Authors: Shaun Hutson
No such luck.
A dream. Pure and simple.
He looked down at his erection almost reproachfully.
A dream.
Outside, the wind was blowing. Howling around the cottage. The sound reminded him of mocking laughter.
59
Mason stood at the classroom window, gazing out across the vast playing fields, his gaze drawn to the football match that was going on in one distant section of the huge expanse of green.
But if his eyes were on the match, his mind wasn’t. He hadn’t slept much the previous night, unable to force away the thoughts of Simon Usher or, more particularly, of Sammi and Jo. He cast a wary glance at them as if fearing that they would somehow know the extent of his nocturnal flight of fantasy.
More secrets.
Behind Mason, the twelve class members worked away quietly and efficiently and the teacher finally made his way back towards his own desk where he sat down and regarded each of the pupils individually.
Sammi was sitting re-reading what she’d already written while Jo was hunched over her work scribbling away.
They don’t look that much different to how they looked in your dream, do they? Except they’re wearing clothes this time.
Mason tried to push the thoughts from his mind. He concentrated on the other members of the class, gazing at each one in turn. He wasn’t totally surprised when he saw that Andrew Latham was sitting with his hands clasped on his stomach gazing back at him.
‘Have you finished, Andrew?’ Mason asked.
‘About five minutes ago, sir,’ Latham answered.
‘Then perhaps you could read the next chapter while everyone else finishes. Just so you’ve got something to do. Either that or you can come up here and clean this board for me.’ Mason smiled.
‘No thanks, sir,’ Latham said, flatly.
‘Just read the next chapter then.’
‘I read it last night.’
Mason sucked in a breath.
‘Then read the one after that,’ he muttered.
‘I have.’
‘Then you won’t mind me asking you some questions about it, will you?’
‘Fire away,’ Latham smirked. ‘Fire away and fall back.’ Mason looked puzzled.
‘It’s a quote,’ Latham told him. ‘From a film called
The Long Riders
. Have you seen it, sir?’
‘No, I don’t think I have, Andrew.’
Some of the other pupils were now coming to the end of their essays and Mason could see pens being put down all over the class.
‘It’s a western,’ Latham went on. ‘So, it’s history isn’t it, sir? It’s appropriate to this lesson.’
‘We’re supposed to be learning about Napoleon, not about the Wild West,’ Mason reminded him.‘And certainly not about films. I don’t think the headmaster would be very happy if he walked in and found me talking to you about films.’
‘What sort of films do you like, sir?’ asked Felix Mackenzie. ‘Do you like thrillers and horror films, that sort of thing?’
‘Or romance and comedy?’ added Jo Campbell.
‘What about science fiction, sir?’ Jude Hennessey wanted to know.
‘I like all kinds of films,’ Mason confided.
‘What about porn films, sir?’ Jo purred.
‘That’s enough,’ Mason rasped, his words drowned by the laughter of the class.
‘There’s nothing wrong with sex, sir,’ Jo continued.
There were some muted cheers from the rest of the class, silenced by a furious glare from Mason.
‘What about sad films, sir?’ Sammi Bell enquired.‘Films that make you cry?’
‘You must have been sad when your daughter died, sir.’ The words hit Mason like a sledgehammer and, for brief seconds, all he could do was look blankly at Latham. The source of the comment.
‘How do you know about my daughter?’ Mason said, at last, his voice catching.
Latham merely smiled.
Mason took a step towards him, trying to control his temper but finding it difficult.
‘How old was she, sir?’ Precious Moore asked. ‘I’ve got a little sister who’s twelve and she’s an absolute nightmare. ’
‘Be quiet,’ Mason insisted, shooting a withering glance at the pale girl. He returned his attention to Latham who was still sitting there unmoved.
‘I asked you a question,’ the teacher snapped, his eyes still fixed on the youth. ‘How do you know about my daughter?’
‘Is it true then, sir?’ Precious Moore added. ‘Is your daughter dead?’
‘What did she die of ?’ Felix Mackenzie wanted to know.
‘Shut up,’ roared Mason. ‘All of you, just shut up.’
