Influence (10 page)

‘Have they
set a date for the funeral yet?’ asked Lizzie. She felt she was walking on
eggshells not sure just how much she could, or should, ask.

‘I’m sorry
Liz,’ Vic suddenly looked ashamed. ‘The funeral was this morning. My parents
just couldn’t handle any kind of ceremony. I really wanted you to be there, I
really did.’

‘It’s okay
Vic. I would just have wanted to be there for you, I’m sorry you had to deal
with it on your own. How was it?’ Vic thought for a second and blew out hard.

‘Horrible.
Surreal. I don’t even think mum knew exactly what was going on. She just stood
there like a statue Vic’s voice broke and caught in his throat. Lizzie made to
place a hand on his shoulder but he blew hard once more, smiled and moved away.
‘I was just going through some of his stuff. My folks won’t do it so I just
thought I would start boxing some things up.’

‘Are you
sure you’re up to it? I mean there’s no rush is there?’

‘I guess
not, but it’s better if I keep busy.’

‘Your mum
doesn’t look too well. How are things here?’

‘It’s been
difficult. The Police went through the house and this room a number of times
and each time mum seemed to get worse. In the end the Police called the Social
Work department and some busy-body came out.’

‘What’s
going to happen?’

‘I don’t
know. Apparently I’m at an “awkward age”, being seventeen. I’m an adult in some
respects but not in others. If I’d been a kid I think they would have taken me
with them, but as it is I think I’m going to board at Queen’s for a while. Give
them a break. Mum keeps calling me Rob, I think she needs some space.’ Lizzie
only just caught herself from reaching to his shoulder again and telling him
how sorry she was.

‘If you’re
at school at least I’ll get to see you,’ she said trying to find some slither
of silver lining. ‘Alright, well,’ Lizzie looked around the room with no idea
where to start, ‘can I give you a hand with this?’

‘Sure,’
said Vic. ‘I guess start with the book shelf.’ Lizzie took a box and tried not
to let the surreal nature of the task overwhelm her. She looked along the
shelves which seemed to be split between text and reference books and a number
of unmarked jotters. The thick reference books spanned subjects from every
conceivable sector of the intellectual spectrum. Science manuals, books on
philosophy and a large number of foreign and ancient language books – Greek,
Latin, Sumerian and Sanskrit along with a thick book on Papyrology, whatever
that was, lined one shelf. She placed them neatly in a box and moved along the
shelf taking out one of the unmarked jotters from the far end of the bunch.
There must have been well over a hundred of them perfectly aligned. She checked
to see where Vic was and saw that he was busy going through some clothes. She
flicked open the front cover. Written in Robe’s handwriting was

 “
Ledger
109
”

She flicked
through the book quickly and saw that the entries were sporadic and lacking any
real sense of order, which seemed odd given how fastidious everything else in
Robe’s room was. Some entries were in English while others were not. Some
entries were lucid, constructed sentences while others were incomplete
indecipherable scribbles. ‘What are these Vic?’ asked Lizzie. Vic took the book
from Lizzie and looked through it.

‘His
journals. I don’t know exactly, there were some things he kept to himself.
Actually there were a lot of things he kept to himself.’ Vic found a
particularly messy page full of random words and scribbles and turned the page
to Lizzie. ‘I think I know this, he talked about this technique. He said it was
“Automatic Writing”. The idea is that you let your mind relax and just start
writing or drawing and your subconscious takes over… something like that. He
tried to get me to do it when I got stressed out, he said it helped him.’
Lizzie took the journal from him and saw that there were four pages of absolute
scrawl with only a word or two here or there making any sense.

Just then
an almighty scream penetrated the floor beneath them.

The sudden
noise made Lizzie almost jump out of her skin. Horrified she looked to Vic, his
chin was on his chest, hands on his hips looking so disappointed, angry even.

‘What the
hell?’

‘It’s Mum,’
said Vic, ‘she has these moments.’

‘Should we
help her? Is she in pain?’ Lizzie was terrified, the screaming continued, not
letting up.

