Big Brother's Little Sister

by Mike Bursell

  I waited, unclear what was supposed to happen next.

  Another question: "Your mother's a police officer, yes?"

  She had to know the answer to this one: Mum had done an assembly a few years back, at Ms Martin's request. In uniform. About policing. And it was surely on my school file. "Yes, she is."

  She looked down at the papers on her desk, as if trying to hide the fact that the next question was important. "Any ... connections with the Enforcers, particularly?"

  This was turning out weird. This question was pretty safe, though: "No. No connections." What was interesting was why she might be asking that question. The obvious reason would have been if she were trying to get in touch with the Enforcers secretly, but given her attitude to the recruiters at the Assembly, and the way in which she'd asked the question - as if trying to check that Mum didn't have any kind of connection - this didn't make any sense.

  "Other than professional ones, I guess?" she ventured.

  "I don't think she spends much time with any Enforcers at work, either," I told her. She clearly wanted me to give her a clue as to how Mum felt about the Enforcers, and although I knew that she disliked them intensely, I didn't feel that it was safe to give Ms Martin this level of information.

  "I hear that not all police officers approve of the Enforcers," she tried, altogether too obviously.

  "I've heard that, too," I informed her. I really wasn't going to give Mum's views away.

  "Do you know if your mother is likely to be around tonight?" Ms Martin continued, clearly having given up on that line of questioning.

  I had a think. The note this morning had included a question asking what I wanted for supper, which suggested that she was planning to be at home to cook it today. "Yes, she should be." I nearly asked why, but thought better of it.

  "Great," said Ms Martin, and turned back to her desk. Then she seemed to remember that I was still there. "That'll be all: you can go."

  I got up, still seriously confused.

  "Oh, and if anybody asks about it, I've just reprimanded you for being late to school, OK? First warning, no punishment this time, that sort of thing." She waved her hand, vaguely.

  "OK," I agreed, and left her office, slightly disturbed, but mainly very confused.

  As I walked to my class, checking the time - there were still a few minutes left of first period - I still couldn't work out what was going on. The questions that Ms Martin had asked me seemed not only to make no sense, but also not to be connected to each other. The only two things that seemed clear to me were that she was wanted to know if Mum approved of the Enforcers, and that she was probably going to give Mum a phone call tonight: though why she needed to know if she would be home, I couldn’t fathom. Maybe she doesn't want to call her at work, which is fair enough. But why would she want to call her at all? I don't seem to be in trouble, so it probably isn't about me. The oddest thing, though, was that she'd asked me to lie about why she'd called me to her office. Surely she wouldn't do that unless she had something to hide? But what?

  I couldn't imagine what it was, at least based on the evidence of our conversation. I didn't know much about Ms Martin, to be honest, as I hadn't had much interaction with her. She was considered very strict, and maybe a little mean, but that was mainly from people who'd been in trouble with her in her role as head teacher. The only time I'd had much to do with her was when I'd just started at the school, and Mum had been a bit worried that I didn't have many close friends. Ms Martin had spent some time talking to me while I tried to explain that I wasn't unhappy: I had some people I liked, but didn't feel the need to hang around with anyone in particular. She had believed me, and other than saying that she'd keep an eye on me and that I should come to her or my class teacher if I had any problems, she'd left it at that, to my relief.

  She had gone up in my estimation, however, based on the way she had dealt with the Enforcer recruiters yesterday. It occurred to me that the sort of studied indifference that she'd shown to them was exactly the sort of behaviour guaranteed to wind up teachers when pupils did it, but which they found very difficult to criticise or punish without looking stupid. Something to bear in mind for another time, I mused. One thing that had become clear, though, was that Ms Martin wasn't exactly good at levering information out of people: I needn't have worried on that score.

  There was an ironic round of applause from the class as I entered, until the teacher stopped it. I was sitting next to Elodie Hornsby, who asked me what had happened, and I told her I'd been told off for "lack of punctuality". She raised her eyebrows, but seemed to believe me: I was making an attempt to look very ashamed and embarrassed. I even got a thumbs up a little later from Jenny Taylor, one of the "cool gang", when the story percolated around the classroom. Apparently, getting into trouble was worth points of some kind, and I'd gone up in her estimation somehow. I rolled my eyes inwardly, but managed to look sheepish and blush a little, which raised a smile from Jenny.

  The mystery of the bizarre conversation with Ms Martin was partly solved when she turned up at our door an hour after school finished. I answered the bell, and was surprised to see her on the doorstep, looking around somewhat furtively. She almost jumped on seeing me open the door, which was odd, as I wasn't sure who else she might have expected to be there. "Is your mother in?" she asked.

