Authors: Stephen Sweeney
“Old?” I asked, looking at
Carson and Sam. The image I had held of a twenty-two-year-old woman
was suddenly erased, replaced by that of a granny with a walking
stick.
“Yes, she’s about
thirty
.”
“Thirty?” I said. “Thirty’s
not old!”
“It’s nearly twice our age,”
Rory retorted.
“Dude, thirty is not old, believe
me,” Carson said.
“And you know what they say –
dirty thirty,” Sam smiled.
“Or a naughty forty,” Carson
grinned.
“Or a thrifty fifty,” I added.
“Now you’re going too far,”
Sam told me.
“I only said it to wind Rory up,”
I said, seeing him looking as though he was sucking on a lemon.
“Yeah, but whatever. She’s not a
good as you’re making her out to be,” Rory said.
“Out of ten?” I asked Sam and
Carson.
“Eight,” Carson said.
“Nine,” Sam said. “Seriously,
she’s that nice, Joe.”
“
Nine?!
” Rory almost
spat. “She’s more like a six!”
“Six?!” the rest of us chorused.
“Yes, six. She’s not as good
looking as Cindy Crawford or Elle Macpherson.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Carson said,
looking at Rory with utter disdain. None of us could believe what we
were hearing.
“Okay, Rory, look,” I said,
scooping one of Carson’s men’s magazines off the bed and thumbing
through it, until I found the pages I was after. “This is a model.
She’s not an ... ordinary woman, if you get my meaning. You’re
probably never going to marry or even go out with someone who looks
like that.”
“Yeah, and she’s airbrushed,
too,” Sam said. “So she’s not even that good looking. Her legs
and arms are too perfect. She also doesn’t look like that all the
time, and certainly not first thing in the morning without tons of
make-up on.”
I examined the photo, but couldn’t
really tell what I was looking for. I knew the photographs were
doctored before printing, however, to make the girls look a little
more attractive than they might otherwise be.
“You’d probably be
looking more for ...” I flicked through the pages once more,
looking for someone a little more ordinary. Unfortunately, the pages
were populated with actresses and models, and I was unable to find
anyone to appropriately illustrate my point. “Anyway, you can’t
judge normal girls on the same scale as supermodels and actresses,”
I concluded, setting the magazine back down. “You’ll probably end
up dating girls who look more like ... John Davidson’s sister.”
“Who?” Rory asked.
“Fucking hell, have you seen her?”
Carson said, ignoring Rory.
“Now
she’s
fit!” Sam
said. “She goes to St Anne’s, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s doing her A-Levels
at the moment,” I said.
“If that was my sister, I’d have
difficulty keeping my hands off her,” Carson laughed.
“Ugh, Carson, that’s
disgusting,” I said.
“Calm down, I was joking,”
Carson said, waving a hand dismissively.
“I’ll point her out to you the
next time she comes to a rugby match or whatever,” I told Rory.
“If the school stays open that
long,” Rory said.
I wondered how long it would be
before this subject was raised again. It had only been a week since I
had learned about the police letting their apparent only suspect go.
It wasn’t common knowledge about the school as far as I could tell,
a handful of boys knowing for certain and everyone else (mainly the
junior school, and the first and second years of the senior school)
being told the opposite.
“So, they had arrested Quasimodo,
but then had to let him go?” Sam asked.
“No evidence whatsoever, other
than his previous convictions,” I said.
“What?” Carson said. He
genuinely didn’t seem to know, so I told him about the banana
incident in the bank. “Jesus, why are they letting him work here?”
“He doesn’t really though, does
he?” I said. “He’s part of the monastic staff and only does odd
jobs about the school, under the supervision of the monks.”
“So why did they arrest him?”
“I don’t know,” I said,
looking at Rory and Sam. “I don’t think anyone knows. The police
probably had something on him that they don’t want to share.”
“Maybe he had child porn or
something?” Sam said.
“Gross,” Rory said. “Let’s
talk about something else.”
Carson reached for the travel kettle
that rested on one side of his desk, popping it open and looking to
see how much water was in there. “Anyone want some coffee?” he
asked. “I’m going to fill this up.”
“Do you have any milk?” I asked.
