mind still focused on Ms. Lamb’s apartment. “It’s only just turned seven.”

  “I don’t know, Daisy. I think Rex might be right,” said Lexi.

  “Somebody’s got to show up,” said Daisy, though she was beginning to sound less sure of herself.

  They all went quiet again as they watched Ms. Lamb continue to share her meal with her cat until it was all gone. Ms. Lamb stood up, began to clear the table, and was just about to take the plate to the kitchen when . . .

  Ding dong!

  Ms. Lamb dropped the plate back onto the table and flicked her head round to the door, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t move.

  Ding dong!

  “Who could that be?” said Ms. Lamb. Medusa yawned and stretched out on the sofa as Ms. Lamb walked over to the entry phone.

  “Yes?” she asked brusquely.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes?” asked Ms. Lamb again, irritated.

  “It’s seven o’clock,” said the voice.

  “For goodness’ sake—I did not order a speaking clock,” replied Ms. Lamb, and with that, she hung the phone up and turned to walk away.

  Ding dong!

  Ms. Lamb gave a loud humph and picked up the phone once more.

  “You have the wrong door!”

  “My name is Dr. Michael Singh. I’m here about the advert,” said the man’s voice, talking quickly.

  Ms. Lamb frowned. “What advert?”

  “The Times, this morning. The address on here is . . .”

  As the man read out her address, Ms. Lamb’s frown deepened, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What do you want?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I think that’s abundantly clear.”

  “Come downstairs. I will explain.”

  Ms. Lamb considered this for a moment. “Put the advert through the letterbox,” she said, then hung up the phone. She grabbed the keys from the side table and opened the door.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said to Medusa as she turned on the light in the narrow stairwell and stomped down the three flights to the front door.

  There, sticking out from the letterbox as instructed, was a torn-out piece of newspaper. Ms. Lamb snatched it and held it up to the light.

  Chris and the others held their breath as Ms. Lamb began to read.

  SUITORS NEEDED

  Lonely middle-aged woman looking for love. Must like cats, opera, being called pet names, and women who wear heavy makeup. Do not apply if you do not like loud colors, being told what to do, or have any children. Knowledge of classical literature and languages essential. Being hard of hearing an advantage. If interested, come to 3 Albany Street, Notting Hill at 7:00 p.m. Be punctual.

  Chris watched as Ms. Lamb’s face turned white, then red, then purple. Her eyes widened, and her whole body started to shake.

  “I . . . am . . . going to kill them,” she hissed.

  “Uh-oh,” said Lexi. “Maybe we shouldn’t have let Rex come up with so much of that.”

  “I told you it wasn’t nice enough,” said Daisy.

  “What do you mean?” exclaimed Rex. “This is brilliant! She’s furious. Daisy, you’re an evil gen . . .”

  Rex stopped talking as Ms. Lamb, still holding the scrap of paper in her hand, threw open the front door.

  There, standing in front of her, was a short, chubby man in a tuxedo holding a red rose.

  “I suppose you think this is funny?” screamed Ms. Lamb.

  The man, Dr. Singh, however, said nothing. Instead, he stared at Ms. Lamb, his eyes scanning her face slowly, his own face without expression. And then he smiled.

  Ms. Lamb’s mouth turned downward and Chris noticed that she was clenching her fists.

  “This must all be very amusing for you,” said Ms. Lamb.

  “That’s not why I’m smiling . . . ,” said Dr. Singh calmly.

  “I want you to leave right—” Ms. Lamb stopped midsentence and her eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling then?”

  “Because”—Dr. Singh held out the rose—“you are more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”

  Chris felt his whole body tense as he waited for Ms. Lamb to punch him. Perhaps anticipating the same thing, Dr. Singh took the piece of newspaper from Ms. Lamb and quickly began to read.

  “Middle aged. I suggest that this means you have experience of life—a very good thing. Cats. I have one—Athena.”

  “Oh,” whispered Ms. Lamb.

  “Heavy makeup suggests you like to take care of your appearance”—he glanced up at Ms. Lamb—“which is evidently very true. I have no children, my favorite color is orange, and I like a woman who knows her own mind. Would you like me to repeat all of that in German, French, or Latin?”

  Ms. Lamb gave a small giggle but then shook herself and looked serious again. This time, however, Chris could see that her frown was not quite as firm.

