by Matt Drabble
She stood there ashamed and perilously close to tears. She had never received a rebuke, nor given cause to be rebuked by Mr. Barnaby before and she found that his words cut deeply. “I’m sorry, I’ll sort it out,” she said, retreating quickly before her emotions crumbled.
She sat back at her desk determined to fill the gap in her files and show her boss that she was still capable of fulfilling her position, hopefully before he started to wonder.
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The end of term party was a tradition borne out of the fact that the pupils would always have organised their own if one wasn’t provided for them. Alastair Barnaby had learnt this lesson from bitter experience. Several years ago, some of the older children had arranged their own party and things had rapidly spiraled out of control. Alcohol had somehow been smuggled onto the grounds. This had resulted in several children, including the young son of one of the Prime Minister’s closest family friends, becoming seriously ill and only just avoiding hospitalization. It had been a close thing and one that would have ruined the school’s exclusive reputation. Since that night, he had taken the pragmatic decision to provide a party for the pupils every year at Christmas. The occasion was heavily supervised and kept closely under control.
He tried to push the conversation with his secretary away from the front of his mind. He was positive that he had sat in his office with the boy’s parents discussing the young man’s future at length. But whenever he tried to picture their faces, it was all just a swimming blur. Mrs. Merryweather had never failed in her duties since she had been with the school and he found it difficult to believe that she had slipped now. And yet, what was the alternative? He knew that she wasn’t a young woman anymore and perhaps the time had come to look for a replacement. He found it easier to convince himself that his assistant was growing slack than believe that his own mind was slipping. He made a mental note to discuss her retirement with her after the holidays. It was high time that the school’s systems and records were updated anyway. He would search for someone younger with a more modern approach.
Pleased with his assessment and decision, he took a stroll towards the main hall. The corridors were decorated with tasteful Christmas apparel. Green holly and ivy were intertwined with soft white lights in a festive swirl. The music was loud enough to rattle the walls but he held his tongue; it was the season after all.
He followed the noise that seemed to consist of little more than repetitive beats and nothing like the sounds of his own youth. He poked his head around the door to make sure that everything was in order. He’d barely had a chance to check over the proceedings when he saw Ms Tibbs making a hasty beeline for him. The PE teacher seemed to be constantly in his ear these days and he was growing tired of her tattle tales. She seemed to be living under the misconception that he needed her input as to what was going on under his own roof. He wondered if Ms Tibbs might not be going the way of Mrs. Merryweather come January, a clean sweep - out with the old and in with the new.
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Sarah nursed her one glass of wine making it last. She knew her own weakness and didn’t want to start garnering a heavy thirst under such circumstances as a school dance. Her hip flask had stayed in the back of her wardrobe where she had placed it on Monday night when it fell from her pocket in plain sight of several members of staff. She had made a subconscious decision of sorts to refrain from using alcohol as a sleeping aid. She had been concerned about how the removal of her crutch would affect her physically, but she had been pleased to find that perhaps the bottle hadn’t grabbed her as hard as she had feared.
The kids were all enjoying the DJ even though he was constantly checking the weather outside. She didn’t blame him; for an outsider Ravenhill could be a pretty intimidating place and not one where you would wish to find yourself stranded.
The main hall had been stripped of furniture and now the huge parquet floor was filled with a throng of dancing students. Some of the older kids were gyrating a little too much than was appropriate for their age, but she had always been a little bit of a prude.
She was high on the buzz from the party and of the class that afternoon. Stuart was parading around the dance floor joining in with his rugby team’s dancing and making a fool of himself. His beaming smile, however, was infectious and the ribbing from his boys seemed good-natured.
“What’s got you grinning like the cat that’s got the cream?” Jemima startled her from behind as she watched the maths teacher.
“Nothing,” she answered, rather too quickly.
“Oh I can see that,” Jemima smiled as she followed her gaze to the dance floor. “Just as the weather starts to freeze, you start to thaw.”
Sarah wondered if there was a little bitterness in her friend’s voice, but Jemima linked her arm through hers and gave it a soft squeeze. It had been so long since she had interacted with people that she figured she was bound to misread signals.
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Alex Thompson found himself ensconced in the position of number two. It was a strange sensation for an alpha male to be in, but somehow he didn’t mind. He had thought himself above all others, until he had met Joshua.
The American held court effortlessly and without the threat that Alex had always found necessary. The other kids lived in fear of him but they just gravitated towards Joshua. The boy had some kind of natural magnetism that drew everyone to him and they all wanted to gain his favor.
They had only known each other a couple of days and yet it felt like a lifetime. Alex felt strangely protective of the smaller boy and he found himself willing to listen and obey whatever he was asked to do.
They were surrounded by a group of around 10 other kids crowded in close to hear Joshua speak. They were away from the bulk of the party and Alex couldn’t have cared less about the festivities. He had been intending to take another swing at Anna Thomas, but now he just wasn’t interested.
“So tell us more about where you come from Joshua,” an 11 year old called Billy Moffet asked shyly.
