Fahim managed a half smile, but as he stood up and grabbed his school shoes from under the bed, his mother noticed that his hands were trembling.
‘Sweetheart,’ Yasmin said, as she pulled her son into a hug. ‘It’s just a school interview; you’ve got nothing to be scared of.’
7. RESPECT
‘Sit down,’ the headmaster of Warrender Prep said, as Fahim and Yasmin Hassam entered his cramped office. The school building dated from the 1700s and the low autumn sun caught the dust hovering in the air above the headmaster’s desktop.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs Hassam. Will your husband be joining us?’
Yasmin shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ashley. His business keeps him very busy.’
‘I can believe that,’ Mr Ashley smiled. He stroked his thick grey moustache before gathering up his black teacher’s gown and taking his seat across the desk.
‘Fahim has something to tell you,’ Yasmin said, as she gave her son a nudge.
The boy looked at his bare knees and spoke stiffly, betraying the fact that his mother had taught him the line on the drive to school. ‘I want to say sorry for my behaviour on Wednesday last week. Although I was provoked, my reaction was incorrect and I sincerely apologise to all the staff and pupils at Warrender Prep.’
The headmaster nodded and said, ‘Thank you, Fahim,’ before reaching across his desk and grabbing a thick folder which contained the youngster’s personal record. He looked up at Yasmin. ‘The problem is that this is not the first such incident involving Fahim. He was also suspended last term and this incident was exceptionally nasty.’
‘He has a lot of problems with teasing,’ Yasmin explained. ‘He’s a quiet boy at home. I never see him giving trouble to anyone.’
‘Martin Head suffered three broken fingers when Fahim bent them back,’ Mr Ashley said.
Fahim looked guiltily at his mother, who knew exactly who he’d learned that trick from.
‘What have you done about the bullying?’ Yasmin asked firmly. ‘I know what Fahim did was wrong, but you can’t ignore the root of it.’
The headmaster tipped back his seat and took a deep breath. ‘Warrender Prep is a small school, with a friendly atmosphere. I have questioned several boys in Fahim’s class, and frankly I find it difficult to believe that there is a campaign against Fahim on anything like the scale that he is suggesting: either because of his ethnic origin or for any other reasons.’
‘They’re hardly gonna admit it to you, are they?’ Fahim said bitterly. ‘And it’s not like it’s big things, beating me up or that. It’s just loads of little digs. Like saying that there’s a smell of curry when I get changed for rugby, or calling me towel head, or saying I’m a suicide bomber.’
‘They’ve also been hiding his things,’ Yasmin added. ‘Last term I had to buy three new pairs of trainers. Then on the last day before the summer holidays, someone put the three missing pairs back in his sports bag.’
‘I don’t deny that boys of this age can be mischievous,’ Mr Ashley nodded. ‘But the correct path is to report matters to the staff. There is never an excuse for violence.’
Fahim surged forward in his seat. ‘When I told Mr Williams about my trainers going missing the second time, he told me I’d lost them and he made me play basketball barefoot. Then they all trampled my feet.’
‘Don’t shout, Fahim,’ Yasmin said gently, as she pulled her son back into his seat before looking at the headmaster. ‘Do you see now how upset this bullying is making him? I’m sure it’s part of the reason he’s been having nightmares and other problems. Two nights ago I found him at the bottom of the stairs, soaked in sweat and shaking like a leaf.’
‘I’ve received the report from the educational psychologist Fahim saw on Friday,’ Mr Ashley said, as he pulled a stapled document out of the folder. ‘Dr Coxon notes that Fahim regularly acts up and seeks attention in class. He also seems to act with unnecessary aggression to mild provocation and the standard of his academic work has declined over the past year. Fahim’s problems at home, including nightmares and sleepwalking, suggest that he needs to begin regular sessions with a therapist and may even benefit from drug therapy to improve his concentration.’
‘I’m not mental,’ Fahim protested. ‘I’d be fine if everyone stopped having goes at me.’
Yasmin looked uncertain. ‘I suppose we could try and see if therapy helps, but I’m much less sure about drugs. I’ve read stories about them turning children into zombies.’
