“Sure about what, Christopher?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Well . . . about me. Are you sure you meant to say my name?”
Miss Sonata laughed. “One hundred percent. Now, Christopher, will you please not worry about anything and enjoy the moment?”
Relieved, Chris smiled. “Okay.”
“Good! Let’s get moving—there’s a lot we have to discuss,” said Miss Sonata, giving him a gentle nudge out the main door.
Chris stepped onto the playground and followed Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata over to the gates, behind which were parked two identical dark-blue cars. Standing in front of the leading car were two men in black suits, their arms folded. Chris’s eyes went immediately to the one on the left, easily the biggest man that Chris had ever set eyes on. His muscles bulged with the effort of folding his arms, and his suit jacket, which appeared to be two sizes too small, strained at the buttons. If he had been painted green, Chris thought, he would have looked uncannily like an action figure he had once owned. Chris turned his attention to the significantly smaller of the pair, a skinny man with a slicked-down side part, and then looked away uncomfortably when he realized that the man appeared to be staring directly at him, although it was impossible for Chris to be certain, due to the fact that the man was wearing sunglasses, which seemed a little unnecessary given that it was the middle of winter.
“Are those your bodyguards?” asked Chris.
“Yes, security is rather tight these days,” explained Sir Bentley.
Chris nodded, impressed. He was about to ask if they were carrying guns, but Miss Sonata interrupted him.
“Sir Bentley and I are going to go to the school now. Would you like to come with us and we can talk a little bit more about the place we’d like to offer to you? We’ll get a car to take you home when we’re done.”
“Yes,” said Chris, still stunned by the events of the last few minutes.
“Great. I’m going in the other car. I’ll meet you there,” said Miss Sonata, who then walked quickly away toward the car at the back. Chris nodded, following Sir Bentley over to the two waiting guards.
“Christopher, this is John,” said Sir Bentley. Chris looked up at the enormous man, who smiled down at him.
“Good afternoon,” said John as he opened up the car door.
“And this is Ron,” said Sir Bentley.
The smaller man gave a barely visible nod and then jerked his head round, as if expecting somebody to jump out at them at any moment.
“Right, let’s get going. Next stop, Myers Holt,” said Sir Bentley, getting into the car.
Chris squeezed into the seat behind John, who, despite having pulled the driver’s seat all the way back, still looked uncomfortably squashed behind the steering wheel, which appeared toy-sized in his giant hands. Ron, who was waiting impatiently for Chris to get himself seated, took one last look around him before closing the door behind Chris and running round the back of the car to the passenger side.
“Gamma One en route,” said Ron to nobody in particular.
John started the engine and drove off in the direction of Central London.
“Well, Chris,” said Sir Bentley, turning to face him, “I imagine this day is turning out to be quite an unusual one for you.”
Chris nodded. “That’s an understatement,” he said, and Sir Bentley chuckled.
“We’ll discuss everything in more detail when we get to Myers Holt. Miss Sonata has already spoken to your mother to explain that you’ll be with us this afternoon—she stopped by your house this morning to give your mother the good news.”
Chris looked surprised.
“What did she say?”
Sir Bentley put his hand on Chris’s shoulder kindly.
“She said that you were capable of making your own decisions, and I have no doubt that she’s quite right. She says that she will agree to whatever you want to do.”
“My mum is not very well . . . ,” Chris began to explain.
“Since your father died,” said Sir Bentley, “I know. Miss Sonata told me about your situation, and I must say, I’m impressed with how well you have coped. You should be proud of yourself.”
Chris shifted uncomfortably, unaccustomed to compliments.
“Well, perhaps this will be the day that your life takes a new turn. Now, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the ride. I have a few bits and pieces to take care of, and I’ll explain more when we reach Myers Holt.”
Sir Bentley pulled out his phone from the front of the briefcase by his feet and started tapping away. Chris sat back, looking out of the darkened window as they sped along the bus lane past the stationary traffic, and listened to Ron giving John a nonstop risk assessment of everything he could see.
“Ten o’clock, old woman by lamppost; three o’clock, teenager in a hoodie; blue car, black car, white van. Hold on, what’s this?! Eleven o’clock, man carrying a suspicious package . . .”
Chris sat up, alarmed, and leaned forward to have a look.
“At ease . . . just the postman,” said Ron, as the car drove straight past without slowing down. Ron turned back to face the front. “Silver car, black car. One hundred yards, red light. Fifty yards, red light. Twenty yards, red light, and stop, stop, stop . . . stop! Red light!”
John, who had not once broken the thirty-mile-an-hour speed limit, pulled slowly to a stop at the red light and, without a word, leaned over to turn the radio on.
“What are you doing? How are you going to hear what I’m saying with the radio on?” asked Ron.
“I’m not. That’s the point,” said John calmly. He pressed the on button and settled back into his seat as the sound of country music filled the car. Chris looked over at Sir Bentley, who was still working on his phone, completely oblivious to anything going on around him.
“Stand by your man . . . ,” sang John in a low, tuneless voice, tapping the steering wheel to the music.
Chris watched Ron get more and more agitated as he looked back and forth from the road to John, who was now lost in the music.
