‘Take it easy, Boodle,’ I called.
She showed no sign of slowing down. Oh, frik, I thought. Is there time to take her into the trees? That’ll use up some of this energy. I snatched a look at my watch: 7.02. Boodle suddenly raced after a squirrel and I nearly lost my balance completely. There’d have to be time. I geared down and pumped the pedals even harder.
We climbed up and up the track, every now and again catching glimpses of Hambledon below. Usually I loved coming out here. It felt completely isolated and if you didn’t look west, down the slope where the town began, you’d think you were in the middle of nowhere. But there wasn’t a moment to lose in day dreaming now.
At the top of the hill the track ended in a wide circle and the trees had been felled here and there so you could see right across to where the sea sparkled on a distant horizon. This morning there was nothing visible in the mist. I let Boodle off the lead for a minute – we could do a little loop through the trees, then back into town after Arnold.
Boodle was ecstatic. She darted back and forth, her feathery tail whacking vigorously to and fro, in search of more squirrels and whatever had made those strange holes at the base of tall beech trees. And then she was gone.
‘Boodle!’
Snuffle snuffle, happy bark . . . from far away. 7.06.
Frik!
‘Boodle! Get your hairy butt here right now!’ I shrieked. Dammit. Now we’d have to go through the woods and cut back into the town through the crematorium yard. Thank goodness it was morning. What could be scary about a crematorium yard in the morning? If there is smoke, I can just tell myself it’s mist, I thought, admiring my courage.
Wrapping the dogless lead into a circle round my shoulder, I rode as fast as I dared through the trees, whistling sharply for Boodle. At last she galloped over, then ran alongside the bike happily.
I followed a small rough path cut deep into dry earth, trying not to waggle the wheel off course. I was no mountain biker. Kids from school loved coming up here to try out the trails and there was a bunch of homemade ramps and jumps in a dell nearby that was a crush of flying bikes on a Saturday afternoon.
I could see the enormous stone chairs of Coven’s Quarter up ahead, looming out of the morning mist like something out of The Lord of the Rings. Massive slabs of rock just higher than the ground that could seat about three adults side by side, with great boulders on either side for armrests. The backrests were the standing stones, reaching up four or five metres. There were seven chairs in all, placed in a rough circle at the bottom of a vast hollow that the pines and beech trees kept a respectful distance from. I always felt that my chair was the narrowest one with the highest backrest. ‘Thronelike,’ Tam had commented when I’d declared my spot at a picnic we’d had here last summer.
My stomach twisted at the thought of the development that might take its place. Grandma Bird would never have let it happen. Never. She always said it was one of the few places left where real magic was still possible.
No time to absorb its energy today. I lurched through the undergrowth, Boodle right at my side now, her tongue at last lolling out the side of her mouth, and whisked my hand across the back of my chair as we sailed by.
‘Give us luck,’ I said softly, and then we were off at a diagonal downhill. I could just make out the tips of the tall peaked rooves of the Setting Sun Retirement Home below, then nothing until the immense chimneys of Cluny’s Crematorium. No smoke wisped from the top of them this morning, but Boodle slowed with a whimper anyway. I didn’t waste a moment. Throwing down the bike, I clipped the lead back on, rolling it up till it was bunched in my left fist, and took stock of the best way down.
‘Ready, Boodle?’ I asked. She turned her head and blinked her big brown eyes, tongue still lolling. I grinned and got back on the bike. This could work.
‘Let’s go!’ I whooped, and we were off.
We sped downhill at a million miles an hour till at last the tarmac of North Road appeared through the trees. Skidding to a halt, I checked my watch.
7.13.
Frik, frik. Seven minutes! But the hardest part was over. Slipping and sliding in haste down the bank, I caught my forearms and shins on a thousand nettles and Boodle had a trail of some green creeper round her neck, like I’d garlanded her specially. No time to address her accessories. We threw ourselves out on to the road and pelted down the hill, wheels a-blur, Boodle’s breath starting to gasp faintly. Then left into Stanton. I could see Arns just ahead: he was early, brilliant boy, jogging slowly now on the approach to the corner.