He stood before them, his face flushed, the veins at his temples throbbing ominously. Mason could feel his heart thumping so hard it threatened to burst from his ribcage. A heavy silence hung over the classroom and neither Mason nor any of the watching pupils was willing to break it.
‘Don’t ever mention my daughter again,’ Mason finally breathed, his right index finger aimed at Latham. ‘Never.’
The smile had faded slightly from the youth’s lips but there was still defiance in his eyes.
‘Now get out,’ Mason added, turning his back on the class. ‘The lesson’s over.’
Precious Moore looked up at the clock above the blackboard and shrugged.
‘There’s still ten minutes before the bell, sir,’ she bleated.
‘The lesson’s over,’ Mason repeated.
One by one they filed from the classroom.
As he reached the door, Latham looked in Mason’s direction and nodded.
‘See you tomorrow, sir,’ he said, quietly.
Mason didn’t speak.
60
As Mason pushed a forkful of food into his mouth he gazed across the school refectory at the pupils who were having their lunch.There was a subdued, almost reverential quiet within the cavernous room, so different from what he’d always been used to as a teacher. However, as he cut another piece of beef, it wasn’t the stillness within the refectory that was uppermost in his mind. He glanced around the room, one part of him hoping he didn’t see Andrew Latham or any of the little group who hung around with him.The latest encounter had unsettled him and he was angry with himself for having allowed his temper to get the better of him in front of the class.
The question still bothered him though. How had Latham known about the death of Chloe? Was his business already common knowledge around the school? His past no more than a subject for gossip and idle chatter? How many people knew about his dead daughter? The headmaster and that was about it. How the hell had Latham discovered that painful part of his past?
Mason took a drink of water, wishing it was something stronger.
‘Mind if I join you?’
Mason recognised the accent immediately and turned with a smile to see Kate Wheeler standing beside him.
Mason got to his feet and pulled the adjacent chair out for her, watching while she seated herself and set her food down.
‘How’s it going?’ she asked him. ‘Finding your feet?’
He nodded and finished chewing the mouthful of beef.
‘You don’t look too sure,’ Kate offered, seeing how pale Mason appeared.
‘A bit of a headache,’ he told her.‘And that little bastard Andrew Latham.’
‘I told you to watch out for him. What happened?’
‘Another verbal clash.’
‘He’s testing you, Peter. He does that with every teacher.’
‘Did he do it with you?’
She avoided eye contact but merely nodded.
‘We should talk later,’ she murmured.
‘Where?’
‘Dinner tonight at my flat?’ She looked at him and smiled. ‘We could have a drink first. There’s some nice pubs in the town.’
‘I thought you said we should take it easy for a week or two?’
‘Well, seeing as I’m asking you let’s call it quits.’ Mason smiled.
‘There’s a pub called the Vine,’ Kate told him. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s on the main road from here into town. I’ll meet you there at eight.We can walk to my flat from there.’
‘Invitation accepted. Thank you.’
‘I hope that neither of you will object to the presence of one much older and more feeble,’ Richard Holmes said as he put down his plate opposite Mason and Kate.
They both smiled as Holmes joined them. He was wearing a dark-brown jacket and grey trousers illuminated by a bright-green knitted waistcoat and yellow tie.
‘Richard, where do you get those waistcoats?’ Mason asked.
‘My sister used to knit them for me,’ Holmes explained. ‘Trouble was, she didn’t just limit their distribution to birthdays and Christmas. Hence my inordinately large collection. Mind you, they are practical in the cold weather.’
‘Where did your sister live?’ Kate wanted to know.
‘In Walston,’ Holmes explained. ‘I used to see her two or three times a week before she died.’
‘Did Andrew Latham know about her?’ Mason enquired. ‘He seems to know every other bloody thing that goes on around here. Especially about the staff.’
Holmes looked briefly at Kate who met his gaze then looked away.
‘He knew about your father,’ Mason said to Kate. ‘And he knew about my daughter too.’
‘It’s a very confined existence we lead here, I told you that before,’ Holmes ventured. ‘It isn’t difficult for people to find out things about others if they’re that determined. ’
Kate touched Mason’s thigh under the table and, when he looked at her, she shook her head gently.
‘Little bastard,’ Mason hissed, catching sight of Latham on the far side of the refectory.
