The Red Road

by Stephen Sweeney

  I had never had beer before, my parents refusing to let me have any. I wondered how it might taste. Quite sour, I thought, as I lowered the glass after my first gulp. Dave’s father started to chuckle, and I realised that, as with everyone else, I had grimaced a little at the taste.

  “I didn’t like it to begin with, either,” he said. “Give it couple more goes and you’ll be okay.”

  I did so, finding it not quite as bad as before. Maybe my tongue had gotten over the initial shock of this brand-new taste. I took another gulp. That one was even better. Still a little bitter, but not nearly as bad as the first taste.

  “What do you think?” Baz asked.

  “Yeah, it’s okay actually,” I said. “I’m trying to think what it tastes like,” I added, looking over what was written on the side of the can and what the ingredients were. Hops and barley I recognised from discussions in biology class.

  “Beer tastes like beer,” Jim said with another chuckle. We continued to drink for a while, watching the TV and silently nodding our appreciation of our first ever beers to one another. I often thought that it might have happened in a pub. I conceded that around a friend’s house or even at my parents’ own was far more realistic.

  “Don’t like it?” Jim then said, looking at Rob.

  We all turned to Rob, who looked to be trying to drink his beer, but was struggling in both his effort to do so and maintain the mask that he was enjoying it. I could tell already that he was actually going to choke it down, drinking it only out of politeness to his hosts.

  “It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Jim said. “Some people don’t. Others only acquire a taste for it when they get older.”

  Rob looked a little sheepish as he put the can down, admitting defeat. He clearly wanted to drink it to save face with his peers, but I already knew that he would only get so far. After all this time of wanting to get into a pub and enjoy a drink, dragging me all over Baconsdale in the attempt, he had discovered that it wasn’t really for him.

  “There’s cider, if you want to give that a try?” Dave’s father suggested. “It’s sweeter than beer, so it might be more your thing. It’s rather like drinking fizzy apple juice.”

  “Sure,” Rob said. “Thank you.”

  “David, go fetch a cider from the fridge. It’s the can of Strongbow,” he clarified as Dave got up to once more go to the kitchen. “And bring that big bag of crisps with you, from the top cupboard.”

  Dave returned, bearing Rob’s cider, as well as a big bowl into which he had emptied the packet of crisps. The cider can was quite a bit larger than our Carlings had been, and Rob found the cider far more palatable than the beer. I knew deep down that he was disappointed, despite how much he might be trying to disguise it.

  We all turned our attention to the game. The match was being played at Anfield, Liverpool’s home ground. I had never been into football in the main, but admitted that it was quite exciting. Jim wasn’t too impressed, however, the score being one-nil to Genoa at half time.

  “Is it worth me watching the rest of this?” he asked, looking at Dave, who only shrugged, clearly not wanting to give anything away.

  “So, do you think they’re going to close the school down?” Jim asked us as he began to fast-forward through the half-time commentary and the adverts.

  “Close it?” I asked.

  “Because of the murders.”

  Would they? It was only something I had briefly considered, and quite fleetingly at that. As much as I no longer enjoyed my time at St Christopher’s, I had never given thought to there coming a point when the school might cease to exist or shut down for any reason. I saw it as outlasting me, continuing to educate boys and take on new pupils long after I had lived my life.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, glancing at the others. “It would be pretty bad for us if they did, since we’d all have to find somewhere else to go.” And though that was my overall goal by the end of the school year, I didn’t want it to happen just yet.

  “Yeah, and we’d have to finish our courses and sit our exams at different schools,” Rob said.

  “True,” Jim said. “And they would only let you do that if they had room. Otherwise, you’d have to sit your GCSEs out and do them next year. That would then mean that you would be a year older than everyone else going into higher education,” he added, finishing his current glass of beer and pouring out the can that Rob hadn’t drunk into the glass. I noticed that the speed of his drinking had slowed after he had initially swallowed down half of his first glass very quickly.

  “Gawd, man, I wouldn’t want to repeat the third year entirely,” Baz said. “Some of the schools around where I live are rough as.”

  “Yeah, none of the three schools in Baconsdale are supposed to be very good,” Rob said, with a glance in my direction.

  I had heard the very same. The thought of having to attend the comprehensives, even for a year, filled me with chills. I vaguely wondered if perhaps my time at St Christopher’s had turned me into a snob. Or perhaps it was just the beer I was drinking. It was making me start to feel a little funny.

  “I don’t mean to bring you down,” Jim started, “but I think you might have to accept that there is a very real possibility that the school will shut.”

  “Seriously?” I said, starting to feel very despondent.

  “I think so,” Jim nodded, taking a drink of beer. “Actually, it all depends on what the school says themselves and just how pragmatic the headmaster can be in his response to the incidents. But if he’s unable to provide any real assurances that the school is safe, then it will close down for certain. And even if it does stay open, I won’t let you go back there if I don’t think they’re taking the issue seriously, David.”