‘No. Look
it’s complicated. Psychological problems. There’s nothing anyone can do, she
has to scream it out, unless she starts-’ he paused awkwardly, ‘and we have to
call… I’m sorry Liz, I think you better go.’ Vic half ushered, half pushed
Lizzie from the room, down the stairs and into the hall. The screaming was so
loud it made Lizzie’s ear drums feedback on themselves, they buzzed like crazy.
Vicious thumps were now accompanying the din. ‘I’ll see you soon Liz, thanks
for coming to see me,’ shouted Vic over the noise as he opened the front door,
palmed Lizzie onto the front step and closed it again in one fluid movement.

‘Yeah, I’ll
see you,’ she said to nobody at all. She made her way down the path to the gate
listening to the screech barely muted by the closed door. Lizzie was surprised
to see that Janice was still sitting in her car smoking a cigarette and looking
out of the window with concern. Lizzie opened the passenger door and got in.

‘What’s
going on? Is everything ok?’ asked Janice.

‘I think
so. It’s his mum, let’s just go.’

Janice
pulled away as Lizzie reached for her seatbelt suddenly realising she was still
holding the journal.

‘Good
morning students of Queen’s Grove House. I thank you all for joining me here in
the assembly hall this morning, during what is an extraordinarily important few
weeks in the school calendar. May I say, on behalf of myself and the rest of
the faculty, how thoroughly impressed we have been with the level of maturity
and respect you have, without exception, shown in the face of the most
upsetting and unforeseen of circumstances. May I also say how proud we are of
our students to see such an overwhelming display of mutual support from you all
to one another in this monumentally difficult time.’

Lizzie had
seen neither these pride inspiring displays from her fellow students nor, in
fact, Mr Pallister during this “monumentally difficult time”. Yet here he was
addressing the school with a contrived hollow speech, which he had no doubt
prepared well in advance and had held on to awaiting Vic’s return. It had been
a further week and a half since Lizzie had visited him at home before he had
returned to school. He had moved into the boy’s dorm and had been given a few
days to settle and re-prepare for the exams. He had then been able to catch up
on those he had missed with Mr Pallister invigilating himself on a one to one
basis. Lizzie had to, begrudging, admire the old sod for that. The last of the
exams were still in progress, the usual two weeks set aside for exams at the
end of term now stretching to closer to a month with the set-backs.

‘Robert
Adams was a young man of fathomless potential. An asset to his fellow students,
to this school, and of course to his family, by whom I of course mean young
mister Adams, erm, the other young Mr Adams. The surviving… um, Victor, here.’
Lizzie could just about hear Mr Pallister’s bottom clench as he fumbled through
his speech. He gestured over to Vic who was stood as far back as he could get
away with, Lizzie by his side holding his hand.  She could only guess just how
uncomfortable all this made Vic, but there didn’t really seem any conceivable
way to avoid it.

‘Victor’s
brave return to school today should serve as inspiration to you all. We are
still in the midst of exams and the need for getting back to some semblance of
normality has never been of more import.’

Boredom was
beginning to culture amongst the assembled crowd gathered within the dining
hall, come exam room and now, apparently, assembly hall. They should just call
it the Swiss army room and get it over with, Lizzie thought. The sixth formers
typically formed the back row of the gathered students; it was, after all, the
cool place to be. It was moments like this that Lizzie realised how much like
her old school Queen’s actually was. On the surface they were worlds apart, but
if you picked away the facade of wealth privilege you were left with a building
full of children and young adults. Cliques, geeks, cool kids and outcasts were
just as present as in her last school, here at Queen’s though, things were
condensed and magnified. This room at lunchtime was the best place to study the
tribal coalitions that formed. Bookish girls, in groups of three or four would
huddle at a table giggling over a magazine. Rugby jersey wearing fops would
spin a ball to one another, and the cool kids, Bitch Tit’s crowd, would
normally be found making someone’s life just that little bit harder. The main
difference was the loners. At her last school, even they had a clique, the
irony that the propensity for solitude brought them together with like-minded
people was not lost on Lizzie she had formed close bonds with her other
hermits; unfortunately at Queen’s she had been the sole member of this
particular club, which had been fine to start with. However after six months or
so of sitting on her own in the library she had begun to feel a little too
lonely. The occasional letters from friends back home had been getting further
and further apart, and their contents had become less personal and more
succinct like the writers were beginning to find it a chore, that they were
merely replying to be polite. She couldn’t blame them, they had their own
lives, boyfriends, exams and she was so far away. So when Vic had finally
plucked up the courage to speak to her around this point she had found herself
being less caustic than she otherwise might have been, and Vic had taken this
as encouragement. That Vic desperately wanted more than friendship from Lizzie
had been apparent from the start, but Lizzie’s signals that he was barking up
the wrong tree had also been quite clear. Their friendship had settled into an
amiable understanding, Vic seemed to enjoy the succession of rebuffed flirting
and slightly awkward exchanges and Lizzie appreciated his odd company, even if
it was largely for company’s sake to begin with. Robe had initially shied away
from her, but because of his brother’s perseverance he had grown comfortable in
her company, like a timid beast becoming accustomed to human presence over
time, and a friendship had also formed, or at least whatever passed for
friendship in Robe’s eyes.

