‘What’s going on?’ she said, walking to the door.
Three lads from the sixth form raced by, almost knocking her to the ground.
‘Be careful,’ she shouted angrily.
‘Do what you’re told and no one will get hurt, Miss,’ said one, and stopped.
Kitty’s heart began to pound. There was no mistaking those hard black eyes and that very short hair. Or his height, which made him look more like a tough adult than a seventeen-year-old. It was the boy on the bus from yesterday.
‘Don’t you dare threaten me,’ she said. ‘Ouch, let go of my arm. Stop it! Help!’
‘Shut up, Miss,’ said the second boy. ‘We don’t want to hurt no one. Just get in there and look after the class, will you?’
‘What?’ gasped Kitty.
She found herself thrown into a room packed with children, some at the tables and others on the floor. Many were crying but they all looked at her expectantly as she picked herself up.
Kitty ran to the door but it wouldn’t open. On the other side, she could hear something heavy being moved towards it, as though to bar it. Her head reeled and she went to the window. No one was around but they couldn’t get out as they were three storeys up. What on earth was going on?
She turned to find all the children’s eyes on her. ‘Right, everyone,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘I’m not sure what’s happening but let’s just try to make the best of the situation, shall we, until someone lets us out? Have you all got your books with you?’
Most of them nodded. Kieran from the bus was there, Kitty noticed, and Bruce, as well as children from other years. ‘Good. I think we’ll start with something light like some poetry.’
There was a groan. ‘Please, Miss,’ said a girl. ‘I don’t feel like doing any work. I’m too scared.’
Kitty went up to her and put her arms round her. To hell with protocol. ‘It’s OK, Kate,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a bit scared too, but we’re all together so we’ll help each other.’
Kate nodded and so did some others.
‘Tell you what,’ said Kitty, ‘why don’t we play a game I’ve been reading about?’ She tried to smile. ‘I want you to close your eyes and think of something really nice. As you breathe out, say, “One,” really softly so that it hums in your ears. When other thoughts come into your head, ignore them. Shall we have a go? Right. Everyone together now. One . . .’
The meditation helped her too, thought Kitty, as she sat in front of the class, legs crossed. She’d been so preoccupied over the last few months with finding Mr Right. Now, in the middle of this nightmare that was scarily like that American school siege, she could see how unimportant it was. All that mattered was common decency towards each other. As a teacher, she could help the children to understand that.
‘Miss, I’m scared,’ said a year five boy in the front row.
Kitty jumped up and put him on her knee. These kids needed comforting and it was her job – her
vocation
– to do that.
BETTY
‘Desperate Dan has rung in to say there’s some trouble outside St Theresa’s School in Balham.’
How did he get in first? I put my call in ages ago.
‘Sorry, madam. Do you mind if I listen through the window to your radio? It might tell us what’s going on. No, you’re right. They’ve gone on to music now. Can you call me over if there’s more news? Meanwhile, would you like some tea? Or a leaflet? Thank you, madam. Yes, I’m in charge of a safety campaign for parents. Can I tell you more about it?’
I like being useful. Terry’s the same. Very good at helping the customers. That’s what the deputy manager told me afterwards.
Lucky I’ve got all these spare Thermoses. Terry and I used to like picnics, especially when he was little. Smell a bit musty now but they still do the job. ‘It’s hot,’ I say, holding out a mug.
Some take it and some don’t. ‘I know how you feel,’ I say to one. ‘I lost a child once. Several, actually.’
That makes her cry even more.
I couldn’t cry afterwards. Still can’t.
‘Tea?’ I say, to one of the camera crew. Quite a few have arrived now. School sieges are getting popular, after America and Russia. One of the newsmen is saying something about drug dealing and kids falling out with each other. Wouldn’t surprise me. They all take something nowadays. Apart from my Terry, of course.
‘Sugar?’ I ask one of the men. He looks at me sharply.
Thankfully, I recognise him first. It’s the man in the car this morning. The one I stopped.
‘Move,’ hisses Terry.
So I snatch my Thermos and my bag of sugar and disappear into the crowd.
Time to go home. I’ll catch up with the news on the radio.
35
NICK
‘News flash. St Theresa’s School in Balham, south London, is being held in a siege by two rival teenage gangs, thought to be involved in an argument over drug dealing. A number of children and teachers are believed to be held inside.’
God, he wished he could do more. He felt so hopeless, sitting there. They both did.
‘Did you get hold of him?’
‘No.’ Harriet spoke flatly as she put her mobile back in her pocket. ‘His secretary hasn’t seen him all day, which is odd as he was meant to be going into the office.’
Nick twisted his wedding ring. ‘He couldn’t do anything if he was here, anyway.’
‘No, but he ought to know.’
Nick felt sorry for her. It wasn’t fair that she should have to handle this without her husband. He wondered if he should mention seeing him in the car that day, speaking to someone in French, but decided against it. Best not to interfere in other people’s marriages and, besides, she was worried enough about the children. Her pretty face was drawn with the same kind of tension he felt inside.
‘Look!’ He nudged Harriet. ‘See that woman?’
‘Where?’
‘She’s just walked past us. There, in that pink coat – walking fast past that group of parents.’
They both watched the woman scurry across the road into a dark-looking terraced house.
‘What about her?’
Nick rubbed his eyes: he was tired and things that should have made sense didn’t – and vice versa. ‘I think there’s something weird about her. I found her outside school talking to a toddler this week. And this morning she tried to stop my daughter in the car.’
‘Why?’
Nick wondered if Harriet would understand. ‘She was crazy. Said something about Julie running over her kid two years ago. I tried to calm her down by pointing out that Julie wasn’t even driving then but she’s definitely a bit touched.’
