Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [56]
As unofficial king of the school he had a feeling for this place. Without even being aware of it he sensed the changing emotional currents that flowed through these familiar rooms and hallways. This was his territory and he sensed the mood of it.
Now, he had picked up a sense of commotion in his domain. And it was not a commotion he’d brought into being.
He didn’t know what had caused it. But he did know that his position in the school’s pecking order had been threatened. He could feel it in his guts.
Now he was getting angry and the kids around him were reacting. They were alarmed by his anger.
So Ricky let go of him.
He let go of all of them.
The mood of the small crowd in the corridor instantly changed. It was like a crowd on a street suddenly losing interest in some minor spectacle; a traffic accident that had proved disappointingly routine. So the crowd broke up and began to drift off, fragmenting into bored twos and threes, wandering aimlessly back towards the classrooms.
‘Ricky is just a normal teenager like any other,’ said Justine.
‘He’s just had a run of bad luck.’
‘Bad luck, you say?’
‘Don’t get sarcastic with me,’ said Justine. She was losing her temper. The strain of worrying about Creed was telling on her.
‘Look, Mrs McIlveen, it’s obvious that you’re a lady with a lot of troubles at the moment.’
‘Obvious?’
‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ said Pangbourne, smiling. ‘I’m not inviting you to behave snappishly with me. I won’t sit still for disrespectful behaviour from anyone.’ He was still smiling but his blue eyes were steely. ‘I’m just saying that any fool can see that you’ve been served more than a fair share of worries on your plate at the moment.’
Justine opened her mouth to make some angry reply and to her astonishment found that she was on the verge of crying. The tears were welling up in her. She closed her mouth and put a hand over her face.
Pangbourne leant forward and wordlessly dug a clean white linen handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. Justine accepted it gratefully. She hesitated for a moment, reluctant to soil the beautiful handkerchief, then she blew her nose noisily into it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I have some problems at home.
And then on top of that I have this problem here with you.’
‘I wouldn’t say we had a problem,’ said Pangbourne mildly.
‘Really? Well I packed my daughter off to her first day of school this morning but my son had to stay home. Because he doesn’t have a school to go to. Because I’ve been unable to get a decision out of you. That sounds like a problem to me.’
‘Hold your horses, Mrs McIlveen. That account sounds rather like I’m to blame.’
‘Well, who else is refusing to let Ricky come to this school and begin his studies?’
‘Now let’s not overstate the case,’ said Pangbourne. ‘I have not categorically refused to admit your son.’
‘Then why isn’t he sitting in a classroom with the other kids right now?’
‘Nobody’s sitting in a classroom right now, Mrs McIlveen.
It’s lunchtime. But the reason that your son is not in my school is because I am still waiting for some straight answers.’
‘From whom?’
‘From you.’
‘Me? What do you want me to tell you?’
Pangbourne suddenly looked weary. He straightened the pile of papers on his desk. He switched off his computer and looked up at Justine. ‘I’ve pulled every document and report that I can find on your son. And I’m still none the wiser.’
‘Maybe there’s nothing to be wise about.’
‘Oh, I think there is.’
‘You sound angry, Mr Pangbourne.’
‘I’m angry because there is clearly more to your son’s problem than meets the eye. And that’s because someone is making damned certain that no useful information is in danger of meeting my eye. I’m talking about a cover-up.’
‘A cover-up?’
‘Yes. I sense the hand of the government in this.’
‘I think you’re paranoid, Mr Pangbourne.’
‘Well, your husband thinks I’m a gardener.’ Pangbourne leant forward. ‘But I am not some naive hick. I do know what your husband does