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  Confused, I search past the terror in her big brown eyes, but I’m still clueless what’s freaked her so much until she spells it out for me.

  “I didn’t know your school had baths, Rich.”

  Time stops. I hadn’t forgotten about it, but I had blanked it out — that night, when they took away all my dignity and left me crying like a baby on the bathroom floor. Now Beth’s seen it, the shame destroys me all over again.

  “You watched my rushes?” I’m afraid to ask, but I have to.

  “I backed everything up on a thumb drive for you,” she says, the tears in her eyes making Stew and Dave look at each other. “But I didn’t like the last scene.”

  I can’t look at her, I just can’t — the shame won’t let me.

  “Rich, I don’t want you to go back there.”

  “I don’t want to go back either.” Still wanting to be brave, I put on the best performance of my life in trying to convince Beth I can handle this. “The plan’s failsafe. Don’t worry. Nothing can go wrong.”

  Chapter 49

  Parker drives me back in his car, and even though he’s taking me deep within enemy lines, I don’t feel scared as he pulls up outside the gothic horror backdrop that is St. Bart’s.

  I sling my bag over my shoulder and follow him through the front doors to find everyone who isn’t rehearsing for the end-of-term concert putting up Christmas decorations in the school colours.

  “Get a move on, Jarvis,” says Parker, nudging me towards the stairs. “I’ve wasted enough time running around after you.”

  I go to shake him off me then change my mind; if my enemy suspects I’ve got something on them, they’ll go even deeper into hiding, and as soon as I get my footage, I’m in the clear and I can get my old life back again.

  “Oi, Jarvis!” shouts Spencer from the landing, where he’s sticking purple-and-gold paper chains to the banisters. “Welcome back. Got a special treat planned for you tonight.”

  “That’s quite enough, Spencer!” Parker warns him, making the pretence in front of Wilson and the other masters that he gives a damn. “Or you’ll be joining your friend Baxter in detention tonight.”

  Looking at the floor, I keep pace with Parker as he escorts me back to my dorm. Spencer won’t be laughing tonight, not when he realises we’re both victims of the same sicko.

  “See you later!” Spencer smirks.

  I ignore him, taking mental notes of where all the cameras are just in case I need to get some additional footage.

  “Get yourself down to lunch,” Parker says, having marched me back to my room, which is still as grey as it is depressing. “You’ll have to get notes from Hermit.”

  “I’ve already had lunch, sir.”

  “You being smart with me, boy?”

  “No, sir,” I say, deciding to look him in the eye. “They just gave me lunch at the hospital, and I’m not hungry now.”

  Parker grunts. “Okay, get yourself unpacked, and be quick about it. And, Jarvis?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “If I get so much as a whiff of any more trouble involving you, you’ll be on the next plane back to Mumbai. Do I make myself clear?”

  I put my Dictaphone on charge and hide the videotapes beneath a spare jumper at the bottom of my bag. While everyone else is eating, I leg it down to the post room, and after dusting the lens and repositioning it so my pigeonhole’s somewhere in the centre, I head downstairs to get the key to the control room from Mr Henry.

  Beth and the others want me to take this to Parker, but I don’t intend to make this easy for the one who’s doing this to me. They can go running to the teachers for protection if they want, but not before I expose them in front of Spencer — I’ve still got to get him off my back and make sure Dad keeps his job long enough to seal his deal.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?” Mr Henry grumbles from where he’s sitting in his armchair, reading a newspaper in his hovel of a room.

  “I’ve got a documentary to finish for the end-of-term concert, sir.”

  He shakes his head and, still moaning, reaches for the keys he keeps in his drawer. “Bring them back by five — I’m leaving early tonight.”

  I thank him and, careful to ensure I’m not being followed, make my way to the tower room. After turning on all the cameras, I sit down on the floor to begin recording the post room.

