Death Run (6 page)

Jade wouldn't admit it, but she actually enjoyed the twenty minute walk every morning from Dad's cottage to the school – though she knew that might change as the autumn weather kicked in. The first ten minutes were the best – through the all but deserted village. The second half of the walk was along the winding school driveway, up a shallow incline and through a wooded area. Finally, the old manor house appeared as they turned a bend in the drive. The old house had been added to when it became a school. There was a new block with the school hall, maths and English classrooms and an adjoining IT suite. The newer parts of the building dwarfed the Georgian splendour of the main house.

It was a lovely walk. But by this time, other children were arriving. Rich and Jade were the only pupils from the tiny village. But some children came on a local bus that stopped at the bottom of the drive. Because the one-way system in and out of the school meant there were always queues of traffic, a lot more children were dropped at the gates and walked up the drive – with Jade and Rich.

Not that they were bad kids. Jade found she got on better than she expected with most of them. She'd even made a few hesitant friends in her class. It was the teachers who were a pain – who told Jade she had an “attitude” and who always thought they knew best. If she was quiet in class, they told her off for being uncommunicative. If she made an effort and joined in, she was showing off.

Rich, on the other hand, fitted in fine. He'd joined a computer gaming group and the drama club, and got a couple of merits for homework. No one had said it yet, but Jade knew from experience that it was only a matter of time: “Why can't you be more like your brother?”

It was a shock to her when she realised that this was something her father had never said.

“We said we'd give it a term,” Rich reminded Jade as they joined the stream of pupils heading up the drive. “Dad agreed. At least, he didn't say no.”

“We're here for good,” Jade said glumly. “Though I guess it's no worse than anywhere else.”

“You kidding? The cottage is great. Better than the poky flat in London with just one bedroom between us.”

“And the bullet-holed wallpaper. Yeah.” Jade paused to glare at Mike Alten from their year who'd caught her words and was staring at her. He laughed nervously, obviously thinking she was joking. His laugh stopped as it occurred to him that, knowing Jade, maybe she wasn't.

“It's quiet and out of the way and exclusive,” Rich was saying. “Just what Dad and Ardman want.”

“Doesn't matter what they want,” Jade told him. “What do
we
want?”

“I'm happy enough.” He grinned and swung slightly so he nudged her with his rucksack. “And you don't know what you want, do you?”

“I want to be able to bring my mobile into school,” Jade said.

“Against the rules. No mobiles. Not even for the boarders.”

They were walking past the block where the boarders lived. It was a modern block separate from the rest of the school buildings. About thirty children lived in. At the end of the school day, the boarders were sent back there to do their homework and get their tea. Then they could watch TV and generally muck about until their bedtimes.

“I know what I
don't
want,” Jade muttered. “I don't want to spend the evening stuck in detention while you're at drama.”

Rich laughed. “Should have thought about that in geography, instead of drawing a cartoon of Miss Fletcher. With a moustache and horns.”

The teachers had a rota for running detention. Whichever teacher was in charge decided where it would be – usually in their own classroom so they could get on with some preparation or marking. Jade had been in detention a few days before, when it was run my Mr Rawlings, the PE instructor. He'd made them take desks out on to the all-weather pitch and sit there in the cold drizzle for two hours. Jade had told him exactly what she thought of it.

Which was why she was back tonight. And despite
having promised Dad that she would do her best to avoid getting any more detentions, she was already booked in for tomorrow as well. But at least this time they were indoors. The new maths teacher, Mr Argent, was taking his turn tonight and tomorrow so they were upstairs in the main maths room.

As she was the only one, Jade concentrated on her work and the time went quickly. Eight o'clock soon came round, and Jade gathered her things and stuffed them in her rucksack.

“Off now, all right?” she said.

Mr Argent was a small man, new to the school, with thinning grey hair and little round glasses that were so thick they made his eyes look enormous through them. He glanced up from his marking and nodded.

“I'll see you tomorrow then, Jade.” He had a slight accent – French, Jade guessed.

“Good night,” she muttered as she left. Dad had said he'd walk up to meet them. Which probably meant another lecture on not getting into detention.

Dad and Rich were waiting for her in the main reception area downstairs outside the school hall. Rich had been at computer club and was talking excitedly to Dad about it.

“Glad someone's enjoyed himself,” said Jade. She slumped down on one of the chairs for visitors.

“You'd enjoy things more if you didn't get into so much trouble,” Dad told her.

Jade tightened her lips. “I do enjoy being here,” she said. “There are places I'd rather be, but I've been in worse dumps. It's OK.”

“Height of praise,” Dad said.

“And I do try. I want to learn. They just don't realise it.”

