Tuesday, and the silence was worse than ever.
While everybody else scrambled for the door and the first activity, the Room Five boys sat glaring at Wasim as the dreaded crate – full of exercise books for their diaries, paper, pencils and “extra work” – was pulled out from its corner next to the sweet machine. The glares got worse as they took Comprehension Plus out instead of putting climbing boots on.
Dom came and went. His whistle seemed to get even more cheerful as he saw the seven of them (Dionne had joined them for wearing his wellingtons on the bed) start work.
Dom’s whistle stopped when Mr Abbot rescued them.
“OK. As it was the first time and we know who was doing the eating, the rest of you can go.”
“Yessss,” they whisper-cheered.
“Wasim, we are guests here and you broke a very important rule. I hope you’ve learned a lesson.”
So Wasim was on his own with Dom, who was furious that the others had got off so lightly. And Dom started his tuneless whistle again as he yanked open the door to the sweet machine and, without taking his sunglassed eyes from Wasim, ripped open a box of salt and vinegar crisps and lined them up behind their springs in a neat row.
Next it was pastilles, and then cheese and onion crisps. Then his mobile phone rang from its cowboy holster on his belt.
“Hi mate. . . Yeah, yeah. This afternoon? My lot will be blue team, St Marie’s tomorrow will be green and St Thomas’s red. . . I’ll check. . . It’s in the office. Give me a minute.”
And he made for the door, his pointing finger ordering Wasim to get his work done.
Wasim had done his best with Comprehension Plus. He didn’t understand the writing he was supposed to answer questions about, but the teachers from his school were outside and he wasn’t going to ask Dom for help. They probably wouldn’t mark it anyway, so Wasim just copied chunks of the writing out and waited for the hour to be up and for the rest of them to come back for a drinks break.
Eventually, the clock above the great old fireplace ticked the hour away and clattering boots, shouts and a crowd racing for plastic cups and jugs of orange squash banged through the door and brought the old building back to life.
“OK, everybody. Five minutes for a drink, toilets and then back outside.”
Wasim carried on writing. He couldn’t! have a drink and nobody was speaking to him anyway.
Finally Mrs Scott came over. “Wasim, you can stop now. Get your outdoor things and join in.”
Wasim snapped his books shut, did his fastest not-running-walk to the crate, and threw his work in before anybody could think of checking that he hadn’t done it properly. He threw a spare cagoule on top to make doubly sure, and then raced upstairs for his commando gear.
He bounced back down the stairs, two at a time, ready to join the scrum at the door. What was coming up? Archery! But there wasn’t a scrum. There was Year Five sitting neatly on the floor doing pretend gasps, Mr Abbot and Mrs Scott looking worried and Dom standing by the open glass door of the sweet machine.
“Does anybody know anything about a box of Mars bars? No? Well, was filling this machine up and got called away for a minute and – hey presto, guys – no box of Mars bars when I got back.”
That was when Ben came down from Dormitory Five.
“Wasim’s been eating in the dorm again. I found this under his bed.”
There was a real gasp from Donna and then lots of pretend ones, as all heads turned to Wasim and then back to Ben to watch him step over the three lines of children and then hesitate while he decided whether to hand the Mars bar he was holding to Mr Abbot or to Dom.