Bitch Tits
and his entourage stood in the back row, stern faced, arms folded grumbling loudly
to one another. He was playfully kicking Tabby in the backside, Lizzie’s blood
began to boil. Vic squirmed next to her as Mr Pallister waffled on. This was
the last thing Vic needed, Lizzie knew. His return to the general population at
school was always going to be hard; the inevitable staring in the corridors,
and the gossiping most of all. In the few weeks it had taken for Vic to come
back rumours had gestated, mutated and proliferated. The circumstances of the
finding of Robe’s body, possible motives for his murder and the latest, Lizzie
had learned, was conjecture on the incarceration and sectioning under the Mental
Health Act of Vic. Unwise individuals had searched out Lizzie for confirmation
on certain points and some had feigned friendship attempting to glean
information from her. Most were politely fobbed off, however when she had
recently been asked about the state of Robe’s body when it was discovered her
patience had broken. A rumour had surfaced that Robe had been mutilated, that the
side of his head had been viciously caved in, with his jaw pulled almost clean
away from the rest of his head and the upper half pulverised leaving an eyeball
hanging from the inside of his skull by thin grim tissue. Also she had been
asked if it was true that his neck had been twisted round in an impossible one
hundred and eighty degrees. Lizzie had warned those people that although she
couldn’t honestly deny these rumours, given that it had been Vic who had been
the unfortunate one to see the full extent of his brother’s injuries, she would
personally inflict those same wounds on anyone confronting Vic on these current
rumours doing the rounds.

‘I am
certain you will all do your utmost in welcoming Victor back to the flock and
see to it that every effort is extended to him to share his burden at this
time.’ Mr Pallister continued. Vic squirmed again with the attention being
directed his way. Lizzie gripped his hand tighter, but she could feel him
shuddering now and she knew it was too late. Vic began to sob, he lowered his
head making his dark greasy hair fall over his face but it couldn’t shield his
outpouring to the rest of the school. He did his best to hold it back, to
stifle any noise but when an unfortunately loud snort betrayed him Lizzie
looked up to see a mixture of genuine empathy and cruel amusement among the
students. Lizzie’s own face beamed red, not from embarrassment but rage.

‘The focus
now, students, is to put this loss behind us,’ Pallister continued, too wrapped
up in his own rhetoric to be aware of how all this was affecting anyone else.
‘Very soon many of you will walk out of Queen’s for the last time and venture
forth to new challenges. Make the most of the time you have left, embrace this
one last opportunity…’ Pallister's words droned away from Lizzie’s focus. Vic
clung to her, waiting for this hell to be over. She considered leading him out
of the hall but this would only draw further attention. She took his one hand
in her two and tried to be a crutch for him. She looked around again; Bitch
Tits was making less and less effort to hide his disinterest in proceedings.
Lizzie tried to ignore him but he was like an itch she had to scratch. He was
chuckling with a boy next to him and Lizzie watched with incredulity as he
started imitating someone being beaten to death. At least that’s how it
appeared to Lizzie. He pretended to punch the boy he was with in slow motion
then twisted his face in melodramatic pain, his hand raised to his face then dropping
to represent an eyeball falling from its socket on a cartoon spring. She began
to tremble herself. Vic’s hand flinched in hers alerting her to her fierce
grip. She clenched her teeth but tried to relax. She returned her eyes to
Pallister who was now preaching the virtues of endeavour and ambition. But that
itch returned and she glanced back toward Bitch Tits who was outwardly laughing
and still staging a mock assault.