I curved my mouth into a piercing whistle and blasted twice. Arns didn’t even look back. From what I could see the fake sweat patches had widened, though he eased effortlessly into one-hundred-metre-sprint pace before I’d even started the second whistle. I slowed the bike and pulled Boodle in hard. The timing had to be perfect. By the time we’d got to the corner, Arns was halfway up the hill and far closer to the dining halls than I’d thought.
Fffff! I gave it everything, which took some doing, because I couldn’t adjust the gears while trying to keep Boodle on a tight leash, and balance and steer at the same time. Boodle sensed some kind of urgency and got Arns in her sights. She started to pull ahead.
I glanced up.
Girls had all but exited the dining halls now and hung around in groups under the trees, or sat on the outside walls, just like the St Alban’s guys had done yesterday. You could see the best spot to sit straight away and, being one of the popular ones, Mona had prime seat. I glimpsed her laughing at something a friend was saying before I put more muscle into pedalling.
The approach to the hall on Mason was a killer uphill and I’ve got no idea how I came abreast of Arns at the critical moment.
He was on the pavement now, coming up to Mona. I made sure I was a little past him, just opposite Mona, before I yelled, ‘Hey, Arns! Thanks for helping me with the relativity stuff yesterday. You’re a science genius!’
Arns raised his hand in acknowledgement as I braked elegantly and unleashed Boodle.
It was too, too perfect.
Boodle had already twisted round and she leapt towards Arns just as he loped past Mona. Girls scattered in every direction and Mona twisted to drop her legs over the other side of the wall as Arns thumped hard against it, his head sounding on the grey stone with a painful thwack!, two furry paws once again firmly on his chest.
He pushed away from the wall with one hand, dazed, the other hand holding the back of his head, and Boodle’s paws raked down his chest.
‘Nyargh!’ yelled Arns as the shirt gave way, two huge rips showing off fabtastic – fabtastic! – pectorals to their best advantage.
‘Boodle!’ I called feebly. ‘Get back here now! You okay, Arnold?’
Arns staggered, both hands on his head now, chest totally visible.
Then, to my shame, Boodle jumped again, and ripped that precious Stones shirt from neckline to hem, scratching ribbons of blood across Arns’s torso.
I got to him first, bike thrown down on the verge, and tried to haul Boodle off him, but no chance.
‘Bad dog!’ I yelled when she refused to move.
‘Blood,’ whimpered Arns, and passed out.
I stepped back and pulled the manky tennis ball from my pocket. How could Arns breathe with Pen’s hound on his chest? My fingers fumbled. Damn this tiny pocket! I pulled and swore till the ball came loose and then I bounced it once, twice, three times, on the pavement. Pock, pock, pock. At the first bounce Boodle was at my feet grovelling for a game of throw and fetch. I pulled back my arm and threw as hard as I could along the pavement.
Boodle the Poodle was off.
Mona, to her credit, had swung back over the wall and now reached out for Arnold’s forehead.
‘He’s very hot,’ she said.
Duh, I thought. Like he hasn’t just sprinted up this cliff face of a hill.
‘He certainly is,’ tittered a tall blonde specimen.
‘He needs medical atte
ntion,’ I said urgently.
Mona turned to the blondie. ‘Hurry, Barbie!’ she said. ‘Call Nurse Wilton now!’ (BARBIE? Seriously?)
Barbie The Useless But Incredibly Beautiful just stood there, but several others set off at a run, their perfectly highlighted hair flying out behind them like the locks in a salon shampoo ad.
‘Thanks,’ I said to Mona, who was now expertly checking for a pulse.
‘Your dog!’ she said.
‘She’s usually so good!’ I lied. ‘I can’t believe this happened!’ I looked down at Arns’s chest. The scratches were mainly welts, not deep at all, and only bleeding here and there. Impressive wounds for the moment, though.
Boodle the Poodle came pelting back in a flurry of hair and slobber. She flopped down beside me, releasing a soggy tennis ball. A long string of drool leaked from her mouth on to Arns’s arm. She whined and plonked a massive paw on his head.
Arns’s eyes flickered and he groaned.
‘Mona,’ he mumbled.
