Dream Guy (25 page)

Her voice could laser through armored steel. Very few students ever went near her and those who did were always subdued in her presence.

He stood at the hatch behind which she sat like a vulture, hunched over the school switchboard. She ignored him for minutes. He gave a little cough. She continued to ignore him, but she was running three different conversations simultaneously with her colleagues and two different callers, her raucous voice bouncing around the small office without modulation in tone or volume.

She put the receiver down and looked at him. Her eyes were like knives. He could almost hear her flicking through a mental filing system that contained salient details about all one thousand, two hundred and thirty-nine students in the school.

“Joe Knightley. What you want?”

“I’ve got a message for a new teacher. Mr. Thomas told me to pass on a message to him, but I don’t know who he means. He just said the new temporary teacher who did detention cover last night.”

“What’s the message then?”

“Just to go and see Mr. Thomas at lunchtime for a meeting in the English department. Is he going to teach English then?”

“None of your business.” Joe could have sworn she muttered the word
scrote
at the end of her sentence, but he knew it wasn’t worth pursuing.

“What is his name, Miss Wickens?”

Her desire to snub Joe grappled with the knowledge that if she didn’t tell Joe who the new teacher was, she’d be responsible for getting the message to him. That would mean stirring beyond the confines of her office. She didn’t like leaving her desk, her territory. It meant she had to brush shoulders with students.

“Mr. Dolon. If he’s not in the staffroom, he might have gone to the drama studio. He’s covering for Mr. Phelps. Get that message to him right away.”

“Yes, Miss Wickens.”

Joe headed toward the drama studio. But once he’d disappeared from the Wickens’ sightline, he doubled back to the science labs for his biology lesson. He wished he’d spoken to more people at school. As it was, he wasn’t friendly with anyone who took drama apart from Ben, and he certainly wasn’t going to talk to him about all this, so finding out more about Dolon the teacher was going to be a little tricky. But fortune smiled on him, because the biology teacher arranged everyone in groups of three to do a practical demonstrating osmosis using bananas.

Joe had to go with Raquel Waters and Sammi Jones. Normally, he’d have wilted faster than a bunch of tulips at the idea, but they were both drama types, rejoicing in any opportunity to exhibit themselves on the school stage, from the annual Pop Mime competition to the musical that Phelps used to do in the spring term. He was pretty sure they’d signed up for GCSE drama.

They completed the banana business quickly enough. They wrote up their notes and the girls started chatting about their plans for the weekend and who was the fittest boy in school. They ran through the year thirteens then moved onto the year twelves. Inevitably, Ben’s name came up, but instead of bristling when Raquel said what a shame it was that he was gay, Joe laughed, making both girls gawp at him. They asked him to name the best-looking girl in the school. Joe shook his head. In his view, Nell was the best-looking girl he’d ever seen in the flesh, but that would be the wrong answer, so he named a girl in year twelve who was a local dance champion and swanned around the school as if it were her personal palace.

“Elissa? She’s such a bitch. She’s doing theater studies with Ben, isn’t she?”

Joe nodded. Sammi continued. “They say they’re all going to have real problems unless this guy who’s taking over from Mr. Phelps is any good.”

“I had him this morning. He’s well fit—and really nice. I know it’s sad about Mr. Phelps and the heart thing, but this Dolon guy is great.” Raquel was clearly one of the type that Nell would describe as ‘other girls’.

“How long’s he going to stick around?” Sammi did all the work for Joe.

“Well, Mr. Phelps is off for the rest of term, so that’s six weeks, isn’t it? Then who knows? I reckon that he’ll be signed off until Easter. It was a major heart attack. He’s not even out of hospital yet.”

This was bad news—six weeks of Eidolon hanging around school. On the other hand, it might buy enough time to think up a way to get rid of him permanently. But how much time was Eidolon going to spend in a school when he could be lounging in a Mediterranean villa or chopping people into little pieces or hunting wild animals? Whatever was coming would come soon. Besides which, Eidolon had the expertise of messing around with this dream stuff for centuries. He wouldn’t chuck that advantage.

At the end of biology, Sammi and Raquel waited for Joe to walk with them to the canteen for lunch. Perhaps it was reflected glory, but it felt quite agreeable. Now that Smokey was no longer in the picture, Joe felt less defensive about talking to other people—and about doing some work. His quality of life might substantially improve…if he survived Eidolon.