‘Forget him,’ Kate urged.
Mason turned his attention back to his lunch.
‘Can someone pass the salt, please?’ he enquired.
No one did.
61
Mason was standing in the walled garden enjoying a cigarette when Nigel Grant approached him. The headmaster glanced disapprovingly at the cigarette Mason held then returned his attention to the matter in hand.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ Grant exclaimed.
‘I’ve not got a class until two, I thought I’d just clear my head,’ Mason explained.
‘That’s fine, I didn’t come here to check up on you, Peter. I’ve got some news that you will find relevant. It concerns one of your pupils.’
Mason raised his eyebrows.
‘Andrew Latham,’ Grant went on.
‘What’s he done now?’
‘There’ve been problems with him for a while,’ Grant began.‘Disobedience,disrespect and a growing feeling among the other teachers that he’s, how can I put it, out of reach?’
Mason nodded.
‘I will not allow disruptive influences such as Latham to flourish here at Langley Hill,’ Grant said with an air befitting his authority. ‘His behaviour could not be allowed to continue unchecked.’
Mason looked on expectantly.
‘He’s been expelled,’ the headmaster went on.‘Effective immediately. He’ll be off the premises before the end of the day.’
Mason took a step back.
‘I only took him for a class this morning,’ he said.
‘I realise this has happened quickly but it’s only the decision that has been taken swiftly. The thinking and reasoning behind it has gone on for many months. If he’d been allowed to remain here for much longer then his influence would have spread until it was out of control.’
‘Have his family been informed yet?’
‘Naturally. When they heard the circumstances they were in agreement with my decision. It won’t be hard for them to find some other school to take him. Not with his intellect and with their money.’
‘He was a clever kid.’
‘But tainted.’
Mason frowned, surprised at the use of such an archaic word. He almost smiled until he saw the expression of anger set upon Grant’s face.
‘Tainted,’ Mason repeated. ‘Do the other teachers know?’
‘Those whose classes he’s in, yes. I informed them in the staff room earlier.That’s why I came out here to find you. I knew you’d be here indulging your addiction.’ He nodded in the direction of the cigarette.
Mason shrugged and took another drag.
‘What reasons did you give his parents for his expulsion? ’ Mason enquired.
‘The reasons I’ve just given you,’ Grant told him.‘Does it really matter?’
‘No, I suppose not. I was just curious.’
Grant glanced at his watch and prepared to retreat back inside the school.
‘It’s done now, Peter, it’s over,’ he said, curtly. ‘He isn’t the first pupil to be expelled and, unfortunately, he won’t be the last. As I said before, I will not jeopardise the education of many children for the sake of one disruptive influence. The school is better off without him.’
He turned and left.
Mason was alone in the walled garden once more.
62
Mason guided the car into the tarmac area at one side of the Vine and switched off the engine. There were half a dozen other vehicles in the car park and the teacher checked his watch before swinging himself out from behind the wheel and walking towards the main entrance.
The pub was surrounded on three sides by trees that waved in the strong wind that had sprung up as afternoon had turned to evening. Now, with the time approaching eight o’clock and darkness having fully invaded the sky, the only light came from the windows of the pub and the dull sodium glare of the street lights that lit the main road leading into Walston itself. Mason shivered involuntarily as he walked, flipping up the collar of his leather jacket.
The Vine was a hybrid. The architecture was of the twenties as, Mason guessed, was the thick ivy that covered the stonework so comprehensively in places that it threatened to blot out the light from the windows. However, unlike most modern pubs, the Vine had not succumbed to the relentless torrent of gimmicks designed to pull in everyone from football fans to fruit-machine-playing youngsters. It had no widescreen TVs. It had just one fruit machine, a one-armed bandit that was a throwback to the sixties. There was a pool table but it wasn’t used very often. Instead, the dart board was a more popular attraction. A more sedate game from a more sedate time. The Vine made few concessions to the electronic age and, despite this, it still attracted its share of younger customers (doubtless because of the hall at the rear of the building where live musicians performed three times a week) but, for the older inhabitants of Walston, it was something of an oasis of traditionalism among the plethora of plastic beams, micro-breweries and gastro-pubs that clogged the town itself.