“John? John. John. John,” said Ron.
“John!”
John looked over at Ron. “Yes?”
“Green light.”
John looked up.
“Why didn’t you say so?” said John, pulling away.
In the rearview mirror Chris saw a small smile on John’s face, and Chris stifled a laugh as Ron folded his arms and turned away, sulking.
Ten minutes later, having driven the rest of the way in silence, John pulled up outside a row of tall Regency buildings and stopped.
Ron jumped out and opened the door for Sir Bentley. Chris shuffled along the seat and got out behind him. He looked up at Ron and smiled.
“Thanks,” he said, and Ron nodded without looking at him.
Chris followed Sir Bentley up the steep steps toward the front door, which he recognized from the brochure that Miss Sonata had shown him at his house. He stood patiently as Sir Bentley pressed the single gold buzzer by the door and waited, but there was no answer. Sir Bentley tried the brass knocker. This time Chris heard the sound of running footsteps and then a loud crash followed by thumping and scraping.
“Be right with you,” called a muffled voice. Finally the door opened and a plump, ruddy-faced lady appeared, a dripping sponge in one hand. She looked out of breath and was wiping the sweat off her forehead with the edge of her old pink apron. Behind her Chris could see the cause of the commotion—a stack of filing boxes that had fallen and had been hastily pushed back against the wall, their contents still strewn across the filthy, stained carpet.
“Sir Bentley, how are you, sir?” she asked in a thick Irish accent, giving a slight bow.
“Very well, thank you, Maura. And yourself?” asked Sir Bentley, stepping carefully over the pile of papers.
“Ah, well, getting there,” she said, leading them down the hallway, which was dimly lit by a single bare bulb. “Not much left to do now.”
&
nbsp; “Good, good,” said Sir Bentley, and walked into a room to their right. Chris followed silently and looked about as Maura dragged some plastic chairs over from the corner to the large, stained table in the middle of the room. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected but was nevertheless surprised by the state of the place. The yellow wallpaper—possibly once white, judging by the lighter squares that marked where pictures had once hung—was peeling and stained by the damp that was seeping through. Mismatched, faded curtains hung limply from the one window, which looked out over an empty concrete yard.
Maura wrung the sponge into an open black garbage bag and gave the table a quick wipe, which only made the stains on the table more visible.
“Well, that’ll have to do,” she said apologetically.
“Thank you,” said Sir Bentley, and turned to face Chris for the first time since they had entered the building.
“Maura, this is Christopher Lane. Christopher, this is Maura, the best cleaner on these shores.”
Chris looked at Sir Bentley to see if he was joking, but if he was, he was giving nothing away.
“Hi,” Chris said, and Maura gave him a big smile.
“Lovely to meet you, Christopher. Now, a cup of tea?”
Chris shook his head.
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll bring you some water, then. Your usual, Sir Bentley?” she asked, and Sir Bentley nodded. Maura left the room and Sir Bentley took a seat.
Chris sat down opposite him and looked up to see Miss Sonata at the door. He felt hugely relieved to see a familiar face and smiled as she sat next to Sir Bentley.
“Right, let’s get to work,” said Sir Bentley, placing his briefcase on the table and pulling out some papers. “Miss Sonata, would you like to start?”
“Thank you, Bentley,” she said, looking up at Chris. “Well, Christopher, welcome to Myers Holt, and congratulations.”
“Thanks,” said Chris.
“I must say, I’m not at all surprised that you’re here today. I knew there was something special about you the day that we met, and your test results proved that.”
Chris looked surprised and Miss Sonata laughed gently.
“Yes, really, your score was remarkable! I will give you a quick rundown of what we would like to offer you, and then you can have a think about what you want to do.”
Maura walked back in with a tray of drinks, and as she served them, Miss Sonata began to explain how Myers Holt had been reopened after a long closure.
“The school is designed for only a small number of children in order to ensure that you get a very personalized education, with a curriculum that is designed specifically for you. There will be five other children here, and you would all be expected to stay here during the week and return home on some weekends and all holidays. The place is offered to you until the end of this academic year, and then you would return to your old school—or, in your case, a new school, which we will help you find. While here, you would be expected to follow the rules and work hard at all your lessons. We will take care of the rest.”
“The rest?”
“Yes, your food, clothes, books. We have the best teachers in the country here to make sure that you will go on to achieve great things. In return, all we ask is that you don’t speak to anybody about the work that you are doing here.”
“Why?” asked Chris. Sir Bentley sat forward.
“We ask for your discretion because the methods we use here are unique and could be misused. You will learn more about this if you enroll.”
Chris nodded, intrigued.
“Do you have any questions for us?” asked Miss Sonata.
Chris thought for a moment.
“When would I start?”
“School begins on Monday. We’ll be starting at midday to give you all a chance to have a look around and get yourselves settled slowly. Lessons will begin on Tuesday.”
“And I have to sleep here?”
Miss Sonata knew what Chris was really trying to ask.
“We have taken your situation into account, Christopher. If you accept the place, we will make sure that your household bills will be taken care of and that the necessary repairs are undertaken in your home so that your mother is more comfortable.”