“Maybe you don't make it easy for them to realise it.” Dad held his hands up before she could reply. “We'll talk about it later, all right. But I know what you mean, OK? It's difficult fitting in and settling down, and if you don't feel you're being appreciated, that makes it even harder. I'm not going to tell you off or get upset. Let's talk about how to make it work. Let me tell you something,” he went on in a low voice, “something that the teachers and staff here probably don't realise themselves.”

“What's that?” Jade folded her arms, but she was intrigued. Rich stepped closer as he listened too.

“You don't work for them. You don't do lessons and homework and everything else for their benefit.
It took me a long time to work that out when I was at school, then one day it occurred to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“
They
work for
you
. All these people, they're here to help you. We pay them. Well, actually, Ardman pays them right now, but it's the same at every school whether it's fees or taxes or whatever. We pay these people to think of ways to help you learn, to look at your work and tell you how you can improve. To get you through exams that will equip you for whatever you want to do when you're older. But – and it's a big but – they need your help too.” He stood up and offered a hand to Jade.

“Thanks.” She let him pull her up from the chair.

“Lecture over. But think about it. Right, time we were on our way.” He turned to go and suddenly froze.

“What is it?” Jade asked.

Dad was looking past her, back down the main corridor. His face was etched with concern.

Rich laughed. “It's just Mr Argent.”

The little maths teacher had finished his marking and was walking slowly towards reception.

“That's Mr Argent?” Dad said, still staring.

“Yeah,” said Jade. “Problem?”

Dad shook his head. “No. No problem at all.” He shrugged. “Just doesn't look much like a maths teacher, that's all.”

“What do maths teachers usually look like?” asked Rich.

“I don't know. He isn't what I expected. It's no big deal.”

“I think he's French,” Jade said. “Maybe French maths teachers look different.”

Mr Argent looked from Jade and Rich to their father. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dad got in first.

“Good to meet you, Mr Argent. I hear you're new here. I'm Jade and Rich's dad, but maybe you knew that?”

They shook hands. ‘No, I didn't know that,” Argent said. “But now you mention it, I can tell.”

“So, how are they doing?”

Mr Argent nodded, looking from Rich to Jade. “Very well, I think. They both have ability. Rich is very applied. A little steady and safe in his work perhaps.”

“And Jade?” Dad asked. She folded her arms waiting for the criticism and the could-try-harder.

“Volatile,” Mr Argent said. “Obviously, we're only a few days into term, but I think with a bit of commitment and interest she'll do very well. When she pays attention and decides she wants to work at it, she has flashes of brilliance, if that's not too strong a word.” He smiled and the light caught his glasses as he leaned forwards. “Yes, slow and steady might win the race, but it can be a little boring. You know, Rich could learn a lot from his sister.”

Jade's mouth dropped open.

Dad seemed pensive and quiet on the walk home. He'd asked to have a few words with Mr Argent in private and sent Rich and Jade on ahead. As they made their way down the drive, Rich wondered if Dad was thinking about how to get Jade interested in school.

“Do you think Mr Argent is right?” he asked.

“What about?” asked Jade.

“About you,” Rich said.

“Course he's right, I'm brilliant. You can learn a lot from me. That a problem?”

Rich shook his head.

“It doesn't matter if he's right,” Dad said, catching them up. “Though I expect he is.”

“How do you mean?” Jade asked.

“Just by saying what he did, he's got you interested, hasn't he? Might be a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“I like maths,” Jade said. “Maths is good.”

“I didn't really rate Mr Argent as a teacher,” Rich said.

“Maybe not,” Dad told him. “But he understands people. Oh, and for your information, Jade, he isn't French. He's Swiss. Now, tomorrow I have to go to London.”

“What for?” Jade asked.

“I need to see Ardman about something. He's not expecting me, so I might have to wait around. I could be quite late getting back. You be OK?”

“We'll be fine,” Jade said. “Just so long as you're not getting involved in anything dodgy.”

“Yes, well, that's why I want to see Ardman – to make sure I'm not.”

“That's OK,” Rich said. “We're both busy after school tomorrow.”

“Really? What are you up to?”

“Drama club,” Rich told him. “I went last week. It was pretty good. Didn't finish till late, remember?”

They were almost at the cottage now. “Good to see you getting into things a bit too, Jade,” Dad said. “These after school activities are important. It's good to get involved.”

Rich coughed. “Nearly home,” he said. Jade said nothing.

“So what is it you're signed up for after school tomorrow?” Dad asked.

“More detention,” said Jade.

Drama club ran from six till eight in the main school hall. Detention also finished at eight, and Jade had agreed to meet Rich in school reception as soon as they were both free so they could walk back home together. Tonight there were three of them in detention – Jade, Mike Alten and a boy called Rupam from the year below.

