The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “Sending her in now, Sir,” the secretary answered.

  Sarah walked past her desk, resisting the urge to show the woman her middle finger.

  She pushed open the door and walked into the lion’s den. She was assuming that she was in for one of the Headmaster’s stern lectures about procedures and responsibilities.

  Her biggest worry was that they had all watched her shouting hysterically, followed by her hip flask falling out of her pocket. She took a deep breath and waited for the barrage.

  “Ms Mears,” Barnaby greeted her. “Take a seat please.”

  She sat and started to try and form some kind of defence when he surprised her with his next words.

  “I called you because you’re going to have a new pupil starting this afternoon. His name is Joshua Bradley, he is 13, and he is going into your assembly class. I know that the term ends at the end of the week but he is transferring over from another school last minute.”

  “Problems?” Sarah asked.

  “Not as far as I know,” Barnaby replied. “He’s going to be staying in-house over the holidays so it will be a good time for him to settle in.”

  Sarah frowned; whilst Ravenhill had a strict admittance policy it wasn’t completely unheard of for a new student to join mid-term, but she couldn’t help but wonder about a boy being placed in the school over Christmas.

  “Is that what you wanted to see me about?” she asked unsurely.

  “Should there be anything else?” Barnaby replied without looking up from a stack of papers.

  “I guess not,” Sarah replied. “What time is Joshua arriving?”

  “Some time this afternoon is all I know; the details were a little vague,” Barnaby said testily. “And Ms Mears?” he said, as she reached the door. “You have been a valued member of staff here for some years now. I would like our association to continue but only under the right circumstances.”

  Sarah blushed embarrassed. She heard the rare compliment but also the warning underneath. “This is my home Mr. Barnaby; the first one that I have had in some time,” she stressed as she left.

  ----------

  Sergeant Donald Ross yawned as he chugged another coffee. The caffeine was helping but a nap would be better.

  It had been a complete waste of time being dragged out to the school for a false alarm and not even an apology to send him on his way back home.

  Some hysterical woman had hit the panic alarm all because one of the girls had nipped out to see some boy.

  It was a sad state of affairs when even Ravenhill Academy was failing in its moral obligations. Mere slips of kids were jumping in and out of bed together like it was nothing; as far as he was concerned, you could keep the modern world.

  He had sent Paterson off to check out a report from one of the farmers over in Forstead Heath who was claiming that his neighbour’s hedgerow was encroaching on his land.

  He didn’t expect the young PC to return anytime soon and that was fine with him. Paterson was like a cat on a hot tin roof around the station, always bored and always disappointed to find that real life was nothing like the TV.

  He gave up on trying to stay awake and figured that a nap would do him some good. He settled back in the comfy armchair that he’d moved into the station and closed his eyes. The phone rang and he cursed Alexander Graham Bell for the intrusion.

  “Hello?” he answered grumpily.

  “Well now, isn’t that some greeting?” his wife chuckled on the other end of the line.

  “Love, aren’t you right next door?” He couldn’t help but smile.

  “Why, that’s right. You know, you should be some kind of detective,” she teased.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “It’s Rosa.”

  “Rosa Marsh?”

  “Yes, it’s about our painting class, she didn’t turn up yesterday,” his wife said, worriedly.

  Donald loved his wife dearly, but she could be a worrier. “It’s only one class, dear.”

  “She hasn’t missed a class in three years and the only time that she did before that she made sure to ring everyone and let them know.”

  “What is it that you would like me do?” he asked tiredly and fearing the answer.

  “Would you look in on her for me?”

  As much as he might currently want to, he couldn’t refuse her. “Ok, ok, I’ll look into it later.”

  “Donald.”

  “Alright, alright I’ll do it now,” he sighed.

  “You’re a treasure, dear,” she said, hanging up.

  He thought about Rosa for a minute. She lived several miles away from Bexley Cross and he didn’t fancy driving over there.

  He checked his watch and noted that she should be at work at this time.

  He suddenly remembered that she also worked at the school and a phone call was quicker than a car journey. He dialled the school and waited.

  “Ravenhill Academy,” a woman on the other end answered.

  “Yes, good morning to you. This is Sergeant Ross. I was looking for a Rosa Marsh; is she in work today please?”

  “One moment,” the woman said and he was plunged into the abyss that was the hold button. “I’m sorry she isn’t,” the woman said as she came back on the line.

  “Is she unwell?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid that she just didn’t turn in for work this morning; is something wrong?” the woman asked, her professional coldness thawing in concern.

  Donald’s forehead crinkled in thought. From what he knew of Rosa Marsh, missing a painting class was one thing but not turning up for work was another. “I’m sure that everything is fine,” he said reassuringly but not convinced as he hung up.

  He dragged himself up and to his feet. Perhaps he would take a drive over to Rosa’s house after all.

  ----------

  Alex Thompson looked out of the window at the ever tempting world away from the classroom.

  Ms Mears was attempting to engage them about some fruity painter from back in the dim distant past but he could not be less interested.

