Finally I got to the fence, these tall wooden pickets, just right for keeping out the barbarians. I followed them down till I got to the gate. It was frozen shut. I had to bang it a few times until it snapped open. I stepped out under the streetlights, then nipped across Forest Hill Road, past that house where that black-haired girl let me feel her up, and ran along Frybrook. At the far end of the street, maybe a hundred yards away, were the lower playing fields of Bishop Strachan. I headed toward them. I didn’t even mind the cold on my feet. I turned up Warren Road and ran uphill alongside the playing fields and then turned in that little circular driveway where the little squirts get dropped off by the parents. I went over and gave the window a little push. I had to lean over the railing just a bit and when I did I caught a reflection of the moon. The window opened. I pushed it wide, checked over my shoulder and slid in head first, landing like a big bundle of laundry on the floor. You could tell, even in the dark, it was a classroom, the way it smelt, the dust, the chalk, the wood they make those desks from. And something else, too. Something different. I went to the door and peeked out. Sure enough, down the end of a dark hall was a big red exit sign. A fool couldn’t miss it. So I went back into the classroom, took off my shoes, emptied out the snow and put them back on. Then I started down the hall, keeping very close to the wall. I heard a click, then another click; they must have had the same fucking clocks as the ones we had at Upper Canada. I looked up. Sure enough, there it was. Sometime past twelve-thirty. I got to the end of the hall and I started up the stairs. Very carefully, I climbed a few steps, then listened, another few steps, then listened, heart banging away. I could feel the air change, it smelt different there, like the bodies of sleeping girls. Like the way Scarlet’s bedroom smelt, only a hundred times stronger.
I got to the third floor and I started along the hallway. A floorboard creaked, I mean it was like a shriek so I stepped over to the side, as far as I could get, my shoulder brushing the brick, and standing on my tiptoes I made my way down the hall till I got to the room with the red card. I opened the door. I heard a sheet rustle inside. I shut the door behind me.
“Is that you?” she whispered. “I never thought you’d come. I thought you’d chicken out.”
I felt my way across the room and sat down on the side of the bed. For a moment everything was absolutely silent. The hall clock clicked again.
“Strange, eh?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Being here.”
“Very.”
“It smells nice.”
“Yeah?”
“I like the way girls’ rooms smell.”
“You must have a sensitive nose. I can’t tell the difference.”
She didn’t say anything else and I looked out the window. You could see a yellow light at the far end of the playing field.
“Who lives there?” I asked.
“Where?”
I took her hand and pointed out the window.
“That little house there.”
“Oh there. That’s the groundskeeper. He drinks. We stay away from there after dark.”
She lowered her hand; it was under mine but she didn’t move it.
“So are you still mad at me?” she said.
“I was never mad at you.”
“You should have been.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Honest?”
“Honest.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Things got quiet again.
“I can hardly see you,” she said. “Can you see me?”
“Sort of.”
“I let my hair grow.”
“Yes, I see that.”
“Does it look French?”
“Yes.”
“Not that it makes any difference in boarding school. You never see anyone. By the end of the term all the girls are wearing sweat pants anyway. It’s the potatoes they feed you. Just like jail.”
Just then, down the hall, a door opened and a pair of naked feet, you could tell by the sound, started down the hall in the other direction. The board shrieked again.
“See what I mean?” she whispered, “It’s like a chicken coop in here.”
“But why do they all go the bathroom?”
“Wash their hands, probably. They don’t like the smell of it.”
“Of what?”
“You know.”
“Oh that.”
“Some guys get up right after and go wash their hands. You know, like they’ve been working with battery acid or something.”
“Sometimes you talk like a guy, Scarlet.”
“That’s because I’m part lesbo.”
“Are you part lesbo?”
“Everybody’s part something.”
“I’m not part homo.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I am not.”
“You mean you never played doctor when you were a little kid? Or jacked off with another guy?”
“Jesus, Scarlet, your mouth.”
“But you did, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. Never. Not once. Matter of fact, I had a friend once who took me down to his basement and asked me if I wanted to play doctor and I thought he was like mentally ill. I never liked him again. Jesus, what an idea.”
“Well, that’s very unusual.”
“I don’t think so.”
The hall clock clicked again.
“Your pants are wet. I can feel them through the sheets.”
“I should take them off.”
She didn’t say anything and a minute later, I got into bed beside her.
“Don’t do anything, okay? This is weird enough,” she said.
“I hope no one comes in.”
“Don’t even say that. I’m supposed to be on extra good behaviour. That was the condition for taking me. I had to swear on a dozen bibles I wouldn’t corrupt anybody. Jesus! You’re freezing.”