  "She popped out to grab something for supper," I replied. I glanced at my watch. "She should be back in a couple of minutes. Do you want to come in?"

  "Please," she replied. Ms Martin looked over her shoulder, as if she were expecting somebody to be following her, and followed me quickly into the house.

  I really hope that I'm not this obvious when I'm trying to keep something secret, I thought to myself, but comforted myself with the thought that if I were, someone would have reported me to the Enforcers within hours of my first approach to Mo, let alone our first attack.

  Closing the door, I led her into the kitchen, offering her a cup of tea or coffee. She accepted a mug of tea and was just starting to sip it when Mum came through the front door. "I'm back, love," she called, as she entered the kitchen with a pair of shopping bags.

  She was brought up short by the sight of Ms Martin, who was getting to her feet and putting the mug down on the table. Mum glanced at me, presumably to see if I was looking guilty about anything, but her expression moved from suspicious to puzzled when I shrugged my shoulders to make it clear I had no idea what was going on.

  "Do you mind if I put the shopping down?" she asked, and I went to help her. Mum gave me another questioning look, but I just shook my head minutely to show that I didn't know what this was about.

  "So, Ms Martin," she said, as I took over and started unpacking the shopping, "what can I do for you? Lena mentioned that she was called to see you after being late to school this morning. I must apologise: it's not like her, and she's promised me it won't happen again."

  I'd decided to tell Mum all about the conversation I'd had that morning, as well as the final suggestion from Ms Martin that I tell people a cover story about why I'd been to see her. Mum had clearly decided not to let on that she knew about the rest of the what we’d discussed.

  "Oh, it's nothing like that, Mrs..." Ms Martin started.

  "Call me Mary. I dropped the 'Mrs' and took back my maiden name when I divorced Lena's father, anyway," Mum explained.

  Ms Martin looked relieved at this move away from formality. "I'm Carrie. Out of school, anyway," she said, looking at me. I smiled, to show that I understood. "It's something else that I wanted to discuss with you. Not to do with Lena, not at all," she said, reassuringly. "But something a little ... delicate."

  "That's a relief," Mum replied, half-jokingly. "Let me just grab a cup of tea as well,"

  Desperate as I was to find out what they wanted to talk about, it was abundantly clear that Ms Martin wasn't going to say much to Mum if I was there. Trusting that Mum would fill me in later, I announced that I ought to be getting on with some homework, prompting
an appreciative smile from Mum, and another look of relief from Ms Martin.

  Chapter 10 – Have a biscuit

  I heard the front door close after about forty minutes, and went downstairs to find out what was going on.

  “Everything all right?” I enquired.

  “Hmm, yes.” Mum was putting the kettle on again and looked up as I entered the room. “Could you do a favour for me? Oh, wait: where are you done with your homework? I don't want you getting in trouble at school. Again.” She raised an eyebrow mockingly.

  “I've done everything that needs to be in for tomorrow. There's some reading I need to get done by the end of the week, but I've nearly finished the book already anyway.”

  “Okay. Would you mind popping up to the Vicarage and asking Denise if she's got a few minutes to spare this evening? If she has, it would be great if she could pop down,” she said.

  “Is this to do with what Ms Martin wanted?” I asked.

  “None of your business,” she replied, somewhat archly. “You all right to head up now?”

  “Sure. But wouldn't it be easier to phone?”

  “Yes, it would. But I'm not going to. Now, off you go.”

  I headed off up the road, wondering why Mum didn't want to phone Denise. Even though she wouldn't admit to it, this was clearly to do with what Ms Martin had been asking me this morning. I still couldn't fathom what was going on, though, and hoped that Denise would give me some more information. I'd not had any chance to speak to Mo all day, and he hadn't picked up the phone when I called – though it was a little earlier than our usual time, so I wasn't worried. Might he have any ideas? I'd better try him a little later on.

  It only took me a few minutes to walk up the hill to the Rectory. I made my way to the front door and rang the bell. I waited for a few seconds, and then heard the sound of someone coming to the door. It opened, and I saw Si, Denise's husband, standing there.

  “Hi, Lena. It's been a while since you came round. Everything OK?” he asked.

  “Yup. Pretty much,” I replied.

  “Good. Come in.”

  He stood aside from the door and I entered the hall, peering into the house. “I was wondering if Denise was about?”

  “Yes, she's got some sort of parish meeting at the moment, but ...” he glanced at his watch, “she should be out soon.”

