Tom discovered the broken monitor the very next morning.
It was a real problem because it meant he couldn’t print his history project, and that was due the following day. He’d been working on it for three arduous weeks, researching and writing, but without a working screen he couldn’t even save the files and transfer them. He was totally stuck.
“And how did it break?” asked his dad.
“It fell off the desk.”
“Fell off the desk? You mean you dropped it?”
“No.”
“So it jumped off?”
“I think maybe, possibly… Spider could have knocked it.”
His dad was exhausted. His shift had changed again, so his sleep pattern had been turned inside out. He was trying so hard not to be irritable, but he stared at the dog and shook his head. Spider looked at the carpet.
“Don’t let him into your room,” he said slowly—and when Tom went to reply he just held up his hand. “I’m not arguing with you. That animal’s costing us a fortune. Have you any idea what we still owe for the van? For the damaged cars?”
“No.”
“No. You haven’t ever asked.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, but he’s still settling down. He’s doing his best.”
“Aren’t we all? Just don’t expect me to pay for a new computer, OK? You can do without.”
Tom was dreading his next history lesson.
It was lesson three, just before break, and it started well. Instead of gathering in the homework, the teacher seemed keen to show the final section of a DVD, which was to be the climax of the module. By five past eleven, the Nazis had stormed across most of Europe, and seemed unstoppable. The bell would ring at exactly quarter past, and when it rang Tom would be safe: he wouldn’t have to hand anything in until the following Monday. By next Monday, he would have begged or borrowed a monitor and sorted the problem.
He waited with his eyes closed, counting down. With two minutes to go, he sensed the classroom lights flickering, and the German army was ominously still. Dr Vokes had pressed the pause button.
“Good,” he said. “So now we understand the true horror of Nazi aggression. What, Kasia?”
A girl in the front had her hand up, and Tom knew what she was about to say. He could see a fat bundle of papers on her desk, and her eyes shone with enthusiasm.
“Do you want our projects in, sir?” she asked. “They’re due today, aren’t they?”
There was a groan, which the teacher silenced with a glare.
Tom sat rigid and still.
“Thank you,” said Dr Vokes. “I should have collected them at the start of the lesson, but we just have time—thank you for reminding me. Hand them in now, please—pass them along.”
There was an immediate rustling. Twenty-three children produced their projects, each one neatly bound according to the rules.
Tom didn’t move, and his desk was idiotically bare. His mind was whirling, and his stomach churned: should he hand in an old bunch of notes, and buy himself time? Should he put his hand up and confess, or say he’d forgotten? In a dither of uncertainty, he simply went red.
Dr Vokes turned, as if he’d sensed the boy’s discomfort, and looked straight at him. The sun caught the lenses of his glasses, and all Tom could see were two pitiless discs of light.
“Thomas,” he said.
“Sir.”
“Your project, please. Aparna, can you start gathering them in? Make sure your names are on the top sheet—you’ve had ages. Tom, get on with it!”
“Sir, yes. I was going to talk to you.”
“You’re talking to me now.”
“I mean, at the end of the class.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
“We don’t need a conversation. I just need your homework.”
“That’s the thing, sir—I had a bit of a problem. At the last minute.”
The room was horribly silent. Aparna was taking in the folders, but quietly, and every boy and girl felt the warm stirrings of dread and excitement. Tom, the victim, was looking only at his hands.
“Oh dear,” said Dr Vokes. “Three weeks to get it done. The deadline repeated every lesson and noted in your diary… and you have a problem on the very last day. How unfortunate.”
“Could I have an extension, sir?”
“No. I’d like the work now, please.”
“Could I hand it in tomorrow, before registration?”
“No. I’d like it now.”
Tom said nothing.
“Where is it?”
“At home, sir.”
“Why?”
“I had a problem with my… computer.”
He’d said the wrong thing, and he knew it. Dr Vokes hated technology, priding himself on the good old-fashioned fountain pen. The bell sounded, shrill and long—but nobody moved, and nobody wanted to. Everyone was watching, for the fuse was burning and the explosion was now inevitable. The teacher was ominously still, and even though the corridor outside was full of running feet and laughter, the silence in the room was unbreakable. Nobody twitched, for everyone was savouring the scent of pure, undiluted fear.
“Look at you,” said Dr Vokes quietly. “What is a boy like you doing at a school like this? Stand up.”
Tom stood up.
“Two demerits. Detention on Thursday. And I’ll speak to your tutor. Oh, and wait… Look at me.”
Tom looked up.
“Why are you such a mess? Look at your shirt.”
“Sir?”
“How often do you change it?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Don’t you?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s grey with filth and it’s torn. It’s your only one, isn’t it?”
Someone sniggered.
“You’re a disgrace, boy. Have a word with your mother and tell her to buy a new washing machine. When you find me tomorrow, at eight o’clock sharp, I want you to be clean. I don’t want an urchin from the slums: I want someone with a bit of self-respect, who’s visited a barber and learnt how to dress. Now get out!”
Tom stared, too upset to move.
The teacher had turned pink, and his spiteful mouth contracted into a sneer of loathing. “Get out!” he roared. “Go! Now! Leave!”
Tom was swirled through the doorway with the other children, and found that he was running. The last thing he wanted was an encounter with the other boys—especially Robert Tayler—so he ducked to the right and then the left, past the sixth-form centre, and into the library.
He didn’t stop because he still wasn’t safe. He needed the reference section, at the far end: that was where the librarian had her office, so that’s where he went, grabbing the nearest book and plunging into a chair. It didn’t matter what the book was because he couldn’t have read the words even if he’d wanted to. He just stared at the pages, his hands shaking, as he wondered what to do. He thought of Spider, waiting for him at home, and that was the only thing that calmed him down. Three more lessons and a lunch break: he could endure them because afterwards he’d be with his friend, and they’d be back in the park. They’d go for a walk, farther than ever before—right up on to the heath perhaps, where they could be lost and alone. His breathing eased, but the tears in his eyes stayed there, quivering on his eyelashes.
“You all right, Tom?” said a voice.
It was Mrs Mourna, the librarian. He hadn’t seen her, but she’d seen him arrive and was looking straight at him.
“Yes, miss.”
“What’s that you’re studying?”
“Oh, it’s… just something I found.”
“How’s your dad?”
Tom blinked back the tears.
“He’s fine, miss, thank you. Working hard.”
“Good. You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if something was wrong?”
“Yes, miss. Thank you.”
The librarian was beside him, crouching low.
“How are you settling in?” she asked. “The first year’s always the hardest. Are you enjoying school?”
Tom nodded desperately. He was holding his breath because he knew he was about to shatter. His eyes were burning, so he kept them open wide and they just stayed dry.
“It’s great,” he said, and managed a laugh. “Thanks, miss—I’m loving it.”