“I’ll warm up. God, this bed smells nice. Do all girls’ beds smell this nice?”
“Don’t talk so loud.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You know what that is.”
“I mean what’s it made of.”
“Flannel. Very cosy. It was a Christmas present.”
“Does it go all the way down?”
There was the sound of a flushing toilet and the naked feet came back along the hall. A door opened and closed.
“Do you ever see Daphne Gunn?” she asked.
“No.”
“I saw her in the sport’s shop yesterday. She was buying deodorant.”
“I don’t want to talk about Daphne.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“Don’t know.”
She was quiet again. I could tell she was thinking about something.
“You won’t be pissed off at me any more?” she said.
“No.”
“Promise?”
She sat up, and in the moonlight I could see her lift it over her shoulders. I heard it land on the floor.
“Is that better?”
“Yes.”
“Are you happy now?”
“Completely.”
“This is pretty weird.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just getting comfortable”
“With your hand there?”
“Just for a second. I’m resting.”
“Just resting.”
“Yes.”
“All right. But be careful. I don’t want to end up in the hospital.”
“I will be.”
“No. Just there. And softer.”
“Like that?”
“Yes. Just a little lower. Yes, that’s it.”
“Is that right?”
“Just keep doing that. Softly though. Really softly.”
“How’s that?”
“Perfect. Just don’t talk for a second. Just keep doing it.”
“Like that?”
&nb
sp; “Shhh.”
Then, after a bit, she sort of shuddered and put her hands over her face.
“God,” she said, “I mean it, one night the police really are going to take me away.”
The board in the middle of the hall creaked. Scarlet froze. We both listened. The board creaked again. But there was no sound, no footstep. She leaned over and putting her mouth very close to my ear, whispered, “Get in the cupboard.”
I got out of bed, grabbed up my shoes and my pants, opened the cupboard and got in. A few moments later, I heard the door open and through a crack I saw the room fill with light.
“Scarlet?”
“Yes, Miss Jenkins?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“No one, Miss Jenkins.”
There was a pause.
“Why is your nightdress on the floor?”
“I was hot, Miss Jenkins.”
“Put it back on.”
There was a flutter of material and then the sigh of a bed. Footsteps crossed in front of the cupboard. I looked at the floor. The window creaked as she unwound it.
“If you’re hot, open the window.”
“Yes, Miss Jenkins.”
“Now go to sleep.”
“Yes, Miss Jenkins.”
I stayed in the cupboard for some time. Then very carefully I stepped back into the room. I went to the door and opened it and peeked out. The hallway was empty.
“All right,” I whispered.
“Listen. Bring some string next time,” she said. “The kind they use for wrapping parcels.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see.”
It was algebra class, all those fucking brackets and little x’s; I was sitting near the back, watching an icicle hanging from the outside roof. It was a big cone-shaped thing, gleaming in the morning sunshine, water dropping off the end of it, and I knew that in a few seconds or a few minutes it was going to lose its grip on the roof and come crashing down with a roar. And that’s what I was waiting for.
There was a knock at the door and Harold, the messenger, came in. He was a nice old guy, always very polite to you in a way that made you polite back to him. He had this scanty white hair, a pink face, and he wore a blue uniform like a valet or something. All morning long he went from classroom to classroom delivering announcements from the headmaster’s office, you know, like no ball hockey permitted in the parking lot, the southern soccer fields out of bounds until spring, that kind of thing.
“Good morning, Harold,” the teacher said.
“Morning, sir,” said Harold, always jaunty. “Albright to the headmaster’s office.”
There was a groan and some of the pricks in the class turned around, their eyes all bright with bloodlust. You could feel their creepy little peepers moving over your face, trying to see if you were scared.
I went out in the hall.
“What’s up, Harold?”
“No idea, sir,” he said and made his way down the hall, consulting his list. I took the stairs two at a time and hurried along the main hall. The principal’s office was right at the end. The secretary, looking very fucking glum I might add, waved me through. When I saw Psycho Schiller there, I knew my goose was cooked.
The principal, a red-haired guy in his forties, took a few quick steps toward me. He was super pissed off, like about two seconds from hitting me.
“You have exactly one minute to tell me what you were doing in the girls’ residence at Bishop Strachan last night and by God, Albright, if you lie to me, I’ll cane your ass off right here on the spot.”
You know the expression, pooping in your pants. That was the closest I ever came. I looked at his face, then at Psycho. No way out.
“I was visiting a friend,” I said.
“We know that, stupid,” he said, spitting out the words. “How many times have you been there?”
