He noticed that Nathan's case was the slim, lightweight variety with brightly-coloured straps and little wheels and his rucksack looked brand new and expensive.
‘It's like an old woman's case that –’ started Nathan.
Before Dominic could reply, the bus driver stepped in. ‘Just you keep your clever comments to yourself, sunshine,’ he told Nathan, ‘or you'll have me to deal with.’ He turned back to Dominic. ‘You can help me load up the cases, if you like, son.’
‘I've got a case like yours,’ Velma told Dominic, smiling.
As Mr Risley-Newsome checked everybody on to the coach, dramatically ticking the register on his clipboard, Dominic, Sean and Michael passed the cases and rucksacks to the driver to stow away in the luggage compartment of the coach. When the driver came to Nathan Thomas's elegant case, he threw it nonchalantly, but with such force, that it slid and skidded across the floor of the luggage compartment before crashing to a halt. The spanking new rucksack was propelled at even greater speed and bounced and rolled to the back before thudding against the side of the coach. The driver picked up Dominic's small, battered, brown case and placed it delicately in the luggage compartment as if it contained some priceless and delicate bone china, and then he smiled and winked at Dominic without a word.
When everyone was aboard, Mr Risley-Newsome paced round the coach, peering underneath the chassis and kicking the tyres.
‘Any problems?’ asked the driver, who watched him with folded arms and an expression of distaste.
‘I'm just checking to see if this vehicle is fully roadworthy,’ replied the teacher blithely.
‘Would you like to look under the bonnet?’ asked the driver sarcastically. ‘Or slide underneath to make certain the back axle is still there?’
‘That won't be necessary,’ Mr Risley-Newsome told him with a vague sweeping gesture of the hand. ‘You will appreciate, Mr Barnett, that safety has to be a priority when it comes to taking children on school trips.’
‘I do know that!’ exclaimed the driver, his face turning red with irritation. ‘I have taken umpteen school trips over the years without any problems and I've not had any complaints before.’
‘I am not complaining, Mr Barnett, I am checking.’
‘Well, you don't need to check. I gave the coach a thorough going-over yesterday as I always do before a school journey.’
‘Excellent,’ replied the teacher, clambering up the steps to the coach. ‘Then you can go.’
Dominic, sitting on the front seat, heard Miss Pruitt mutter under her breath, ‘You may go.’
Four
A Gruesome Journey
The coach pulled out of the lay-by at the front of the school, meandered through the busy morning traffic and was soon speeding along the motorway.
Mr Risley-Newsome sat with Miss Pruitt, directly behind the driver, on the front seat. Across the aisle, Dominic sat with the red-headed boy with the large glasses and freckles, cradling the sick bucket on his lap. He discovered that his companion's name was Gerald.
‘Everybody calls me Ginger,’ he told Dominic, rather sadly, ‘but I like to be called Gerald.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But nobody does, though. They all call me Ginger.’
‘I'll call you Gerald,’ said Dominic.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I have to sit at the front because I get travel sick.’
‘Well, you're sitting next to the right person, then. I'm in charge of the sick bucket. So any time you feel a bit queasy…’
‘Thanks,’ Gerald said, sighing. ‘My mum says I'm a bit of a loner,’ he continued. ‘She says I ought to get out more, play football, go for rides on my bike, but I like reading and I make model aeroplanes. I've loads and loads of books and models. I like lying on my bed reading best.’
‘I like reading,’ said Dominic, slightly taken aback by the other boy's outburst. ‘Adventure stories.’
‘They're my favourite too.’ Gerald looked a whole lot more cheerful now. ‘My mum says I'm in a world of my own.’
‘That's what my mum says about me,’ Dominic told him. ‘A bit of a dreamer.’
The boy looked up and gave a small smile. He pushed his glasses up on to the bridge of his nose. ‘I think we're going to get on,’ he said.
It was not long before a steady stream of pupils began to appear at Dominic's side to deposit litter into the plastic bag that he had in front of him. Nathan Thomas appeared on several occasions and took great delight in dropping into the bag assorted crisp packets, sweet wrappers, silver foil from chocolate bars, toffee papers and empty soft-drink cans. His last trip to the front of the coach, however, was for a very different reason.
