Down Among the Dead Men

14

Mel couldn’t possibly tell the others. They’d cut her into small pieces if they found out. She’d had a suspicion ever since the first day back that something had gone hideously wrong, and now she was on the trail. Miss Gibbon was officially a missing person and she felt driven to find out more.

Logically, she needed to start in school. The problem here was that the person in the know was the head, who insisted staff matters were not to be discussed with students. No use asking her why Miss Gibbon had left. A more subtle approach was needed.

On Monday mornings the head actually did some teaching, the one fixed point on the timetable, RE to the year sevens. The memory of those dreaded lessons was seared on Mel’s brain. It was all about discussing what the head called ‘issues’ and even the shyest children were expected to have an opinion and contribute. She’d suffered. When the finger pointed your way there was no escape.

But year seven’s misfortune was Mel’s opportunity. The school secretary, the well-named Mrs Bountiful, known as Bounty throughout the school, dealt with every enquiry she could while the head was teaching.

‘I’m afraid she isn’t available until later, dear,’ she said when Mel looked into her office. ‘Is it something I can help with?’

‘That would be brilliant. I’m hoping to get in touch with Miss Gibbon, who taught me art, but she left.’

‘Miss Gibbon?’ Her face changed from the usual ever-present smile to a guarded, almost pained look. ‘What’s it about?’

‘We didn’t get a chance to thank her for all the things she taught us.’

‘Well, that’s a lovely thought, but it won’t be possible now.’

‘I was wondering if you could let me have her address.’

‘I’m not allowed to give addresses to anyone.’

Mel needed a stronger reason. Think, think. ‘She was especially kind to me.’ In desperation she came out with a statement that was pure invention. ‘She lent me a book on perspective and I didn’t have the chance to return it.’

‘What a shame.’

And now she had to embroider the lie if it was to serve the purpose she needed. ‘It’s a beautiful book signed by the author, who must have been one of her college lecturers, I guess, because it has a nice inscription, “To Connie”. I think that’s her name.’ Under this pressure, Mel was discovering creative talent she hadn’t dreamed she possessed. ‘There’s a personal message with it.’

‘How unfortunate. Between you and me, Melanie, we don’t know where Miss Gibbon is now, or I’d offer to send the book on for you. Let me see.’ Bounty worked her keyboard. ‘No, all I have is her last address and we know that isn’t current because mail has been returned from there.’

‘Could you let me have it?’

‘I just explained. She isn’t there any longer.’

‘So you won’t be breaking any rules if you pass it on to me.’

‘What use is an old address?’

‘Someone there may know. I feel so guilty hanging on to the book.’

Bounty sighed. ‘This is in confidence, my dear. The head was faced with an impossible situation at the end of last term. Miss Gibbon left at short notice and hasn’t been in touch since.’

‘Should I speak to the head about it, then?’

‘Absolutely not. That’s the worst thing you could do. Don’t speak to her or any of the staff.’

‘What am I to do, then?’

‘Take it from me, you’re not going to find Miss Gibbon.’

‘But it won’t hurt for you to give me her old address. Please.’ Mel started edging around the desk for a sight of the computer screen.

‘What on earth...?’ Outraged, Bounty grabbed the screen and twisted it out of range, eyes blazing. This was a side of the so-called unflappable school secretary Mel had never seen before. ‘Get out of here, girl, or I’ll report you.’

The unpleasantness in the office left Mel shaky and troubled. It had been out of all proportion to the simple request she’d made. True, she’d overstepped the mark trying to see the address, but Bounty’s reaction had been totally over the top. It only added to the mystery and made her more concerned about Miss Gibbon. What was the ‘impossible situation’ the head had been faced with?

One thing was clear: it was no use asking for help from anyone in school, staff or students. They were united in opposition to the poor woman.

Better think again.

Meanwhile the rest of the A-level group were still fixated on one topic.

‘How old do you think he is?’ No need for Ella to say who she was talking about.

‘Under thirty.’

‘That’s obvious. I’d say twenty-six maximum.’

‘Ask him.’

‘Get real. You can’t ask a teacher what age he is.’

‘Does it matter?’ Mel said.

‘Of course it matters. We know almost everything else about him from his website, like where he went to art school and stuff, but there’s nothing about his age.’

‘Ask Ferdie, then. He won’t mind telling us.’

‘Perfecto. Great suggestion. He’s friendly. I’ll ask him Saturday.’

‘While you’re at it,’ Ella said, ‘ask him when the next party is.’

‘He told me,’ Jem said. ‘It’s when there’s a full moon.’

‘Like when the werewolves come out?’

A chorus of howling started up.

‘He was winding you up.’

‘He wasn’t, I’m abso-fucking-lutely sure. He’s honest. He tells you straight when you ask him.’

‘What parties are these? I haven’t heard about them,’ Naseem said.

‘They’re not for the likes of us,’ Jem said. ‘Regulars only.’

‘Why? Are they, like, doing drugs?’

Jem shook her head. ‘When Anastasia told us about the parties I asked if they smoked pot and she was really shocked. Then for a laugh I asked if they were into orgies, and she was like, “If they were, I’d stay away.”’

Shrieks of laughter.

‘I’d stay away as well,’ Mel said. ‘Imagine an orgy with Geraint.’

‘If it’s not sex or drugs, that doesn’t leave much to be secretive about,’ Jem said. ‘I guess it’s just heavy drinking.’

‘Do they think we don’t drink?’ Ella said.

‘This is about Tom’s job, most likely. He’d be in deep doo-doo if the school got to hear we were drinking. I don’t blame him. You can be sure one of us would get rat-arsed.’

‘Ella,’ somebody said at once, and got laughs.

Ella spun around. ‘What do you mean? I can hold my drink.’

‘Like you did at the last prom when you threw up over that boy’s shoes?’

‘Give me a break. That was yonks ago. Wouldn’t it be wicked to crash one of the parties?’

Nobody spoke. Just because someone says jump in, you don’t want to be the first.

Finally Jem said, ‘Like put it on Facebook and get thousands of kids along?’

‘That would be so uncool,’ Ella said. ‘I’m not suggesting we should be mean to Tom. I’m thinking just ourselves. After they’ve had a few drinks they won’t care who turns up.’

‘What would you wear?’ Jem said. ‘Your goth gear?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Count me out,’ Naseem said. ‘This could be so embarrassing.’

‘How about you, Jem?’

Jem shook her head. ‘It’s not my scene.’

‘Nor mine,’ Mel said.

‘We know that, scrubber,’ Jem said quick to deflect any criticism. ‘Your scene is some greasy-spoon caff in the back streets of Bognor.’

No one was brave enough to come to Mel’s defence. The put-down, like so many others, seemed to speak for everyone.

‘What a load of wimps,’ Ella said. ‘Haven’t you ever crashed a party before? Sounds like I’m on my own.’