by Matt Drabble
“But he is scheduled to be with us over the holidays,” he replied puzzled. “I’m sure of it.”
“Well I don’t know what to tell you, Sir. I distinctly saw him leaving in a brown Mercedes SUV; that is the car of his parents I believe? And I did recognise his father driving. I remember Mr. Corner Snr from his photographs in the newspapers that Mr. Merryweather reads,” she said, with a touch of a bad taste in her mouth. “Mr. Corner Snr has quite the profile; a footballer, I believe he used to be - quite wealthy too by all accounts.”
Barnaby stared long and hard at the school secretary. He didn’t want to show his surprise at missing another piece of valuable information about his school. Ravenhill belonged to him and nothing within her ancient stone walls should have been outside of his knowledge.
“Are you alright, Sir?” she asked with concern.
“Fine,” he snapped. “If pupil circumstances are altered then I should have been informed, Mrs. Merryweather. I think that you and I are going to have to have a talk after the holidays!” he said, looking to once again gain the moral authority.
“As you wish, Sir,” she merely smiled back infuriatingly, as she walked away. “And Sir?” she called over her shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”
----------
Sarah took advantage of the brief lightening of the falling snow. She wasn’t on duty this afternoon and wrapped herself up warm against the weather. There were only 13 students staying in-house over the holidays and for some reason the staff numbers seemed suddenly swelled. She had been looking forward to both Jemima and Stuart staying, but now she was dreading having to face them again.
She headed out across the school grounds towards the fields and the coastal path beyond. A strange thing happened as she walked: the further away from Ravenhill she got, the more her anger weakened until it fell away completely. She had been furious with Jemima’s attitude and actions, but the further she hiked, the more she couldn’t understand her own emotional outburst. She had no claim over Stuart and she wasn’t even sure that she wanted one. Jemima was a sweet girl and she genuinely only wished the best for her friend.
The pathway was already covered with the day’s snowfall and the woodland seemed almost magical under the dusty coating. The hike was a pleasant three miles out towards the coastal cliffs. She often took the walk alone as the sea air and strong breezes were conducive to clearing her mind.
She ducked under the low branches that blocked her path and kept an ear out for the telltale signs of animal life; strangely the woods were quiet. She wondered if the weather was keeping them all safely under cover where perhaps she should be.
The woodland opened up into open fields that stretched out to reach the cliff top. She stuck to the flattened path through the grass that was still just about visible through the snow. The wind came hard, up over the cliffs, and was biting. She walked out to the edge before turning left and walking parallel to the ocean. The waves crashed hard against the rocks down below and up here her problems always seemed somehow smaller before the awesome sight of nature.
She walked along until she reached the lighthouse. The gleaming white structure was fully automated and for some reason usually unlocked. She had been up the tower many times and the view was something that had to be seen to be believed.
The snow started to fall heavier again and she debated turning back, but this had become a kind of ritual for her now and only fulfilling it halfway seemed wrong.
She headed for the small door that was around the rear of the lighthouse. There was a small low fence around the building but nothing in the way of security. She passed through the narrow gate and headed up the path. The door was red and some kind of plastic blend that was protective against the harsh salty winds. She reached out and pushed it open and stepped inside, glad to out of the cold.
There was a twisting metal staircase that wound its way up to the top of the tower where the huge light rotated, warning ships against the jagged rocks. The lighthouse was a tall, essentially empty, structure that echoed with the sound of the powerful generators.
Her footsteps clanged on the metal steps as she climbed up to the top. Her calves burned as she reached the slowly spinning light. The top of the tower was encased in glass with a small walkway around the light and a door that opened out onto a narrow balcony.
She pushed open the door and steeped out into the wind that raged the higher up you went. The stiff breeze made her clutch the railing in self-preservation as she peered over the edge to the ocean below. There was always something deliciously enticing about gravity; she always felt a deep-seated desire to step over the edge and plummet.
“Are you ok?”
The voice came so far out of the blue and was so unexpected that she almost fell overboard. Strong hands suddenly grabbed her from behind as she swayed dangerously.
“Shit, are you alright?” the man’s voice asked, startled.
She turned and saw Stuart’s face, drawn and pale with only half a smile.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Apparently, almost making you fall over the railings to your death,” he replied with a nervous laugh.
She fixed him with a stare as they moved back inside the lighthouse.
“Well if I’m being honest, I was hiding from Jemima,” he said sadly. “The whole thing is a complete mess and I have no idea what even happened. I figured that I’d take a walk and I saw you come in here.”
“Look, it’s none of my business whatever you and Jemima do,” she said coldly.
“Isn’t it?” he asked, looking her square in the eyes. “Would you like it to be?”
She started to tell him no. She wanted to tell him that her life was her own private affair and that there was no room for anyone else. She wanted to tell him all of that and more, but then she just kissed him.
----------
Sergeant Donald Ross looked over at PC Paterson again. The young constable was grinning his way through some sophomoric comic book. William was always trying to explain the finer points of the “graphic novel” as he called it, but it was still just childish comics to Donald.