“Powdered.”
“Do you think the kitchens are
still open?” I said, looking at the others.
“Don’t know, but well
volunteered,” Sam grinned.
“Yeah, Joe, go and see if you can
get some milk,” Carson said. “And if the kitchens are locked, see
if you can sneak into Mr Summers’ office. He never locks it and
normally keeps some in his fridge.”
“Mr Somers’ office?” I said,
pausing as I made to get off the bed. “Are you mad? I’ll get in
real shit if I’m caught stealing milk from a housemaster’s
office, and I’ve already been put on the
Murga List
once
this term.”
“
Summers
, not
Somers
,”
the other three sang back at me, as if that made the deed any less of
an offence.
“Don’t worry, Joe, you’re not
going to get put on the
List
just for borrowing a little
milk,” Rory said. “And if he sees it’s missing, he’ll just
think the cleaning staff threw it away.”
I nodded reluctantly and made my way
down to the kitchens, to see if they were still open. I saw the kitchen staff
beginning to leave as I did so, heading for the taxis and other
pick-ups that were provided by the catering firm St Christopher’s
employed, and knew already that the refectory would be shut. Sure
enough, the lights were out. I checked the doors regardless, in case
someone had failed to lock them. They hadn’t.
I headed back to the Belfry, walking
past Mr Summers’ office. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if
raiding the fridge was such a good idea. I then decided to risk it.
If someone was in there, I could always feign stupidity that I had
walked through the wrong door. I tried the door handle, finding, true
to Carson’s promise, that it was unlocked. I didn’t bother to
switch on the lights and headed straight for the fridge. Inside, I
spotted two one-pint cartons of milk. One was unopened, the other was
less than a quarter full, judging by the weight. Good enough for four
cups of coffee. I slipped it beneath my jacket, holding it under my
left arm as I left the office, pretending to be picking at something
on my left hand with my right as I returned to the Belfry, to
disguise the fact that I had something concealed.
“Did you find any?” Carson
asked.
I produced the carton.
“Hurray!” the three cheered. “How much is there?”
“About a quarter,” I said.
“Plenty.”
We brewed our coffees, Carson taking
a box of sugar cubes out from one of his desk drawers. “By the way,
it is true that Kerry Oldman has got a pirate copy of
Basic
Instinct
?” I asked.
“What?” Rory looked to me as
though I had just revealed the ultimate secrets of the universe.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Sam grinned. “He has
everything
to do with porn. His folks
probably work in it, you know.”
“No, it’s not Oldman who has
it,” Carson said, blowing on his coffee. “It’s Yan Brown.”
“Really? Yan Brown?” I asked.
“He’s a little too goody-goody for that sort of thing. Is he
trying to improve his reputation by one-upping Oldman or something?”
“Probably,” Carson said, opening
his locked desk drawer again and taking out a packet of biscuits. He
passed them to us, prompting us to take one (and
only
one),
before returning the packet to the drawer and locking it again.
Maryland Chocolate Chip Cookies. I wasn’t surprised he wasn’t
keen on sharing the entire packet with us.
“Ha! Oldman the Porn King doesn’t
have
Basic Instinct
,” Rory laughed. “Of all the people.”
“Where did Brown get it?” I
asked. “It’s not out here until May, I think?”
“Not sure,” Carson shrugged.
“Think he got it off someone back home.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Last weekend,” Carson grinned.
“Do you really get to see Sharon
Stone’s vag?” Rory asked excitedly.
“What are you so excited for? I
thought you didn’t like women in their thirties?” Sam asked. Rory
ignored him.
Carson frowned. “Not really. It’s
a bit disappointing actually. You only get to see it for about a
second. She’s sitting on a chair and uncrosses her legs, but you
can’t really tell. The scene is overhyped. The whole film is in a
way.”
“I still want to see it,” Rory
enthused. “Do you know where Brown keeps the tape? We should nick
it and watch it one night.”
“Probably locked in his tuck box,”
I said. “He’s not exactly going to be keep it in his classroom
locker. Someone will probably confiscate it soon; one of the prefects
who just wants to land him in trouble I bet. Zackery Goodman will
have it for sure if he finds out.”