Mr Ashley closed the folder. ‘You can further discuss Fahim’s emotional needs with Dr Coxon if you wish. However, Warrender Prep has a demanding curriculum designed to prepare boys for leading public schools such as Eton and Rugby. I’ve discussed this with my colleagues and we no longer feel this school can provide the best education to someone with Fahim’s particular needs.’
It took Fahim a few seconds to untangle the words and realise that the headmaster was excluding him. Yasmin looked crushed, but Fahim had grown to loathe Warrender Prep and he felt like a huge weight had been lifted.
‘Bloody good,’ Fahim roared, as he stood up and eyeballed the headmaster. ‘Your school is shit anyway.’
‘Manners, Fahim,’ his mother said fiercely, but the boy wasn’t having it.
‘I don’t care if you believe me or not,’ Fahim yelled. ‘They did hide my stuff; they did bully me just like I said. You and the other teachers did nothing but try to cover up the reputation of your nice friendly school.’
Fahim expected his mother to whack him around the head, but as he looked across he saw that she actually looked quite proud of him. He didn’t want to see Mr Ashley’s stupid face any more and he strode out of the office and into the school’s main lobby. He found himself surrounded by three hundred years of history: lists of names on the wall, from former headmasters to honoured dead in the First World War, and glass cabinets filled with trophies, dusty pennants and moth-eaten rosettes.
‘Bloody school,’ Fahim shouted, startling a pale-faced ginger boy called David who was in his class. David sat on the spongy chair outside the nurse’s office, dressed in games kit and suffering with a badly studded calf. He was a skinny kid who copped as much trouble from Martin Head and his mates as Fahim did.
‘What’s up?’ David asked.
‘Just got expelled,’ Fahim grinned.
David was shocked. ‘Sorry to hear that,’ he said stiffly.
‘I’m not sorry,’ Fahim answered, as he realised to his surprise that nobody had come out of the headmaster’s office behind him. He could hear his mother’s voice, and although he couldn’t understand her words, he could tell from her tone that she was giving the headmaster a piece of her mind.
‘It’s cool that you busted Martin’s fingers,’ David said. ‘He thinks he’s so big. Now he can’t even write.’
Fahim shook his head as he eyed a small green fire extinguisher strapped to the wall. ‘He is big,’ Fahim said. ‘That’s our problem.’
David tutted. ‘Remember that time he booted Greg in the guts? And all he got was a detention. It’s total favouritism, just because he’s captain of the rugby team.’
‘You know what?’ Fahim said, as he ripped the fire extinguisher from its Velcro harness. ‘Screw this place.’
David yelped with shock as Fahim smashed the end of the metal extinguisher through the glass front of the main trophy cabinet. Then he dragged it out and totalled the face of a grandfather clock, before swinging at the photo frame with the 1994 South East Counties champion under-twelve hockey squad sitting inside it.
Mr Ashley steamed out of his office, but was so stunned at what he saw that he stopped as if he’d smacked an invisible wall.
‘Fahim,’ Yasmin shouted desperately as her son attacked the final cabinet, shattering the glass and taking out the wooden shelf inside. Half a dozen trophies and a rack of war medals clattered to the floor. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘What do I care?’ Fahim screamed, as the headmaster tried
to grab him. ‘I’m treating this school the way it treated me.’
‘Give me that now, Hassam,’ Mr Ashley shouted.
‘Stick it up your arse,’ Fahim sneered. He grabbed the hose and squeezed the trigger.
The headmaster stumbled backwards and wrapped his arms over his face as clouds of white powder blasted him.
‘Please, Fahim,’ his mother shouted in despair.
She was tearful, which made Fahim feel bad, but he was livid about the way he’d been treated and he didn’t want to give the headmaster the satisfaction of catching him. As Mr Ashley erupted into a coughing fit, Fahim turned and sprinted up the main staircase.
The extinguisher was heavy, but rather than drop it Fahim launched it at the stained-glass window on the landing. There was a huge crashing sound as the extinguisher punched a hole in the leaded glass.
After climbing the rest of the stairs, Fahim turned into the main first-floor corridor, with classrooms on either side of him.
