The twins had hardly had a chance to say goodbye. When Jude had arrived at the house for breakfast the next morning, Jess’s bags were already in the hall. Her eyes were red with crying. He’d had to hug her goodbye under Clifford’s flat, black gaze, with Marina mysteriously absent and Caspian watching from the top of the stairs.
Jude threw up twice on the drive to Dragon Ridge School in Wales. On boats, he was famous for his cast-iron stomach, but cars on twisty roads had never been his friends.
He’d known it was a mistake to eat the service station curried vegetable pasty. It had been frozen on the inside. Sadly, the chauffeur had urged him to finish every crumb.
‘Might be your last tasty meal for a while. Dragon Ridge has a reputation for austerity. It’ll be a jolt to your system after the comforts of Blakeney Park.’
‘Comfort’ wasn’t the first word that popped into Jude’s head when he thought of the last couple of weeks at Blakeney Park, but he kept that to himself.
‘I don’t understand. Mrs Blakeney told me Dragon Ridge is one of the most prestigious schools in the country.’
‘Oh, it’s pricey all right, but there’s different types of posh school. Eton, where Caspian goes, is the kind that produces prime ministers and captains of industry such as Clifford. Then there’s Dragon Ridge, which has more of a military flavour. Greville Wallingford, the head, is a former army officer. Has ambitions to turn the place into a British West Point. You’d be familiar with that, no doubt? Legendary US military academy?’
Jude had watched movies about West Point. The comparison didn’t fill him with confidence. Were Dragon Ridge ‘cadets’ bullied and forced to do press-ups till they cried?
‘. . . No tolerance for weakness, Wallingford,’ the chauffeur was saying with relish. ‘That’s why Clifford likes him. He’ll be hoping this experience will knock off some of your rough edges. Make a man of you.’
Irritated, Jude turned away to watch a wind-blasted field of sheep whizz by through the car window. Sometimes it seemed as if half his short life, people had been ordering him to grow up and stop acting like a kid.
So the Godfather hoped that Dragon Ridge would ‘make a man’ of him? That was a bit rich. Would Clifford’s own ‘macho-manliness’ have helped him survive a sea squall on a thirty-seven-foot yacht? Somehow Jude doubted it. Without an army of estate staff and media empire employees, Mr Blakeney would probably struggle to tie his own shoelaces.
Ricardo, the Castaway kitchen hand, used to advise Jude to ignore people urging him to grow up too fast. ‘Boyhood is over in one swish of a shark’s tail, Jude. Before you know it, you’re dealing with bills, work pressure and grey hairs. Enjoy being a kid while you can.’
The Bentley swung hard around a roundabout and sped down the slip road on to the motorway. In a bid to ward off further bouts of car sickness, the chauffeur grudgingly allowed his passenger to move to the front seat. Now, Jude had an unrestricted view as the driver wove in and out of the dizzying traffic.
To quell his rebellious stomach, he swigged the last drops of water from his flask. The chauffeur’s stare swivelled briefly to the still-healing cuts on Jude’s knuckles. Self-conscious, Jude tugged the sleeve of his new school sweater over his bruised right hand.
‘Lucky you didn’t break it,’ was the verdict of the doctor who’d attended Blakeney Park after Jude’s fight with Caspian.
‘I’m very lucky and extremely grateful,’ Jude had responded sarcastically, prompting Marina to accuse him of having an attitude problem.
Even now, Jude could feel his fist connecting with Caspian’s smug face.
‘You’re a thug, just like your father,’ Marina had screamed when she and Clifford arrived home to the carnage. To be fair, it had looked worse than it was. One of Caspian’s front teeth was a little wobbly, and his cut lip had bled all over his T-shirt and the bathroom tiles, but otherwise, he was relatively unscathed.
Jude, who’d also punched a wall, was in worse shape.
Marina had threatened, ‘Don’t make us regret taking you in.’
Jude wondered what Detective Trenton and the diner waitresses would say if they knew how quickly the twins’ dream life in England had unravelled.
Two weeks was all it had taken.
Thinking about Sam now, lonely in his kennel and whining for walks and affection that might seldom come, made Jude feel even sicker.