“Where I come from was something of a paradise,” Joshua answered to the rapt faces crowded around them in the corner of the main hall. “We had a spirit of community and friendship that sought to care for all of us. A society is judged only by its weakest link; that is where our faith is tested.”
“Faith? You mean like a church school?” Billy asked.
“God is everywhere, young William; he has no need for buildings devoted to his name,” Joshua smiled. “He is the air around us and in the whisper of the trees. He is our voice and our judgment. He is what we should aspire to live up to and worship and his rewards are bountiful to those chosen few who are prepared to follow his word.”
Alex had always considered religion to be a crock of shit and merely an excuse for dirty old men to shove their hands up the legs of kids, but Joshua’s ideas had intrigued him. The thought that there was someone who watched over them all was oddly comforting.
“What a load of bollocks!” A voice spat from behind their small gathering.
Alex turned in anger to see James Corner standing with a lopsided grin on his face. James had always been his rival for the position of top dog at Ravenhill. He was a broad-shouldered kid with quick fists and a hard head. They had tangled several times, especially when contesting the captaincy of the rugby team. “Watch your fucking mouth, Corner,” he growled, but Joshua reached out and took his arm firmly.
“Am I to take it that you are not a believer, James?” Joshua asked, with seemingly genuine interest.
“Are you shitting me?” James laughed. “All of that Holy Roller crap is for those who don’t know any better. There’s nobody in this life that looks out for you except yourself; if you believe anything different then you’re a bunch of mugs.”
Alex stepped back as Joshua strode towards James. He wanted to warn him that the Corner kid wasn’t to be trusted and he was a dirty fighter given half the chance, but Joshua flashed him a reassuring look.
“Yeah, keep on
coming pal and I’ll belt you into next week,” James said menacingly. “Just because you’ve got some accent, you helped us win a game, and all the girls want to drop their knickers for you, don’t think that you impress me any.”
Joshua reached out and touched James lightly on the shoulder. Alex expected the kid to swing a punch at Joshua and he tensed himself to defend his friend, but the anger that was raw on James’s face didn’t seem to reach his fists.
“Who was it James?” Joshua whispered. “Who hurt you? Whose face do you see in the dark when you close your eyes at night? Who comes for you with trembling hands and hunger in his eyes?”
It was only because Alex was standing in close attendance, as he knew just what a bastard James Corner could be, that he heard Joshua’s voice at all. He watched as the anger drained from James’s face and his skin paled.
“I don’t know what you mean,” James stammered.
He was much bigger than Joshua and normally not shy of showing his physical dominance but now he seemed much smaller and weaker.
Joshua stepped in close and placed his head on James’s shoulder and whispered into the bigger boy’s ear. Alex couldn’t hear what Joshua said but James seemed to crumple. His face became pained and stricken with leaking tears. The others in their group could only see what appeared to be Joshua comforting James. Some of the girls whimpered at Joshua’s perceived kindness as James’s shoulders began to shake and quiver and he was soon sobbing uncontrollably. Alex suddenly felt a strange inclination that Joshua wasn’t so much comforting the tears as causing them. He watched on as James suddenly broke away and ran for the exit.
“God loves all of his sheep and eventually we all find our way home,” Joshua said sadly. “It just takes some of us longer than others.”
Alex looked at the boy with his wavy blonde hair and easy manner. He was slender and trim, with a handsome face and winning smile that seemed to enthrall both sexes with equal ease. For just the briefest of seconds, as the spinning disco lights flashed across the room, he thought that he saw something beneath Joshua’s calm exterior. It looked like something old and cruel, something with naked hunger in its eyes. In the same flash it was gone and Joshua was staring back at him now with a sparkle in his eyes.
“So which of you lovely ladies are going to show me how to dance?” Joshua asked and Alex found himself almost crushed under the race to be first.
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Sarah couldn’t shake the smile from her face. It was a strange euphoria that seemed to have affected everyone at the party. Even the usually stern faced Headmaster was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Dora Tibbs had shed a few inhibitions and was actually dancing in the middle of the room to much acclaim from the kids. Hannah Marks, the school nurse, was buzzing around looking three sheets to the wind despite having not touched a drop of alcohol.
Sarah’s head was full of happy thoughts and festive cheer. She finally felt completely at home here and safe amongst her family for the first time since before her eyes had been finally opened in Eden. She remembered the time before the fire and the terrible events that culminated in her own guilty actions. Her childhood had been a blissful experience full of joy and a sense of safety. One of her most complicated emotions to work through was the fact that despite everything that Tolan had been responsible for, she still missed the home of her youth. There was still a dull, aching longing to return to a time of absolute clarity where everything had been perfect before they had tasted the apple.
The kids were dancing and enjoying themselves immensely as the music pounded to an infectious beat. Mr. Barnaby had even appeared and had toasted the occasion, cracking his usually unyielding exterior.
She looked out across the dimly lit dance floor and her eyes caught the new boy’s. Joshua Bradley was surrounded by an adoring audience and she noted that even Alex Thompson appeared to be deferring to the American. Joshua suddenly looked up and stared directly at her. She felt an odd wave of rapture flow directly into her very core. It was an overpowering and intoxicating aroma that was really rather pleasant. She felt drunk and high and like everything was perfect; she hoped that the feeling would never end.
