by Ruth Thomas
‘Who’s got money missing?’ she enquired wearily in the Staff Room. But none of the other teachers were short. Even the Dinner Money totals were all correct that week.
‘You’re thinking of Julia Winter and Nathan Browne, I suppose,’ said Miss Phillips, who taught Class 1. ‘I noticed them flashing money around in the playground yesterday. I meant to mention it, but I forgot. Wonder where they got it from.’
‘No clues at the moment,’ said Mrs Henrey gloomily, ‘but I shall obviously have to find out.’
She tackled Julia first thing that afternoon.
‘I hear you’ve had some money to spend, Julia.’
Flushed with success, and happy, Julia was unworried at first. ‘Yes Mrs Henrey, it was my birthday.’
‘When was that?’
‘Last Saturday.’
‘But Julia, your birthday is in April, and this is June – nearly July.’
Julia’s face fell. The first uneasy premonitions of disaster cast their shadow over her bright world. ‘It was Saturday, Mrs Henrey.’
‘No, Julia. You were eleven on – let’s see now – the fifteenth of April. It says so in the register.’
‘It must be wrong in the register.’
‘I can easily ask your mother.’
Julia said nothing. What could she say?
‘So where did you get all that money from?’
Julia bit her lips together. When you were in a tight corner, that was what you did. You closed your mouth up tight, and refused to give yourself away.
‘Nathan’s got money as well, Mrs Henrey,’ Paul called out. ‘He’s got a lot money.’
‘Yeah, he has,’ a few other traitors agreed. The band-waggon was clearly over; it was time to come down on the side of the angels.
‘Nathan?’ said Mrs Henrey.
Nathan did not answer, but the expression on his troubled face showed the confusion of feelings that were boiling up inside him. Hurt and rage chased each other round and round in his mind. Hurt that his new ‘friends’ should turn against him so soon; anger at Julia, because her judgement had been wrong.
Nathan and Julia had not spoken to one another all week, except for a brief moment when Julia repaid the money she owed him. But Nathan had been watching Julia closely, as much as anything for a lead as to what it was safe to do. And now she had been proved mistaken, Nathan felt bitter and let down. Julia was supposed to be good at these things. What was the use of her, if she wasn’t good at practical things, like how to spend money safely?
‘Stand up, Nathan,’ said Mrs Henrey.
Nathan stood.
‘Where did you get your money from? You haven’t had a birthday, have you. Your birthday isn’t till August.’
Silence. Nathan’s face was now a sullen mask.
‘All right – how much money have you got?’ The piggy hairs on Mrs Henrey’s mole went up and down as she spoke. Nathan watched the hairs dumbly.
‘I seen a five pound note,’ Sanjay offered.
‘Nathan?’
No answer, no response at all. Looking from one stubborn face to the other, Mrs Henrey decided she was unlikely to break either Julia or Nathan unaided. Could they be in something together, she wondered? It seemed improbable, but you never could tell. Mrs Henrey decided to refer the whole matter to the headmaster. She sent a message via Paul, asking Mr Barlowe if he could manage to spare a few moments to help sort out something important. Paul was only too happy to carry this request, and the whole class waited in the pleasurable anticipation of seeing someone else, not them, in trouble.
Mr Barlowe came, looking harassed and impatient. It was Friday afternoon, and he was looking forward to his weekend. There was already a large backlog of matters to be dealt with before he would be free to go home, and a new problem was the last thing he wanted. He came into Class 8 now, smoothing sparse hairs over a shiny dome, and jingling the keys at his waist as he always did when he was annoyed.
‘Yes, Mrs Henrey?’ Mr Barlowe had a high-pitched voice, which went higher in times of stress. The rising pitch of Mr Barlowe’s voice was a danger signal which the children of the school had learned to recognize. Julia and Nathan heard it now, and braced themselves for the attack.
‘Julia and Nathan have money,’ said Mrs Henrey, ‘which they don’t seem able to account for.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Barlowe. He frowned at Nathan, and the keys at his waist went jangle, jangle. ‘Come on now, boy, let’s get it over. You’ve got too much money, now where did it come from?’