It had been a busy week, what with the school alarm scare and the supposedly missing lunch lady who turned out to be just visiting a relative. He had spoken to Rosa Marsh, who had delivered an oddly monotone explanation concerning her whereabouts. His wife, Marie, had told him that Rosa had returned to their art class happier than when she’d left. Apparently, they were all planning some big group project later in the week, weather permitting. Rosa was organizing all of the women to get together with no husbands allowed. There had also been a police alert for a missing boy called Danny Haim from the Maplecrest School. Apparently the kid had gone missing after a rugby game against Ravenhill of all coincidences. He didn’t envy the kid’s parents with the weather about to worsen and the older villagers were telling tales of a bad storm moving in.
He looked out of the station window at the falling snow and felt his old bones trembling at the onrushing inevitable bout of arthritis that would soon arrive. He was grateful for the police 4x4 that was provided for them which he had kept meticulously maintained despite Paterson’s shakes of the head during the mild autumn weather. The young PC had little experience of the harshness that this area could experience, but he knew only too well that their vehicle would become a lifeline.
He checked the phone line again for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t unheard of for the lines to go down under the snow and they had lost them under far better conditions than this in the past.
He was an old school copper who knew the people on his beat. He knew which of them were vulnerable and who was alone. Most of the villagers were elderly and the winter was a bitter and unforgiving season and he would need to keep a close eye on his flock.
Paterson yawned loudly and Donald wondered about the state of the force when William was deemed worthy of wearing the uniform. He seemed like a nice enough lad, but Donald just didn’t think that the boy ha
d what it took to become an officer of the law. The kid seemed to think that he’d be kicking in doors with a machine gun as most of his knowledge seemed to derive from the television. In reality the job was more social worker and friendly ear than enforcer, especially out in the sticks.
“Tea, Sarge?” Paterson asked, lifting his head from the comic book.
“Aye lad, why not,” Donald sighed. At least the kid was good for something.
Dora Tibbs checked her watch again. She was sitting in Mr. Barnaby’s office waiting patiently for his return. She had no idea where he was but hoped that he would return soon. She was clutching a folder of papers that had taken her the afternoon to collate. The roads outside would no doubt be treacherous by now, but she had no choice but to stay and wait for the Headmaster.
She had been through the inventory files with care and precision, ticking off the items as she counted the stock. She had found more than enough discrepancies to raise the alarm and redeem herself in Mr. Barnaby’s eyes. She had no idea just what most of the medicinal names meant or indeed what the drugs did, but she could guess just the same. Whatever Hannah Marks was up to, it included a missing amount of inventory.
She heard approaching footsteps and steeled herself for her redemption. She quickly remembered to hide her smile as the door opened. The face that peered around the corner, however, belonged to Mavis Merryweather.
“What are you doing in here?” the secretary asked suspiciously.
“I’m waiting for Mr. Barnaby,” she replied haughtily.
“Well you’re going to have a long wait, dear. He’s on his way to Bexley Cross,” Merryweather smiled infuriatingly. “Aren’t you cutting your departure a bit fine? I mean that little car of yours won’t be faring too well on the roads in this state.”
Dora knew that she was right, but she hated to admit it, especially out loud. “I’ll be fine; I’ve driven in far worse conditions than these,” she replied coldly. “What is Mr. Barnaby doing going into the village at this hour?”
“Private business I would imagine,” Merryweather replied, still smiling pleasantly. “Perhaps you could catch him if you hurry?”
Dora hated to take the woman’s advice, but there was little else to do. If she didn’t leave soon then there was a very good chance that she could be stuck here for the holidays. She gathered herself up as though it was her decision leave. “I believe that I will catch Mr. Barnaby in the village,” she said, as though it was her idea.
She flounced past the smiling secretary, resisting the urge to shatter the woman’s maddening politeness. Her car was parked outside with a fully charged battery thanks to Maurice who charged all of the teachers’ cars and the school’s vehicles on a regular basis, as they sat unused for months on end.
She headed out through the school, nodding slightly to the few pupils that were still milling around. Her car was fully packed and ready for the off. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Merryweather but she was more than a little concerned at the state of the narrow country lanes that probably hadn’t been ploughed or gritted. The snow had stopped, but the temperature was rapidly dropping and her breath was a misty cloud as she crunched her way across the driveway to her car.
It was a small and economical model, but a little unarmed against the winter. She placed the files on the passenger seat as she climbed in and turned the engine over. She gave the car a few revs to try and warm up the engine quicker as the inside of the windscreen was foggy. She waited as patiently as she could before she grew concerned about missing Mr. Barnaby in the village.
She drove slowly down the long driveway towards the road. As she pulled out into the road she felt the car’s wheels slip a little as they fought for purchase on the rapidly freezing snow. She tried to remember about how to cope with a skid and thought that it was something about turning into the slide instead of away from it. She drove as slowly and as carefully as she could manage along the lane.