Lizzie
caught Bitch Tit’s eye. Her teeth squeaked together and she looked for the
other teachers, disbelief coursing through her that they had done nothing to
stop this but they were all focussed on Pallister and the dirge he was spewing.
She looked back to find Bitch Tits returning her gaze from across the room.
Their eyes locked and Bitch Tit’s grin confirmed his acknowledgement of Lizzie
rage and his satisfaction in it. He winked and fired twin finger pistols at
her.

Something
within Lizzie snapped. She threw down Vic’s hand and began a march across the
hall. Students quickly moved aside seeing her progress out of the corner of
their eyes. Pallister continued his oratory but focus within the assembled
crowd was quickly being redirected. The smile on Bitch Tit’s face dropped. He
tried to disguise his fear with a look of indifference. His splayed legs and
folded arms were a counterfeit act for the benefit of his crew and a defiant
gesture for the oncoming Lizzie. Her pace quickened slightly as she approached
him.

Without the
slightest adjustment in her stride she planted her left foot and launched her
right foot into his groin. The curve of her upper foot cupped his testicles
with precise and brutal contact. An audible thud filled the hall followed
quickly by gasps. For years to come students, and some staff, would swear blind
that despite his gargantuan stature the strike caused both feet to leave the
ground. Bitch Tits folded like a house of cards.

Lizzie was
unsure what to do next, she hadn’t thought this far. She hadn’t thought at all.
She stood over the whimpering boy, watching with some satisfaction as he now
tried to hide his pain from the rest of the school.

‘ELIZABETH
DEAN.’ Pallister boomed. ‘MY OFFICE. NOW!’

The hall
had fallen deathly silent except for the soft pitiful whimpers of the writhing,
boy at Lizzie’s feet. Pallister was already marching out of the hall toward his
office and the remaining teachers began directing students to their classes.
One teacher bent to tend to Bitch Tits and Lizzie walked back across the hall
to retrieve her bag the stunned Vic was holding. ‘You ok?’ he asked, almost too
afraid to.

‘Good,
thanks. You?’ replied Lizzie, as if nothing at all had just happened.

‘Better now
the assembly’s over. You didn’t just do that to stop it did you?’

‘Nope, just
a handy bonus. You don’t have to be here you know, if you’re not up to it I
mean.’ Lizzie was aware she would be keeping Pallister waiting but considered
it was unlikely he could get any angrier.

‘I’ll be ok
Liz, thanks. Besides, I think all of a sudden I won’t be the one people will be
talking about,’ Lizzie smiled.

‘I guess
not. I’ll find you at lunch. Chin up,’ she gave him a short hug, slung her bag
over her shoulder and made her way through on-looking students to Pallister’s
office.

‘Enter,’
the headmaster called from behind the door as she knocked. She pushed open the
door to find Pallister scribbling through paperwork on his desk. He peered over
the top of his glasses at her.

‘Please sit
Elizabeth,’ he said far too calmly. She dropped her bag at the foot of the
chair facing his desk and sat. Pallister continued to write, his gaze fixed on
the paper in front of him. She sat in silence for what felt like an age, so
when he finally talked it startled her. ‘Elizabeth,’ he said with an
exasperated tone, ‘this school; this prestigious school, is built on
foundations of excellence, respect and character. All qualities you proved,
with your barbaric and unprovoked assault on our head boy, are sadly beyond
you.’ Lizzie bristled at the word “unprovoked” however Pallister saw her about
to speak and showed her the palm of his hand to halt her in her tracks. ‘It is
no secret that I was against your joining us at Queen’s Grove House, and but
for an acute attack of trust and charity we would not be having this
distasteful conversation. And let me say from the onset that if Blair Tompkins
elects to involve the police in today’s events, they will have my full
cooperation.’ Lizzie sat broiling in her chair and was about to retort when a
knock at the door saved her from no doubt making the situation worse. ‘Enter,’
bellowed Pallister. The door opened a crack and Miss Abrahams sheepishly
appeared half in half out, gripping the door as she would a shield.

‘The
Tompkins boy headmaster,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘We’ve
summoned an ambulance for him,’ seeing the look on Lizzie’s face, she added. ‘Just
precautionary, he’s in a lot of pain, but I’m sure it’s nothing he’s already a
lot-’