The Ability (Ability, The) (10 page)

Chris looked at Sir Bentley to see if he was joking, but if he was, he was giving nothing away.

“Hi,” Chris said, and Maura gave him a big smile.

“Lovely to meet you, Christopher. Now, a cup of tea?”

Chris shook his head.

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll bring you some water, then. Your usual, Sir Bentley?” she asked, and Sir Bentley nodded. Maura left the room and Sir Bentley took a seat.

Chris sat down opposite him and looked up to see Miss Sonata at the door. He felt hugely relieved to see a familiar face and smiled as she sat next to Sir Bentley.

“Right, let’s get to work,” said Sir Bentley, placing his briefcase on the table and pulling out some papers. “Miss Sonata, would you like to start?”

“Thank you, Bentley,” she said, looking up at Chris. “Well, Christopher, welcome to Myers Holt, and congratulations.”

“Thanks,” said Chris.

“I must say, I’m not at all surprised that you’re here today. I knew there was something special about you the day that we met, and your test results proved that.”

Chris looked surprised and Miss Sonata laughed gently.

“Yes, really, your score was remarkable! I will give you a quick rundown of what we would like to offer you, and then you can have a think about what you want to do.”

Maura walked back in with a tray of drinks, and as she served them, Miss Sonata began to explain how Myers Holt had been reopened after a long closure.

“The school is designed for only a small number of
children in order to ensure that you get a very personalized education, with a curriculum that is designed specifically for you. There will be five other children here, and you would all be expected to stay here during the week and return home on some weekends and all holidays. The place is offered to you until the end of this academic year, and then you would return to your old school—or, in your case, a new school, which we will help you find. While here, you would be expected to follow the rules and work hard at all your lessons. We will take care of the rest.”

“The rest?”

“Yes, your food, clothes, books. We have the best teachers in the country here to make sure that you will go on to achieve great things. In return, all we ask is that you don’t speak to anybody about the work that you are doing here.”

“Why?” asked Chris. Sir Bentley sat forward.

“We ask for your discretion because the methods we use here are unique and could be misused. You will learn more about this if you enroll.”

Chris nodded, intrigued.

“Do you have any questions for us?” asked Miss Sonata.

Chris thought for a moment.

“When would I start?”

“School begins on Monday. We’ll be starting at midday to give you all a chance to have a look around and get yourselves settled slowly. Lessons will begin on Tuesday.”

“And I have to sleep here?”

Miss Sonata knew what Chris was really trying to ask.

“We have taken your situation into account,
Christopher. If you accept the place, we will make sure that your household bills will be taken care of and that the necessary repairs are undertaken in your home so that your mother is more comfortable.”

“But she doesn’t cook or eat if I’m not there.”

Miss Sonata gave a sympathetic smile. “I understand, Christopher; we will take care of that. You are only twelve years old, and your mother is an adult. It is time that you thought of what is best for you. Your mother will be fine. How does that sound?”

Chris took a moment to think, while Miss Sonata and Sir Bentley watched him patiently. He thought about the fact that he had been expelled that morning, about his mother at home, and about what going to this strange school might involve, and finally he came to a decision.

“I’m really sorry, but you don’t know my mum. She can’t manage, and I can’t leave her. I’m the only person she has,” said Chris.

Miss Sonata looked surprised, and Sir Bentley stood up.

“Christopher, this is your decision and it is not for us to put pressure on you, but please, will you reconsider? Perhaps if you were to look around the school?”

Chris shook his head sadly.

“There’s no point. It wouldn’t change anything. I can’t do it. I’m really sorry to waste your time.”

Miss Sonata pulled out a card from her briefcase and handed it to Chris.

“Here’s my number. Call me if you change your mind.”

“Okay, thanks,” said Chris, stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to go now.”

There was silence as Chris stood up. Chris didn’t know what else to say. He pushed the chair back.

“Christopher, wait,” said Sir Bentley. “Don’t make any decision now—give yourself the weekend to think it over. Your place will still be here for you.”

