The Red Road

by Stephen Sweeney

  Only one thing still bothered me, and that was what Martin had said about my sleepwalking. One night I had found myself in Tudor House, walking around the lower corridors. It was clear to me why I had made my way over there.

  I couldn’t really hurt someone that way, could I?

  ~ ~ ~

  I returned to Butcher, making plans for which subjects I needed to tackle during prep that evening.

  I halted outside the third year dorm, seeing the door propped open by a large cardboard box. I had suspected something was up as I had walked through the entrance to the house and seen a car parked outside. Although staff cars dotted the grounds, it was unusual to find a car parked in such a specific place. It was a hire car, too, I could tell from the branding and advertising plastered all over it.

  I entered the dormitory to see two somewhat heavy-set adults packing things into boxes. I had only met them on a couple of occasions in the past, but knew immediately who they were – Sam’s parents. His bed had already been stripped, the duvet folded over and sitting on the bare mattress, alongside the two pillows and a large case that was already quite swollen with clothes. I stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to go any further.

  “What’s going on?” I eventually asked. The three turned around to me.

  “I’m leaving,” Sam said bluntly. His voice was a mixture of both apology and anger. “I’m going back home to Texas.”

  “And you were just going to sneak out the door, without telling anyone?” I said, flabbergasted.

  “I’m not going right away,” Sam said. “But I’m not staying at the school after today.”

  “We’re staying at a hotel in town, while we arrange for Sam’s things to be shipped back to America,” Sam’s father said.

  “But ... you can’t,” I said.

  Sam said nothing, only looking to his parents.

  “How long have you known?” I asked Sam accusingly. A thought then occurred to me. “Is that the phone call you got last week? You were called into the headmaster’s office. Father Thomas came to get you from the Belfry.”

  “Mom and Dad don’t want me staying here any longer,” Sam explained.

  “We don’t think this school is safe any more,” Sam’s father added.

  “So, your brother’s okay?” I asked. It had been my very first thought as to why they might be here, losing a son who was away in a foreign country and wanting the other to now be closer to home.

  “Cody’s fine. He’s just a bit bored out there,” Sam said, again with an apologetic tone.

  “This one ready?” Sam’s father asked him. Sam nodded, and the big man began lugging the case out of the dormitory.

  I felt like blocking his way for a moment, before moving aside. “So, you’re leaving tonight?” I asked Sam.

  “Sorry, Joe.”

  “Are you coming back?”

  “I’ll come back later in the week to say goodbye properly,” Sam reassured me.

  “After we heard about what’s been happening here, we didn’t think it was appropriate for Sam to remain at St Christopher’s any longer,” Sam’s mother said. “We thought that England was a safe country, but if things like this are going to keep on happening to the boys, then he’s better off back home.”

  “But you can’t go!” I said, almost begging.

  “Sorry,” Sam said, looking to his mother, “but I think it’s for the best.”

  I tried to remember his mother’s name, but failed. “Look,” I said to her. “This school isn’t dangerous. And Cody is in the Middle East for Christ’s sake! He’s being shot at daily!”

  “That’s not quite true,” Sam said, as if trying to make things sound not quite so bad.

  “Three murders in one year at a single school make it dangerous to me,” Sam’s mother added. “I’m surprised it’s not been closed down yet.”

  “It almost has been. Nearly half the boys didn’t come back this term,” I muttered. “What has the school said? Have you spoken to Mr Somers or Father Benedict?”

  “Mom and Dad have been talking to them ever since the second closure,” Sam said. “Both said that the school is safe, and that I should stay, but my parents don’t agree.”

  “It’s not safe, Sam,” his mother told him.

  “So, you decided to go now that they’ve found out that it wasn’t the gardener that was doing it?” I blurted out. I realised as I said it that Sam’s mother probably wasn’t aware of recent developments.

  “So, they no longer have a suspect?” Sam’s mother said, looking to her son. “More reason now that you should leave.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Sam,” I said, not caring about swearing in front of his mother, “you can’t go! What about your GCSEs? You’ve got to do those next term. You’ll have to repeat the year over or whatever.”

  “I’m going to try and take my SATs this year, but I might have to repeat a few classes. SATs are more or less the equivalent of GCSEs back home,” Sam clarified.

  I was devastated. I had known Sam only two and a half years, but he was my best friend. He couldn’t leave. This was just stupid and unfair.

  “But you’re not flying out tonight?” I asked.

  “No,” Sam’s mother said. “At the weekend.”

  “What day?” I insisted.

  “Sunday.”

  “What time?”

  “My husband has the details. I think it’s at six.”

  “Morning or evening?”

  “Joe, don’t worry,” Sam said. “I’m going to come back on Saturday, to see everyone.”

  “What are you going to be doing before then?” I wanted to know. It was only Wednesday. There was no reason I could see that Sam should have to go right now.