Silence.
‘Nathan, I’m speaking to you. Now don’t waste any more of my time, please.’
The gaze from Mr Barlowe’s keen eyes was unnerving. Nathan opened his mouth, muttered something, and closed it again.
‘Speak up, speak up, I didn’t hear you.’
‘I said I got it from my Post Office book,’ said Nathan, wildly and quite rudely.
‘You haven’t got a Post Office book,’ said Paul.
‘Yes I have,’ said Nathan, stung. He had had one once, a long time ago. ‘You don’t know what I got, you don’t know nothing!’
‘He hasn’t got one,’ said Sanjay, in an audible whisper.
Nathan lost his temper. ‘I have then!’ he snarled at Sanjay and hurled himself across the desks to get at his tormentor.
Mr Barlowe grabbed Nathan by the scruff of the neck and hauled him, kicking and struggling, out of the room. Mr Barlowe was a short man, but his arms were enormously strong. ‘You can come too, Julia,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘We can sort your problem out at the same time.’
Her lips drawn into a pout, Julia slouched after Mr Barlowe and Nathan towards the office, along the corridor and down the stairs, frightened all the way.
Although Mr Barlowe had his funny ways, he was not a cruel man, and when he wasn’t worried by having too many things to do, he could be quite wise. By the time the three of them had arrived at the office, he had controlled his annoyance at having his work interrupted, and decided how he was going to tackle this matter. He seated himself in his chair, because that was the position of greatest authority, and made the two suspects stand in front of him. Miserable and defiant, they faced him across the table.
‘All right now,’ said Mr Barlowe. His voice had returned to its normal pitch. It was kind now – gentle and reasonable. ‘All right now, I’m going to ask you once more. You’ve both got more money than you’re supposed to have. A lot more, I’m sure, or Mrs Henrey wouldn’t be worried about it. Now you understand, you’re intelligent children, that we have to know where the money comes from. You’re going to have to tell the truth in the end, so you might as well tell it now . . . Julia?’
Mr Barlowe’s voice was quite soothing. His face was almost smiling. Julia relaxed, just a little bit. Perhaps she could fool him, after all.
‘My uncle gave it to me,’ she tried.
‘For your birthday?’
‘No, not my birthday. Not really my birthday. Just a present.’
‘How much money did he give you, Julia?’
Julia thought for a long moment. ‘Five pounds,’ she said at last, hoping that would be a reasonable amount to admit to.
‘Five pounds! Lucky girl – and your mother let you spend all that? My goodness, when I was your age I should have been made to put most of it in the bank. How much did you spend, by the way?’
Julia worked it out slowly, calculating on her fingers. ‘I think four pounds and a bit,’ she said.
‘I see. Did you bring a bag to school this morning?’
‘A bag, Sir?’
‘Yes, you know, a plastic bag or a carrier bag of some kind.’
‘Yes.’ Julia was wary now, her defences up again. But the bag was safe ground. She had no need to worry about the bag.
‘Go and fetch it, please.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Julia toiled back up the stairs and along the corridor, to fetch the bag from her classroom.
‘Now, what about yo
u, Nathan. How much money did you have?’
Silence.
‘I’m waiting.’
‘Five pounds.’ It was as good as anything. Mr Barlowe had apparently accepted that from Julia.
‘Oh you had five pounds as well. Where did you get it from, Nathan?’
Nathan’s mind was a blank. Try as he might, he could not concoct a suitable story to cover himself.
‘Nathan, five pounds did not fall from the sky, did it? You must know where it came from. Now, either you tell me or I can ask your father to come and see me on Monday. Which is it to be?’
Nathan was much more afraid of his father than he was of Mr Barlowe. Mr Barlowe could scold, suspend, expel even. But he would not take off his belt and lay about Nathan’s legs and backside. Given enough provocation his father, Nathan knew, would do just that.
‘Well?’
