The Wonderground

7 - The History Trip

Elliot realised that if he did not look directly into Amelia's big sapphire blue eyes, he could just about keep it together. "I'm so sorry about that," he said, staring at his Clarks patent shoes. "There wasn't a pool at my old school. Swimming's not really one of my strong points," he admitted.

"Not something you can learn from a book," Amelia teased.

Elliot's usually so reliable brain had abandoned him. "The pages would get wet," he muttered before cursing his stupid joke.

After a few awkward seconds, Amelia giggled again and gestured with her open hand towards the nearest minibus door. "Smart and funny," she smiled. "Shall we?" she asked.

"Ladies first," Elliot managed with a slight bow.

"The perfect gentleman." She stepped graciously onto the bus.

Elliot felt a nudge from behind and turned to see Charlie grinning at him.

"Someone did alright in the 'buddy lottery'," he enthused.

"I'm in heaven and hell at the same time," replied Elliot anxiously. "I've absolutely no idea what to say to her for the next hour and a half, or how to convince my mouth and brain to work in sync!"

Charlie gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "Just be yourself," he advised.

"Have you and her never...?" asked Elliot.

Charlie shook his head. "I've known her forever. She's my best friend. Which is why I know you'll be fine. Get on board!" Charlie commanded as he booted Elliot up the backside to encourage him up the steps.

It was then that Charlie could smell danger. And rotten eggs. "Ever heard of a toothbrush?" he grimaced as he turned to face Jack Wilson.

"I must've left it in McIlroy's room last time I was there," replied Jack with a smug grin.

That was quite funny, admitted Charlie to himself. He had to accept that he had nothing. No comeback.

"Just get on the bus," he grunted and shoved Jack towards the last minibus.

***

The journey from Blankrook School to central London was typical. Elliot repeatedly had his ears flicked from behind. Jack drew rude pictures on the steamed-up windows. At least one kid on every bus threw up into a carrier bag. By the time they pulled up near a traditional red telephone box on the corner of the Strand and Surrey Street, everyone was gagging for fresh air and personal space. There was a green tartan stampede as the side doors slid open and the students spilled out onto the footpath. Elliot tripped over a 'Starbucks' cup, spilling coins across the pavement. A disgruntled shape growled from a grubby sleeping bag propped up against the phone box.

Mrs. Marney instructed them to line up in their pairs alongside a heavily padlocked building entrance. Charlie had to step over broken glass from a nearby bus shelter as he looked up and read the impressive lettering in the dark red brickwork:

PICCADILLY RLY

STRAND STATION

"Miss," chirped up one of the Moss twins.

Charlie was going to have to learn how to tell them apart. The school had, in its wisdom, placed them both in Vulture House so they were dressed identically. He plumped for Olivia.

"Miss," repeated the girl, her arm waving frantically. "I thought we were coming to Aldwych station."

"Well spotted, Bonnie," replied Mrs. Marney.

Dammit, thought Charlie.

"The station originally opened as 'Strand'," explained the headteacher, "but the name was changed, along with two other stations in the area, in 1915."