  “Since we don’t come here a lot, we’re going to go to London and see the Queen in Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, and visit Wimbledon, as well as a few other places,” Sam’s mother answered. “I would quite like to see Cornwall, but I don’t think we’ll get the opportunity.”

  “Sounds like you’ll have a nice time,” I answered a little soberly.

  Sam’s father reappeared, requesting that Sam and his mother give him a hand to carry more items down to the car. I didn’t offer to help them do so. I would rather be unpacking those cases. And other than standing in the dormitory watching two people take my best friend away from me, there was only one other place I needed to be.

  “Back in a minute,” I said. “Don’t go until I come back.”

  I strode from the dormitory, down the spiral stairs and to the housemaster’s office. With Sam’s parents having arrived from America, I knew he would be in, wanting to speak to them at some point. And there he was, sitting quietly at his desk, pushing a pen across a piece of paper. I knocked on the open door.

  “Just a minute,” he said without looking up.

  I fidgeted impatiently for a time, trying to control a mild rage that was building within me. I should actually just go back to the dorm and find out more details of what Sam would be up to over the next few days and when exactly on Saturday he would be visiting, in case I was involved in some sporting activity or other.

  Mr Somers then looked up. “Yes, Joe. What can I do for you?” he asked.

  I entered the office, feeling the rage rising, a part of me wanting to close the door so that I could shout at the man. “Sir, why are you letting Sam leave?” I demanded.

  “Because, Joe, his parents called the headmaster and said that they want to take him out of the school.”

  “And you said that that was okay and just let them?”

  “Joe, do not speak to me that way,” my housemaster cautioned me. “I’ve told you once already about your recently failing attitude.”

  “Sorry, sir,” I said, forcing the anger from my voice. “I’m just ... really annoyed right now.”

  “Sam’s departure from the school is none of your business, if I’m being perfectly honest,” Mr Somers continued. “But if you must know—”

  “Hold on,
” I said, requesting he hold that thought, before moving over to the door, removing the stop and closing it. With the office door shut and with only my ears to hear it, I was sure that my housemaster would be willing to share more than he might otherwise.

  “If you must know,” Mr Somers continued, “we did talk to Sam’s parents a great deal about keeping him at the school for as long as possible. Unfortunately, they were more concerned about the incidents that have occurred of late and thought it was best for them, as well as their other son, that he return home to America. Sam is far from the first pupil we have lost, as you know. You will be fully aware that there are a number of boys from the first and second year in Butcher that have not returned to the school, as well as a number of others from the other houses. There are several entire dormitories in the junior school that are now empty, as a result of the respective parents having taken their boys back home.

  “The headmaster and I, as well as all the other housemasters and teachers, talk daily to concerned parents about the well being of their boys. We did whatever we could to stop Sam from leaving, but at the end of the day it is his parents’ choice. His departure could well be the catalyst for some of the other boys in your year to leave, as, again, their parents have expressed similar desires.

  “And as well as being under a great deal of pressure to reassure parents of the safety of the school, we are also fighting a daily battle to keep St Christopher’s open. We are receiving calls from all quarters to close until the matter can be laid to rest, and it is putting every member of staff under a great deal of pressure. I’m bending over backwards to keep everyone happy, and it’s the hardest I have ever worked in my life. You probably have little idea of how stressed many of us are these days.

  “Ofsted inspectors are here at least once a week to get updates from the headmaster, the police are advising us not to allow any boys to stay on the grounds overnight, as they are still interviewing suspects, and the local council is suggesting that we close the school after the end of this year, in case this is the work of someone targeting us exclusively.

  “I won’t lie to you, Joe – it’s possible that we very well might have to do so, as there is no guarantee that enough boys will return at the start of the next school year to allow us to stay open. We’re doing everything we can to keep the school running, as no one wants to see five hundred boys turfed out midway through a school year and forced into limbo. It could be disastrous to their continued educations. We’re doing this all for the sake of the boys and doing our utmost to keep them safe at the same time. There are risks, we know, but we’re doing everything we can. The continuation of their schooling is very important. And you should know – it’s why you’re staying here to complete your GCSEs before leaving us, isn’t it? Now, does that tell you everything you wanted to know?”

  My jaw had become slack. I had no idea that things were this bad. “Shit,” I said, unable to help myself.

  “Shit, indeed,” my housemaster responded, before I could offer an apology. “The school lost one of its prefects over the weekend, too – Damien Sanderson, leaving Martin House with a role that now needs filling.”

  “How come we weren’t told?” I wanted to know.

  “Because, Joe, as I already said, this is really none of your business. It doesn’t matter to you or your studies, and only concerns those directly affected,” my housemaster said matter-of-factly. “None of this, as you can imagine, is good for the school’s reputation, and it only gets worse when the newspapers start running stories. We are forging on as best we can, but things are getting more and more complicated, and, frankly, there are some things that people don’t need to know. The headmaster wants to avoid a second mass exodus, as it wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

  “Have my parents said anything?” I found myself asking.