And when would he next see his twin? Since the hour they were born, he and Jess had never been apart for longer than a school day. Already, he felt as if he were missing a limb.
The chauffeur braked to avoid a squirrel before swinging up yet another narrow, twisting lane. They passed a signpost framed with leaves: DRAGON RIDGE SCHOOL. Jude swallowed down another wave of nausea.
‘Can you pull over?’
‘Not again.’ The chauffeur regarded him with distaste. ‘Sorry, mate. There’s nowhere to stop, and we have a dozen cars on our tail. We’re almost there. Just hold it in.’
But the driveway that wound past rugby pitches and athletics tracks was crammed with unmoving cars. Families lingered over goodbyes. Luggage was unloaded. Six boys and a master, all immaculately dressed in white shirts and blue-and-black blazers, greeted each new arrival. The fumes from idling vehicles snuck in the chauffeur’s open window. Jude felt more wretched by the moment.
Eventually, it was their turn to park. As the chauffeur swung towards the entrance, an excited boy dashed in front of the Bentley. The driver slammed on his brakes.
It was the final straw for Jude, who projectile-vomited curried vegetables all over the windscreen.
The chauffeur vaulted out of the car. He wrenched open the passenger door and Jude stumbled out, pale and trembling.
The waiting boys, who’d witnessed Jude’s humiliation at close range, were falling about in various stages of horror and mirth. They clutched their stomachs and howled with laughter.
As Jude approached them, a sour smell accompanied him.
The six boys reared back as if they were doing a country line-dance. One word from the master and they snapped back into position, like soldiers.
‘Jude Gray, I presume,’ the teacher said with a smirk, consulting his clipboard. He ticked the name off with a flourish.
‘How about a warm welcome for our new cadet, Mr Lord?’ he prompted the tallest boy, who’d been laughing loudest.
‘Pleased to meet you, Jude,’ said the boy with hands in his pockets. His wavy brown fringe flopped over his blue eyes. ‘I’m Garrick Lord.’
‘Manners, Garrick. Don’t test my patience.’
‘Yes, sir. No problem, sir.’
Gritting his teeth, he crushed Jude’s sticky hand as he shook it. Jude had to force himself not to wince.
One by one, the boys gripped Jude’s hand, smiling wolfishly at him. They’d make him pay for inflicting his vomit on them, he was sure.
‘Thomas, you’re about the same size as Jude,’ said the master. ‘Take him to the washroom to clean up and lend him a spare shirt. It’ll take him too long to unpack his own trunk before assembly.’
‘But, sir!’
‘No buts. I’ll expect you in the Churchill Hall at fourteen hundred hours. You have seventeen minutes. No excuses.’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Critchlow. Step this way, Jude.’
After the fastest, hottest shower of his life, Jude pulled Thomas’s shirt over his damp shoulders and buttoned it up with shaking fingers.
The Churchill Hall was across the other side of the school. He and Thomas had to sprint most of the way there. Jude didn’t mind. After the humiliation of his entrance, he was thankful to be clean and to have had a chance to freshen his breath with minty mouthwash.
They reached the hall as the last year groups were filing into the auditorium from a squashed corridor. If the tittering and rib-jabbing was anything to go by, the tale of Jude’s unique arrival had travelled around the school like wildfire.
Montgomery Cutter, one of the Meet ‘n’ Greet crew, grin
ned. ‘Much better, Jude, but you’re still pretty pongy. Don’t you agree, Garrick?’
Jude’s heart sank. Had he missed a bit? He’d scrubbed himself raw.
‘Don’t worry, Jude,’ said Garrick. ‘Montgomery has some Calvin Klein cologne handy. Monty, any chance you can spare some for our new friend? Can’t have him stinking up assembly.’
‘Sure, Jude. Go ahead. Knock yourself out.’
An instant before the tide of boys swept him into the hall, Jude sprayed himself all over. An unseen hand snatched the bottle from him. Only then did he realize he’d been tricked.
The stench was volcanic. Literally. As he took his seat in the second row of the auditorium, a sulphurous wave cleared the first three rows. Gasping, laughing and shouting, boys stampeded for the other side of the auditorium, their teachers not far behind.