“You should’ve come along to
watch it with us the other night,” Carson grinned.
“Well, I would’ve if you’d
told me it was happening,” Rory said, sounding more than just a
little disappointed. “What’s the rest of the film like?”
“Shit,” Carson said simply.
“But does Sharon Stone take her
clothes off a lot?”
Rory was sounding a little more
desperate than normal. I wanted to see the film, but he
really
wanted to see it. I couldn’t help but feel that Rory might end up a
little disappointed with it in the end. He liked to pretend that he
ran the World Film Club to be cultured (and make a load of money),
but I was certain it was because he just wanted to see as many naked
women on screen as possible. Some of the European films we had rented
from time to time would never be shown on television in England.
“The first scene is actually
pretty good,” Carson then smiled. “She’s on top of this guy,
fucking him really hard.”
“Cool,” Rory said, almost
dreamily.
“It is. Right up until the bit
when she starts stabbing him with an ice pick. It’s really gross
when she gets him in the eye. The eyeball just pops, and it all goes
everywhere,” Carson laughed, seeing the horrified look on Rory’s
face.
“That sounds pretty disgusting,
actually,” Sam said.
“Why would they ruin it like
that?” Rory said, sounding annoyed.
“I think she slits his throat
after she’s done stabbing him in the chest, too.” Carson’s
expression suddenly grew quite serious. “Didn’t Craig Priest have
his throat cut when you saw him?” he asked, looking at me.
“I ... don’t remember,” I
said, although I actually did. I just didn’t want to talk about.
Sadly, Carson and the others did.
“Seriously, does anyone have any
idea of who might be doing it?” Rory asked.
“Dave’s dad thinks it might be a
paedophile,” Sam said.
“Someone who fucks and murders
kids,” I said, in case either Carson or Rory were unfamiliar with
the term.
“Well, they don’t necessarily
kill them,” Sam corrected. “Roman Polanski was done in the US for
apparently sleeping with an under-aged girl.”
“The film director? Why isn’t he
in prison?” I asked.
“He ran away to France before they
could do so,” Sam said. “Anyway, I’m a little worried. It could
be any of us next.”
“What, that might get fucked by
Roman Polanski?” Carson chuckled.
“No,” Sam said, looking serious.
“Might be killed by whoever is doing this.”
It was the first time I had actually
heard someone admit to being scared of being targeted by the school’s
stalker. I was worried myself, but for a multitude of different
reasons. Firstly, for my own life, and secondly, that the ongoing
problems might lead to the school shutting and causing me all manner
of troubles. I had devised what I saw as a set plan for my life –
GCSEs at St Christopher’s, A-Levels at Baconsdale Sixth Form
College, economics degree at the best university I could get in to,
and graduating to work in an investment bank in London, where I would
earn my millions. There wasn’t much room for deviation, and I
couldn’t have things such as this causing me to fall at the first
hurdle. I almost felt compelled to do some junior sleuthing, to help
find out who the perpetrator was.
“I don’t think it will be
any of us,” Carson said, reaching into his drawer and taking out
another biscuit. He didn’t offer the rest of us any this time. “The
two boys that have been killed were quite wimpy and from the junior
school, so I don’t think he’s going to actively target anyone
older.”
“Carson, you’re completely
ignoring Craig Priest,” Rory said.
“He wasn’t targeted,” Carson
said. “He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He saw the
pedo and so the guy had to kill him.”
“That’s one hell of an
assumption,” I said.
Carson only shrugged. “As long as
we stay inside and don’t go wandering outside late at night, we’re
safe.”
“One thing’s for sure – they
managed to get into the junior school, even though it was locked,”
I said. “That could only be done by someone who knew the school
quite well, or had access.”
“Do you think it’s one of the
teachers?” Sam suggested.
“Ha! Maybe it’s Ms Walker,” I
laughed. “She started this year and the murders began around the
same time. Hardly a coincidence, I’m sure.” I was glad to see
that the others knew I wasn’t being serious.
“Can women be paedophiles?” Rory
wanted to know.
I wasn’t actually sure, I couldn’t
really see how. I looked enquiringly at Carson and Sam, who only
shrugged.