The Red Road

by Stephen Sweeney

  “No,” I said. “I’m planning on going after I finish my GCSEs.”

  “Are you looking forward to leaving?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  We reached the toilet without encountering any rake traps on the way. I gratefully clicked on the light, and the first year went over to the urinal. I decided it would be best to go myself, to avoid having to walk that corridor again on my own.

  “Where are you going to go after you leave?”

  “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I only just thought about it at the start of this term. To tell the truth, I’ve not even told my parents yet.”

  We repeated our cautious walk back to 2E and got back into bed. I lay there for a while, thinking about things and turning thoughts over in my head. That first year was the first person I had ever told that I was planning on leaving St Christopher’s after my exams. I should probably tell my parents soon, I thought. I made up my mind, rolled over and fell asleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  My parents arrived early the next morning, just after nine. They didn’t ask too many questions about what had happened as we drove down to Surrey, and only a little about how my schooling was going; they were far more focused on their own careers for that. I could tell already that informing them of my desire to return home permanently would probably be met with a great deal of resistance. Perhaps it could wait until Christmas.

  Chapter Four

  My parents lived in the suburbs of Baconsdale, a small town in Surrey. It was a fairly quiet, quaint sort of place; nice to retreat to when you had had enough of work/school/life and needed to get away from it all. Or so those that I knew who lived and worked in London said.

  Despite being a small town, there was a fair amount to do. The town centre was home to a high street with all the usual suspects – a Woolworths, WHSmith, Argos, Dixons, Virgin and a Waterstone’s. There was also a McDonald’s, a Pizza Hut, an Indian restaurant, and a Chinese restaurant. A Thai restaurant had also once existed, though it had closed earlier that year. I wasn’t surprised, as it was hideously overpriced. A shame, I did enjoy a good green chicken curry. There was a corner shop with a post office, a pub and a Cullens close to my parents’ house. We also had a cinema with two screens, that thankfully tended to get all the major releases.

  “Did they give you much work to do?” my father asked as we pulled up to the house. He clicked a button on a device clipped to the sun visor, causing the automatic gates to open.

  “No,” I said. “There wasn’t time.”

  “Oh, well that’s no good.” He sounded somewhat appalled. He clearly didn’t want to think that the money he had spent on my education was going to waste. Or maybe he was bothered that, with nothing to be getting on with, I would be getting under his or my mother’s feet all day long.

  “They’re just going to extend the term by a couple of weeks, or however long it is,” I said.

  “Ah, like they did when we had the hurricane.” That seemed to please him a little more.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Did Rob not offer to take you home with him?” my mother then asked. “He only lives on the other side of town. It’s not a long way.”

  “He’d actually gone home when I found out you were staying the night in Geneva,” I said. “His mum and dad were some of the first to arrive, apparently. I’ll see him tomorrow I suppose.”

  “Hmph,” my mother said. “They probably didn’t offer on purpose. Jane and Andrew were always a little weird like that.”

  “Jealousy, as I keep telling you,” my father added, undoing his seatbelt and exiting the vehicle.

  “Where’s Sam gone?” my mother asked me as she, too, began getting out.

  “He’s staying with Dave, in London. I was going to ask if he could stay with us, but you were still away.”

  Neither my mother or father said anything to that. I wasn’t surprised. They were probably grateful they had missed the opportunity to host him.

  I spent the rest of the day talking to them about what had happened and what I’d seen, but they still didn’t appear all that interested. Though they found it tragic that a young boy had been murdered in his first term at St Christopher’s, and his first time away from home, their focus was, as always, on work. My father soon retired to a room he maintained as a home office and went back to organising things for his return to work the next day. My mother dropped the same kind of hints that she wished to return to dealing with everything that had happened during their business trip and so began to sort through leaflets, handouts, files, brochures and all manner of other things, transforming the living room into a sea of multicoloured paper.

  I made myself scarce, retreating to my room. It sadly only took twenty minutes or so for me to discover just how little there was to do. I had no stereo to listen to – that was at school. And I had no Walkman for the few tapes that still lived on my shelves. I spotted the box for my Mega Drive, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to play anything. I couldn’t see where the games were, either. The idea of being at home for two weeks with little to do was suddenly quite daunting. Had I become institutionalised? I wondered. The other major trouble was that, having been at St Christopher’s for six years, I no longer had any real friends back home to spend time with. Trying to fit in with those I had known before attending boarding school was an incredibly awkward experience.

  I unpacked, thinking that after lunch I would go for a walk into the town centre and have a look around the shops. I then heard the phone ring, stopping after only two rings as my father answered it in his study. Somehow, I knew it was for me.

  “Joe,” he then called.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Rob for you.”

  I was down the stairs and by the phone in the hallway only seconds after my father had finished speaking. I had known Rob for a number of years before going to boarding school, connecting loosely via the local parish that we had both attended. Apparently, after hearing about my acceptance to St Christopher’s, Rob’s parents had been keen to send him there, too; though he had skipped the junior school and only started there in time for his GCSEs. However, whereas my parents were doing so to get me out from under their feet so they could focus on work, Rob’s parents only wanted the best education they could afford for him. I was certain my parents weren’t too bothered about what I ultimately did with my life, as long as I embarked on a reasonable career. If they were expecting me to become a doctor, a surgeon, a lawyer, a dentist, or a vet, then I was going to disappoint them on that front. To be honest, I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to do with my life. That was something else I would need to think about carefully this week.