  “I received a call from them shortly after everyone returned, seeking to put their minds at rest, as well as one just last week. I trust you will keep this to yourself, Joe?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

  “Good. Please could you prop the door back open on your way out,” he indicated with his pen.

  I did so, leaving the office in an almost zombie-like state, my mind swimming. He had a point – this wasn’t any of my business. Still, it was nice to know, and it sounded as though Mr Somers also needed to get a load off his own chest.

  I returned to the third year dorm to see that Sam was just about done. He was looking under his bed and behind his bedside locker. This was it. He was really going.

  “Got everything?” I mumbled.

  “I think so,” Sam said. “I think Rory has still got my MC Hammer album, and I don’t have time to go and look for him and get it.”

  “I’ll get it for you and give it back to you on Saturday,” I said. “Oh, and give me your address in Texas. I’ll post you anything important that you might have forgotten.”

  “Good point,” Sam said, writing his address and phone number down on a piece of paper I retrieved from my desk. He took down the phone number for the house as well, and then the two of us walked down to the front of Butcher House, where his parents were waiting in the car. It was bulging with all Sam’s belongings. Being a foreign student, he had stored many of his possessions at the school during holiday time. Where those of us who lived in England could ship bits and pieces home with us at weekends and the end of term, reducing the clutter, Sam had hoarded a huge amount during his two and a half years.

  Sam spoke to his parents to confirm that he had all that he could find, and we then stood there awkwardly for a time, not really knowing what to do. We then hugged one another. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was just in case.

  “See you later, Joe,” Sam said. “You’ll have to come over to Texas to visit some time.”

  “I will do,” I said.

  With that, Sam got into the car and it drove off. I knew I shouldn’t feel sad; I was going to see him again in a few days.

  But Saturday came and went, and Sam never returned.

  Summer Term

  April 1992 – June 1992

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Your grades are excellent,” my mother exclaimed.

  I smiled. She had clearly expected a lot less, even though my grades throughout my entire education at St Christopher’s had been anything but. I was sure that I had only ever seen one C grade during my time, and that had been at the end of my first year of senior school, for French. I wasn’t expecting anything higher than a B in that for my final GCSEs.

  “Maybe they’ve taken the murders into account, and how it might have affected your grades,” my father suggested.

  “They do that for boys who suffer a death in the family,” I said. “But they didn’t take the murders into account this time, not for the mocks. One of the biology teachers told me.”

  “So, your final grades could be higher when you take the actual exams?” my mother asked.

  “Yes.”

  My parents continued to look through the grades, reading the comments alongside them. I had seen them already, having opened the envelope when it had arrived that morning, eager to see how I had done. The very next minute, I had made my way down to the sixth form college and presented them to the receptionist. A very brief meeting with the admissions officer had followed (as it was unscheduled and I should have made a proper appointment) and I had been given what I considered a verbal acceptance.

  “Do they always send the projected grades out?” my mother asked, looking from me to my father, who only shrugged.

  “Only if you ask for them,” I said.

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  My father chuckled. “Because he wants a car as a reward.”

  “That, and I want to do my A-Levels at BSFC.” I pronounced it bas-fic.

  My mother and father said nothing, and just looked at me.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t want an expensive car,” I smiled.

 
“Still have your heart set on going to school down the road, do you?” my mother asked, clearly suppressing a sigh.

  “Of course,” I said. “I might not actually be able to stay at St Christopher’s much longer, not with everything that’s going on there. I’ve been told that it could close for good at the start of the summer.”

  “Regardless of what’s happening there, Joe, you can’t go to BSFC.”

  “Because?” I asked.

  “Because you can’t,” my father said.

  “I can’t?” I said incredulously.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Because ‘you can’t’ was hardly a legitimate reason.

  “Why do you want to go to BSFC?” my father asked. “Other than leaving St Christopher’s because of the problems there?”

  “Because he wants to meet girls,” my mother supplied before I had a chance to explain. “Joe, if you want to meet girls, we can send you to a mixed boarding school once you finish your GCSEs. As you’ve said, it’s likely you’ll have to move to another school once you’ve done your exams, anyway.”

  “Okay, Mum, look,” I said. “I don’t want to go to another boarding school. I want to go somewhere completely different. I want to learn to drive a car and have more freedom. I want to live as a normal teenager and do all the stuff that normal teenagers do. I don’t want to be made to get up at a certain time, eat at a certain time, be in my room at a certain time, be asleep at a certain time ...”

  “If you were living here, you’d have to be,” my father pointed out.

  “And as I keep saying, you can’t stay here,” my mother said just as firmly. “The reason we sent you to boarding school in the first place was because of our jobs. We wouldn’t be here to look after you, since we have to travel a lot.”