Chris wished that they weren’t being so kind; it made it so much harder to do what he knew was right.

“There’s no point—give the place to someone else. I can’t accept it.”

Sir Bentley shook his head, and Chris could see his frustration. “I don’t know if we made it clear enough how special you really are. We have tested thousands of children, and nobody came close to achieving what you did. If you choose not to come, then we won’t be taking a replacement. The school is designed for six pupils, but that is only if we find six pupils who are capable enough to take on our training.”

“Training?” asked Chris.

Miss Sonata looked up at Sir Bentley and shot him a strange glance.

Sir Bentley smiled dismissively. “Sorry, wrong choice of word. I mean schooling. Regardless, please give it some thought.”

Chris shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that I can’t, and nothing is going to change that.”

“Very well. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect your decision. It’s been a pleasure, Christopher,” said Sir Bentley, shaking his hand across the table. “John and Ron will be waiting outside. They’ll give you a lift home.”

“It’s all right,” said Chris, just wanting to be on his own. “I can get a bus home.”

“Are you sure?” asked Miss Sonata. “It’s really no problem.”

Chris shook his head. “I’d prefer to get the bus,” he said, standing up. “I’m really sorry if I wasted your time, and . . . thanks. Bye.”

“Good-bye, Christopher,” said Sir Bentley.

“Good-bye,” said Miss Sonata.

Chris walked out of the room and down the corridor back to the front door, shoulders hunched and head bowed low.

He opened the door to find Maura scrubbing the steps. She stood up to let him pass.

“See you next week, Christopher,” she said, ruffling his hair as he walked past. Chris looked up, and she saw the look on his face.

“Are you all right, love?” she asked, looking concerned.

Chris was about to tell her that he wouldn’t be coming back, then decided against it. He gave her a weak smile, then ran off before she had a chance to say anything more.

•  •  •

For the next few days, Chris felt as if his life had been put on pause. While his former classmates went about their lessons as normal, he cleaned the house, fixed the carpet down where it was coming up, and made all the meals, which he and his mother ate in silence in front of the television. His mother never mentioned the visit from Miss Sonata or the fact that Chris wasn’t at school, and Chris didn’t bring it up. All the while, Chris wondered what
would happen now, expecting a knock on the door from social services at any moment to take him away. He knew that he had to find a place at a new school, but he didn’t know where to begin, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask Mr. Tuckdown for another chance.

On Sunday, five days after his meeting with Sir Bentley and Miss Sonata, Christopher came down from the attic, where he had spent the last three hours trying to fix a leak in the roof, to find his mother sitting in front of the television, as always. He watched her for a moment and, suddenly, for reasons he couldn’t explain, all the resentment and anger that had been building up suddenly spilled over. He stormed over to the television and switched it off.

“I was watching that. Turn it back on!” said his mother.

“
No
. You can’t just sit and watch television all day!”

If his mother was surprised by his shouting, she didn’t show it.

“Yes, I can. I have and I will, and it’s none of your business.”

“Yes, it is! You’re my mother—you’re supposed to look after me!”

“You can take care of yourself.”

“But I have to take care of you, too.
It’s not fair!
” he shouted at her.

His mother looked up at him, her face full of anger.

“Nobody asked you to. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you. All you do is moan, moan, moan.”

“
Moan?
I don’t moan. All I do is cook for you, clean your clothes, pay the bills, and take care of the house,
and I never say anything. I turned down the place at that school, so I could stay here and look after you.”

Chris’s mother stood up and looked straight at him, and her face was twisted with hate and rage. At that moment Chris didn’t recognize the person looking at him. “Well, you’re not doing me any favors,” she said, staring at her son. “I don’t need you here trying to make me feel worse. As if I haven’t got enough to worry about. Life would be easier if you weren’t around.”

Chris stopped, and all the anger left him.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” said his mother. “I want you out.”

“What?”