  Alex was 13 and big for his age. He carried himself with a self-assurance that often crossed the border into arrogance.

  He was broad shouldered and handsome with dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes.

  He was the captain of the rugby, football, and cricket teams and whilst Ravenhill might be a small pond, he was the resident whale.

  His reputation had only been enhanced beyond measure when he’d been caught with Deborah Vance in the caretaker’s cottage.

  He had been toying with Deborah’s affections for a while until he’d managed to convince her to sneak out with him after curfew.

  He had been equally terrified and excited at the prospect of just how far she might allow him to go, but in the end their night of passion had amounted to little more than a few amateur fumblings. That hadn’t stopped him of course from allowing the myth to spread around the school like wildfire.

  He had gone from being a big dog to the only dog. The rest of the lads now viewed him as a god and the girls became ever more wary of his dangerous reputation, but their eyes were secretly alight with a dark excitement that they didn’t quite understand.

  The holiday break was just around the corner but he had already been informed that his parents would be leaving him here over Christmas.

  His father was an investment banker and his mother was a doormat. They were spending the holidays in Monaco buttering up some new potential clients. His father had told him of their plans in a letter that demanded no emotional outbursts from him and he had obliged.

  He was used to following orders without question and shoved the resentment and bitterness down deep to fester until he took his frustrations out on certain other pupils.

  ----------

  Donald Ross pulled the car into the driveway. Paterson was using the squad car today so he was stuck using his own 4x4; he made a note to keep track of the mileage.

  Rosa Marsh lived on the outskirts
of one of the surrounding villages and she managed to live her life without a vehicle of her own. The public buses were infrequent but usually reliable even this far out.

  Her home was a small bungalow with a well kept garden, trimmed with attractive border plants. Rosa was a neat and organised woman, but she was also not getting any younger, and the elderly were so prone to slips and falls.

  He walked up the path and held his hands up to try and peer in through the glass to no avail. He banged hard on the front door to see if anyone was home. Rosa may have lived alone but she was popular enough to have friends and visitors.

  There was no answer from within and he planted his hands on the frame and raised his foot to kick in the lock.

  “Hello? I say, hello?” A voice startled him.

  He looked over to see an old woman wrapped up in multiple layers against the cold northern air. She was dragging an equally old looking chocolate Labrador behind her as she crossed the narrow country lane.

  “Can I help you love?” Donald asked as she grew close.

  “Have you come to visit Rosa, Inspector?” she asked, a little nosily.

  “It’s Sergeant, Ma’am, do you know Rosa?”

  “Oh yes Rocco and I stop by for tea some afternoons, Inspector,” the old woman answered.

  “Sergeant, and who’s Rocco?”

  “My dog,” she said, tugging his lead.

  Donald looked down at the dog who looked up with mournful eyes as if to say don’t look at me, I didn’t choose the name.

  “And when did you last see Rosa?”

  “A couple of days back I suppose; is she in some sort of trouble, Inspector?”

  “I’m just here to check on her dear, that’s all,” Donald replied, tiring of correcting her about his rank.

  He raised his foot again and kicked hard at the door.

  The impact sent painful shockwaves through his leg and up into his hip bone. He kicked again, ignoring the pain and then a third time harder before hopping around on the spot.

  “Would you like to use my key, Inspector?” the old woman offered.

  Donald could have cheerfully kicked her. “Thank you, Ma’am, that would be great,” he said through clenched teeth.

  He let himself in to the bungalow, leaving the old woman and the yawning Rocco behind.

  The house smelled of furniture polish and wax and there was not a dust particle in sight.

  He searched the house for any signs of life or death, but there were none.

  The bed was made and the wardrobe seemed fully stocked, complete with a small suitcase on a shelf above.

  He headed back outside to the waiting woman and her dog.

  “Any sign?” she asked.

  “No,” Donald replied absently as his brain ticked over, “not a sign.”

  ----------

  Alastair Barnaby thanked the police sergeant and hung up the phone, his forehead creased with annoyance and concern.

  Rosa Marsh had never caused him a day’s trouble in all her years here and that was how he liked it.

  He didn’t single out people for praise for merely doing their jobs; it was only when they didn’t that he started noticing them.

  Rosa hadn’t turned in for work yesterday or again this morning. He had tried her number multiple times and had instructed his secretary to keep on trying.

  The woman lived alone and he had eventually become concerned when Sergeant Ross had rung the school trying to reach her. The last thing that he and Ravenhill wanted was outside interference.

  ----------

  Sarah could feel their attention start to wane as the clock ticked closer to the bell.

  It was always the same as the day drew to a close. Her timetable dictated that her last class of the day was her assembly class for English.

  Their faces were already pinched and tired and she often lost the battle for their attention.

  It was always made doubly difficult as they inched closer to the end of term. They only had three more days until the Christmas break and she felt in need of it as much as the kids.

  Her only concern was that when she wasn’t working she had a tendency to wallow and then drink. She didn’t think that she had a problem, but then wasn’t that what everyone with a problem thought.