The microphone popped as Greville Wallingford, the head teacher, took to the stage. His bed-of-nails voice boomed: ‘Will someone tell me what the blazes is going on? Is a chair on fire? Has a member of staff had a cardiac arrest? Unless it’s an emergency or some joker’s released a pet viper, I don’t want to hear a pin drop . . .’
Then, as the odour hit him: ‘Great Scott, has someone set off a stink bomb?’
Mr Critchlow scurried to have a word in his ear.
‘Ah. Yes, I see. The Blakeneys’ foster boy?’
The head glowered in Jude’s direction. He resembled a Special Forces soldier who’d eaten too many pies. ‘Mr Gray?’
Jude shrank into his seat. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said timidly.
‘I understand there was an unfortunate incident on the drive here. Illness can strike any of us, but you were given a chance to spruce yourself up and didn’t. Don’t let it happen again. Manners maketh the man. So does good hygiene.’
‘Yessir, Mr Wallingford. I’m sorry, sir.’
Jude wished again that Jess had abandoned him on the ocean floor at Horseshoe Reef. At least then he wouldn’t have had to suffer the torment of 352 pairs of eyes on him as he sat marooned in the centre of three empty rows.
In the midst of his misery, he suddenly realized that he wasn’t alone. A woman was sitting one seat away from him. As she dabbed her nose with a tissue, he caught a whiff of menthol and pine needles.
‘Ms Flowers?’ boomed the head teacher. ‘Ms Flowers, Mr Ross is saving a spot for you on the other side of the auditorium.’
The woman waved to the teacher across the hall. ‘No need, Mr Ross. I’m fine right here.’
Onstage, Mr Wallingford’s eyebrows jutted like lichen on a crag.
A hush fell over the hall. Boys and staff craned to watch the silent clash of personalities. It was as if a gladiator and a lioness were squaring off.
‘I appreciate that librarians have a reputation for stoicism,’ said the head teacher, ‘but there’s really no need to subject yourself to a foul assembly, Ms Flowers. Kindly change chairs so we can get on with today’s agenda.’
Ms Flowers smiled, but stayed seated. ‘Thank you for your concern, Mr Wallingford, but I’m really quite content. From where I sit, Jude’s as fresh as an ocean breeze.’
21
DIVIDE AND CONQUER
‘One more snap and we’re done, Jess,’ said Adam Buckley, the Daily Gazette’s photographer, kneeling on the chequered tile steps of the Geraldine Rose School for Girls to change camera lenses. ‘How about we have you breathing in the scent of a rose and smiling slightly?’
Jess’s cheek muscles ached from grinning. Though the photographer had been more courteous and considerate than he’d been at the hospital in the Virgin Islands in December, her embarrassment meter was off the charts.
The Blakeneys didn’t seem to have considered how she might feel about being subjected to a photo shoot on the fourth day of term. All they cared about was their image and newspaper sales.
‘Let’s have your sunniest smile, Jess,’ urged Adam.
As Jess buried her nose in the petals of a velvety red bloom, gaggles of elegantly uniformed girls watched from shining windows or through the railings of the leafy London square.
The Geraldine Rose School for Girls was everything Jess had wished for and more. From the Mr Lincoln roses framing the entrance to the light-filled library, and from the science labs, with their NASA-worthy microscopes, to the cellos in the music rooms, it was school perfection. There were chess, drama and gymnastics clubs. There were corridors lined with award-winning student art.
Her third-storey room in the boarding wing was small and shared with one other girl, but Jess loved its Malory Towers atmosphere. It overlooked the school tennis courts, hockey field and organic veggie garden.
‘I can’t tell you how proud and thrilled we are that the Blakeneys chose our little school for you, Jess,’ Anastasia Atkins, the head teacher, had told her earlier in the week, after welcoming Jess into her office. ‘The results of your aptitude test were outstanding. When the founders set up Geraldine Rose as a bedrock of academic excellence for girls, you’re the kind of student they had in mind: intelligent, outward-looking and dedicated. Sights firmly set on Oxford or Cambridge. Brave too. We pored over the reports about how you saved your brother after your yacht capsized.’