“It was my first time.”
“Did you take anyone with you?”
“No.”
“No, sir, you mannerless oaf!”
“Yes, sir. No, sir.”
He stared at me hard for a second. I looked at the floor.
“The headmistress saw you, you fool. You left your bloody footprints all the way to the girl’s room.”
He turned to Schiller.
“Mr Schiller, do you have anything to add?”
“Not for the moment,” he said. “I certainly shall after.”
“Right. Now listen, you halfwit, you’re going to march over to Bishop Strachan right now. You will go to Miss Jenkin’s office, you will be on your best behaviour, you will apologize, you will take her step by step through everything you did, from getting in to getting out of that school, and then you will come back here immediately and we will decide what we’re going to do with you. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now get out.”
I ran over to the dormitory and got my coat, but on the way back I saw the strangest thing. You know these two guys, the principal and Psycho, like when I left the office, they were looking at me like they were measuring my neck for the noose, but on the way back across the quad I happened to glance up and I saw the two of them standing by the window. They were laughing. And I had a feeling they were laughing about this stunt, me getting caught in the girls’ dormitory. It was like they had to act as if I’d done something really bad, you know, for my benefit, but between themselves, they must have figured it was just a fucking prank. I mean there’s shit to get caught for and shit to get caught for. And stealing stuff or punching some kid in the mouth, that’s another league. Even an asshole like Psycho must have known the difference.
Anyway I didn’t spend a lot of time philosophizing on the relativity of crime, if you know what I mean. I sped over to Bishop Strachan, went in the side door and hurried along the corridor looking this way and that for the office. Scarlet was sitting in the hallway on a bench, white as a ghost. Before I had a chance to speak, she whispered, “Don’t you dare tell them I left the window open.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell them you screwed me. I mean it.”
I stared at her like she was a fucking stranger.
I went into Miss Jenkins’ office. She was this stout, grey-haired woman with a big bosom. She called Scarlet into the room. Scarlet came in, looking very dark under the eyes.
“I am going to ask you some questions, Simon. And how you respond is very important to the safety of the girls in this school. Do you understand? There’s a great deal more at stake here than just you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How did you get in?”
“Through a window.”
“Which window?”
“The Grade Nine window.”
“How did you know it was the Grade Nine window?”
“I used to have a girlfriend in Grade Nine.”
“Who was that?”
“Daphne Gunn.”
She paused for a minute.
“How did you know the window would be open?”
Scarlet was looking at the floor, listening.
“I just took a chance.”
“Did Scarlet leave it open for you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Scarlet, is he telling the truth?”
“Yes, Miss Jenkins.”
“Do you understand the significance of the question?”
“Not really, Miss Jenkins.”
“If you didn’t leave the window open, Scarlet, then whatyour friend committed is a crime. Breaking and entering. I want you to appreciate this, Scarlet.”
“I do.”
“Well, did you at least know he was coming?”
“No, Miss Jenkins.”
“I have to say to the both of you that I find this all rather unconvincing.”
I didn’t say anything. Scarlet was biting the inside of her lip and squeezing the tip of her index finger into her thumb.
“H
ow did you know which room was Scarlet’s?”
“She told me the number one time. I just remembered.”
“There was a red card on your door, Scarlet. Was that for Simon’s benefit?”
“No, Miss Jenkins. That was a reminder to do my history homework.”
“Well, if you weren’t expecting him and you didn’t leave the window open, why did you let him hide in your cupboard?”
“I don’t know.”
Miss Jenkins nodded.
“Is there anything you’d like to add, Simon? Now’s your chance.”
“I’d like to say that I’m sorry for frightening you, Miss Jenkins. And I’m extremely sorry for all this fuss.”
“Fuss is a peculiar choice of words, I must say.”
She looked at Scarlet. “Well, I think I know everything I need to know. You can go back to your school now, Simon.”
Just as I was leaving, she stopped me.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen, Miss Jenkins.”
She thought about that for a moment.
“All right. You can go.”
I headed back over to Upper Canada. It was raining now, puddles everywhere, one of those death days in the city. I couldn’t get that picture of Scarlet out of my head, those dark rings under her eyes, that little runt’s face. It was like she’d turned into somebody else, like a completely unrecognizable stranger. Well, not entirely unrecognizable. I’d seen that look before. The night in front of her condominium when she gave me the axe. Whenever Scarlet wanted something that was going to cost somebody else their skin, she got this look on her face. First time I saw it, I thought it was an accident. But not the second time. No, that’s what she’s really like. And once you see what somebody’s really like, you don’t forget it.
Lost Between Houses Page 19