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James Corner ran up the stairs, avoiding the questioning glances at his tear-stained cheeks. He was used to inflicting his will upon others and not being made a laughing stock in front of the other pupils. That new kid was some kind of freak. The likes of Alex Thompson he could deal with. He understood Thompson as they were more alike than either would care to admit, but the American had some kind of weird mojo. His shoulder still tingled where Bradley had touched him. He knew that if he looked at his bare skin there would be an indelible mark burned into his flesh.
He had memories buried deep inside the dark rooms of his mind in corridors where he no longer walked. Behind those doors were secrets that battered at the locks from time to time, demanding to run free. His barriers had been carefully constructed over the years, but Joshua Bradley had smashed them down in a split second.
He’d had an Uncle Dennis when he’d been six. He wasn’t any kind of blood relative, just a friend of the family who’d been awarded the moniker. Dennis had been a cheerful old man who’d lived a few doors down. He’d always had a pocketful of sweets available or a shiny silver coin. James’s parents had been hard workers who’d both held down full-time jobs and required unpaid babysitting services. Dennis had only been too keen to offer his time and home free of charge. James had locked away the worst of the abuse that he’d suffered. Most of the time he could only smell the faint whiff of a musky aftershave and nicotine stained fingers. He’d made a promise that was supposed to keep his parents safe from the fire that Dennis had warned him he’d start if James ever told. The abuse had lasted a little over 6 months until Dennis had been struck down by a stroke whilst over exerting himself. James’s relief had turned to horror when his parents had brought Dennis home from the hospital. The stroke had left him almost completely paralyzed from the waist up with only slight movement in one hand and unable to speak. James’s parents were good Christians and had taken Dennis in when it turned out that his own children wanted nothing to do with him. James could vividly remember Dennis sitting in the converted attic on a rocking chair that creaked back and forth. His father fitted a small brass bell to Dennis’s chair so that he could ring for assistance at any time. His parents would make him bring Dennis his meals in a blender with a straw and tend to him. His mother would scold him for lacking Christian spirit if he ever refused to help. Dennis’s face was frozen but his eyes were always bright and knowing and James knew that every time Dennis rang the bell he had to go. James would lie in his bed beneath his abuser with the chair creaking back and forth, back and forth until the bell started to ring. When Joshua Bradley had touched him on the shoulder he had heard that brass bell ringing again and every painful memory had come rushing back.
His legs kept walking and he had no idea where he was going. He headed upwards beyond the classrooms and the accommodation block.
His pain was only matched by his shame and the tears just wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried.
He reached the top of the dominating staircase on the fifth floor. There was a small door that led out to the roof. The door was always locked and alarmed to keep children away from the balcony outside.
James reached out his hand expecting to find the door tightly locked, but it pushed open easily and there was no screaming alarm to greet him, only a cold blast of winter air.
He walked out on unsteady legs. The slate roof was surrounded by a balcony walkway that encircled the turret top. From up here he could see for miles, as the barren landscape was empty save for the occasional twinkling of small village lights. The railing was waist high on him and the metal was rusted and unstable.
He placed one leg over the railing and then the other. He stood with his back to the metal rail and held on tightly with his hands behind his back. The wind buffeted him and he swayed dangerously before he cau
ght his balance. The scare acted like a small slap in the face and he suddenly wondered just what he was doing up here. He remembered being at the party and that new kid whispering something in his ear. He started to turn and step back to safety when he heard the creaking sound.
The ringing bell roared monstrously in his brain until it was the only thing that he could hear. All he could feel was shame and guilt as the waves of nauseous pain hit him in droves. His mind was being massaged with gentle fingers of reason and answers. A voice spoke to him in soothing tones and tried to ease his burden. It offered a logical solution and showed him the way to the light and redemption. The voice promised him an end to his suffering and an end to his pain, a way to salvation beyond the borders of his sorrow.
He steadied himself and smiled peacefully before he stepped out into thin air. Just as the ground raced up to greet him and he fell to his death, all he could think of was that some voices lie.
CHAPTER 8
Sarah woke the next morning with the mother, father, and a whole bunch of second cousins of a hangover. She’d actually taken a quick look under the covers to make sure that she was alone. The odd thing was that she couldn’t remember having more than a single glass of wine last night. She could remember everyone partying like it was New Year’s Eve. She could see Barnaby laughing and joking, she could picture Stuart dancing around like a fool (which still made her smile) and the kids were acting like they were hammered. She started to wonder if the fruit punch had been spiked; it would certainly explain the hangover feelings.
Today was Friday and the last day of term. There were no classes scheduled and the day was spent helping the kids on their many ways. The narrow lanes outside of the school grounds would soon be clogged by cars with impatient drivers with big city attitudes blasting their horns. Soon, the cavalcade of luxury automobiles would shatter the quiet countryside as parents and domestic staff collected privileged offspring.