My footsteps echo along the Grand Corridor that takes me through the Grand Doors into the Grand Dining Room. On the walls are the names of old Tapley students who have been prime ministers, fighter pilots, successful pirates, Australian cricket captains, or just plain filthy rich. Our school motto is ‘Winners Are Grinners’, and although I’m not sure it’s a very good motto, everyone else seems to like it.
Chase is the only student in the dining room. He sits at a front table reserved for the students whose parents donate land, gold bullion, or unmarked cash to the school. And now, I suppose, he’ll tell me that this afternoon’s friendliness was just one long joke.
Get it over with, George, I tell myself. Then go back to your antique sim card collection, telescope, well-worn chess set, and set of sixteen colour-coded ethically sourced cotton face washers. I give a polite cough.
‘Er, evening, Chase.’
Chase stands. ‘Peorgie boy! Get your multidimensional shock-jock rockin’-the-fashion-world hairstyle down here right now.’
I set off towards Chase, who shines like a comet – perhaps US 10 Catalina, which I’ve seen but never up this close.
‘Sit,’ says Chase. ‘Now, George, you’d better have a double serving of trifle tonight, because you’ll need all your strength for what I have planned. Whatever little strength you might have.’
‘Er, what’ve you got planned, Chase?’ I detect tremors of fear beneath the generous elastic waistband of my wool-cotton blend (80/20) flannel underpants. ‘A great plan is a very good idea, that’s what my dad says.’
Chase lounges in the old wooden chair as if it was the most comfortable thing ever.
‘Well, I don’t have anything planned exactly,’ he says. ‘As planning exactly is a waste of time. Because we both know the universe has something in mind that will test us out to the max.’
I’m not sure that the universe has a mind. Then again, I’m not sure that it doesn’t.
‘We’ll need to pick up a few supplies in town for our adventures,’ Chase adds.
My parents forgot my spending money. It’s remarkable how absent-minded many scientists are, considering how smart they’re supposed to be.
‘Supplies?’ I ask uneasily. ‘What for?’
Chase shrugs. ‘For emergencies, George. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but if I knew what these emergencies would be, we’d avoid them. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. It’s a dangerous world out there. Especially for people like you who don’t get out much.’
I’d agree with that.
‘Oh, relax, Parkie.’ Chase folds a napkin embroidered with his initials and family portrait. ‘If you can handle that haircut, you can handle anything.’
There’s a big difference between handling something you can’t avoid – like this haircut – and something you thought was a good idea but turned out to be an utter catastrophe. But it also proves that sometimes bad luck turns out to be good luck, as I wouldn’t be sitting here with Chase eating cold beans and brown mashed potatoes if Klassicke Kutz hadn’t gone up in smoke.
‘It’s just you and me, George.’ Chase looks around the empty dining room. ‘The Prince has gone home to India to train some new elephants to help around the house. And Count Luciano is in Germany buying a new castle for his mother.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Those things sound interesting.’
‘I guess so.’ Chase shrugs. ‘But in my experience, elephants are overrated. Their memories aren’t as good as people say and they take up a hell of a lot of room. And the toilets in German castles have stone seats and are often smelly and haunted. You and I will have far more fun.’
I laugh – I can’t help it. I’ve never really had much fun. Even in kindergarten, I was a serious boy. Little George Parker was always alert in the sandpit for a deadly tunnel collapse and to make sure no rubber dinosaurs were subjected to any rough play that might have sped up their passage to extinction and got the toy box monitor (me) into serious trouble.
‘That sounds jolly good,’ I say.
Chase’s smile is super-bright and his eyes shine like the headlights of a Ferrari.
‘And if the fun turns out to be a bit risky, treacherous, or dangerous, who cares?’
‘Not me, Chase.’ I shrug. ‘Not me.’ I can’t believe I said that. I spend an awful lot of time caring about danger because that’s what danger is – dangerous!
‘Right,’ says Chase. ‘We’ll meet at the gates at nine tomorrow morning to get our supplies. Now eat that trifle, George. You look a little pale.’
I blame that on my haircut. And the fact that I avoid the sun between seven in the morning and eight at night, unless there’s a solar eclipse or I’m under an umbrella under a shade sail.
‘Nine o’clock at the gates.’ I carefully synchronise my plastic digital watch with Chase’s stainless-steel masterpiece of Swiss watchmaking excellence. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘Yes, George,’ Chase says. ‘You will be.’