‘After the little bugger,’ the headmaster roared as he struggled to the top of the stairs. He couldn’t give chase because he was still coughing.
The long hallway had an echo and the headmaster’s voice attracted the attention of several staff. A petite French teacher was first into the hallway and she made a lunge, but Fahim was running at full speed and she couldn’t get hold of him.
The next teacher was a scarier prospect. Mr Linton taught science, but he doubled as a rugby coach and he’d tackled plenty bigger than Fahim in his time. His huge right arm locked around the eleven-year-old’s waist and swept him off the floor.
‘Let go, you nonce,’ Fahim shouted.
Linton had hitched him off the floor, but as his left hand came around Fahim sank his teeth into the teacher’s white lab coat.
‘Calm down,’ Linton shouted, as he tried pushing Fahim’s mouth away. But the boy kicked, spat and sank his teeth deeper as some of the Year-Six kids from Linton’s science class began filtering into the corridor to see what was going on.
Another teacher charged in and grabbed Fahim by his ankles so that he was suspended between two men with his teeth still sunk into Linton’s upper arm. The science teacher was in considerable pain and lunged with his free hand, knocking Fahim’s head away and forcing him to open his jaws.
‘I hate you,’ Fahim screamed wildly. ‘I hate this school. You can all rot in hell.’
Fahim was snapping like a turtle and Mr Linton didn’t want to get bitten again. He let the boy go and stepped backwards. The other teacher still held Fahim in the air by his ankles, and the back of Fahim’s head hit the wooden floor with a thud. The writhing and spitting stopped instantly.
‘Blast,’ Mr Linton stuttered, cupping a hand over the blood seeping through his lab coat before kneeling over the unconscious boy.
‘He was practically foaming at the mouth,’ the other teacher said, as he drew a mobile phone from his jacket and dialled 999. ‘What else could we do?’
By this time Yasmin had reached the scene and she collapsed in front of her son. ‘Idiots,’ she screamed. ‘What have you done to my boy?’
8. SPECULATE
Dr McAfferty had dished out punishments to most of the kids on campus and at some time many of them – including James and Lauren – had cursed his judgement. But Mac’s days as chairman were far enough in the past for everyone to have put a rose-tinted glow around his memory and Mac had been very good at his job. He always listened to your point of view and was big enough to admit being wrong on the rare occasions when he was.
It was evening now and the news that Mac had lost his wife, daughter-in-law and two of his grandchildren was common knowledge on campus. It had affected everyone in some way, and even the cherubs who’d joined after Mac’s reign ended had picked up the bad vibe.
The dining-hall was usually filled with the sound of kids letting off steam at the end of a long day, but on this Monday night it was like someone had turned the volume down to number three and all but the youngest cherubs kept an eye on News 24.
Men in suits sat in the TV studio talking about who could have been responsible. Someone had dug up archive footage of the plane and a few of the bereaved had been brave enough to speak for the cameras. James kept looking up, hoping for a real breakthrough, as he sat between Dana and the others eating spaghetti Bolognese.
‘I hate twenty-four-hour news,’ he complained. ‘All they do is yap, yap, yap, but they won’t know anything for weeks and by then they’ll be covering some other story.’
‘Hello,’ a small boy said brightly, squeezing into the gap between James and Dana’s chairs.
‘Joshua,’ James smiled as he looked at the son of Chairwoman Zara Asker. ‘You’re getting so big!’
Joshua Asker was two months shy of his fourth birthday. He’d decided at a very early age that James was the greatest person in the universe.
‘James,’ Joshua said seriously. He clearly had something important to ask, but he was excited and could hardly spit out the next word. ‘After dinner.’
Everyone around the table looked at the youngster and James put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t bite.’
‘After dinner,’ Joshua repeated, ‘will you come to the lake with me and Daddy and Meatball?’
James smiled and pointed at Dana. ‘Can she come with us?’
Joshua thought for a couple of seconds before nodding. ‘But you’ve got to play with me,’ he said. ‘No kissing.’
Dana burst out laughing. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t kiss James. He’s disgusting.’
