The Red Road (38 page)

“You’re not a relative?”
Lawrence asked. He had returned to the table, still looking offended
that we had invaded what he clearly considered to be
his pub
.

“No, I’m not,” Adrian said,
though without a trace of wrongdoing.

Lawrence’s face suddenly split
into a grin. “You got into a car with a stranger? What kind of
fucking idiots are you?” he asked of Baz and I. He looked at
Goodman. “We should call Father Benedict and get him to drive
someone down here to get these idiots back to the school. In fact,
I’m going to go and call a taxi. The duty master can pay.”

“I’m not a stranger,” Adrian
said, his patience with the sixth formers starting to wear thin. “I’m
actually an old boy.”

“Should’ve known better, then,”
Lawrence said.

At that, Adrian flew up from the
table and walked in front of Lawrence, preventing his exit from the
beer garden. “Yes, clearly having attended St Christopher’s
myself I should be familiar with all the rules. In fact, it might
therefore be appropriate for me to let them know that I saw you
smoking on your way down here.”

“Eh? I don’t smoke,” Lawrence
said, glancing uneasily to Goodman.

“Not tobacco at any rate,”
Adrian said, lowering his voice.

The coloured suddenly drained from
Lawrence’s face.

“It was a herbal cig—”

“Don’t. Lie,” Adrian almost
snarled, cutting him off. He paused between the two words for effect.
“Do you think that I’m that stupid that I don’t know the
difference between marijuana and a herbal cigarette? I used to smoke
weed for years myself. It’s not a smell you quickly forget.”

Lawrence looked stunned, and he
glanced to Goodman for help.

“You as well,” Adrian said to
Goodman.

The head boy said nothing in
response. They had clearly been caught red-handed.
Et tu, Brute?
I had always thought that Goodman was squeaky clean. I wondered just
how many of the party that had made their way down here had taken a
drag on that spliff.

“What’s going on?”

I saw that three other sixth formers
had appeared – Simon Ross, Daniel Gibbs and John Howard, all of
Tudor House, carrying five pints of beer between them. They must have
gone to the bar to buy the drinks, while Lawrence and Goodman looked
for seats. They caught the sight of Baz and I and moved to say
something when Goodman intercepted them.

“Come on,” he said, herding them
all away. “We’re going to drink inside.”

“But—” one started, still
staring in my direction.

“No, let’s go. Come on,”
Goodman added to Lawrence, his tone making it clear that he didn’t
want to have to tell any of them again.

Adrian returned to his seat once the
boys had departed, ignoring the questioning eyes from the other
patrons, who had watched the entire sequence in silence. We had
created quite a scene here tonight. Word might well get back to the
school no matter what happened. I considered that one of the more
law-abiding or interfering drinkers might call the school the next
day and report the possible misuse of drugs. St Christopher’s
really didn’t need any more trouble.

“There’s yet another fucking
thing I hate about that school,” Adrian said. “Most of the boys have
no respect for anyone at all these days.”

I saw that his hands were shaking,
as if the confrontation had rattled him somewhat. He took a deep gulp
of beer. His mouth was maybe a little dry. It was the first time I
had heard Adrian swear and mean it. Admittedly, I had only met him on
one other occasion, but I got the impression that he didn’t swear a
great deal. He had done so in the church as I was serving coffee and
biscuits, but clearly then only for comedic value.

“They’re just wankers,” I
said. “They sometimes talk to the teachers that way.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Adrian
said. “Let me guess – richer than average parents, and all with
straight As, even though they don’t seem to possess the intellect? A
small donation to the school and your grades suddenly improve
dramatically.”

Baz and I looked at each other, not
quite sure. Aside from Goodman, none of those here tonight were
Oxbridge students to our knowledge. But, yes, they were said to be
projected very good final grades in their A-Levels.

“I hate Goodman,” Baz said,
picking up his pint and taking a good gulp of the beer. “Why they
made him the head boy is beyond me.” He took a second.

“As I said,” Adrian said,
finishing his pint, “supposed high flyers. It makes them think that
they’re invincible, and that they can get away with anything.
You’re right to leave; you’ll find the real world a good deal
more satisfying than the life you’ve had here.”