Nell joined the lunch queue some minutes after Joe and his two new girlfriends. Although she was wearing a school uniform like everyone else, she looked different, as though the school uniform came from some swanky London shop. Raquel and Sammi took the opportunity to slag her off, but when she stood looking for somewhere to sit, they waved at her to come over. She was about to go to another table when her gaze flicked back over Joe. Her raised eyebrows conveyed her astonishment at seeing Joe mix with females, but she came over anyway and sat by Joe, opposite the two other girls.

“Sammi and Raquel have been telling me all about Mr. Phelps. They’ve found a replacement for him already. A guy called Dolon.”

“Dolon? Really.” She gave him a sharp look but did not react further. The girls were ready to move onto some other subject, asking Nell if she wanted to see a horror spoof on Saturday night. Much to Joe’s frustration, neither Sammi nor Raquel showed any signs of leaving him and Nell in peace. Then, blessedly, the bell rang, and like whippets after a hare, they sprang up and away.

“Dolon?” asked Nell, direct as always. “That’s creepy. A supernatural sociopathic stalker. What are you going to do?” She had gathered up her books and started for the hallway to the classroom block.

“I don’t know.”

“You’d better think up something pretty soon, because he’s definitely out to get you. Why else would he be here?”

“He’s reformed and discovered a vocation for education?”

Nell grinned. “Sure, Joe, and De Beers is about to send me a free diamond necklace. Look. I’ll meet you after school, and we can work something out.”

“I’m collecting Liesel. We won’t be able to talk once I’ve got her in tow.”

“I’ll come home with you, and we can talk about it then. It shouldn’t take that long. I’ve got to be home before seven-thirty. Mum’s got a date.”

Joe agreed with relief. Nell was so matter-of-fact that she made Eidolon’s appearance seem manageable. He would tell her his plan this evening, and she would make it even more effective. They’d work together and once they’d gotten rid of Joe’s nemesis, he would take her on a long trip to some island paradise with no Smokey, no cocaine and no boars. They’d lie on a beach and drink stupid cocktails and maybe she’d let him kiss her.

This rapturous reverie occupied him through the rest of the afternoon, carrying him through another monotonous lesson. But he didn’t fall asleep, which was a major breakthrough. The thought of Nell wearing a bikini and a warm look in her eye was more than enough to keep him awake.

Once they’d collected Liesel, they went to the bus stop.

One bus had come, but there were seven or eight stragglers, mostly year nine kids. Dusk was eroding the edges of the day, and the streetlights were beginning to fizz into artificial life. It seemed appreciably colder, perhaps because for the first time in days, the sky was cloudless. Nell looked up into the deepening blueness.

“There can’t be a heaven. There’s nothing else out there, just emptiness scattered with a few stars. Just darkness. At night, that’s when you know there’s nothing more. When we’re turned away from the sun, we can’t keep up the illusion that there is something more,” Nell mused.

“That’s a bit deep,” said Liesel.

Joe grimaced. Speculation of this sort made Liesel uncomfortable. She preferred dealing with concrete realities like how to do a
pas de chat
and Sylvie Guillem’s latest hair color. Joe suppressed the urge to snap at her. She was only a kid.

“How long till the next bus comes?” A prosaic question, but Joe was chilled and the thought of Dolon on the prowl made him jumpy.

“Ten minutes.” Nell was wearing a thin coat and no gloves. She must be even colder than he was.

“We could walk to the next bus stop. There’s time.”

Despite Liesel’s protests, they started off, Nell and Joe taking long strides, Liesel skipping to keep up with them, their bags banging against their backs.

Even though they were warming up, Joe regretted the impulse almost immediately. The next bus stop was down a street lined on one side by hedges and on the other by the ten-foot wall of a bakery, which channeled even the slightest breeze into a force ten gale. Local people avoided walking there if they could because thumping gusts of wind came from nowhere to buffet you as you walked or stood.

They reached the empty bus shelter and sat there miserably, gazing at the pavement. The bus would come any minute. It was too cold to talk much.