  As I can’t keep coming up here and don’t know when the post thief’s going to hit, I set the camera up to record on reduced quality, which means I won’t have to change tapes for eight hours. Leaving the cameras rolling, I lock up, return the key to Mr Henry, and find Chrissie’s waiting for me on the landing, clutching a hymnbook.

  “When did you get back?” she asks me, looking sophisticated with her blond hair scraped back into a high ponytail.

  She’s so happy it lifts my mood immediately. I’m glad we’re opposites. I don’t think I could handle it if she were her old depressed self. “Just before lunch, and when did you join the choir?”

  “Don’t change the subject!” she snaps, her smile turning sour. “I was worried about you.”

  I’ve been so wrapped up in me and what I needed to do, I completely forgot about Chrissie. “Sorry, I had stuff to do.”

  “What stuff?” she asks, walking into an empty classroom.

  “Just boring film stuff,” I reply. I don’t want to lie to her any more than I have to. I’m already suffering guilt overload from listening to Beth and the guys trying to convince me Chrissie’s behind all this. “I’ve got to get my project finished for the end-of-term concert.”

  “So you’re not mad with me?”

  “Why would I be mad with you?” I ask, sitting next to her on one of the desks facing the window.

  “Because I didn’t come to see you,” she says, her big blue eyes going all watery. “I wanted to. I begged Mrs Trench, but the old bag said you didn’t deserve any visitors.”

  For some reason, I find myself laughing as I imagine the grief Chrissie gave her dorm mistress.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” I chuckle, swinging my feet back and forth.

  “Tell me!” she demands, laughing too.

  “No.”

  “Rich!”

  I look at her again with a big grin on my face. “Has Trench recovered yet?”

  Laughing, Chrissie nudges me playfully. “She was in bed with a migraine all weekend.”

  “Nice one, Chrissie.” I put my arm around her, and for a while, we just look at the white-covered trees illuminated by the watery moon.

  “I really did try everything I could. You know that, right?”

  “I know,” I say, able to relax now it’s just us two and there’s no chance of any surprise attacks. “Guess what!”

  “What?”

  “Beth and the guys came to see me.”

  “Beth!”

  I’m a second away from explaining it all to her, when she lets rip.

  “How did she know where you were?”

  “I called her.”

  “WHY?”

  I shrink back from her anger, confused why she isn’t happy for me. “Because she’s my girlfriend!”

  “She dumped you!”

  “No,” I explain, my pulse increasing as I struggle to understand why Chrissie’s gone all lunatic. “She didn’t write the letter — someone else did!”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because she’s a lying bitch!” Chrissie yells, jumping to her feet. “God, Rich, you’re so stupid!”

  For what seems like forever, I just sit there with my mouth open; my brain doesn’t know what to do. I feel like I did when I found Parker’s mobile sticking out of my bag, unable to understand how this could possibly be happening.

  “She doesn’t love you!” Chrissie screams, shoving me in the chest. “She’s just messing you about!”

  Beaten black and blue by her anger, I find myself recoiling as she reaches out
to touch me again. “Why are you trying to make me hate Beth?”

  “Because she keeps coming between us!” she screams. “All your stupid girlfriends always do!”

  I just sit there, too spooked to do anything else.

  “Why can’t you just do as you’re told!” she goes on, stamping her foot. “Why can’t you just be happy with me?”

  I duck as she hurls her hymnbook, but shock’s made my reflexes even slower, and it hits me just above my left eye.

  “Now look what you’ve made me do!” she yells, crouching down to retrieve her crumpled book. “It’s ruined. Mrs Cumberland will give me a detention for sure.”

  I don’t know what to say. I still can’t move. I’m a rabbit scared shitless staring into the high beams of some big old shiny red American car.

  Chapter 50

  Sitting in the control room the following day, I put in a new tape and use the spare recorder to wind back yesterday’s footage. What the hell am I doing? I’m comparing my sister to some old Stephen King film about a maniac car that goes around killing people! I’m going crazy, but the insane thoughts keep stabbing at my brain.