  “Hi, Rob,” I said.

  “Hi, Joe,” Rob said. “What are you doing?”

  “Not a lot. I only just got in.”

  “You stayed last night?”

  “Yeah. There were only about thirty of us left.”

  “Oh, you should have said. You could have stayed here. Anyway, do you want to meet in town after lunch and do something?”

  Clearly, he was bored already. An only child as well, he had likely found that there wasn’t too much going on, either. His parents were probably at work today, too, leaving him with only the TV for company.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll meet you at about ... two?”

  “Cool. See you later.”

  ~ ~ ~

  To begin with, I was quite excited at the prospect of not having to be at school during term time. It meant I would be free to wander the town and go to the cinema without hoards of people getting in my way. Rob had other ideas, his first suggestion being that we head into the pub and try to get served. He was desperate to try a drink of beer.

  “We look old enough,” he said.

  “No, we don’t,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, we do. Neither of us is short, either. Besides, what’s the worst they’ll say?” he asked. “They’ll just ask for ID and then refuse to serve us.”

  It was true enough, I su
ppose, but there was always the embarrassment of trying to do so and failing miserably. I absentmindedly brushed a finger along the bum-fluff moustache that was currently gracing my top lip and wondered how long it would be until I was buying my first razor and shaving every day. I somewhat reluctantly agreed with Rob, and we made our way to the Queen’s Head, a pub just off the high street.

  “Out,” the barman said before we had barely even crossed the threshold. He was pouring a pint for a group of burly-looking men in work clothes, paint and caked-on-plaster-splattered overalls, propping up the bar.

  “We’re eighteen,” Rob began to protest.

  “No, you’re not,” the barman said, shaking his head.

  “If we weren’t, we’d be at school.”

  “Look, just get out,” the barman repeated, no longer making eye contact and instead concentrating on pouring the workmen their pints. The four men gave us some incredulous stares, as if angered that we should invade their domain. Defeated, Rob and I exchanged a glance and walked out.

  We walked the high street, Rob stopping at the McDonald’s to grab a cheeseburger and some chips, saying that the toast that had constituted his lunch hadn’t been enough, and he was still hungry (he had apparently only gotten out of bed at eleven-thirty). We then slipped into Virgin and browsed the racks.

  “Butters has got this,” Rob said, pointing out a weird-looking CD with black, white and red art, with four men’s faces on it. “He’s had it for ages.”

  “Red Blood?” I asked, inspecting it. I tilted the case as I saw more words around the side. “Red Blood Hot Sugar?”

  “Red Hot Chili Peppers,” Rob explained. “The album’s called ‘Blood Sugar Sex Magik’.”

  “I’ve never heard of them.” The case I held was empty, and I looked at the release schedule next to the shelf, which stated that the album would be available at the end of the month.

  “How did Butters get it?” I asked, nodding to the release schedule.

  “Same way he gets all the new stuff – off his uncle.”

  “Ah,” I said, turning the CD case over and looking at the track listing. “Is it any good?” I asked sceptically.

  “Brilliant,” Rob said.

  “What kind of music is it?”

  “Rock; so drums and guitars. This is their fourth or fifth album, so you’ve probably heard some of their music already, just never realised.”

  “Okay. I might get it at some point,” I said, nodding. “Jesus, I’m not paying fifteen quid for it, though,” I added, looking at the price tag on the front.

  “That’s because it’s on CD,” Rob said, putting the case back and picking up a smaller, rectangular case from the shelf below. “It’s a tenner on tape.”

  “I’d get the tape version, I think,” I said.

  We browsed a little longer before seeing all that we wanted and decided to move on. Rob stopped off at WHSmith along the way, buying a couple of car magazines. He had been a total petrol-head ever since I had known him, hanging up posters of cars whenever he could and decorating his work folders with cut-outs from magazines. He even had a Porsche key ring, despite not owning a car himself. I was actually certain that he had a Dodge key ring, too.

  It was a fairly warm and bright day for late September, and we took a walk around the park, talking about the murder, schoolwork, and general gossip about some of the other boys at St Christopher’s.

  “Who do you think could have done it?” Rob asked me, as we sat down on a bench.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I doubt it could have been one of the staff.”

  “It could have been anyone, Joe. There are some real weirdoes at St Christopher’s, too. Take Quasimodo for example. He’s meant to have a dodgy past.”

  “He lives in the monastery,” I said.

  “Doesn’t mean he can’t walk out any time he likes. Being a groundskeeper, he probably has access to loads of different parts of the school. He always has that massive bunch of keys with him that opens ... everything.”

  It was possible, I admitted, but I doubted it.

  “You saw him, didn’t you? The murdered boy, I mean,” Rob asked. “What was his name?”