An asthmatic rumble from the road made Joe turn sharply. It was just a diesel lorry rattling past. As he looked back, he noticed that there were now five pairs of trainers grouped around the bus shelter. He raised his eyes. Five boys were wearing the shoes—and navy tracksuits and baseball caps and hoodies. Before he could react, one of the boys had yanked Liesel to her feet and was holding her by the ponytail, long and honey-brown, exposing her narrow neck. Joe thought it was a guy called Steve—
Steve Foster? Forrest?

The boy standing behind Steve asked, “You want your sister?”

Joe might have known. Charlie Meek, but not in meek mode at all. Slowly, carefully, Charlie pulled a hunting knife out of his sleeve. Liesel whimpered. Nell was standing too, eyes narrowed into enraged slits, mouth tight, taut as a diver on the high board.

“Leave us alone, Charlie. Go home and leave us alone.” Joe strove to keep his voice level.

“I don’t think so. I want a piece of the Knightleys. Now which of you is going to give me a piece?” He held the knife against Liesel’s neck. “Maybe a nick of the little ballerina’s ear—or one of your fingers.”

“Charlie, are you crackers? You can’t expect Joe here to hold out his hand and let you cut a finger off.” Nell could not conceal her contempt for their assailant. Charlie closed in on Liesel, and Joe saw that his eyes were dilated and his mind closed to reason. His four goons were also out of it. They wanted to do something nasty, and the opportunity had presented itself to them as unwittingly as a Christmas turkey allows itself to be slaughtered.

“Keep out of it, boffin girl. Go home and do your studying. Maybe you can learn how to be a surgeon and stitch up your friends here.”

Nell and Joe exchanged glances. “Go, Nell. Go on.” Their only chance was if Nell could get away and find help. Joe stood up. “Please, Nell, just keep out of this.”

She bent down to pick up her bag. She twisted the handle around her hand then grasped it firmly. She straightened. Then she whirled and swung out, knocking two of Charlie’s friends into each other. Their heads cracked together, but Joe did not wait. He hurtled at the guy nearest to him and nutted him, knowing that his right arm was still too weak to cause any damage. The guy holding Liesel loosened his grip.

Liesel reclaimed her hair and began hooting and screeching louder than the school fire alarm system. Nell was still swinging her book bag around her head like a warrior running amok. Joe got behind the boy who was now wrestling with Liesel and reached for his face, poking at eyes, ears, scrunching at his hair. He got one, then two fingers in the boy’s nostrils and yanked. The boy let go of Liesel and yowled at the sudden and intense pain. The fifth boy took in the carnage and scarpered. Charlie, bemused, was still brandishing his knife as Nell yelled at him, “You want a piece of the Knightleys? How about a piece of me, Charlie? How about it, you cretin? Come and get me, Charlie.”

Joe saw the two boys she had first felled staggering to their feet, one holding his mouth, the other his head, bleeding at the temple. He glimpsed Charlie’s face, distorted into a demonic grimace.

“Nell, no. He’s out of his head, stop taunting him.” By the time Joe had finished his sentence, Charlie had lunged at Nell, and it was too late. Joe grabbed for his arm and deflected the second stab, but the first blow had driven deep and blood was welling at her neck. She had an utterly astounded expression on her face. Joe hauled at Charlie’s arm, twisted him around and thumped him. Charlie crumpled to his knees, the knife still in his hand, and he retched, winded. Liesel was on the ground cradling her head. Nell was falling. She staggered against the bus shelter and put one hand out against the glass, the other at her neck. Joe went to Liesel.

“Give me your scarf, quick. You’ve got to be brave, Liesel. Nell’s really badly hurt. Flag down a car. Get some help, please, I’ve got to look after Nell.”

Liesel tried to stifle her sobs and watched with great shocked eyes as Joe took her pink fleece scarf and folded it up, then pressed it against Nell’s neck. Nell leaned against him, and her knees gave way. She couldn’t talk. Her mouth opened but no sound came. Joe held her and eased her down so that he was kneeling behind her, propping her up. Liesel went into the road. The bus finally arrived. When the driver saw the little girl, tear-streaked, frantic and saying someone was hurt, he switched on the hazard lights. A woman sitting near the front pulled Liesel on to the bus and tried to comfort her while the driver called for an ambulance.

The driver clambered out of his seat. Joe looked up at him, tears running down his face, then looked back at Nell. He didn’t dare move. His fingers were wet and sticky. The scarf was crimson, but Nell’s face was white. Her eyes were closed and her face was peaceful, as though she’d just fallen asleep.