  There were always several staff members who stayed at Ravenhill during term breaks as some of the kids weren’t always able to return home for the holidays, but at Christmas the place was nearly deserted.

  She had nowhere to go and Barnaby never seemed to leave the premises. Of the other staff, most had families to visit especially at this time of year and she wasn’t looking forward to the isolation this time around.

  She looked up from her desk as Alex Thompson was ending his reciting of the poem.

  She prided herself on teaching her students at an advanced level and the smaller classes and less disruptive students certainly helped in that regard.

  She had been a little unsure about taking a job in a private school to begin with, but her preconceptions had soon been dispelled. Kids were kids but these were more open to lessons and more attuned to instruction.

  “They that had fought so well

  Came thro' the jaws of Death

  Back from the mouth of Hell.”

  Thompson stared to struggle with his memory as he neared the end of the fifth verse.

  He should have memorised Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade by now but he was her one problem child in the class who bucked the trend.

  He was an intelligent kid, but that just made him worse. Instead of being able to drown his excessive behaviour in work, he was always able to swim against the tide and cope. He was articulate and sly and his ability to lead the kids around him was always disruptive. But everything was relative.

  She wasn’t stuck in some inner city school where you were just happy if the kids showed up alive the following day; here she just had a kid with a little lip.

  “They that had fought so well

  Came thro' the jaws of Death

  Back from the mouth of Hell.”

  He repeated the verse, getting stuck at the same place again. His handsome face was creased with concentration as he fought against failing.

  “All that was left of them, left of six hundred. When can their glory fade?

  O the wild charge they made! All the world wondered.

  Honor the charge they made, honor the Light Brigade,

  noble six hundred”.

  A new voice piped up, as all attention was focused on Alex Thompson. Everyone, including Sarah, turned to the doorway as a new boy stood there who had finished the fifth and sixth verses.

  He was tall but slender with it. His hair was a brilliant mop of sweeping blonde waves and his eyes were a deep emerald green.

  His accent was pure Middle America and Sarah noted the nudges and the looks in some of the girls’ eyes at the new arrival.

  His face was open and bathed in a friendly smile and for a moment he seemed strangely familiar to her

  “And you are?” she asked

  “Joshua Bradley, Ma’am” he answered politely and his name caused another ripple of excitement amongst the girls.

  “I wasn’t expecting such a grand entrance, Mr. Bradley,” she said frowning. “Where is Mr. Barnaby?”

  “I’m sorry, my folks just dropped me off and I know that I’m in your class, Ms Mears,” he said, still beaming a loud smile.

  “Well perhaps you would like to take yourself along to Mr. Barnaby’s office,” she instructed.

  “Of course,” Joshua replied, but he held her stare for a split second more than was comfortable before he turned and left on a growing whisper from the other kids.

  “That’s enough,” she commanded the class, without turning back around.

  There was a small muted murmur of laughter from the back of the room and she turned to see that Thompson had made some joke presumably about the new boy, but for once his humour wasn’t met with universal praise.

 
; ----------

  Jemima wandered the halls before dinner looking for Sarah. She was worried about the older teacher who had appeared to be finally inching out of her shell until the panicked incident when the Vance girl had seemed to be missing.

  As far as she was concerned, Sarah hadn’t done anything wrong and had in fact showed remarkable calm to raise the alarm.

  She wasn’t sure that she would have been as in control. That was up until Stuart had told her of Sarah’s outburst before they found the girl.

  The way he told it, she had been very upset; the way that Dora Tibbs, the PE teacher, told it, Sarah had been drunk and out of control. Jemima knew which version she would choose to believe.

  Dora gave her the creeps and was always sniping behind other staff members’ backs and running to tell tales to Barnaby.

  She was an odd bird, as her mother would have said; her mother had lots of sayings for lots of occasions but Jemima found a lot of them were unpleasant.

  Her mother had also been a teacher but Jemima hoped that was as far as the similarities between them went.

  Where her mother was stern and cold, she wanted to be warm and approachable. She’d always had a love of history and she hoped that her passion shone through to the kids.

  Ravenhill was an exclusive school with an impeccable reputation and she was lucky to be there. While she might seem light hearted and fun on the surface, she was desperately serious about her profession.

  She saw Stuart round the corner on his way to rugby practice and she headed straight for him. She’d always had a little bit of a crush on the guy, but it was clear to apparently everyone except Sarah just where his intensions lay.

  “Stu?” she called to him, before he clacked his way outside on his studs.

  “Hey Jemima, what’s up?” he replied with his usual smile.

  “Barnaby was on my case earlier asking questions about one of the kitchen staff who had apparently not turned in for work.”

  “Yeah, Rosa Marsh; he was asking me too,” Stuart replied.

  “Man that guy has got a stick up his arse sometimes. I mean just because someone wants to play hooky for a couple of days why’s he got to get so uptight about it?” Jemima said haughtily.

  “Ah he’s not so bad; maybe he’s just worried about her,” Stuart shrugged.