Once in the sixth form you didn't get detention, Jade had learned. You were put on ‘jankers' which meant you got an evening clearing out a ditch or cutting the grass or repainting the corridor. It sounded a lot more use than the maths exercises Mr Argent had set her, but she knew better than to complain – she'd learned that at least.

“Has your wallpaper really got bullet holes in it?” Mike Alten asked Jade quietly as they chose their places in the big classroom.

“Better believe it.”

“Wicked. Designer stuff, I suppose.”

Jade didn't answer.

Mr Argent was talking quietly and urgently into his mobile. He ended the call, placed his phone carefully on the desk beside a pile of exercise books, and clapped his hands together for quiet. “Right, we'll have silence now, please.” He sat down at his desk and started on the pile of exercise books, pausing only to tell Rupam not to tap his pen on the table.

Rich was enjoying himself. There were only eight students doing drama this week, all from Rich's year and below as the sixth form had their own separate drama group. Most of them were girls – including Gemma Stroud who was in the same set as Rich for most things. They got on well and it was good to have someone there that he knew.

Miss Whitfield ran the group. She was young and enthusiastic and had started by getting them all to pretend to be clowns and mime putting on make-up
in front of an imaginary mirror. Now, a boy from the year below was pretending to be a zookeeper washing a large elephant inside a small cage. The rest of them watched from the front of the stage as he performed in the main area of the hall – which seemed a bit backwards to Rich. But with all the chairs put away, there was a lot more space.

At the back of the hall there was a gallery, like a wide balcony right across the width of the hall. The teachers sat up there for school assemblies, and there was a door at the back that led into a storeroom at the end of the maths corridor.

A long, low rumble of thunder came from outside. It was getting dark, Rich saw. Along both sides of the hall long windows reached almost to the ground. It was cloudy outside and he could definitely hear thunder. Summer was over and autumn was rolling in.

“Right, now we're going to split up into pairs and take it in turns to wash elephants,” Miss Whitfield said.

“Gemma?” Rich asked at once.

“Why not. Got your elephant?”

“Never go anywhere without it,” Rich told her. “Keep it in my trunk.”

“Oh, ho ho.”

They jumped off the stage. The thunder was louder now. It sounded very close.

“Storm coming,” Gemma said as the sound rumbled on.

Everyone had spread out in the hall, leaving him and Gemma closest to the stage, opposite the emergency exit. Rich looked out through the glass of the doors again as the sound got even closer. There was another sound mixed in with it too. It was like gunfire. He smiled to himself – what a stupid idea.

There was someone running – heading straight for the doors. Silhouetted against the darkening sky outside. A woman. She was almost at the doors, but she showed no sign of slowing down.

“Look out!” Gemma shouted, seeing her too.

It did no good. The woman hit the double doors at full tilt, bursting them open. One door flew right round and hit the wall behind so hard the glass shattered. Everyone turned to look.

The woman crashed to the floor, one hand stretched out – clenched in a fist. But Rich barely noticed. He was staring at her face where it was turned against the floor, at the long auburn hair spread out over her back.

The back of the pale grey coat she was wearing was spattered with blood.

“She's been shot!”

The woman's fingers relaxed and opened. Something dropped from them, falling and rolling across the hall. It bounced across the floor towards Rich, its facets catching the light like glass.

Nothing else would be shaped like that.

Nothing else would sparkle like that.

It could only be a huge diamond.

“Oh, good God,” Miss Whitfield shrieked. “Careful now, everyone. Let me see if I can get some help. First aid.”

“Who
is
she?” someone else asked.

Miss Whitfield shifted from one foot to the other. “I shall have to phone for an ambulance from the school office. This is terrible… how did this…” Panic seeped into the teacher's voice.

“Maybe she's got a mobile,” Rich said. “We can call for help.” He knelt beside the woman and was relieved to see she was still breathing. Rich reached into the pocket of her coat. There was no phone, at least not in that pocket. But he pulled out something else – something sharp and hard. A handful
of much smaller diamonds that glittered and shone.

“What's going on?” Rich wondered out loud.

He was aware of Gemma beside him holding the large diamond – the size and shape of a half-lemon. Miss Whitfield leaned over, her face white. The other children clustered behind her – not wanting to see, but unable to look away.

Rich's mind was racing as he stood up. He took the diamond from Gemma and turned it over in his hand. “If she's been shot, that
was
gunfire. Which means someone must…”

But he didn't get any further. At that moment, all round the room, the windows exploded into sharp flying fragments of glass. Figures in black combat clothes leaped through and crashed into the hall, machine guns ready and aimed right at Rich and the others.