  “Scott Parker.” I recalled the name the headmaster had used during the assembly the previous day. “He was all the way down the Red Road. That’s a long way. Whoever did it must have put them in a car, and I don’t think Quasimodo can drive.”

  “So, if not Quasimodo, then who else?”

  “Maybe he went for a walk in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep, and someone snatched him outside the school.”

  “Eh?” Rob looked at me. “Who goes walking around the school at night?”

  “I do sometimes,” I told him.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because it helps me to get to sleep. Don’t ask why, but sometimes if I can’t sleep I just go for a walk around the school for a bit and then go back to bed.” I shrugged.

  Rob looked a little bemused by my revelation but passed no comment. We turned our attention towards a group of five teenagers sitting on the grass ahead of us.

  “She’s fit,” Rob said. “The one on the right.”

  I couldn’t see the face of the girl he indicated. She mostly had her back to me, but she certainly looked nice from what I was able to see. She had on a pair of white jeans and a small T-shirt, showing off her slender figure. Long blonde hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders.

  “Think they’re students?” I asked. “Sixth formers?”

  Rob nodded. “Definitely. Probably lower sixth, come to the park for lunch. That year is supposed to be a complete doss.”

  I studied the group some more. There were three girls and two boys there. Good odds, I figured, if I was one of the guys in the group. The two guys and one of the girls appeared to be drinking from cans of beer, while the other two looked like they had soft drinks. I could see sandwich wrappers and plastic bags from the local supermarket billowing slightly in the breeze. I imagined myself in the same situation, having finished classes for the day that morning, not having any until the afternoon of the next day, and just hanging out with my friends in the park and having a few beers. Or perhaps heading off somewhere in a car. We obviously weren’t allowed cars at St Christopher’s; bikes were the closest thing we had to independent transport. We could take driving lessons while we were there, but I could say in all honesty that I wouldn’t want any of the other boys to see me bunny-hopping my way along a road anywhere near the grounds.

  “I can’t wait to move up to the sixth form,” Rob said. “We finally get our own rooms and don’t have to share with first or second years.”

  I found his enthusiasm somewhat amusing, but I said nothing. When I left the school (and I was going to make sure that I did leave), I would get my own room, anyway. Okay, sure, it would be back home with my mother and father, but it would be mine nonetheless.

  “Does that guy you told me about still stink out your dorm?” I asked Rob.

  “I think it’s gotten worse,” he said. “I’m glad to get away from that. I might actually buy him some deodorant on the way home and spray it all over him when I go back. Hey, did you hear about what Mr Rod did to Mario Daily?” Rob then asked.

  “No?” I said. From the way he had phrased the question, it almost sounded as if it was some sort of physical assault.

  “He called him up at home when he messed up his A-Levels and had a go at him over it.”

  “What?” I said, flabbergasted. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Mr Rod told Daily that he wasn’t going to get anything higher than a D in any of his subjects. He told him to give up one of his A-Levels and just do two. Daily refused and told him he’d get all As and Bs, but he didn’t. So Mr Rod called him up to gloat.”

  “Bastard,” I said. “How did you find out?”

  “Daily’s younger brother told me.”

  “Bloody hell!” I said. “I hope that doesn’t happen to us. I don’t want Mr Somers
calling me up if I make a mess of my GCSEs. That would be a nightmare.”

  “I doubt he’d do that,” Rob said. “And to be honest, Mario Daily was a bit of a prick anyway, so he sort of deserved it.”

  He reclined back on the bench, raising his arms in the air, stretching. “But no, sixth form’s going to be great,” he went on. “We’ll also get to go to dances, get access to the Common Room, and get the bar. We’ll have to start taking preps, though, which could end up being a bit shit. What are you looking forward to most?”

  The question caught me a little off-guard, and I had to fumble for something to say that I would enjoy. “The dances,” I said after quickly running through all the options in my mind.

  “Hopefully all the girls will be as fit as she is,” Rob remarked, looking at the girl again.

  I nodded but didn’t respond, my eyes moving once more over the five picnickers. Even now, I could tell that the benefits of being a sixth former at St Christopher’s paled in comparison to what I imagined the lives of the five before me were like. Most likely one of them would have a car, or at least be learning to drive; the guy and girl sitting next to each other drinking the beer might well be a couple. The five would be enjoying going to pubs and clubs, and going around one another’s houses after school for everything from homework, hanging out, partying, and ... well, shagging while their parents were at work. With all of that in mind, I found it difficult to get excited about things like dances and the Sixth Form Common Room.

  When I was twelve, having completed my Common Entrance and moved to the senior school, the Sixth Form Common Room was the stuff of legend. There were supposed to be luxury sofas, pinball machines, dartboards, pool and table tennis tables, and a bar in there. All were maintained to the highest standard, unlike the ones we had to contend with in the rest of the school that were falling apart and had most of the accessories missing. The Common Room was also said to contain a huge flat-screen TV, hooked up to every Sky channel on offer, including the adult ones (I later found out that this was nonsense and just something that the sixth formers liked to tell the first years). The bar itself was said to be incredible, and I imagined that it looked something like a cut-out from a country pub, fireplace and all.