  On the top left screen, I watch Chrissie in the common room, talking to Poppy and Fiona. There’s nothing sinister, nothing strange; she doesn’t look anything like she did in the classroom when she went all mental, and once again, I start questioning my sanity; what happened back there was just too freaky.

  The tape now fully rewound, I press play, and the grainy footage flickers into life. It’s a snowstorm of static, as I watch it at thirty-two times normal speed. I race through the footage until Mrs Kellmore, the school secretary, wanders in with a bundle of letters and begins slotting them into the correct pigeonholes.

  This is it. There were no letters waiting for me this morning, so I have the thief on tape, and leaning forward to get a closer look, I keep my eye on the big envelope sticking out from my pigeonhole — three up, two right.

  Kids come and go, but just as Stew and Dave predicted, no one touches my letter. A couple of teachers post a wad of Christmas cards, Baxter picks up his rugby magazine, and then Jones wanders in alone. My breath catches in my throat as his hand moves towards Beth’s card, but I forgot his pigeonhole is next to mine, and after collecting a single letter he walks out with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

  I fast forward on maximum speed then stop in a rush of anticipation when I see Beth’s card gone. It’s not been stolen, just knocked from my pigeonhole by Bollinger, who’s making out with his busty girlfriend, and after putting it back, they leave, and Spencer and Chrissie enter.

  I slow to one-eighth normal speed, telling myself it’s because I don’t want to miss anything, but in reality not wanting to witness the truth. If it’s Spencer, all my problems are over. But Spencer’s not the insane car; he’s just the driver, helping her.

  I watch Chrissie giggle something in his ear, then I watch him stroke her arm the same way I touch Beth before leaning in to nuzzle and kiss her neck. It feels like she’s looking right at me as she reaches behind Spencer and takes Beth’s card. Spencer’s so wrapped up in her he doesn’t even notice he’s just witnessed her breaking The Code, doesn’t question her when she puts some huge card in her backpack without reading it; he just waits for his next set of instructions like all actors do when the director’s on set.

  I slump back in the chair. This film’s just taken a sinister twist, and now I have a decision to make. I can be a schmuck like Arnie, or I can put a stop to Christine.

  Chapter 51

  In Stephen King’s classic novel, Arnie refused to believe his beloved car was evil even though he witnessed it try to kill his girlfriend. I’m not stupid like Arnie, but suddenly I’ve lost all interest in unveiling my enemy; I don’t want to be the one to crush Christine.

  I stare at the ceiling because I don’t know what else to do. I thought it would hurt more, but I don’t feel anything. I think it’s because I still can’t believe Chrissie’s the one behind it. Chrissie — the one person I love most in the world, who’s been with me forever, and I don’t feel anything — just lost.

  Mum said we were born holding hands. She said when we were small Chrissie used to give me all her toys so I’d stay and play with her. I was her big brother by seven minutes and her hero, so what’s changed? What made her launch a hate campaign the equivalent of World War III against me?

  I can’t believe it’s what Beth thinks. That this is some elaborate ploy because of some sick need to be with me all the time. If that was true, how can she sit back and watch them beat me up on a daily basis? She must hate me. But why? I’ve done nothing to deserve it — nothing! I can’t think of a single thing… unless she blames me for what happened at Goldmeads.

  “You all right, Jarvis?” asks Hermit, coming back from rehearsals with his violin.

  I nod and keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling; turning my head’s too much effort.

  “You sure?”

  I must look bad if he’s that worried about me. “Yeah, just great.”

  “That’s all right then,” he says, retreating to his side of the dorm to change. “Can I give you some advice?”

  I nod, curious what he has to say.

  “Get yourself expelled.”

  For a moment, it feels like I have stepped into the middle of a film without seeing the beginning. “What did you say?”

  “Get yourself expelled,” he tells me again. “Spencer’s planning something big Friday night.”

  I don’t want to know. This thing with Chrissie’s just about finished me off, but I’d be even more of an idiot if I didn’t gather intelligence. This could be the difference between walking away with or without a rib cage. “What are they planning?”