‘What did he say?’ asked Mona querulously. ‘Did he say Mona?’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘He said, “Hold her.” Come on, Boodle,’ I commanded, pulling on her collar. ‘Arns is going to be fine. Here comes the nurse.’
And, yes indeed, the nurse was coming at full pace, with one of those stretcher thingies, which she plonked down alongside Arnold. She got some girls to ease him on to it while firing questions at the rest of us.
‘What happened here, girls?’
‘Uh, my friend was running and my dog got a bit excited and knocked him into the wall,’ I blathered, watching how the lecherous Barbie was lifting Arns by the hips on to the stretcher.
The nurse glanced up at me and then across at Boodle the Poodle, who was standing at full height now, nose in the air, still drooling round teeth and tennis ball. The nurse swallowed.
‘Did he bump his head on the wall?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Hard,’ said Mona, narrowing her eyes at Boodle.
‘Know if he’s had a tetanus shot in the last ten years?’ asked the nurse with her eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting an answer.
The girls lifted the stretcher on her signal.
‘He has,’ I said confidently.
‘Really,’ said the nurse.
‘Really. We were just talking about it yesterday. You know, discussing childhood injuries, the whole relativity theory, that kind of thing. The Science Fair has got us all thinking out the box,’ I babbled.
Arns moaned again.
‘What’s his full name?’ demanded the nurse, leading the way into the school buildings, past the dining halls.
I cleared my throat. ‘Arnold Radbert Trenchard.’
‘Do you know how to get hold of his mother or father?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mona, will you take this young lady to your housemistress to call them? We’ll be in the sanatorium.’
‘Yes, Nurse Wilton.’
The little posse of stretcher toters carried on down the avenue and I followed Mona left down another path of dappled shade. Boodle nudged me gently and licked my hand. I swallowed hard.
Mona glanced at me. ‘I think he’s going to be fine.’
‘It’s just that’ – I coughed – ‘he hit his head so hard.’
‘It sounded painful,’ agreed Mona.
‘Uh-huh. But Boodle didn’t mean it. Did you, Boodle?’
I clipped her lead back on and followed Mona up the steps and into the building, wondering if Pen had woken my parents up yet. Probably not. Mum would be late into work. I hoped I could make more than just one call.
The housemistress was really sweet, and with only a couple of clicks I was put through distressingly quickly to Sergeant Trenchard. Then I had to explain that my sister’s dog – no animal of mine – had knocked her son’s genius head into a flinty wall.
‘H-he may be hurt,’ I stammered, ‘but I don’t think so.’ My voice went a little creaky. ‘I think he only passed out because of the blood. You know seeing it. Not, um, blood loss.’ A pause. I scrunched my eyes closed, waiting for nuclear fallout, but Sergeant T did not react as expected to my ‘blood’ observations and sounded more mother and less sergeant when she asked where to find us. I explained to turn left at the abandoned bike and keep going, and she said she was on her way.
Then I phoned home. Mum answered.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘I just went out for some fresh air cos I wasn’t feeling so good and I’ll be back soon. I called Mike early this morning to say I wouldn’t be at the library today.’
‘You okay, Lu? You shouldn’t have gone out if you were feeling unwell. Where are you now?’
‘You’re right. I should have stayed in bed. I’m just having a rest at PSG. Stopped off to let you know.’
‘Oh. Do you need me to come and get you? Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ve got my bike and Boodle and we’ll be home in half an hour. Okay?’
‘Okay, Lu. Call me at the office when you get in, though. I’m leaving now.’
‘Really? This early?’
‘I’ve got that meeting, remember?’ said Mum, her voice anxious. ‘With Sophie, her parents and Security, to talk about the missing documents. Thought it best to get that out of the way before anyone gets in.’
‘Mike was at work before six thirty this morning,’ I said.
‘What?’ said Mum.
‘Yep, he answered when I phoned to leave my sick message.’
‘Gosh. That’s early.’
‘I’ve got to go, Mum. I’ll see you later.’
‘Bye, Lula. Call me if you need me. And get some rest.’
I hung up, rubbed my eyes and turned to Mona and the housemistress. ‘Arnold’s mum is on her way,’ I said, trying not to think about how angry a police sergeant could get with a person.