“I said, I want you out. You’re not welcome here anymore. If you’re so big and clever, you can find your own way. Now . . .
get out!
”

She sat back down and picked up the remote.

Chris stared at her, tears running down his face, and then ran out of the house.

•  •  •

Chris kept running—past his neighbor’s houses, past the locked gates of his old school, across the empty park, past lines of identical houses until, out of breath, he finally stopped. He looked around to get his bearings and realized that he had no idea where he was. It was getting dark, and the streetlights flickered on, casting an amber glow across the deserted street. He sat down on the pavement and shivered, realizing that he hadn’t even stopped to pick up his coat. Wrapping his arms about himself, he tried to think of anybody that he could call and realized that he
had nobody—that the only person he did have didn’t want him anymore.

“Oi!”

Chris looked up. A group of teenagers was coming toward him on their bikes. Chris stood up.

The boy at the front, whose face was hidden by a scarf and cap, put his foot down to stop and climbed off his bike. He walked up to Chris and stared down at him.

“What you doin’?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Chris, starting to walk away.

The boy put his bike down against the pavement and ran to catch up with Chris. Chris didn’t look back but started to walk faster. Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps quickening, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I said, what you doin’?” said the boy, still holding onto Chris’s shoulder.

“I’m not doing anything,” said Chris, trying not to show how scared he was.

“Looks like you’re on our turf.”

“I’ll move,” said Chris.

“Bit late for that. Give us what you’ve got and we’ll call it quits.”

Chris hesitated, then pushed the boy’s hand off him and turned to run.

“Get him!”
shouted the boy, and Chris turned to see the rest of the group get back on the bikes and begin to give chase.

Chris jumped over a low brick wall onto a grass verge and began to run along it, but it didn’t take long for them to catch up with him. Before he knew it, he was on the ground
and his pockets were being turned inside out. Coins fell out, and one of the boys picked up a rumpled note.

“A fiver . . . nice. I’ll have that,” he said, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Where’s your phone?”

“I don’t have a phone,” said Chris, just wanting them to leave him alone.

“Everybody has a phone,” said the boy, checking Chris’s pockets.

“I don’t have a phone,” repeated Chris angrily.

The boys checked the rest of his pockets and realized he was telling the truth.

“Waste of time,” said one of them, and kicked Chris’s leg. “Let’s go.”

Chris lay on the ground and watched them leave, cycling off into the darkness. He sat up slowly and rubbed his leg, then stood up and shook the grass and dirt off himself. Bending down, he ran his hand over the grass to see if they had missed any coins, but there was nothing except a crumpled-up white card that he didn’t recognize. He picked it up and walked over to the light of the streetlamp and saw Miss Sonata’s name. It was all he had.

After a while he found a phone box and dialed the operator.

“I’d like to reverse the charges, please,” said Chris.

“What number are you calling?”

Chris read out the mobile phone number on the card.

“And your name?”

“Christopher Lane,” he said, and waited as the phone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, I have a call from Christopher Lane. Will you accept the charges?”

“Yes,” said Miss Sonata, and there was a pause.

“Thank you,” said the operator. “Your call is being put through.”

Chris waited, and there was a click.

“Christopher? Are you okay?”

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but instead he started to cry.

“What’s wrong?”

Chris wiped the tears from his face.

“I don’t know. Mum threw me out and I’ve just been mugged.”

There was a pause.

“I’m coming to get you. Look around you, can you see anything—a road sign?”

Chris scanned his surroundings and saw a sign up ahead on a low wall.

“Cambridge Place,” he said.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t move.”

Chris put the phone down and went out onto the street.

•  •  •

“There you go, love,” said Maura, and placed a large mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of Chris.

“Thank you,” said Chris.

“Miss Sonata’s just organizing for someone to go round to your house and tell your mum that you’re here. She’ll be back in a moment. Now, drink that down you, pet; it’ll warm you up. I’m going to make your bed up and get you some dinner—you must be famished.”