  “Don’t know,” he says, his voice wavering. “But they want me to lock you out of the dorm before lights out.”

  “And are you?”

  “Don’t know,” he replies, sitting on his hands. “Depends how much they beat me up.”

  I don’t know why, but I find myself laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I guess this is the part of the film, the light relief, before things get so bad for the hero, you wonder how he’s possibly going to survive. But this isn’t a film. It’s my life, and I’m no hero. I’m scared, my twin’s plotting to kill me, and the only person left on my side is an eight-stone wimp called Paul Crab (aka Hermit) who wears bottle tops for glasses.

  Hermit starts to laugh too. “Actually, I was planning to pull a sickie — I’m not really the brave type.”

  “I dunno,” I say. “You’ve lasted longer here than I have.”

  “I keep my head down and try to be invisible,” he tells me, changing into his awful stripy granddad pyjamas. “You should try it.”

  “Bit late for that.” The light relief is over, and it’s decision time.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  I don’t know. It’s all I’ve thought about for hours, and the only thing I’ve come up with is speaking to Mum. If I have it out with Chrissie, something tells me I’ll end up in even more trouble.

  “Well?” Hermit asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Call home,” I tell him.

  “I don’t think that’s going to get you expelled,” he says. “If I were you, I’d break a window or something.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Crab,” I say, deliberately using his real name so he knows I appreciate his help. “But I think it’s best you don’t talk to me anymore.”

  “What are you really planning?”

  “I told you. I’m going to call home and tell them what’s really going on.”

  Chapter 52

  I’m on report, which means no privileges, so the only way I’m going to get to speak to Mum is if I can get Stew to conference her in. I decide to take Hermit’s advice and become invisible, so I hide in the security room and watch what Chrissie’s up to until it’s time for classes.

  I watch her eat breakfast, laugh with
Poppy and the other stupid girls, and skip to the post room to steal my mail. I watch her take the second Christmas card Beth sent me, watch her read it and tear it up, and I watch her go down to the assembly hall for choir practice with a smile on her face. She’s getting off on destroying me, and I was blind to it all.

  I avoid lunch too. I can’t risk seeing Chrissie or getting into another fight. Putting one foot in front of the other is about as much as I can handle, and so I just sit in front of the monitors, watching everyone else until it’s time for history.

  Chrissie tries to smile at me, but I can’t look at her. Terrified she’ll realise I’m onto her, I keep my eyes fixed on my desk as Wilson drones on about WWI, the occasional paperclip missile striking me on the back of the neck.

  Each second moves slower than a heavily sedated snail, and by the time there’s a knock at the door, I feel like I’m going to puke from the stress when Mrs Kellmore finally makes her appearance.

  “Sorry to intrude, Mr Wilson,” she apologises, almost bowing. “Headmaster asked me to come and get Jarvis; he’s got a call from his father.”

  I don’t believe it. Stew’s pulled it off, and careful to keep my back to Chrissie, I get up.

  “Come on, Jarvis,” complains Mrs Kellmore as I collect my books. “You don’t want to keep your father waiting.”

  I follow her along the dark wooden corridors to the old-fashioned red telephone box tucked away beneath the sweeping staircase, which is draped in purple tinsel. I feel about as Christmassy as Alan Rickman when he played the Sherriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood — I wish I had the power to cancel Christmas.

  I step inside, and the phone rings. “Hello?”

  “And what kind of way is that to address your father?”

  My heart stops dead as Dad’s angry bark punches through my brain. It’s Dad. It really is Dad.

  “Well?”

  My brain and the rest of me freezes until I hear this snigger in the background, which can only be Dave, but I’m still too beat up to feel any kind of relief.

  “So,” says Stew, still sounding exactly like Dad. “Are you looking forward to your first Christmas in Mumbai?”

  The one word I have to utter sticks in my throat. Even now, after everything Chrissie’s done, and I really have no choice, but it still feels like I’m betraying her. “Yes.”