‘Sir,’ he said to Mr Risley-Newsome, who was poring over a particularly detailed Ordnance Survey map.
‘What is it?’ snapped the teacher.
‘I feel sick, sir.’
‘What?’
‘Sir, I feel sick,’ Nathan repeated. ‘Sir, it's really bumpy on the back seat and there's a funny smell.’
‘Someone was sick all over the back seat,’ explained the coach driver, without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Vomit everywhere. I've cleaned it a couple of times but that sort of smell does tend to linger. I think the person had been eating very greasy fish and chips that hadn't agreed with him. Or it might have been curry. All over the place it was.’
Nathan Thomas's face turned the colour of the sick bucket – a pale green.
‘Sir, I really am going to be sick,’ groaned Nathan.
‘Dowson!’ ordered Mr Risley-Newsome. ‘The bucket!’ He turned to Nathan Thomas. ‘You sit down at the front here and you, Dowson, go and sit at the back.’
Dominic was just about to move when Miss Pruitt, who had been particularly placid and quiet so far, swivelled round on her seat.
‘Mr Risley-Newsome,’ she said, with a slight edge to her voice, ‘Nathan Thomas happens to be one of my pupils and I shall deal with this, if you wouldn't mind. I don't think it's a very good idea at all, that Nathan should exchange places with Dominic.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said, I don't think it is a very good idea that Nathan should exchange places with Dominic.’
‘You don't?’ said a rather startled Mr Risley-Newsome. He was not used to being contradicted.
‘No, I don't. After all, you asked Dominic to sit down at the front in order that you could keep an eye on him. It seems to me that he should not be the one to move when it is clear to me that Nathan Thomas,’ she tilted her head in the direction of the panting boy, ‘has been up and down the aisle of this coach like a shuttlecock, backwards and forwards, depositing all manner of sweet wrappers and crisp packets and cans and I don't know what in the litter bag. It comes as no surprise to me that he is feeling sick. He's eaten enough to stock an entire sweet shop. Give Nathan the bucket, please, Dominic. He may return to the rear of the coach with it and use it if necessary.’
‘I don't mind going to the back, miss,’ said Dominic cheerfully. After all, he thought to himself, I wanted to be there in the first place with my two friends.
‘You stay where you are, Dominic,’ said Miss Pruitt.
‘Yes, miss,’ he replied.
Nathan looked in the direction of the teacher appealingly but Mr Risley-Newsome grimaced and grunted and returned to studying the map. Dominic passed him the bucket and Nathan headed off to the back of the bus. Moments later various retching noises could be heard, followed by assorted ‘Eeeerghs’ and ‘Aaaaghs’ from the pupils sitting near him.
‘I'm glad you didn't move,’ Gerald told Dominic. ‘I don't like that Nathan. I like your teacher, though. She's nice, your Miss Pruitt. I wish she taught me.’
‘She's great,’ said Dominic.
When the coach stopped at a large roadside cafe for its scheduled break, Dominic went in search of a bin for the litter and Nathan Thomas went in search of the toilets to dispose of the contents of the plastic bucket. They arrived back at the coach at the same time.
‘
Fancy one of my cheese and onion crisps?’ Dominic asked him in his most innocent of voices.
Nathan's ashen face turned to the colour of a gooseberry again. The bucket was put to good use a second time.
For the remainder of the journey, Mr Risley-Newsome decided to give a running commentary on the area through which the bus travelled, describing the scenery, noting buildings of interest and pointing out unusual geographical features. He commandeered the microphone from the driver and, holding it close to his mouth, started his lecture in a deeply uninteresting voice. After five minutes of the tedious monologue, Dominic, from his vantage point on the front seat, saw the driver surreptitiously reach down below his dashboard and switch off the microphone. Unbeknown to the teacher himself, Mr Risley-Newsome was the only one who could hear what he was saying. Miss Pruitt did not enlighten him but sat, as Dominic observed, with a small smile on her face. At the first set of traffic lights, when the coach drew to a halt, the driver turned and winked at Dominic.