  “And the opera?” she said.

  “Pardon?” he asked.

  “Do you like the opera?” repeated Ms. Lamb, a little louder.

  Dr. Singh’s eyes twinkled as he pulled out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket.

  “Perhaps this will answer your question,” he said, handing it to her.

  Ms. Lamb, her mouth tensed as if trying to suppress a smile, took the envelope, opened it, and pulled out two tickets.

  “It starts at eight,” said Dr. Singh.

  For a moment, there was total silence, and then, finally, Ms. Lamb spoke.

  “I suppose I’d better get my coat.”

  • • •

  “Yay!” said Daisy and Lexi at the same time. Chris and the others weren’t quite as gushing, but Chris had to admit it did feel like they had done the right thing. Only Rex, who was pouting with his arms folded tight across his chest, seemed to disagree.

  “It was funnier when she was going to punch him.”

  Daisy put her arm around his shoulders. “There, there. She nearly did. And she was very angry.”

  Rex nodded his head slowly. “I suppose she was,” he said.

  • • •

  The next morning, the light mood of the night before had disappeared, replaced with the sinking realization that they were about to say good-bye to Myers Holt. It wasn’t helped by Maura bawling her eyes out as she showered them all with hugs and kisses over the biggest breakfast banquet that any of them had ever seen. Then, after enjoying a morning of swimming in the Dome, they had sat down to eat once more, this time with all the staff of Myers Holt, including Ron and John, and the commissioner.

  The next person to arrive was Ms. Lamb. All the pupils held their breath as she walked straight over to her chair. It was only when she sat down that she looked up at them all and a small smile passed her lips. Chris looked down and grinned. He was about to turn to say something to Daisy when the commissioner arrived to surprise them all with a medal for their outstanding contribution to policing before offering them, as an extra thanks, the exclusive use of his luxury seaside villa over the summer holidays.

  It wasn’t the only surprise of the lunch. Sir Bentley announced his retirement, explaining that the work of Myers Holt would continue in September with a new batch of pupils to be headed up by Ms. Lamb, who looked less displeased with this news than Chris would have imagined. Ron and John also announced that they would be leaving, Ron to set up a survival-training center in the New Forest and John to open up a pampering salon for dogs.

  Meanwhile Ernest, who had quickly settled into his new life on the island with Clarissa, had also flown in to join them. It was the first
time that Chris had seen him since the night at Darkwhisper Manor, but they had talked many times on the phone over the course of the week, and perhaps because they had gone through so much together, or maybe because he seemed to be a genuinely nice person, Chris felt like he was greeting an old friend when Ernest had arrived. In fact, it had been his and Philip’s suggestion that Ernest should join them at their boarding school in September, and they had all cheered when Miss Sonata confirmed at lunch that the place had been arranged.

  • • •

  And so it was that Chris’s incredible year at Myers Holt came to an end. Chris said his good-byes to his teachers and hugged his friends.

  “I’m seeing you in two weeks,” said Daisy, smiling, though tears were running down her face as she pulled away from Chris.

  Chris smiled back. “I know, but I just wanted to say thank you for being such a good friend.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, and then she leaned over and gave Chris a kiss.

  “And by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. Ta da dada da dada da dum de da . . . de dum!”

  “REX!” shouted Chris and Daisy, both turning bright red as the others all burst out laughing.

  “Chris?”

  Chris, still giggling, turned around to see John standing a foot above anybody else in his black suit, his arms folded. Of all the people Chris was going to miss, he was probably going to miss John the most.

  “Now, none of that—it was hard enough saying good-bye to the others,” said John as Chris bit his bottom lip and walked over to him. He handed Chris a card.

  Chris swallowed hard and smiled. “Paws Truly . . . It’s good.”

  “My number’s on there too. Call anytime.”

  “I will.” Chris paused. There was so much he wanted to say. “John . . . I just . . .”

  John put his enormous arms around him and drew him forward in a tight hug, then stood up just as Ron appeared at their side.

  “Pleasure working with you, Chris,” said Ron. He offered his hand, and Chris shook it firmly.

  “Thanks, Ron,” said Chris as Ron led John away.

  “What’s the matter with your eyes?” Chris heard Ron ask John.

  “Nothing,” said John gruffly, “just a bit of dirt in them.”