Three Hours : A Novel (2020)

by Lupton, Rosamund

  He ducked down and tried to take off his yellow life jacket, because it was too easy to spot, but he couldn’t undo it in woolly gloves, so he took his gloves off and they fell on the snow. Then he managed to take off his life jacket.

  He heard a sound like a stone being thrown on to an icy puddle, lots of stones, and glass breaking, but he kept still as a statue till his knees hurt from crouching, and when he stood up a little bit he couldn’t see the man inside any more.

  The window was smashed and the scarecrows they’d made were all shot with pieces of window sticking into them. Lucas’s mum had given Basi some of Lucas’s old clothes for his scarecrow because he didn’t have his own old clothes. There were bullet holes in his scarecrow, through his clothes and through his face, so he didn’t have a face any more.

  He ran away as fast as he could, slipping on the ice in the car park, hiding behind the snow cars. He saw the boatshed and the door was open a little and he ran inside.

  Remembering the man has made him frightened all over again; he pushes his face into the crook of his elbow, burrowing into his anorak, like he can hide from the man and not hear the breaking glass any more.

  Think of a kind face, that’s what Rafi tells him to do when he’s really frightened. All on his own, he thinks of two! The Soup Sisters in the Dunkirk camp. One had crinkles round her eyes when she smiled, so her whole face was a smile, and her sister had a thin, stern face but when she smiled at him it was like her face was a lamp switching on. The Soup Sisters mean he’s not going to be sick any more.

  When they were in the camp they thought about Mr Marr’s kind face, but Mr Marr’s face doesn’t work now because they see him for real every day and Rafi says you have to use your memory and imagination, like opening a storybook in your mind, the best unexpected bits, and going there for a little while.

  He remembers there’s a rowing boat at the back of the shed – he’ll hide inside it so that if the man gets in he won’t see him. He turns on his phone so he can see his way.

  He has a missed call and a message from Rafi!

  I love u

  He only has 4% charge left. Rafi calls it ‘juice’ and says you mustn’t run out of juice, but Rafi doesn’t have animals inside his phone. Basi’s the only person in junior school who’s allowed a phone at school and Mr Lorrimer doesn’t like it, but Mr Marr says Basi can always talk to Rafi if he wants to.

  Even with the light from his phone, he’s still bumping into things, but he gets to the rowing boat, with its smooth curvy sides, and he clambers in.

  He reads Rafi’s text again then turns off his phone. It’s even darker further from the door inside a boat.

  He mustn’t turn it on again and phone Rafi back, mustn’t do that. Because the man with the gun might be outside and shoot him.

  He’s got to keep on being brave like a Barbary lion and a Bengal tiger and Sir Lancelot and the Gruffalo mouse and Odysseus. And then Rafi had said, ‘Brave as Basi Bukhari.’ And he’s trying really hard but he doesn’t know how much longer he can be brave.

  * * *

  In the woods, the path has almost disappeared under the snow when Rafi sees the theatre and the fire-exit door at the back. He’s stopped checking behind him because there was never anybody after him; nobody shot at the wall above his head or broke a non-existent twig; his damaged mind just imagined it all and his phantom pursuer belongs back in the past with Assad’s men and Daesh and the gangs in the camp.

  He wonders where his friends have got to. Whenever they rehearse Macbeth he hears his father’s voice again because, for Baba, Syria was a suffering country under a hand accursed, that sinks beneath the yoke. It weeps, it bleeds; Bashar al-Assad, Russian bombers and every single person in Daesh was a devil damned in evils. And when they made plans to leave, Baba had said that they had no choice, because their country was no longer their mother but their grave. But then Baba and Karam were murdered – each new morn, new widows howl, new orphans cry, new sorrows strike heaven on the face – but Baba wasn’t there to say that any more and there was only enough money left for him and Basi to escape.

  Baba had liked other playwrights, especially Saadallah Wannous, but Shakespeare was his go-to guy for quotes.