We changed the subject, Baz and I
finishing our beers and turning to the lemonade to dilute the alcohol
we had had. I could already feel it going to my head. A pint was a
lot to drink, more than I had first thought. How some people did ten
in a night, I would never know.

We spoke about what we wanted to do
once we left – learning to drive, meeting girls, returning to
living with our parents, going to nightclubs, all the stuff we
imagined that happened to normal sixth formers. Adrian wasn’t quite
as upbeat as he had been, however, and he seemed happy to get away
from the pub as soon as he had finished his cola and we were done
with our lemonades.

“I’ll give you a lift back,”
Adrian said, heading towards his car.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll
walk.”

“Best not to,” Adrian said,
looking back towards the entrance of the pub. “They might catch up
with you on the lane. Wouldn’t be a good idea to risk it if they’ve
had a few.”

True. It wasn’t as if either Baz
or I were short for our age, far from it. There would be five of
them, though; five drunk and potentially angry eighteen-year-olds.
That wasn’t worth risking at all.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Adrian said
after we had gotten in the car and he had started the engine. “It
just brings back bad memories.”

“Did you go through a similar
thing yourself?” Baz asked.

“Yes,” Adrian said. “And it
ruined my life.”

We drove back to the school in
silence.

~ ~ ~

I was in bed, reading
Congo
by Michael Crichton, with my lamp on. It was a little difficult to
concentrate on what was happening after the beer, and I realised that
my mind was wandering and that I had reached the end of the page
without a clue of what I had just read. I decided that I should reset
my bookmark, set the novel aside and come back to it tomorrow.

Simmons still had his light on,
apparently studying. He hadn’t said anything about my absence for
the past few hours, even though I had also missed evening prayers. He
must have been quite worried about his exams. Maybe six weeks wasn’t
quite as long as I had thought. The second year boys were whispering
to one another, gossiping and spreading rumours about one of the boys
in another of the houses, who had apparently been caught masturbating
in the showers, earlier on in the week. Of all the places to do that.

I switched my own light off and
settled down, when I heard a voice out in the corridor. For some
reason it sounded like it was meant for me, though I couldn’t quite
be certain why. I then heard the door of the dormitory opposite open
and caught the sound of my own name being called. Shit. Had one of
the teachers been tipped off about Baz and I taking a trip to the
White Horse? I had returned to the school fine, getting back through
the gates without raising suspicion or being caught by security (bit
lax, I thought), and no one had questioned my sobriety in the least.
A couple of voices responded from next door, and the other dorm’s
door closed. Mine opened. A figure entered and walked to Simmons’
end of the dorm.

“Crosthwaite?”

It was Michael Lawrence! What was he
doing here? This wasn’t even his house, he was from Enfield! The
jolt of the sixth formers’ arrival was enough to sober me as if I
had just been given some kind of miracle cure.

“Oh, alright, Ant? Sorry, I
thought Crosthwaite was in here?”

“Over that side,” Simmons said.

Lawrence came over to me, still
visible by Simmons’ lamplight. “Oi, Crosthwaite, are you awake?”
he asked.

“Yep,” I said.

“Can I have a word?”

I somewhat reluctantly clambered out
of bed and followed him out into the corridor, ignoring the eyes of
the second year boys as I did so. We walked out through a set of
double doors, leading into the main school. Many of the lights were
still on, but it was eerily quiet, even if it was only just past ten
at night.

“Are we cool?” Lawrence asked.
His breathing was a little taut. He looked a little tense, too.

“What?”

“I said, are we cool? About what
happened tonight with the whole,” he mimed smoking a cigarette, “I
mean.”

Interesting. “Sure,” I said,
folding my arms.

“Good. You’ve not told anyone?”

“No.”

“Good, good,” Lawrence nodded.
His expression then darkened. “Because I’ll tell you what – if
you do, then you might find yourself having the shit kicked out of
you again.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, if you tell anyone about
what happened, then I’m going to beat the shit out of you,”
Lawrence said, his voice still quite tense.