‘Don’t worry about your friend,’ said Mona as we made our way back to the sanatorium. ‘I’m sure there’s no permanent neurological damage.’ She smiled.
I seized my chance. ‘Good – he would never forgive me if he lost his grasp on the theory of relativity.’
Mona laughed. ‘Funny you should say that . . .’
‘Not funny at all,’ I said quickly. ‘Arnold is a science genius. He helped me yesterday with a load of project stuff I needed to get done before term started.’ I crossed my fingers and hoped I was still red enough from the bike ride to hide my shameful flushes.
Mona blinked rapidly. ‘Really? I should know all about that, but I . . .’ she trailed off. ‘Here’s the san. You’d better leave your dog out here. Will she be, um, okay?’
‘She’ll behave, if that’s what you’re asking,’ I said. ‘Sit, Boodle.’ Boodle thankfully sat, and I tied her lead securely to the railing outside.
We went inside. It was cool, though sunlight streamed through high arched windows. I felt sweaty and underdressed compared to the clean crispness of everything, and smoothed my hair down with the flat of my hand.
‘He’ll be through here,’ said Mona, and she pushed open some French doors. We walked into a room of six beds, three down each side. They were all empty but for the last in the far corner under one of the enormous windows. Arnold lay propped up on pillows answering Nurse Wilton’s questions. He turned when he heard us come in and I watched his face freeze when he saw Mona.
‘Hi,’ said Mona at his bedside.
‘Does your head hurt?’
‘Agony,’ said Arns. Then he smiled at her, and my chest suddenly hurt with envy at the I like you look they shared. (What’s with the intimacy when they don’t even know each other?)
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Nurse Wilton, going across the room to open the door for Sergeant Trenchard and Dr McCabe.
(Not Dr McCabe! He was always first on the scene to patch up the boys I’d had a hope of kissing – Gianni Caruso’s fingers being the latest and most memorable incident – and I just couldn’t take that look on his face
whenever he saw me now.)
Sergeant T came clopping crisply across the floor. There was something different about her, but I felt too nervous to look at her directly. She dropped a kiss on Arnold’s forehead. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine, Mum. Thanks for coming.’
‘Hi, Sergeant Trenchard,’ I ventured.
‘Call me Hilda,’ said his mum, with a pat on my arm. I felt like crying, suddenly.
‘Okay,’ I said, and bent to tie the lace of my trainer.
‘I’m Mona de Souza,’ I heard above me.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Arns’s mum with no hint of surprise or recognition. ‘I’m Hilda Trenchard. Hilda.’
I surfaced with a sniff to see Mona nod, smiling.
‘You look pretty today, Hilda,’ said Dr McCabe, tightening the armband of the blood-pressure kit round Arnold’s bicep. ‘And you’re looking great too, young man.’ His eyes flicked over to where I stood. ‘Despite the head injury. Despite the wounds.’
I flushed.
There was a little uncomfortable silence.
‘Elsa got hold of me this morning, Edward,’ replied Sergeant T. She smiled and winked at me from contact-lensed eyes. Her wild afro was pulled back neatly into a chignon and she was wearing mascara and pale-pink lipstick. Ha! She’d had a makeover too! Good on Elsa. Arnold’s mum really did look pretty.
‘Blood pressure’s fine,’ said Dr McCabe, taking the stethoscope from his ears. He leaned forward and shone a light into each of Arns’s pupils. ‘No concussion, although Nurse Wilton said you were unconscious?’
‘Erm,’ said Arns, looking at me frantically.
‘Mona,’ I said, drawing her aside, while Arns muttered something about a sensitivity to the sight of blood, ‘where can I get a bowl or something for Boodle the Poodle to drink water out of?’
With a reluctant glance back at the bed and a little wave, Mona took me out of the sick bay to the supply room behind the front desk. She found a large disposable plastic bowl, filled it with water from the basin tap next door and took it outside, patting Boodle cautiously on the head.
‘Why do you call her Boodle the Poodle?’ she asked.
‘Just because she’s so not a curly-haired pooch. Have you ever seen a bigger dog?’
Kisses for Lula Page 6