“But she doesn’t cook or eat if I’m not there.”
Miss Sonata gave a sympathetic smile. “I understand, Christopher; we will take care of that. You are only twelve years old, and your mother is an adult. It is time that you thought of what is best for you. Your mother will be fine. How does that sound?”
Chris took a moment to think, while Miss Sonata and Sir Bentley watched him patiently. He thought about the fact that he had been expelled that morning, about his mother at home, and about what going to this strange school might involve, and finally he came to a decision.
“I’m really sorry, but you don’t know my mum. She can’t manage, and I can’t leave her. I’m the only person she has,” said Chris.
Miss Sonata looked surprised, and Sir Bentley stood up.
“Christopher, this is your decision and it is not for us to put pressure on you, but please, will you reconsider? Perhaps if you were to look around the school?”
Chris shook his head sadly.
“There’s no point. It wouldn’t change anything. I can’t do it. I’m really sorry to waste your time.”
Miss Sonata pulled out a card from her briefcase and handed it to Chris.
“Here’s my number. Call me if you change your mind.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Chris, stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to go now.”
There was silence as Chris stood up. Chris didn’t know what else to say. He pushed the chair back.
“Christopher, wait,” said Sir Bentley. “Don’t make any decision now—give yourself the weekend to think it over. Your place will still be here for you.”
Chris wished that they weren’t being so kind; it made it so much harder to do what he knew was right.
“There’s no point—give the place to someone else. I can’t accept it.”
Sir Bentley shook his head, and Chris could see his frustration. “I don’t know if we made it clear enough how special you really are. We have tested thousands of children, and nobody came close to achieving what you did. If you choose not to come, then we won’t be taking a replacement. The school is designed for six pupils, but that is only if we find six pupils who are capable enough to take on our training.”
“Training?” asked Chris.
Miss Sonata looked up at Sir Bentley and shot him a strange glance.
Sir Bentley smiled dismissively. “Sorry, wrong choice of word. I mean schooling. Regardless, please give it some thought.”
Chris shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that I can’t, and nothing is going to change that.”
“Very well. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect your decision. It’s been a pleasure, Christopher,” said Sir Bentley, shaking his hand across the table. “John and Ron will be waiting outside. They’ll give you a lift home.”
“It’s all right,” said Chris, just wanting to be on his own. “I can get a bus home.”
“Are you sure?” asked Miss Sonata. “It’s really no problem.”
Chris shook his head. “I’d prefer to get the bus,” he said, standing up. “I’m really sorry if I wasted your time, and . . . thanks. Bye.”
“Good-bye, Christopher,” said Sir Bentley.
“Good-bye,” said Miss Sonata.
Chris walked out of the room and down the corridor back to the front door, shoulders hunched and head bowed low.
He opened the door to find Maura scrubbing the steps. She stood up to let him pass.
“See you next week, Christopher,” she said, ruffling his hair as he walked past. Chris looked up, and she saw the look on his face.
“Are you all right, love?” she asked, looking concerned.
Chris was about to tell her that he wouldn�
��t be coming back, then decided against it. He gave her a weak smile, then ran off before she had a chance to say anything more.
• • •
For the next few days, Chris felt as if his life had been put on pause. While his former classmates went about their lessons as normal, he cleaned the house, fixed the carpet down where it was coming up, and made all the meals, which he and his mother ate in silence in front of the television. His mother never mentioned the visit from Miss Sonata or the fact that Chris wasn’t at school, and Chris didn’t bring it up. All the while, Chris wondered what would happen now, expecting a knock on the door from social services at any moment to take him away. He knew that he had to find a place at a new school, but he didn’t know where to begin, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask Mr. Tuckdown for another chance.
On Sunday, five days after his meeting with Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata, Christopher came down from the attic, where he had spent the last three hours trying to fix a leak in the roof, to find his mother sitting in front of the television, as always. He watched her for a moment and, suddenly, for reasons he couldn’t explain, all the resentment and anger that had been building up suddenly spilled over. He stormed over to the television and switched it off.
“I was watching that. Turn it back on!” said his mother.
“No. You can’t just sit and watch television all day!”
If his mother was surprised by his shouting, she didn’t show it.
“Yes, I can. I have and I will, and it’s none of your business.”
“Yes, it is! You’re my mother—you’re supposed to look after me!”
“You can take care of yourself.”
“But I have to take care of you, too. It’s not fair!” he shouted at her.
His mother looked up at him, her face full of anger.
“Nobody asked you to. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you. All you do is moan, moan, moan.”
“Moan? I don’t moan. All I do is cook for you, clean your clothes, pay the bills, and take care of the house, and I never say anything. I turned down the place at that school, so I could stay here and look after you.”
Chris’s mother stood up and looked straight at him, and her face was twisted with hate and rage. At that moment Chris didn’t recognize the person looking at him. “Well, you’re not doing me any favors,” she said, staring at her son. “I don’t need you here trying to make me feel worse. As if I haven’t got enough to worry about. Life would be easier if you weren’t around.”
The Ability (Ability, The) Page 7