“Ha! No, you won’t,” I heard a
voice say. I was quite surprised to discover that it had been my own,
and that I was also grinning.

“What?” Lawrence said, his face
falling.

“I said, no, you won’t,” I
repeated, more assertively this time. “I have to wonder – you and
what army? Because three tried last term and failed. So..?” I
shrugged and left the question dangling. I wondered vaguely how and
when I had become so ballsy. Was it perhaps now that I knew that I
was leaving St Christopher’s and wouldn’t see people like
Lawrence again that I no longer cared? Or maybe it was the beer? It
did apparently give you extra confidence.

Lawrence opened his mouth to speak.
I beat him to it.

“Because let’s be honest – if
you attack me, then you’ll be rusticated or expelled for certain,
and I’ll make sure of that. You don’t need that just before you
do your A-Levels. Then you’ll not be able to get into university
and will end up doing some shitty, low-paid job after you leave here,
and every morning you’ll think back to that moment you decided to
attack me and wish you could go back in time and undo it. Then you’ll
shove on your black gloves and get back to scrubbing the vomit out of
some piss-encrusted toilet.”

Lawrence stared open-mouthed at me.
“You little fucking shit!”

I laughed. “You’re, what, two
inches taller than me?”

“Fuck off, you cunt!”

I mimed smoking a cigarette. “I
always thought that stuff was meant to mellow you out. You’re
acting like a tightly wound spring. Maybe you should try knocking one
out, instead.”

Lawrence said nothing to that and
only stood looking at me with a face like a smacked arse.

“Look, I’m going to bed, okay?”
I said, walking around him. “I’m not going to tell anyone what
you may or may not have been smoking, because I frankly don’t care.
And if anyone finds out, it won’t have come from me, got it?”

“Did you kill Craig?”

“What?” I said, pausing as I
reached for the door handle back to Butcher.

“Did you kill Craig? Craig Priest,
I mean.”

I looked back around at him, seeing
him completely serious. His face might have been twisted in hate
towards me, but his eyes were betraying him. He actually looked a
little afraid of me at that point, as if I was the one who had
somehow pulled Priest from his bed and dragged him down to the main
drive of the school, before slitting his throat. Was this guy
serious?

“No,” I said, incredulously.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” I scowled at him.
“Now fuck off and don’t get me out of bed again,” I added,
pulling open the door and starting back to Butcher. Why did the idiot
feel the need to ask me twice? Did he think I was lying? Or perhaps
he considered that I might have somehow conveniently forgotten the
deed. Stupid. That wasn’t something you would forget doing.

Mud-caked slippers
. I shook
that thought from my head.

I returned to my dorm, getting back
into bed and fobbing off Simmons’ enquiries as to what Lawrence had
wanted me for, telling him that the sixth former merely wanted me to
type up an essay for him, in exchange for a few quid.

I lay there then in bed, feeling my
heart thumping away. I couldn’t believe I had spoken to Lawrence
that way. It was completely out of character for me. Was it really
because I was leaving and didn’t care, or was it the alcohol? Even
so, I wondered if I had overstepped the mark. Could I expect a visit
from Lawrence, Goodman, and a few of his friends in the next ten
minutes? Maybe they would bring some cricket bats, just to make sure
they broke as many bones as possible.

I waited and waited. Simmons soon
switched off his light and growled at the second years to shut up. I
next heard the seven-thirty morning school bell ring, telling us to get
out of bed, and realised that I had fallen asleep. No visit from
Lawrence had followed. My head hurt a little, but I knew that was due
to the beer and not for any other reason.

Coward
, I thought.

~ ~ ~

As fate would have it, Lawrence was
expelled the very next week, following a random drugs test that the
school sprung on the unsuspecting sixth formers. I attracted looks of
hate from the head boy the day after it was announced Lawrence had
been sent home for being in the possession of illegal drugs on school
grounds.

“What did you say?” Goodman
demanded of me one afternoon when he happened to catch me alone.

“The same thing that I promised
him I would,” I told him. “Nothing.”