  He should have said Birnam Wood to Hannah, when they were talking about trees. Why didn’t he say that? The coolest woods in literature and stage are the trees marching to Dunsinane Hill and defeating Macbeth; not real trees, of course, or Ents, but soldiers using trees to camouflage themselves. But even so, the trees march. He loves that. Maybe that’s why Baba loved the play so much, for its ending. They are using trees from these woods in their production. Daphne has a whole load backstage.

  His mobile vibrates with Basi’s rhythm – rat-a-TAT-tat, rat-a-TAT-tat – a rhythm they’d set up in the camp; a secret code between them.

  He answers the phone, having to shout above the noise of the wind.

  ‘Little Monkey, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m almost out of juice.’

  Basi breaks down sobbing, as if he can’t get enough air to breathe.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  But Basi doesn’t speak, just breathless hiccuppy crying.

  ‘One elephant, two elephants, count your breaths, that’s it, slowly, three—’

  ‘I left the beach. I wanted to be with you.’

  Rafi feels sick; his hand holding the phone is shaking.

  ‘You didn’t get on the boat?’

  He’s shouting at Basi, like he’s angry, but it’s because otherwise Basi won’t hear him above the sound of the wind. Basi’s voice is very quiet.

  ‘No. I didn’t.’

  He tries to sound calm so Basi won’t know he feels sick and his hands are shaking.

  ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry. I’ll come and find you.’

  ‘There was a man with a gun. He shot our scarecrows.’

  ‘Did the man hurt you?’

  ‘No. I kept still as a statue and then I hid. You have to be careful of the man.’

  The connection ends. He dials Basi but it goes to voicemail.

  He hurriedly phones Rose Polstein. Someone else answers, but then he puts Rafi through to Rose.

  ‘My little brother, he’s not on a boat.’

  He’s now running through the woods towards Junior School.

  ‘We just heard. I’m so sorry, Rafi. Did he say where he is?’ Rose Polstein asks.

  ‘No, and he’s run out of charge, but he saw a man with a gun shooting at the scarecrows which are in Mrs Cardswell’s classroom window, and then he hid, so he must be in Junior School.’

  He’s having to yell above the wind and run at the same time and it’s making him breathless.

  ‘Did he describe the man?’

  ‘No, just said he had a gun.’

  ‘Do you know what time he saw this man?’

  ‘I think he left the beach just after I did. So I think maybe about nine thirty.’

  Basi came after him and Rafi didn’t know. He never turned round to look. Even though Basi’s a fast runner, he’s much smaller than him and would have taken longer to get to the top of the path.

  ‘We only know of two gunmen, Rafi, and neither of them is now anywhere near the Junior School building. I want you to find a place to hide and then stay put till this is over.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He ends the phone call with Rose Polstein and keeps running. He’ll hide when he’s found his brother.

  Basi is frightened, but he said he wasn’t hurt. And Rose Polstein, who he trusts, doesn’t think there’s a gunman near Junior School any more. Besides, surely they wouldn’t spend time looking for one little boy?

  It’s all right. Don’t worry. I’ll come and find you.

  He remembers, suddenly and vividly, men with guns and dogs pushing Basi and him face down into the sand on the beach by Abu Qir harbour. They were separating the refugees into three different groups. He’d squashed up tight to Basi, put an arm around him, as if they were just one person
lying on the sand. One of the men had put a gun between them, using it to prise them apart. Rafi had bunched Basi’s damp T-shirt into his hand and held on tightly and the man moved on to the next group and they hadn’t been separated.

  The last time he ran to Basi through the woods it was barely snowing; now the trees and path are covered in white. Only half a mile to Junior School. He will get to him soon.

  * * *

  Rafi will find it really funny that’s he’s inside a boat inside a shed because they’ve been in a boat before and in a shed before but not at the same time! The boat was really squashed and Rafi had to stand on one leg so Basi had room to sleep, but the shed in the Dunkirk camp was nice; Rafi called it their castle because it had a bolt on the door. His friends call places homey when they play ‘It’ and he always thinks of their castle-shed when they say homey.

  In the camp, the girls and the women slept in nappies and the boys had bottles, because it was too dangerous to go out at night if you needed to wee. In the day Rafi had to leave their castle-shed-homey to get food and they had their own special knock – rat-a-TAT-tat; rat-a-TAT-tat.