It was nearly midday when the driver swung the coach into a wide, white-gravel drive. He pulled up with a jerk outside a great, rambling, grey stone house with tall mullioned windows, half obscured by dark, twisting, green ivy and the bare branches of a tall sycamore tree. It looked a cold and lonely building.
‘What a dump!’ exclaimed Nathan Thomas.
‘Yeah, what a dump,’ repeated Darren.
‘It looks great!’ said Dominic to Gerald.
‘I like old houses,’ replied his companion. ‘We live in an old house with attics and cellars.’
‘I wish I did,’ said Dominic thoughtfully, and began another of his dreams.
Mr Risley-Newsome stood, peered out of a side window, then pivoted round to face the children. ‘Remain in your seats, everyone. I shall make our presence known to the warden of the youth hostel and sort out the accommodation.’ He turned to Miss Pruitt. ‘You'll be all right by yourself for a minute won't you, Miss Pruitt?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I think I might just be able to manage, Mr Risley-Newsome,’ she replied sarcastically, putting on a simpering voice.
Five minutes later the children were gathered in the large entrance hall of the house, being welcomed by Miss Brewster, the warden, a round jolly woman with a cheerful smile and friendly eyes.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I was getting worried. I expected you earlier.’
‘We were late getting away,’ the coach driver told her, glancing in the direction of Mr Risley-Newsome. ‘We hit the early morning traffic.’
‘Well, you're here now, safe and sound, and that's all that matters,’ said Miss Brewster. ‘And it's lovely to see you all. Welcome to Thundercliff Manor. I do hope that your few days with us will be really nice.’ At that moment a frisky white West Highland terrier scurried into the entrance hall, yapping wildly and slipping on the polished floor. ‘Stop it, Daisy!’ Miss Brewster told the dog. ‘She's excited, seeing all these new people.’ The dog ran round in circles, its stumpy tail wagging madly.
‘Is that dog dangerous?’ asked Mr Risley-Newsome, retreating in the direction of the door.
‘Good gracious no, she's just happy to see you all,’ said Miss Brewster.
The dog, however, was not happy to see everyone there. When it caught sight of Mr Risley-Newsome scowling by the door, it stopped running around and stared blankly at him before making a noise like a distant train – a sort of low rumbling sound. It then curled its lip and displayed an impressive set of sharp teeth.
‘Daisy!’ said Miss Brewster, patting the fat little head. ‘Behave yourself. I've never known her react like this before.’
‘Really?’ mouthed Mr Risley-Newsome, looking at the small growling creature as if it was something unpleasant he had discovered on the sole of his shoe. ‘I should tell you that I don't like dogs so I do hope you will keep it under control.’
‘She won't bother you,’ said Miss Brewster. The smile had disappeared. ‘And who are you, may I ask?’
‘I am Mr Risley-Newsome, in charge of this party, and this is my colleague Miss Pruitt.’
‘I guessed as much,’ replied Miss Brewster.
‘Hello, Mrs Brewster,’ said Miss Pruitt brightly.
Before the warden could reply, Mr Risley-Newsome continued. ‘I received all the information about the youth hostel, the various rules and requirements, which I have studied carefully, and I can assure you we will be no trouble, no trouble at all.’
‘I'm sure you won't,’ said Miss Brewster.
Dominic could tell by the tone of her voice and her changed expression that the warden clearly thought the very opposite. This man was obviously going to be trouble.
‘I just hope the weather holds out for you,’ she said, addressing Miss Pruitt. ‘It's been rain, rain and more rain.’
‘Yes, the weather forecast did say –’ began Miss Pruitt.
‘A little wet weather does not deter us, Miss Brewster,’ announced Mr Risley-Newsome pompously. ‘We are here to work and not to sightsee and sunbathe.’
Miss Brewster did not reply but just stood with, what looked to Dominic, a forced smile on her face.
Mr Risley-Newsome turned to the pupils. ‘Now, before I allocate you your rooms, there are one or two ground rules about your behaviour in the hostel, of which you all need to be aware.’
Miss Pruitt looked heavenwards and the coach driver sighed heavily. Dominic caught them giving Miss Brewster a knowing look.