  Dave nodded, but said nothing.

  “The rest of you should think very strongly about that, too.” he told us. “But assuming it does stay open and the whole nasty business is dealt with, are any of you thinking of leaving once you finish your GCSEs?”

  I kept my expression deadpan as I looked about my friends’ faces, seeing the unspoken refusal to uproot themselves from the place they had called home just yet. Baz said nothing, despite his confession to me the previous month, and avoided direct eye contact.

  “I think we’re all staying put,” I said. “Better the devil you know and all that.”

  “What about you, Sam? What are your plans after you finish your A-Levels? Assuming you stay here that long?” Jim asked, pressing play on the video remote to resume the football match. “Thinking of heading back to the States?”

  “No way,” Sam said. “I want to go to university here.”

  Jim chuckled. “You seem very sure of that.”

  “I’m thinking of going to Durham,” Sam said. “I don’t think I’m going to get into Oxford or Cambridge, so I’m just going to nip it in the bud now.”

  “Why don’t you want to go back home?” I asked. I was pleased that Sam was keen to stay in England, but wondered what the draw of staying put was. I always thought that American universities (or colleges, as I believed they were called) were better.

  “You can’t drink until you’re twenty-one,” Sam reiterated what I had heard at the post-rugby match tea the previous term.

  “Seriously? Twenty-one?” Jim said, looking a little surprised.

  Sam nodded. “That’s why you always see college guys desperately trying to get hold of kegs in the movies. It’s illegal if you’re under twenty-one. You can get expelled if you get caught doing it repeatedly.”

  “Well, I never knew that,” Jim admitted. “I always thought it was the same as here.”

  “So?” Baz giggled, somewhat sloshily. “Don’t get caught.”

  “But that’s only to buy beer, right?” I said, looking both to my friends and the beers we held, as well as Dave’s father. This wasn’t a bar; we were drinking at home. My parents had, on occasion, as with many others I knew, given me a small glass of wine with my Sunday roast. There was nothing il
legal about that, I was sure.

  “No,” Sam said. “In some places it’s illegal to even drink it if you’re under twenty-one. Imagine going through university and not being allowed to drink. Those are meant to be the best days of your life. I’m not planning on doing that sober.”

  Jim started to laugh. “Days so good that you can’t remember any of them. Not the best reason for staying here that I’ve ever heard.”

  “You can, however, get a learner’s permit to drive a car back home when you’re fifteen,” Sam said.

  That reminded me. I would be able to apply for my provisional license in a little under ten months. I knew I would be watching that particular date on the calendar very closely.

  “But how old do you have to be to actually drive?” Rob wanted to know.

  “Oh ... actually, I think that’s still seventeen,” Sam said after a pause. ”So, the same as over here.”

  “No other reasons for staying?” Jim asked, his focus mostly on the TV.

  “Oh, I’ll want to hang around with these guys, for sure,” Sam said. “Friends for life and all.”

  We all smiled and giggled, then raised our glasses and clinked them off one another. I would most certainly be keeping in touch with these four, no matter what happened.

  Dave picked up his can to refill his glass, but found that only a little beer was left. “Can we have another?” he ventured of his father.

  “No, I think you’ve had enough now,” Jim said after a moment of consideration.

  “Not a whole one. What if we get two and just share them?”

  “Well, okay,” Jim said. “But don’t cry to me if you have a headache in the morning. And if anyone is sick in the middle of the night, you’re cleaning it up, okay?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Dave said. He fetched two more beers, Rob passing on drinking any more cider, and we watched the Liverpool-Genoa match resume. Liverpool lost two-one.

  ~ ~ ~

  We realised as we finished up for the night that Baz still had to get home. It had apparently slipped Jim’s mind, too, something he berated himself about for letting us drink. Baz wasn’t drunk, but seemed to be the wrong side of merry. He obviously couldn’t handle the beer as well as some of the rest of us.

  Unable to drive him and unwilling to either let him take a bus or the Tube, Jim called a taxi and had it take Baz all the way home, giving him the money for the journey in advance. Despite being somewhat inebriated, Baz was slightly embarrassed by the gesture and made sure that he repaid Dave in full the following day. Strangely, Baz didn’t have a hangover. The rest of us did. We didn’t complain about it, though.

  ~ ~ ~

  The following week, my parents received a phone call. St Christopher’s was re-opening and the spring term was to resume as normal.

  “Is it safe?” my parents had wanted to know.

  “Yes, it is,” they were told.

  The police had apparently made an arrest.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was seated next to Baz and Sam, crammed into the assembly hall, the entire school once more in attendance. Or at least, the ones who had chosen to stay. As my parents had arrived at the school, I had seen a number of cars being loaded up, duvets, suitcases and all manner of other items being loaded into the back of them. It hadn’t taken me long to discover what was going on. A number of the families returning to St Christopher’s had concluded that the school was no longer safe, despite the reassurances of the headmaster. They had therefore decided it was best to remove their sons from the school and find a new place to educate them. The casualty rate was said to be about one-third of the entire school population.