  ‘But why can’t you just say it’s you?’ he asked Rafi.

  ‘I think there’s a place giving out food.’

  Which wasn’t an answer; Mr Lorrimer would say that was slippery. Once when Rafi had gone out someone had knocked, THUD THUD, not rat-a-TAT-tat, rat-a-TAT-tat. He didn’t unlock the door and then he heard men’s voices shouting but they’d gone away again. Later he heard rat-a-TAT-tat, rat-a-TAT-tat and knew it must be Rafi and when he’d opened the door. Rafi was there with the Soup Sisters. The smiley-eyes sister held his hand all the way to their soup kitchen, and they stayed with him and Rafi, even when the food had all gone, so that nobody would hurt them.

  Rafi’s a really fast runner. And he’ll be here soon and then he’ll be all right.

  12.

  10.17 a.m.

  ‘I’ve checked with all other units,’ Thandie tells Rose. ‘There’s been no sighting or indications of a third gunman.’

  They all want to believe there are no more gunmen; that Basi and Rafi are safe.

  ‘It must’ve been one of the two gunmen we know about who Basi saw in the Junior School building,’ Thandie says. ‘He shoots at the first copper to arrive then follows the head teacher through the woods. The head goes to the pottery room but the gunman goes on through the woods to Junior School and hunts for children, which is when Basi coming up from the beach sees him.’

  ‘But Junior School was empty so he went to the pottery room?’ George asks.

  ‘Yes. There was still a class of young children left to terrorize.’

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ George says, ‘is why didn’t he shoot the head teacher in the woods? Why allow him to come back to the school?’

  ‘I think this was very carefully planned,’ Rose says. ‘But the plan didn’t include the headmaster leaving Old School to warn anyone in the pottery room, because they didn’t predict anyone being in the pottery room. I think the gunman followed the headmaster, hoping he’d return and they could continue with their original plan.’

  ‘Because shooting him in Old School would cause more terror to the children and staff?’ Thandie says.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The tech teams have got mobile phone numbers that are on in the theatre and Old School,’ Amaal says. ‘The numbers have all been matched to kids and staff, as well as PC Beard’s personal number that’s on in the gatehouse. They’ve got one number in Old School which doesn’t match students or staff, so must be the gunman’s. They’re trying to trace an ID.’

  If they find out who he is, Rose has a chance of predicting what he’s going to do. But the gunman in Old School will be using a burner. He won’t use his own mobile; not going to make their life easy like that. Bastard.

  She watches the feed from the police surveillance UAV above the pottery room and can just make out the teacher pushing her clay tiles against the window; protection against flying glass but useless against bullets. The teacher’s name is Camille Giraud, Rose has found out. Camille’s colleagues say that she’s sensitive and artistic; their surveillance footage shows that she is also brave and indefatigable.

  It’s snowing harder, making it more difficult to spot a hostile surveillance drone. Rose had hoped if one was watching from the sky snow would get into its motor or blades and bring it down, as happened with the amateur drones, but apparently not; not if they’ve got one of near-military grade.

  It’s been an hour and two minutes since the head teacher was shot, and there have still been no more shots, no further threats, no demands. What are they going to do next, Rose? What do they want?

  Rose didn’t choose to study investigative forensic psychology because she was fascinated by criminal minds (unlike her fellow students, though Rose graduated top of her year); the minds she finds fascinating belong to composers, artists, playwrights, poets, engineers and architects and to people who have done extraordinary, but uncriminal, things – flown to the moon, landed a plane on a river, filmed a turtle for two years. She isn’t even interested in the criminal mind, she’s interested in people who work a nine-hour day and then volunteer in the evening, by the serious way children play, by teenagers’ restless newness and inventiveness. But understanding criminals’ minds, their cruelty, selfishness, viciousness, is necessary to help the people who do interest her, who matter to her.

  ‘We’ve got a mobile phone number match and a match to a number plate,’ Amaal says. ‘Same person.’