He could try the one about the Post Office book again, but that hadn’t gone down very well when he tried it before. ‘My uncle gave it to me, didn’t he,’ said Nathan desperately.
‘Oh you’ve got a kind uncle too! Fortunate lad, fortunate lad. . . . Ah, here’s Julia back again. Let’s see what’s in Julia’s bag, shall we?’
A scarf, a few pencils, a packet of fruit chews and three bags of crisps.
‘I see you don’t intend to be hungry, Julia. Turn out your pockets please, Nathan.’
Nathan did so. The contents of his pockets were innocent, but his heart was sinking nevertheless.
‘Now your shoes.’
Nathan took off his left shoe and stood lopsided, his eyes behind the thick lenses pleading hopelessly.
‘The other one please.’ Mr Barlowe’s voice was purring.
There was no escape. Nathan took off his shoe, and inside were two five pound notes and some coins.
‘Well now – that must be pretty uncomfortable to walk round on,’ said Mr Barlowe. ‘And now I think we’d better have a look at your desk, Julia. Come on, follow me.’
Inside Julia’s desk, hidden in the corner under all her books, was one ten pound note, two one pound coins and some odds and ends of silver.
‘That’s a lot of change from five pounds,’ observed Mr Barlowe. ‘Come along back to the office. My word, you’ve both got some explaining to do.’
Once more, the children trailed disconsolately after the headmaster.
‘Where did you say this money came from, Julia?’
Silence. Julia’s mouth was a tight, stubborn line.
‘Nathan?’
Silence.
‘All right. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You leave all this money with me over the weekend. I’ll look after it for you – it’ll be quite safe. Then on Monday we’ll have your parents in. They’ll be able to confirm that the money was a present, won’t they? Won’t they, Nathan?’
Nathan took a breath, seemed about to say something, changed his mind and shrugged instead.
‘Have you anything to tell me, Julia?’
Julia sniffed.
‘Back to your class then.’
They went, their steps like lead, Julia glared at the stairs, and Nathan glared at Julia. ‘Rat-bag,’ he hissed, angrily.
‘What you call me that for?’
‘Because you are. It’s all your fault we got caught. What you want to buy all them things for?’
‘You done it too.’
‘Yeah well . . . you done it first.’
‘So?’
Nathan was being unfair, but at that moment Julia hardly cared. All she could see stretching ahead of her, away and away into the future, was emptiness and loss. For a brief moment she had known popularity. The money had bought popularity, and if all the money was to be taken away from her, she would probably never have a friend again. If only it might be possible to hold on to the money in the tree.
‘I’m not going to tell about the rest,’ she said emphatically. ‘I’m not giving none of that back. I don’t care how much they ask, I’m not telling.’
Nathan gave her a grudging nod of approval.
‘I’m not telling neither,’ he said.
Of course he wasn’t going to tell. The money was for his house, where he would be able to live in splendid isolation one day. Well – perhaps not complete solitude. He’d probably invite people to come in sometimes, but they’d have to go away again when he said.
‘What we going to say on Monday then?’ said Julia, pausing at the top of the steps.
‘I dunno. Could we say we won the Pools?’
‘Nah, children ain’t allowed to do the Pools. Wish Mr Barlowe wouldn’t tell our mums.’
‘Yeah, so do I wish that. What we going to say then?’
‘We’ll think. We’ll tell each other Monday what we’ve thought.’
Julia worried all through the weekend. She moped about and wouldn’t eat and got on her mother’s nerves. It wasn’t just the possible loss of the money that was worrying her. Dimly she was beginning to suspect that she and Nathan could be in a lot of trouble for keeping it anyway. A lot of trouble.
‘For gawd’s sake, what’s the matter with you?’ Mrs Winter complained. ‘You look like a wet week.’ She had a new boyfriend whom she wanted to impress, and a miserable daughter drooping about the place would be enough to put anybody off. Not that Julia was a particularly attractive sight at the best of times. ‘How did I ever come to have a daughter like you?’ Mrs Winter said impatiently.