  I could hear voices from the door off the hall, and we stepped back just as it opened. Various people emerged, most of whom I recognised from church, and we made room for them. A few nodded at me or said “hi” as they saw me.

  “Why don't you come into the kitchen while she sees everyone off the premises?” Si suggested.

  I followed him into the kitchen as flicked the kettle on. “Will she be long, do you think?”

  “Wouldn't have thought so, but who knows? In my experience, people sometimes take the opportunity to bend her ear after these sorts of meetings. 'Oh, just one more thing, vicar.' 'I didn't want to bother you with everybody else there...', that kind of thing.” He got a couple of mugs out, and then added a third one. “Cup of tea?”

  “OK,” I said, and he retrieved a teapot from the side, emptying it out and putting the old teabags into the composting bin. “Anything I can help with?”

  “I don't think so. Mum wanted to see Denise about something.”

  He looked resigned. “Oh, well, it rarely is something I can help with, but that's fine. How are you doing? How's school?” He must have noticed my hesitation, because he looked up from getting rinsing out the kettle. “Everything OK?”

  “Yeah. Well, yeah. Kind of.”

  “Ah.” He placed a couple of teabags in the teapot. “I hear you had some Enforcers round the other day.”

  I perked up, trying not to look too interested in how he knew, but didn't have the chance to enquire any further, as I heard the sound of steps coming through the sitting room towards us.

  “Oh, hi, Lena. It's been ages!” said Denise, a smile appearing on her face, “What can I do for you?”

  “I was just making a pot of tea,” interjected Si. “And Lena was telling me about the Enforcer visit to school.”

  “Were you?” asked Denise.

  “Not really,” I admitted. But then, not wanting to sound rude, “Si asked me about it. He asked about school.”

  Denise shot him a glance which I couldn't quite read. “OK. Well, all right. Let's drop that subject: unless you want to talk about it?” She half-raised an eyebrow.

  I was really tempted. If there was someone apart from Mo and Mum who I could trust, it would be Denise. Not just because she was my godmother. Not because she was a priest. Just because of who she was. Which might, I supposed, be partly because she's a priest. Which was kind of an interesting thought.

  “No. Not really.” I lapsed into silence.

  Si, having poured the water from the kettle into the teapot while we were talking, swilled it around, and then started pouring three mugs of tea. “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Just milk, thanks,” I replied. “Look, I shouldn't really stay. Mum sent me up here.”

  “Oh, I'm sure that can wait a few minutes, don't you? Surely you've got time for a cup of tea?” Denise asked.

  “I don't know,” I said, hesitantly.

  “I think you have time,” she decided, taking control. “Does Mary want me to pop round, by any chance?” asked Denise.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “That's what people usually want,” said Denise, “and we've not had a chance to catch up lately”. The words could have been bitter, but her tone of voice was cheerful, and she was smiling, so I decided that she wasn't upset. “She can wait a few minutes. Or she would have come herself, right?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Denise flashed Si another glance, and he reached into a cupboard, withdrawing some chocolate biscuits, and I realised that I didn't actually have any say in the matter at all. I would be staying whether I wanted to or not.

  Denise sat down on a chair and gestured me to the sofa, putting my tea in front of me on a coffee table and leaving a plate with biscuits on it next to it. She took one as I sat down, and I realised that Si had made himself scarce.

  She took a sip of tea, and then grimaced. “Too hot,” she said, “I never learn. So. Have a biscuit.”

  I took a biscuit, and took a bite.

  “The Enforcers came to school?”

  I nodded.

  “Recruiting?”

  I nodded again.

  “They're doing the rounds,” she said. I must have looked surprised, because she continued. “I keep in touch. With vicars around the country, and locally. And imams, Roman Catholic priests, rabbis, that sort of thing. Kind of informal network.”

  She took another sip of tea, and then reached for a biscuit.

  “Did they get anyone?”

  I shrugged, not trusting myself to say anything more.

  “They probably will. Sorry, but they usually get one or two. It's not nice.”

  “Ms Martin came round tonight, and when she left, Mum asked to come and find you. To see if you could come round,” I blurted out.

  “Good,” said Denise, thoughtfully. “It's not easy, you know.”

  “Being a priest, you mean?”

  She looked at me appraisingly. “No, that's not what I meant. Although that can be difficult, too. But on the other hand, sometimes it's easy to know what the right thing to do is.” She ate a mouthful of biscuit. “No. Being a child. Being a young person, I should say. That's not easy.”