‘Two years ago.’ Harriet looked pensive. ‘Was that the boy from the senior school? I remember that. He was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver. Terrible.’
‘What sort of time in the morning?’
‘Before the school run had really built up, from what I remember. Yes, that’s right. I was caught in the traffic queues. Horrible.’
From what the woman on the bike had said, the child had died just a week or two before Juliana. Towards the end, she had hardly had the energy to get out of bed. Her ribs had stuck out and she’d been listless. Lifeless. So different from the old Juliana who had laughed and moved all the time. If she’d been standing here now, she wouldn’t have allowed her daughter to be trapped in school. She’d be doing something about it.
‘Just going to chase my newspaper friend,’ he said, snapping open his mobile. ‘He should have got back to me by now . . . Ross? It’s Nick. Got anything? . . . I see. How much? . . . Are the police moving in? . . . Why not? Christ, Ross, that’s not on. Julie’s in there. So are God knows how many other kids . . . I know. OK . . . Thanks.’
He walked back to Harriet. ‘Did you know there was a drugs problem at the main school?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither but it fits in with that newsflash. One of these druggy gangs has taken a load of younger kids hostage because the other gang owes them money. Now they’ve phoned the local radio station, demanding cash.’
He watched her eyes fill with tears, again wanting to reach out and comfort her. Would she misread it? Possibly.
‘What are the police doing about it?’
He snorted with disgust. ‘Apparently, they’re reluctant to move in yet in case someone gets hurt. They reckon the teenagers will give in. Look, I want you to wait here. I’ve got your mobile number. I’ll call you when I find something.’
‘Where are you going?’
Nick looked round to check that no one was listening. ‘Where do you think?’
Then he walked away, ducked under the hedge by the allotments and made his way back to the school, crouching low so that no one could see him.
If the police weren’t going to rescue his daughter, he’d just have to do it himself.
EVIE
If only there was a radio or television, she might know what was going on. Instead there was an eerie silence outside, punctuated only by children sniffling and fidgeting. She’d have to do something: she owed it to the kids to take charge.
‘Excuse me, but I need the loo.’ Evie stared defiantly at the spotty youth, who had come in with a jug of water for the kids. They were passing it round, one or two still whimpering. On the whole, though, they had calmed down. Evie was sitting with one arm round Leonora. ‘I need the loo,’ she repeated. Look him in the eyes. Firmly. That’s what
Just For You
had advised in last month’s feature on ‘What To Do If You’re Threatened’. Be rational. Practical. Appeal to his own values.
‘I’m not as young as this lot,’ she continued. ‘I’m probably your mother’s age. I need to go to the lavatory more often.’
One or two children tittered and something gave in the eyes of the boy in front of her. He was so young. So hard. ‘I’ll take you.’
‘No. Just tell me where it is and I’ll come straight back. You can’t leave the kids anyway.’
He nodded in reluctant recognition of what she was saying.
‘Stand at the door and you can see me going down the corridor. I’ll come straight back, I promise.’
He hesitated.
‘If I was your mum you’d let me go, wouldn’t you?’ said Evie, gently.
It was working. She could see it in his face.
‘Go on, then. But be quick. Turn left and left again. If you don’t come back in two minutes, I’m coming in after you.’
Evie didn’t need telling twice. Left and left again. The corridor was empty.
God, these lavatories were in a filthy state. The girls had moaned about them but she hadn’t realised just how bad they were, with loo paper strewn around the floor and tampons in the washbasins. Half the locks didn’t work. Eventually she found one that did. Amazing, really, that the boy hadn’t checked her for a phone. Quickly she texted Robin’s number, noticing as she did so that she’d missed another call, the second that day from someone who hadn’t left a number.
Her fingers flew across the keypad.
Ct in sch siege. Rm H. Jk in car. Help.
It was all she had time for. Would he get it? Where would he be if and when he got it? She’d rather have texted her dad but he didn’t have a mobile and she couldn’t risk speaking in case that boy had followed her in.
She squatted – anything not to touch that disgusting seat – and did what she was desperate to do. She hadn’t, she thought wryly, lied about her weak bladder. Then, having rinsed her hands (no soap), she ventured back into the corridor. The door was open on the left. She could make a dash for it, but if she did what would happen to the classroom of kids and, most importantly, Leonora? That boy was so irrational he might do anything to them. Besides, despite what he’d said about Jack, common sense told her he was all right. They wouldn’t be able to get into the car. She’d locked it. The windows were shatterproof, and if they tried to break them the alarm would go off.
As she walked briskly back to the classroom, she heard voices. A beautiful West Indian girl was standing on the stairs, arguing with a spotty youth, a different one from the kid in Room H. ‘Ring someone, Jason. You’ve got to ring someone.’
‘I have, Julie. Calm down. If you make a fuss, it will all go wrong and people will get hurt. Trust me.’
They looked at her and Evie froze. Did they have guns? Would they try to knife her? But the couple on the stairs seemed as scared by her appearance as she was by theirs.
‘Quickly,’ said the boy, tugging at the girl’s arm. ‘You can’t do anything and I’m not having you getting hurt. Come on. The others will be here to help soon.’
They ran out of sight. The classroom door opened and the spotty youth emerged. ‘Get back in,’ he ordered. Powerless, she obeyed.
36
NICK AND HARRIET
‘Are you reading me? Are you reading me?’
Nick tried to listen to the crackling radio on the policeman’s chest as he was marched back from the school gates to the car park. But all he could hear was a network of unclear voices.