‘I didn’t ask you to have me,’ Julia stormed at her mother. ‘I wish you never had me. I wish I was dead.’
‘Don’t talk so wicked,’ said Julia’s mother. ‘Come on, let’s see what’s on telly. Might be something that’ll give us both a good laugh.’
Away from school, Nathan was not over-worried. The weather was fine again, so he took Treasure Island to the park. He sat where he could watch his tree, and read and dreamed most of Saturday away.
Sitting in church on Sunday, he suddenly remembered his cats. That afternoon, full of guilt at having neglected them for so long, he raided his mother’s kitchen for some scraps to feed them on. That Rat-bag Julia would be scared of meeting the robber, Nathan thought, but he wasn’t scared. He was going to feed his cats no matter what. He climbed over the railway line and went in the back way, to prove he wasn’t scared.
In the room where he and Julia had found the money, there was fresh havoc. Someone had ripped up the floorboards over a large area, leaving a great gaping hole. Someone had searched frantically – and gone away empty-handed. They wouldn’t be back now. They wouldn’t ever use this house again.
Happily, Nathan fed his cats.
By Monday morning he had almost forgotten there was trouble to be faced.
4
In trouble
‘What’s this?’ said Julia’s mother, picking the brown envelope off the mat in the hall downstairs. She had been on her way to work, but she stopped to read the letter first. ‘Julia!’ she called shrilly to the upstairs flat, ‘It’s only from your school, Julia! They only want me to go and see them this morning! What you been doing then?’
‘Nothing,’ said Julia, appearing at the head of the stairs. She was late for school, but that was the least of her worries.
‘Yes you have, you’ve been up to something. Now I shall have to ask for an hour off work. And it better not take more than an hour, neither!’
Nathan’s father and mother had both been invited, but since his father was the one out of work, it was more convenient for only him to go to the school. Nathan’s father was not pleased.
‘What you been doing wrong now?’ he worried. It was not the first time Nathan’s parents had been summoned to see Mr Barlowe.
‘Nothing.’
‘You been fighting again?’
‘No,’ said Nathan, truthfully.
He was late for school too, and only began to worry about that when he remembered he had to consult with Julia about the story they were going to tell. What if she was already inside, and they had no chance to talk?
Fortunately, they met crossing the playground.
‘What we going to say then? Did you think?’ Too late, he regretted not having bothered to think of anything himself.
‘Say we found it,’ said Julia.
‘Where shall we say we found it?’
‘On the pavement, on the way to school. They can’t prove we didn’t.’
‘All right,’ said Nathan, without enthusiasm.
It was an unimaginative idea, not to say a downright ordinary one. Unfairly, Nathan sneered inwardly at the ordinariness of Julia’s idea.
Nathan’s father was the first to arrive. He was closeted for about ten minutes with Mr Barlowe, and then Nathan was sent for. In a loud and angry voice, Nathan’s father began accusing Nathan, the minute he appeared at the door of the office.
‘What’s this I’m hearing then? What’s all this about money? You got no uncle give you money! What you say your uncle give you money for?’
Nathan hung his head and shuffled his feet. He was afraid of his father. He knew what he had to say, more or less, but he didn’t know how to get the words out.
‘It wasn’t your uncle, was it, Nathan,’ said Mr Barlowe firmly. ‘We’ve established that much. So now – where did you get it from?’
‘I found it.’
‘Found it?’ Nathan’s father bellowed, ‘Found it where?’
‘I found it on the pavement.’
‘What pavement?’
Nathan considered. ‘Outside the school nearly. I was late and I found it.’
‘How much did you find, Nathan?’ asked Mr Barlowe. They might or might not be getting somewhere. In cases like these, Mr Barlowe was quite used to hearing a series of different stories. If one story wasn’t believed, the child would try another one.
‘A twenty pound note.’
‘You find a twenty pound note, and you don’t tell nobody?’ Nathan’s father shouted.
‘Yes.’
‘You find it on the pavement, and you keep it?’
‘Yes.’
‘What I always tell you to do if you find anything don’t belong to you?’