  “The headmaster is holding a meeting for the parents,” I had heard Mr Somers saying to one of the first year’s mother and father. “If you would like to attend, I think it is a very much worth your while.”

  “We don’t think so,” the boy’s mother had responded. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch regarding report cards and final billing.”

  My mother and father had glanced at me, their eyes suggesting for once that I didn’t have to stay and could go back home if I wanted to.

  “I’ll be okay,” I told them. “I need to get my exams done.”

  Another hug from my mother. “Call us tonight or tomorrow,” she requested.

  Father Benedict had called an assembly the same day. As well as the pupils themselves, all the significant members of staff were present. All were seated, the absence of one hundred and sixty boys freeing up a number of chairs. I sat in silence as the headmaster waited for the late arrivals to find places to sit, before starting.

  “I will get straight to the point, to mitigate any further misunderstanding that might soon arise. The police have made an arrest in connection with the recent events of the school—”

  I noticed how he walked around saying ‘murders’.

  “—and soon hope to press charges. I am being kept regularly up-to-date with everything that is going on and will keep you and your parents informed as to any significant and relevant developments.

  “Despite this, you will have noticed that some pupils have chosen not to return and are in the process of moving on from the school. This, we do not expect to have any significant effects on those remaining, and any such issues will be handled by your housemasters. Please speak to them in the first instance.”

  My eyes flickered around the assembly room, making eye contact with various other boys as they did the same as myself and looked to see who had left. As far as I was able to tell, the departures came largely from the junior school, and the first and second years of the senior school. I couldn’t tell if anyone from my year was missing. I doubted it, though. That would disrupt preparation for their GCSEs quite a bit. I wondered just how many sixth formers had gone. I didn’t bother to turn around and try and count them.

  Father Benedict continued, “This term is going to pick up immediately where it left off, with classes resuming first thing at nine, tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, due to losing the last three weeks, the spring holiday will only last one week, and so I urge those preparing for their GCSEs and A-Levels to make good use of the time available to them and make an effort to put in extra hours during the weeks.”

  Crap. That wasn’t good news. The spring holidays were usually four weeks long, and I had intended to devise a good revision timetable and focus on ensuring I was well prepared to tackle some of my weaker subjects. Now it looked as though I was going to have to work harder than ever. Unconventional as it was, I considered raising my hand and asking the headmaster why they simply didn’t put the exams back, when he then answered my question.

  “Unfortunately, the exam boards are unable to move the dates of the exams by such a large amount and consider even a margin of two days to be too much. To sit the exams so long after the rest of the country could be seen as giving those involved an unfair advantage.”

  “That happened to Ian Sykes, when he was our dorm prefect, do you remember?” Baz whispered into my ear.

  “Did it?” I whispered back. Sykes had been my dormitory prefect two years ago, and I honestly couldn’t remember.

  “Yeah, he had a clash with two of his exams and had to do his classical civilisations exam a day earlier than everyone else. He wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone else in his class, and Mr Somers had to escort him to all his meals, to make sure he didn’t. Remember how no one was allowed to come into the dorm?”

  Damn. If they went through all of that just for one day, what on earth would they need to do for three weeks? I couldn’t imagine them unplugging all the telephones and TVs in the school, or even withholding all the mail and letters to pupils. In fact, they would have to isolate the third year and upper sixth entirely. No, that would be practically impossible. I guess it was just tough luck on us.

  “The exam boards, however, have said that they will be taking recent circumstances into strong consideration when it comes to the marking,” Father Benedict said. “Coursework will also be graded with
the same considerations.”

  I saw a number of the teachers nodding their heads, and gave a sigh of relief. Things could possibly work in my favour here. What might have once been a good grade could now turn out to be a great one. Maybe I would see straight As after all.

  “Football and rugby matches for this weekend are going ahead as originally scheduled, and voluntary service and optional activities are unaffected. Games will also be going ahead tomorrow afternoon, as usual.

  “One change to the normal running of the school will now see the addition of added security, and you should not be alarmed by the men you see patrolling with dogs. They are there for your protection, and you are to continue to go about your day as normal. You are, however, to cooperate with them as much as possible. You may find them patrolling your house, inspecting your dormitory and also monitoring the classrooms.”

  I had spotted three of the said security staff earlier. They were dressed in high-visibility jackets and had had a rather large Alsatian stood next to them, panting. I had been suspicious at the time that they were part of a new security team the school had employed and had just been proven right. Well, as long as it got me through the rest of the term and the summer, I didn’t care.

  Father Benedict continued the assembly, talking largely about Oxbridge and UCAS applications for the sixth formers, as well as speaking of the behaviour he expected from us at all times. We left once he was finished and headed back to our houses.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What did the headmaster want to see you for?” Anthony Simmons wanted to know, as I returned to the third year dorm. He looked quite concerned for a change, but was likely just fishing for gossip.