All Hallows' Moon (26 page)

The English block was at the far side of the college grounds, and for this I was unusually grateful. The biting wind and ice-rain spliced my skin. It seemed a fitting punishment for the torrent of fire Blake had caused in me. Perhaps, looking back, it was a taste of the pain that all of us would come to feel.

The English classroom was on the third floor and almost empty when I arrived. Condensation streamed down the windows of the overly hot classroom, melting the view of the flat dull grey of the winter sky. It was comforting to look at something bland and unexciting. The classroom filled without my notice, but this escape didn’t last for long.

“May I sit here?” He asked in a hushed tone, clearly embarrassed by arriving late to lesson.

My heart quickened. I reasoned with myself that this seat, one of several available, had been chosen because of its closeness to the door, and was in no way related to my existence. After several disappointing minutes, I realised my reason was right – he hadn’t even registered me.

The English teacher, Mr Dwell, was a flamboyant creation; a relic of some previous age of leather volumes, cream teas and cigars. He reminded me very much of my own Uncle Josef, so whilst others took delight in mocking him, cruelly impersonating his slight lisp and his portly walk, I felt an affection for the old man and loved the time I spent in his slightly out of sync world.

Literature was my favourite subject and the lessons normally held my entire attention. But unlike other, more ordinary days, today the close scent of Blake’s warm body caused my thoughts to bounce all over the place and the words on the page to blur.

“Miss Singer, is there a problem?” Dwell’s soft Scottish voice filtered through as if it were travelling through water.

By the time I’d resurfaced, the moment had passed and the class were searching through their copies of Hamlet to find where we’d left off last lesson. Whilst I had been dancing around in my own little daydream, Dwell had selected people to read. Thankfully none of which were me. The ‘To be or not to be?’ passage was now being read by an unfamiliar voice.

Hamlet’s words sat easy in Blake’s mouth, giving the impression he was reading from memory, or like an actor who had learnt his lines. And rather than murdering Shakespeare’s verse, like we normally did, his voice fitted the iambic pentameter with ease. It created an intensity to the language which, until this moment, I’d struggled to understand. I lost myself in the music of the reading, jolting back to the room when he suddenly faltered and become unsettled in his movements. He turned to me and his eyes flickered with something like recognition. I noticed with embarrassment that my arm was touching his. There was something completely captivating in that I couldn’t feel him; as if he simply didn’t exist.

The creepy thought that maybe he didn’t jumped on me. I looked around the classroom, desperate for somebody else to prove he wasn’t a figure of my overactive imagination. An ice-spider took a leisurely crawl across my spine. Blake’s eyes locked onto mine and looked right into the heart of me. He moved a finger to his lips, and motioned me to silence, as if we had just stumbled across an impossible secret. A crooked smile flitted across his mouth. At that moment, the strongest impulse to kiss him grabbed me and if it hadn’t been for the sound of the bell, then maybe madness would have won out.

Before the bell even had a chance to finish ringing, I’d packed as speedily and clumsily as a frenzied criminal about to skip the country. I wondered how it was possible to lose your sanity in the space of an afternoon. All my instincts screamed at me to run, to get away. But something else, something deeper, richer, sweeter, wanted me to stay and move closer. And even though a siren was wailing in my head screaming at me that this boy was dangerous, all I could think about was kissing him.

*

Thankfully, Sam’s class had been released early for good behaviour. He stood outside the English block, car keys swinging in one hand, two paper bags containing a late lunch in the other. He greeted me like a dutiful puppy, falling into step by my side and sending the sandwiches on a perilous flight as he swung his arm around my shoulders.

“What’s up sweetie pea? You’re white as a ghost!” Sam’s voice was full of concern.

“Nothing,” I lied unconvincingly. “I think maybe I’m going down with something. Look do you mind if we rain check this evening? I need to get my head down and rest.”

I flashed him a reassuring smile but it felt like a lie. Sam made a valiant attempt at hiding his disappointment. He hated his home, not that Sam really considered it a home. It was merely a place where his drunken father happened to live. At Sam’s house there was no space he could call his own. He slept on a pull out sofa bed and all his books and belongings lived either in his college bag, on the backseat of his battered mini or at my house. It couldn’t have been more different from the warm eccentric home my mum, Martha, had created for me. As an illustrator of children’s books, she’d magically managed to extend the fairytale into the fabric of our own house; which looked part museum, part library and part falling-down shack.

Even though Sam had his own ‘glorified cupboard’ at ours, I needed space to think about how I was going to handle the arrival of a certain Mr Beldevier. I couldn’t do that with Sam so close. There were many girls at college who would find my situation crazy. Sam was attractive; blonde and athletic. He stopped just short of being magazine-handsome, but he was sparkly and good and it drew the attention of other girls to him. I’d had to put up with their jealousy throughout our time together which had been made more vicious because we were an unlikely couple in every way. I was quiet; he was life and soul of the Rugby club. I read; he played the drums. I was Art and English, he was Maths and Physics. In almost all ways we were our own clichéd opposite.

Judging from the quiet journey home, I guessed Sam had already felt the first shifts begin. He pulled the car up outside my house and killed the engine. There was a pause between us. It wasn’t particularly long but it was a definite a hole in our time together. Normally it would have been me that was nattering away. Sam leant over, placed his finger under my chin and lifted my lips to his. Usually, I loved to fall into that kiss, then afterwards, look deep into his gorgeous, sea-blue eyes. They were eyes that were soft and full of the promise of love. Tonight when I looked into them, grey shadows flicked across the violet blue, and I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that a great storm of sadness was about to take hold.