‘Jude’s a brilliant sailor and swimmer,’ Jess had broken in defensively. ‘It’s only because he was trying to help me and steer a course at the same time that the boat gybed. The boom knocked him overboard. Sea squalls are a nightmare even for experienced sailors.’
Mrs Atkins smiled. ‘I see that you’re also modest and loyal. Those are admirable traits, Jess. Tell me, are you close to your twin, or do you squabble non-stop like some I know?’
A corkscrew of pain twisted in Jess’s heart. Since leaving Blakeney Park nearly a week earlier, she’d only managed to speak to her brother once. Clifford’s aunt had allowed her to use the landline on the walnut table beside her chair, but insisted on staying in that chair throughout, making Jess feel self-conscious. A private conversation was impossible.
It hadn’t helped that Jude, who was always hopeless on the phone, was more monosyllabic than ever, or that a maid began hoovering the Blakeney Park tea-room halfway through the call. Jess had had to strain to hear her brother’s words. Even so, the sound of his voice had been like a comfort blanket to her.
‘Say that again . . . Sorry, what?’ he’d said over the din. ‘Oh, yeah – I’m OK. How are you?’
‘Fine. How’s Sam?
‘Missing you. Uh, how’s London? Did you get to see the sights?’
‘We went by Buckingham Palace just as they were changing the guard. It was beautiful, Jude. Amazing to think that our dad once paraded for the Queen.’
No answer.
‘Jude?’
‘I guess he was a good man once, long ago.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘I gotta say goodbye. Lizette needs her phone. Hope you like your new school, sis. Watch yourself.’
‘Jude, hold on.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Remember, You Gotta Friend. Always.’
He gave a bleak laugh. ‘You Gotta Friend too.’
When Jess hung up, she felt indescribably lonely.
She’d hoped to have a chance to tell him how she’d only seen the horse guards’ parade from the window of a speeding cab. Unluckily, Clifford’s aunt had been in a hurry to get to Fortnum & Mason, an overheated store famous for its teas.
‘Please can we stop, even if it’s only for five minutes,’ Jess had begged. ‘My dad was in the Blues and Royals. He guarded the Queen.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, dear,’ said the aunt, who was kindly but had set notions about where everyone fitted into the world. ‘The Queen only lets the best people ride her horses. We’ll go another time perhaps.’
Since arriving at Geraldine Rose, Jess had tried to find the evening star every night (not always easy in a wintry city) and tried to comfort herself by thinking that Jude could see it too.
‘It must be tough being apart when yo
u’ve shared so many adventures and so much loss,’ the head teacher had observed shrewdly during their meeting.
‘Jude’s my best friend,’ Jess had told her.
‘That’s something to treasure,’ Mrs Atkins had said with sincerity. ‘I’m assuming then that the Blakeneys enrolled him in our brother school, Ravilious, a short hop away in North London?’
‘No, he’s gone to Dragon Ridge in Wales.’
‘Dragon Ridge?’
Her reaction had set Jess’s nerves jangling.
‘What’s wrong?’
But Mrs Atkins had regained her composure and smiled again. ‘Oh, nothing. The ethos at Dragon Ridge is very different to ours, but variety is the spice of life and education. Greville Wallingford, the head, is an ex-army officer. He gets superb results. I’m sure the Blakeneys know what they’re doing, Jess. As your foster parents, they’ll have your best interests at heart.’
Jess hadn’t shared her confidence. The memory of Jude being banished to the freezing stable on that first night at Blakeney Park was engraved on her mind. So were Marina’s words following the fight with Caspian: ‘Don’t make us regret taking you in.’
‘If your brother enjoys sport and the great outdoors, he’ll thrive at Dragon Ridge,’ Mrs Atkins had reassured her. ‘Their swimming team is famous.’
‘Swimming team?’
‘You mentioned that your brother was an excellent swimmer. I’m assuming you are too. I’m sorry to say it’s one of the few activities we don’t offer at Geraldine Rose. There are riding lessons in Hyde Park once a week if you’re interested. Oh, and I need to give you your iPad . . .’
She’d taken one from a steel cabinet and handed it to Jess. ‘We supply every girl in the school with one of these. That way, we can control the settings. An hour of internet a day is all you’re allowed. Any questions?’
Jess had a hundred.
Wave Riders Page 14