James took this as a cue to lean across and peck Dana on the cheek. Joshua screwed up his face and put his hands over his eyes.
James spoke to the whole table. ‘Who else fancies a walk down to the lake after dinner?’
Callum and Shakeel had too much homework, but Connor and a few others said yes. As soon as Lauren found out that the Askers’ dog Meatball was on campus she joined the plan, along with Bethany and a few members of their crowd.
It was only a walk, but Joshua had put himself in charge. He went off to put his coat and hat on before coming back and ordering several people to eat faster. All the while he grazed from the bag of stale bread one of the chefs had given him to feed the ducks in the lake.
In the end Joshua and Meatball led out a pack of eleven cherubs for the two-kilometre walk towards the lake. Joshua’s dad, Ewart Asker, trailed the group with his daughter Tiffany asleep in a buggy. It was a nice evening, although the breeze had some bite to it.
While Lauren and the younger cherubs ran around throwing sticks for Meatball and mucking about, James found himself strolling along the concrete path beside Ewart with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He’d had a few run-ins with Ewart over the years, but they got on better these days.
‘Has Zara heard anything about the crash that isn’t on the news?’ James asked.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ Ewart said, shaking his head. ‘All I know is that she went down to London for an emergency meeting of the anti-terrorist committee.’
‘So they definitely think it’s a terrorist thing?’
‘They’ve got to work on that assumption,’ Ewart said.
‘Poor Mac,’ James said, as he took a deep breath and stared thoughtfully at the sky. ‘His wife was only sixty-two. They could have had years together.’
‘That’s sad,’ Ewart nodded. ‘But at least she’d lived some kind of life. Angus and Megan weren’t even teenagers.’
‘Did you ever meet them?’
‘Just the once,’ Ewart said. ‘Mac had a barbecue a few summers back and they were running around in the garden with all his other grandkids.’
‘I heard that he’s got six kids and at least a dozen grandkids,’ James said. ‘I guess it’s some consolation that he’s got other family.’
‘There’s something else I wanted to ask you, actually,’ Ewart said. ‘A sort of favour.’
James was curious. ‘What?’
> ‘Joshua has always liked you. With us being away on missions, Zara having Tiffany and then getting promoted to chairwoman, we’ve never had a chance to get the kids christened.’
Meatball whizzed between them, in pursuit of a rubber ball with a chime jangling inside.
‘Crazy dog,’ James grinned.
Ewart cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Zara and I were cherubs, so neither of us has family. We’d like to ask if you’d be interested in becoming Joshua’s godfather.’
James was flabbergasted, but he broke into a big smile. ‘Yeah, I guess … I mean, I’d be honoured. To be honest, I never really thought you liked me much.’
‘Meh,’ Ewart shrugged. ‘You and I have had our share of problems, but you saved my life. That counts for a lot. And you’ve always had time for Joshua when a lot of kids your age would have told him to buzz off. He doesn’t have any older brothers or cousins, and when you go on a mission he always asks when you’re coming back. You mean a lot to the little fella.’
‘He’s really grown lately,’ James said. ‘I haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks and I’d swear he’s got bigger.’
‘He’s had a little spurt,’ Ewart agreed. ‘Unfortunately he’s starting to ask some pretty awkward questions.’
James smiled. ‘What, like where babies come from and stuff?’
‘I can handle those,’ Ewart smiled back. ‘But he asks questions about campus. Like, he asked why nobody on campus has a mummy or daddy and he asks where we are when we go away on missions.’
‘I guess he’s getting to the age where he can’t come on to campus.’
Ewart lowered his voice. ‘Zara and I are in discussion with the ethics committee about changing CHERUB’s admission policy.’
‘So that your kids can become agents?’ James asked.
Ewart nodded. ‘And children of other ex-cherubs and members of staff. It’s always been a struggle to recruit enough agents. This might be a partial solution.’
James didn’t seem sure. ‘But wouldn’t you feel different? I mean, would a parent feel right sending their kid off on a dangerous mission? And wouldn’t it be weird if some kids on campus had parents while others were orphans?’
CHERUB: The Sleepwalker Page 5