Jack Wilson was a winner. Or, at least, his mum and stepdad were. 7.7 million pounds in a rollover win in April had meant that their 'little cherub' would not have to suffer the indignity of the local, crumbling, graffitied state school any more with its chipboard squares for windows, a drained swimming pool used as an extra classroom and a headteacher in Full Sutton prison. Jack had liked his old school. He got to wear a hoodie to class and had enjoyed the benefits of a casual approach to student attendance. But he had to admit Blankrook School was awesome. He had a king-sized bed, as much food and drink as he could stomach three times a day, unbelievable Wi-Fi speeds and, because his mum was now a major charitable contributor to the school, the teachers pretty much let him do whatever he wanted.
Jack's ruby Vulture House tie dangled between his bare legs as he sat in the centre cubicle of the boys' toilet on the first floor of the main building. The tip of his tie was dangling over the top of the trousers that were bunched around his ankles. He was sitting forwards, speedily uploading photos to his Instagram feed (@Jack_Pot) on his brand new I-phone, the latest model. The photos showed that four-eyed loser chasing around after his precious stationery across the History department corridor floor. He added '#nerdalert' under the last picture as he posted his masterpiece online.
He heard the toilet entrance door creak open and footsteps on the hard stone floor. They made their way into the cubicle next to him. Good luck with that. He had had egg sandwiches for lunch that had been brewing all through Duffer's lesson. Someone was a brave boy to sit next to him right now!
Jack returned to his social media empire and did not hear the toilet seat lid being lowered next door, or the sound of shoes clacking on the lid. He did not even notice when the scruffy, brown-haired head hovered over the top of his cubicle above his head.
"Toilet Police! Put your hands where I can see them!" Charlie screamed down at the top of Wilson's head. Jack nearly fell off the toilet seat and juggled his expensive phone before dropping it, thankfully, into the safety net of his designer boxer shorts, stretched between his feet.
"What did you do that for?" shrieked Jack at the disembodied head floating up above him. "Do you know how much this phone cost?"
"I'm sure mummy could get you an upgrade, Wilson. Shame she can't get an upgrade on you."
"Funny guy," quipped Jack. "Everyone's favourite orphan. If you don't mind, I need to finish off in here and I don't need an audience."
Charlie smiled. "It's amusing you mentioned audience, Wilson." He pointed at Jack's phone. "I noticed you uploading your latest antics to your adoring fans."
"That little runt got what he deserves," Jack sneered. "He's not supposed to be here, like the rest of us."
"The rest of us?" asked Charlie.
"You and me, Wood, we're alike. Young men of means. Money makes the world go round," retorted Jack.
You and I are nothing alike, thought Charlie sharply.
"Blake's only here because he passed a couple of exams. He lives in a bungalow!" mocked Jack.
Elliot's scholarship to Blankrook School meant that he deserved a good education more than any of them. And to learn in peace. Charlie produced a litre bottle of sparkling water and unscrewed the lid.
"What are you doing, Wood? Don't you dare pour that water over me!" Jack clamoured anxiously.
"Don't worry, Wilson. This is pure spring water collected by monks in the foothills by some far-flung monastery. This is far too good to waste on your fat, ugly head." Charlie leaned over the cubicle and proceeded to pour the entire contents over the solitary toilet roll, soaking it to a pulpy mess.
"You did not just do that!" wailed Wilson, his face turning as red as his spiky hair.
Charlie jumped down and grabbed the only other toilet roll in the room from his own cubicle. He reached under Jack's door and waggled it briefly between Jack's shoes and swiftly removed his hand before Jack could grab at it.
"That's for Elliot. Leave him alone," Charlie threatened.
"You're dead, Wood. Just like your exploding parents. You're so dead!" cried Jack.
"Oh, and Wilson," Charlie hollered back as he made for the exit. "This is for me." He slammed his left elbow into the small window of the green box screwed to the toilet wall, shattering the writing that said BREAK GLASS – PRESS HERE.
A loud, shrill alarm bell began to sound.
Charlie offered one more warning before he left the panicking bully with his predicament. "Wilson, you've been here less than a term. This school, and the people in it, are my life. See you outside..."
Charlie dashed to join the rest of the school filing out of the buildings, leaving Jack to work out what to do next and whether any option would avoid having to stand outside, with the entire student body, in soiled trousers. He was still thinking when the emergency water sprinkler system in the ceiling kicked into life.
***
Once it had been determined that it was a false alarm, and that there was no fire in the toilets, the boys and girls made their way back to their respective dormitories from the muster point on the tennis courts. One girl separated from the group and walked in the opposite direction. She made a slow trudge down the long, winding driveway towards the cottage by the entrance gates.
They had been living there for three months. As she approached the building, her mood lifted slightly, along with the clouds. At least it had stopped raining. 'The Gatehouse' was pretty nice, she supposed. The sandstone bricks were trimmed at the corners with feature blocks that looked like ladders to the upper floor sash windows. To the front was a turreted section with a large, climbing rose. She would not admit it to anyone, but it made her feel a bit like a princess when she ascended the spiral staircase inside the tower and leaned out of the narrow window at the top. To the left of the turret, above her bedroom window perched a grotesque stone gargoyle on the roof, looking down with wild eyes and its tongue sticking out. She had named him 'Kevin'.