The world outside was black and her headlights illuminated the white covered hedgerows as she moved slowly. There were no streetlights or even cats’ eyes this far out and it had been some months since she had last driven at all, let alone at night.
She rounded a gentle bend in the road and the car slipped worryingly again. She felt her heart pound painfully in her chest and her palms grew hot and sweaty as the car started to get away from her. She resisted the urge to step hard on the brakes and pumped them gently until she was in control again. She stopped in the middle of the lane and debated returning to the school, but turning back from a course of action just wasn’t in her nature. She hoped that the roads would become clearer and better treated the closer that she got towards civilization.
Bexley Cross was only a few short miles away and she would find Mr. Barnaby there in the school’s off-road vehicle that they kept for just such weather as this. In the worst case scenario she could always get a lift back to the school with him.
She pressed on ever more cautiously to the point that the engine started to hitch in protest at her lack of speed.
She could now see the few twinkling lights of the village up ahead. There were several houses as well as a pub and post office with a general store thrown in for good measure. She was betting that Mr. Barnaby was probably in the pub partaking of something elegant and expensive as befit his standing. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve a little bit of peace and quiet after a long hard term. Privately, she hoped that he would ask her to join him beside the roaring fire once she told him of her investigation.
She was picturing the fireside scene when something roared out of the darkness. The truck had its lights out and had been lying in wait off the side of the road facing into the centre.
It hit her broadside and drove her small car into the field beyond the hedgerow. Her car door crumpled under the assault and monstrous pain wracked her body as the metal disintegrated, crushing her legs. The powerful truck drove forwards, pushing her tiny car sideways. When the truck slammed on its brakes, her world suddenly turned upside down as she rolled over and over into the field. The roof collapsed as she rolled and her head was squashed down agonizingly into her neck.
When the world finally stopped spinning she found that that her insides felt like jelly and she couldn’t breathe properly as though something was deeply damaged. She tried to call out but there was no sound from her mouth, only a broken whistling sound.
She heard the truck’s engine rev as it backed back out into the road, leaving her shattered and broken. The car’s front windows were all smashed and the bitter wind blew in and she shivered, which drove the broken bone pieces together with jagged edges. She could only see out of one eye as the other was swollen shut but she could just make out the lights of Bexley Cross.
She knew that she just had to hold on until Mr. Barnaby returned to school. There was only one way to get to Ravenhill and he would have to come down this road and he would see the signs of the accident. He would surely see the damage to the hedgerow and investigate, where he would find her trapped beneath the wreckage. There would be large skid marks across the icy road, just as long as it didn’t… Her thought died in her mind as the skies opened again and the snow fell in thick heavy flakes covering everything on the ground including her.
----------
Alex Thompson pushed his plate aside. He had little appetite since most of the other kids had left, leaving the dining hall largely empty and dark. He was still bitter about having to stay behind over Christmas. His father was a businessman who worshipped money, apparently above all else.
He had spoken at length with Joshua about his father and the new boy had comforted him with words of surprising wisdom for one so young. They had talked long into the night about the evils of the modern world and the false idols that had been created by the faithless. Alex had never had much time for religion, but Joshua spoke with such conviction and an assured tongue that Alex felt compelled to listen. Joshua didn’t speak of his God in the fluffy language of the priests that Alex had
heard preach. There were no tales of forgiveness and love, no stories of Good Samaritans and the turning of cheeks. Joshua spoke of a God of fire and brimstone, a deity of blood and thunder who rained down furious vengeance from the heavens on the heads of those who did not follow. But much to Alex’s enticement, he was also a God of great reward to the chosen and blessed few.
He found himself deeply intrigued with Joshua’s faith and preaching. The American had a kind of magnetism that lent itself to delivering a message to rapt faces. They had talked long and hard into the night and Alex had never experienced such a quick and close bond before with anyone, male or female. His feelings were mixed and confused by the sudden onrush of intimacy, but he felt strongly protective of Joshua and wouldn’t let him come to any harm.
Joshua had humiliated James Corner at the party and that went a long way in Alex’s book. Corner had been a pain in the ass for as long as Alex could remember and the situation had been hurtling towards a potentially violent climax for several months now. But Joshua had seemingly disarmed the bomb with a few soft whispers in James’s ear and ended the war without blood being shed.
Barnaby walked the halls after curfew. His footsteps echoed along the empty corridors as Ravenhill slumbered. Most of her residents had now departed for the holidays leaving them largely alone. The storm had finally subsided, leaving the horizon virgin white with pristine snow.
Despite knowing that everything was in order, he’d had Maurice double check everything again. The boiler and generators were fully serviced and meticulously maintained. The power could be intermittent and unreliable during the winter months even without the storm and heavy snow.
Rosa Marsh had volunteered to run the kitchens over the break and she had assured him that every larder and fridge was fully stocked and could feed an army. Since her return she had been a paragon of enthusiasm topped off with the sunniest disposition. He could only assume that she was worried about her position since her unauthorized absence and if her concern led to such an upturn in her attitude, then he was more than happy to let her labor under the misapprehension.
