Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [120]
‘But you know that, don’t you?’ said Mrs McCracken, sitting at the table with the other grown-ups. ‘Since you teach them Comparative something-or-other.’
‘Anthropology,’ said Chris absently. ‘Where is Ricky? Is he upstairs?’
‘No, he’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Chris had sat down again and relaxed after he saw the girls, but now he was sitting tensely on the edge of his chair. ‘He’s gone?’
‘Yes. He’s left for school.’
Chris was up on his feet instantly, his robes rippling smoothly around him. ‘But I didn’t see him go.’
Mrs McCracken was looking up at Chris with an expression of approval. She’d been agreeably surprised by the swift fluid athleticism of his move. ‘He was going out of the front,’ she said, ‘while you were trying to climb in the back.’
‘I didn’t hear a car.’
‘He gets a bus to school.’
The shaven-headed young man was hurrying out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He called back as he ran.
‘Which way is he headed?’
‘Here, let me drive you,’ said Mrs McCracken, scooping her sunglasses and car keys off the table and dashing out after him.
‘What about our lift to school?’ called Cynthia, only letting out the scandalized cry an instant before her friend.
‘Keep them both at home,’ bellowed Chris from the front of the house.
The girls stared at Justine and she shrugged. ‘No school today, I guess.’
The door slammed a moment later as Mrs McCracken followed Chris out.
He was hovering by the passenger door of the Corvette.
‘It’s open,’ said Mrs McCracken as she scrambled into the driver’s seat and jabbed the keys in to start the engine.
As Chris climbed in beside her she gunned the ignition, getting into the spirit of things.
The powerful old car burned rubber as they squealed out into Concroft Avenue.
They were in luck.
The school bus was running late that morning thanks to a traffic snarl-up downtown. The kids at the bus stop were all still waiting. Tommy Barretta was there. Phil Mendick was there.
But there was no sign of Ricky. None of the kids had seen him.
‘It’s too late,’ said Chris. ‘They got to him.’
It was unsettling, and oddly unpleasant, to see someone else sitting behind Mr Pangbourne’s desk.
But Ricky decided he wouldn’t like this guy Retour even if he hadn’t taken over the principal’s office. Not that the man had given any reason to be disliked. He was being nice to Ricky, polite and considerate.
Too nice in fact; it seemed Retour was always trying to catch Ricky’s eye and shoot him a warm look of approval.
Encouragement. It was almost creepy. Ricky would have wondered if the guy was queer for him and if this was some kind of set-up.
But Amy’s presence squashed that theory. And then of course there was the news that they’d given him. Ricky could feel the presence of that news in the back of his mind, naggingly present, too tender to touch, like a bruise of information.
Amy sat in the other chair opposite Pangbourne’s desk.
Ricky still thought of it as Pangbourne’s desk.
Retour sat behind it and smiled at him. That creepy smile. ‘You don’t have any choice,’ he said.
It was true. ‘Did he really ask for me to do this?’
‘Yes,’ said Retour. ‘He recovered consciousness briefly last night. He was very lucid and matter-of-fact. Like he knew he only had a few minutes to arrange his affairs. They say that happens sometimes with brain injuries.’
Ricky felt a lump in his throat. He looked across at Amy but she sat there, saying nothing, not meeting his eye.
‘When do I have to do it?’ he said.
Retour checked his watch. ‘The whole school will have gathered for assembly by now. Any time you’re ready.’
Ricky thought, any time I’m ready? That will be never.
He sat there wanting to sink into the chair and vanish. He didn’t want to leave the office. But Retour looked at his watch and then he got up and Amy got up too. They opened the office door.
Ricky didn’t sink into the chair. He got up and followed them. As he walked down the school corridor he hoped an earthquake would cause the ground to open and swallow him. But the concrete floor remained firm under his feet.