The gate whined as she pulled it towards her and stepped into the sweet-smelling, smartly kept rear garden. She made her way to the sun-faded back door, which she knew would be unlocked and pushed her way into a small boot room. There would be no one inside but she called out anyway.
"Mum?"
Of course not, she muttered to herself. Isla ducked into the low-ceilinged kitchen and carefully removed her shoes, placing them neatly in the corner. The flagstone floor felt cold through her uniform tights and made her shiver. The heating had not come on yet. She zipped her coat up to her neck and wandered over to the worktop to make a hot drink. Having filled the stove top kettle, she flung her satchel on the oak farmhouse table in the middle of the room and tipped out the contents. "Might as well do my homework before mum gets back," she muttered to no-one.
Isla noticed the History field trip consent form tucked between two of her exercise books. She unfolded it and placed it on the table next to her homework. It seemed a waste of time getting her mum to sign it, but she did not want to upset anyone as the new girl.
The kettle whistled behind her.
Her tummy rumbled. Who knows when dinner might be tonight. She should have just eaten with the others in the refectory. She grabbed a ginger snap from a ceramic cookie jar. Her mum had been so busy since the move and had been late home at least twice a week since they had arrived, leaving Isla to make her only specialty, beans on toast. Her dad would joke that she would end up looking like a baked bean. If he were here. It was not her mum's fault. Isla was proud of her and the career she was forging. It was just the two of them and mum did so well as both the breadwinner and the homemaker. Isla knew that she was not always the perfect child but tried her best to help her mum where she could.
She would try and do an hour's homework and then get out the vacuum and give the cottage a quick once over. Mum would like that. It really was a nice little cottage. Isla just objected to not being able to live with the rest of the girls in the main building. Her mum was very protective since dad left. She sat down. Crumbs from her biscuit spilled onto her maths exercise book as she chewed with her mouth open. Hopefully mum would be back before dark.
***
Lisa Marney was stressed. It had been twelve weeks and her 'To Do' list was getting longer by the day. Blankrook School was her first headship. And what an appointment. The first female head teacher in the school's four-hundred-year history. She had worked damned hard to get here. Her dedication to education over the years was at the cost of her marriage. Although finding Joe in bed with the babysitter more than contributed to its breakdown.
The mahogany desk in the centre of the office was unnecessarily large. Undoubtedly a previous head teacher compensating for something. She leaned back in her oversized chair and tried to stretch out from her fingertips down to her toes. Her neck cracked satisfyingly. She slipped off her fake Louboutin shoes. The soles would need touching up again soon with nail polish. She breathed slowly in and out ten times with her eyes closed and then sat up, opened her eyes and stared down at her notes on a yellow scratch pad.
One of the History teachers was threatening to quit with stress.
Someone had set off a fire alarm deliberately.
And she had a soaking wet student sitting dripping in the waiting area next door who was refusing to talk and smelled like he had had an 'accident'.
It was going to be a long evening. She picked up the receiver on her desk phone and pushed the button marked 'Line 1' that called her personal assistant in the next room. "Alex?" she asked, although she knew it could be nobody else. "Could I be cheeky and ask for a coffee, please...Yes, large would be good, thank you...Very large."
***
Isla woke. Was that a noise? Her forehead came unstuck as she lifted her face from the plastic gingham tablecloth. She had fallen asleep on her homework. The clock on the microwave glowed 8:01 p.m. She heard the front door being shouldered open, and a short grunt of effort.
"Honey, I'm home," her mum shouted from the hallway. Isla rose from the kitchen table to meet her.
"That never gets any funnier," groaned Isla.
"I know," said her mum, "I'm sorry I'm late. Again. Let me make it up to you. How about delivery from 'Whispers' in the village?"
"Chinese?" Isla questioned with giddy excitement. "On a school night?"
"You'll be okay, you know the headteacher." She gave Isla a wink as she hugged her. She passed a large pile of books and papers into Isla's arms. "Help me with these."
Isla sighed. "You've got more homework than me!"
"We can work together. Study buddies."
Once the dim sum had been destroyed and the homework and paperwork pushed around the kitchen table sufficiently to be considered attempted, they spent the rest of the evening unpacking the remaining moving boxes. Isla noticed that none of the photos with her mum and dad together had survived the house move. She knew there was no chance of mum taking him back after what had happened, but it did not make her any less sad. Not because she missed her dad – she got to see him every other Saturday and he always spoiled her rotten. She was upset for her mum. She worked so hard for them and deserved to be happy. Maybe there would be a hot single teacher at the school? Isla did not hold out much hope based on what she had seen so far. Bow ties, moustaches and Tweed as far as the eye could see and the lingering waft of Old Spice aftershave.
As she settled into bed, she wondered what the other girls were doing right now in their dorms. Probably having pillow fights and giggling about boys. She sighed with a tinge of jealousy before dismissing the thought with a small smile. They didn't have their own turret though, did they?
"Goodnight, Kevin."