‘I have lead more school parties than there are pebbles on the beach,’ continued the teacher, ‘and therefore know the procedures like the nose on my face.’ The children stared at his nose intently. ‘Follow my instructions and we will all have a pleasant, peaceful and trouble-free few days. Do not follow my instructions and I will be after you like a cat after a mouse. I hope I make myself perfectly clear.’ Everyone stared mutely.
‘These are my do's and don'ts. One: boots and outdoor clothing will be left in the tack room at the back of the house at all times, except, of course, when in use. You must not, I repeat not, wander around the hostel in your boots. There will be no puddles and muddy footprints on the floor.
‘Two: you will hear the breakfast and the dinner gong when the meals are ready. Be prompt. If you arrive late you will go without.
‘Three: when you are allocated your rooms, collect your cases, make up your beds, unpack, hang your clothes up and bring your boots and outdoor coats downstairs and put them tidily in the tack room, which I mentioned earlier.
‘Four: there will be no going into other people's rooms at any time. Five: lights out at nine p.m. and no talking after that.’ Mr Risley-Newsome stared at the children with his sharp green eyes. ‘Are there any questions?’
Miss Pruitt had maintained a carefully blank expression up to this point, but when she saw Dominic begin to raise a hand, she fixed him with a rattlesnake glare and shook her head. He lowered his hand.
‘Is there anything else I need to mention, Miss Brewster?’ Mr Risley-Newsome asked the warden.
‘Oh, I think you've covered just about everything,’ she replied. ‘Well, lunch will be ready in half an hour. That should give you enough time to settle in. When you've been told what room you're in, unpacked and done all the other little jobs, come straight down, children. I've got a piping-hot meal in the oven.’
Nathan Thomas turned a brighter shade of green and disappeared out of the front door.
Unlike the pupils of St Jude's, who had been allowed by Miss Pruitt to share with their friends, the children from Cransworth Juniors had been allocated their rooms by their teacher without any discussion. When he discovered that he was a bed short for one of his pupils, Mr Risley-Newsome scowled and ran a finger down the clipboard he was holding.
‘Each room has four beds in it,’ explained Miss Brewster patiently. She then added, rather smugly, ‘I did say that in the information I sent you.’
‘That's not a problem,’ said Miss Pruitt. ‘We're a pupil short in one of our rooms. There's only fifteen in o
ur party, so one of your boys can share with three of ours.’ She turned to the Cransworth pupils. ‘I wonder if one of you –’ she began.
‘Excuse me, Miss Pruitt,’ said Mr Risley-Newsome, clearly remembering her earlier words about Nathan Thomas being one of her pupils, ‘but this concerns one of my pupils, and I shall deal with this, if you wouldn't mind.’
As far as Dominic and his friends were concerned it could not have turned out better. They were put in a large attic room at the very top and at the back of the house, and Gerald had been picked by Mr Risley-Newsome to join them.
‘I really wasn't looking forward to coming on this trip,’ Gerald told his three new friends. ‘Now I have a feeling it's going to be one to remember.’
Five
An Unfortunate Discovery
The attic bedroom was very much like Dominic's own bedroom at home: a plain, square room with a wardrobe, chest of drawers and bedside cabinet, except here there were four tubular, metal-framed beds with sheets, blankets and towels neatly folded on each. The view from the window could not have been more different, however. Dominic's bedroom overlooked the busy, main road – not that he looked out very often. He hadn't much interest in watching queue upon queue of noisy spluttering cars. Anyway, the glass in the window was usually edged in dirt and grime and he could hardly see out. The view from the attic window in the youth hostel was breathtaking. The grassy ground sloped gently downwards towards the cliff edge, which fell away steeply to the sandy beach and a vast, bright, silvery sea. Rocky black outcrops rose from the shimmering water like misshapen marine creatures clothed in golden seaweed, glittering wet in the sunshine. Along the coast he could see the great sweeping curve of the bay, deep black caves and high pillars of rock, where the waves crashed in a frenzy of froth and spray or curled and arched in forests of white crests.
Dominic's Discovery Page 4