  And Rose’s first thought is, why not use a burner? Why use a car that can be traced to you? It feels off to her; again this feeling that one of the gunmen is playing them.

  * * *

  In the theatre, Daphne wants to believe it’s not true, that there’s been a ghastly, ridiculous mix-up. But it is true. Victor Deakin’s mobile is being used in Old School; his mother’s car is parked in Junior School’s car park where it has no business to be. Daphne knows this because she argued with Detective Sergeant Amaal Ayari, the gentle-voiced policeman who told her – no, she’d said to him, you must’ve made a mistake! A terrible, terrible mistake! You don’t know him. I do. He’d never do this!

  The mobile. The car.

  Detective Sergeant Amaal Ayari and his colleagues haven’t made a mistake.

  The gunman who shot Matthew, who’s terrorizing everyone in Old School, is someone Daphne has taught, who she’s hugged – Well done, Victor! Fantastic performance! Whose hair she’s tousled, as she does to all of them, just can’t resist when she’s walking past and they’re sitting down – Daphne, please, took me ages this morning; Gerroff; OMG, you’re like my mum! My granny! – but Victor just stood up and gave Daphne’s hair a quick ruffle back and made her laugh; a young man who charmed her totally.

  Who is he when he isn’t acting? This man in Old School with a gun?

  There’d been a phone call from him in April, out of the blue one evening, saying he’d had to leave because his parents couldn’t pay the fees. He’d asked her not to intervene and get herself in trouble over him; and she’d thought it was just like him to be thoughtful towards her. She’d petitioned Matthew anyway to give him a bursary – he was midway through his A-level course and she’d just cast him as the lead in the school play – but Matthew had been intransigent, had told her the subject was off-limits, and she’d had the weirdest feeling, right before she was outraged, that Matthew was sparing her feelings. What had Matthew known?

  She’d thought her seeing the best in people, particularly young people, was a good thing, something to be proud of, in a teacher especially. But it’s nothing to be proud of. Children and colleagues are in danger and she’s afraid she’s a part of it.

  Detective Sergeant Ayari had gently but firmly insisted that she told the kids about Victor and asked them for any information. They are sitting on the stage, shocked that it’s a former student, one of them. Two girls are whispering about fancying him, feeling
guilty for that now, dirtied by it. She hears Josh talking about ‘that Rohypnol thing’. Tim says, ‘Fuck’s sake, that was a joke.’

  ‘The police want to know who his friends were,’ Daphne says.

  ‘Loads of us were his friends,’ Tim says. ‘Thought we were. Fuck.’

  ‘But nobody close,’ Tracey says. ‘When you think about it, he went to parties and gatherings but he DJ’d, not really part of it, just making sure we all listened to his music, and he wasn’t anyone’s real friend, was he?’

  ‘He was Jamie’s,’ Antonella says. ‘But Jamie dumped him, didn’t he? Wouldn’t have anything to do with him.’

  Jamie is missing and Victor is murderous.

  ‘I’m sure Jamie is safely hiding somewhere,’ Daphne says, not sure, a shake in her voice. Get a hold of yourself, they’re all looking at you.

  ‘The police asked if he’s friends with Malin Cohen,’ she says.

  She’d taught Malin in junior school and hoped he’d grow out of his behavioural problems, but a year ago he’d tried to punch a teacher and been expelled.

  ‘God, no, Victor would never hang with Malin,’ Josh says. ‘Too fucking mental.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Antonella says. ‘And Victor …?’

  ‘Perhaps they were friends secretly, then, or some shit; or became friends after they left here.’

  ‘In a way it’s good it’s Victor,’ Luisa says. ‘When you think about it. Victor’s really fucked off with Mr Marr for not letting him stay here. Gone bloody mental about that. God. But he hasn’t got anything against anyone else, has he? Frank’s done nothing to him. He’s never even spoken to Frank. Wouldn’t talk to someone like Frank. And Malin too, if it’s him too. This is just against Mr Marr, against adults.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Daphne says. ‘Victor and his henchman’ – henchman, new words for Victor now – ‘I think they’ve done what they came to do. So we just need to wait it out. And while we do, let’s continue the rehearsal.’