2. FIRE & ICE

The morning’s lessons were slow but not slow enough; Double Art History followed by Biology. I didn’t even know why I was taking Biology. It had seemed like a good idea at the time and, as it was the one subject that Sam and I took together, I hadn’t found a good enough reason for chucking it in. But even though slow, I couldn’t escape the inevitability of lunchtime coming and after lunch, my English lesson.

By the time Sam and I made it to the canteen, the others had managed to make camp at a table just before the uniform wearing, lower school mob had descended. Daisy and Joe had their heads together in deep conversation about the upcoming ski-trip, and although not an official pair like Sara and Matt, it was obvious to all of us, apart from them, that they were made for each other. However, Daisy was currently wasting her time on a guy from Falmouth Art College who Sam and I had met once, and thought a creep at first sight. She was completely besotted with him, and spent most of her lessons staring out of the window doodling love hearts with their initials entwined or writing him love letters. I’d found it hard to hide my disapproval and general urge to puke.

Sara and Matt had been together over a year and, because Matt was one of Sam’s best friends, we firstly tolerated Sara then, in a funny and unlikely kind of way, come to like her. Although completely different in almost everyway to Daisy and me, who’d been friends since primary school, Sara added a certain glamour to our otherwise misfit group. Sara was always perfectly preened, as if she’d just stepped off of some American High School series, with her blonde hair, legs that went on forever and light healthy tan, which she had even in the depths of winter.

Sam and I made our way through the canteen system, grabbing limp sandwiches and hot chocolate, the only thing drinkable from the vending machine, before undertaking the almost impossible journey across the canteen. Before we quite made it, Joe shouted out urgently across to Sam,

“Tell her, Sam, she won’t have it. Wasn’t I James Bonding the Blacks last year?”

“Sure, Joe – just like Bond.” Sam nodded sarcastically and winked at Daisy, who collapsed into a fit of giggles.

“You’re so full of it,” she said, elbowing Joe so that his sandwich missed his mouth. Mayonnaise splattered on his cheek, furthering his humiliation and Daisy’s laughter.

Before Sam could take a seat, a small, still immaculately uniformed Year Seven, swerved in from the side and plonked his skinny bum down onto the chair which Sam was about to sit on. This was a fairly regular gatecrash, and no matter how much Matt denied it, we believed the little brat was actually Matt’s brother.

“Oi! Out, Weasel Head!” Sam commanded with full Sixth Form menace.

“No chance, mate - You snoozed you loosed, Moose Nose.” Weasel Head issued his insult whilst stuffing a handful of Daisy’s chips into his mouth.

Before Sam could respond in defence of his nose, Weasel Head dived straight into conversation with Matt, giving the impression of a small and orange talking cement mixer. It left Sam with nothing to do but stand with his tray in one hand, and quietly feel his nose with another.

“Matt, we wants to know if you can help us out on Wednesday, after school? Merrik says we can play a set at the Year Seven disco but we need help from the Sixth Formers.”

Sam glowered at Matt, and Joe nodded his head in a dramatic
‘noooo’
action.

“Sure thing, little man!” Matt said as he extended a clenched fist to power-pound the little rat. “Count us in. My man, Joe will come and help out as well.” Matt thrust two thumbs up in Joe’s face who leant back in his chair and let out a groan.

The kid slid off the seat. As he did so, he looked at Joe and flashed him a large sarcastic smile of latent child-menace, before skipping merrily back to his table where he was greeted with a collection of high fives from equally rodent-like boys.

“Matt, why do you do it man? They drive me potty!” Joe said, hitting the palm of his hand to his head. “And they’re getting cheekier. I’m sure we weren’t that annoying when we were in lower school.”

“It’s the decline of man, Joey boy,” Matt replied, taking a swig of coke from his can as if dramatically concluding a complex point of philosophy.

Matt and Joe had achieved an almost unprecedented
cool
status amongst the lower school boys because of their recent performance at the school charity gig. Their band,
The Space Cadets,
had finished their set, rather controversially, by performing the now iconic anthem adopted by most of the year eight boys. It included the inspired lyrics;

‘
School ain’t no place for learning books,

Maths with Rogers really sucks,

I like to imagine how Smithy…cooks.

Needless to say, the young and very pretty food technology teacher, Ms Smith, had been less than impressed. Especially, as the Year Eight boys had taken to singing it at the top of their voice and replacing the carefully crafted last word. I suspected this had been Matt’s intention along.

Sara and Daisy had moved onto planning our usual Friday night gathering and were in full animated flow. I took the last empty seat by the window, which gave me a clear view out onto the playing fields. At this time of the year, when the day never really got going, and the dawn bled into twilight, they were eerily grey and empty. A fine layer of frost still coated the grass from the night-frost and a low heavy fog had settled. Even the giant, black, skeletal oak trees looked more like shadows than anything of solid substance. I lost myself in it, mentally armouring myself for my next meeting with Blake.

I’m not sure whereabouts in my thoughts I was when I heard it, but even though the canteen was bursting with the noise of over excited kids, I heard a sound in the distance. It was a noise from far beyond the glass, but it grabbed my entire attention as if every other noise surrounding me had suddenly fallen silent.

Impossible as it was, the unmistakable and thunderous sound of a charging horse travelled towards me. Hooves pounded the hard winter earth like the beating of a war drum. It beat in perfect sync with the rhythm of my own heart. The horse was travelling fast, coming directly towards me and directly towards the plate glass window of the canteen. Panic surged through me, and my body, preparing itself for impact, started to fold in on itself. I gasped one last gulp of air, shut my eyes and waited for the explosion of glass. Nothing happened. The sound of galloping just stopped. Opening one eye, I glanced back to the table expecting to see everybody in the same shock and panic as me, but they were all still involved in their own conversations – totally oblivious to the events outside the window.

“Did you hear that?” I asked to no one in particular.

“Yeah, storm coming.” Matt said without any kind of interest.