The Beast of Seabourne (34 page)

Oz nodded. He wanted to talk about Caleb, but when they reached the queue for the refectory, he looked at his watch, groaned, and headed away towards the hall.

“Where you going?” Ruff asked.

“Orchestra practise. Concert's tonight, remember? Now that the Volcano's lifted the ban, Fidler's going to have us at it all afternoon.”

“That means you'll miss Spanish,” Ruff said, sounding horrified.

“Yeah, tragic, isn't it.” Oz grinned back at him. Spanish was his worst subject by miles.

“Don't need a triangle player, do you?” Ruff asked hopefully.

“Triangle player?” Oz said. “Hy pot news for you, Ruff; the answer is
no
.”

Ruff groaned and Ellie made eyes to the ceiling. Oz just turned with a grin and left them.

Mr Fidler had organised drinks and sandwiches, so no one would have any excuses for not turning up to the hall on time. Because there'd been no practise for almost a week, everyone was in a state of nervous tension, which was, Oz surmised, not a bad thing. This way, everyone was concentrating on getting the music right, and there was no mention at all of the Beast of Seabourne or Pheeps, even from Martha Trump and the other Creeps. Thanks to S and S, Oz's timing and rhythm were, for once, spot on and even earned him some rare praise from Fidler in an indirect way. When the brass section once again got ahead of itself, Fidler tapped his baton on his music stand and shook his head in exasperation.

“No, no, no. How many times do I have to tell you? Follow me. I am the conductor, the brain of the orchestra. Oz, on the other hand, is our beating heart. Listen to it. Feel it. Let it guide you.”

He'd never been called anyone's beating heart before, and he quite liked it. It was certainly better than a “manic hobnailed octopus,” which was what Fidler had called him the last time Oz's enthusiasm had got the better of him. They practised up until the bell and had to hurry for the buses, with the result that he missed Ellie and Ruff in the bus bay. But on the way home, he got a text from Ruff. It said Spanish had been “rubbish” because they'd had to pretend they were at the hospital, and instead of saying he'd broken his arm, with
romperse el brazo
, Ruff managed to mangle it so it came out as
remar con los brazos
—using his arms as oars. Ellie's confirmatory text was full of typos, and Oz guessed she'd been shaking with laughter as she'd sent it.

Before Oz knew it, he'd got home, changed, had his tea, and was in the car heading back to school, feeling more nervous than he thought he would.

“Got everything?” Mrs Chambers asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I'll drop you off, and then I'm off to pick up Rowena.”

“Rowena?” Oz shot her a glance. “Didn't know she was coming.”

“She jumped at the chance,” Mrs Chambers said airily, not quite able to hide the hint of forced nonchalance in her voice.

Oz went quiet, mulling over what possible reason the Cuckoo might have for coming to a school concert. His silence triggered a couple of worried glances from his mother and eventually an answer to his unvoiced question.

“I think she wants to come and scope out the school,” explained Mrs Chambers nervously. “She's trying to branch out, take her holistic message to young people.”

“Don't tell me she wants to come and give us a talk.”

“Probably.” Mrs Chambers shifted slightly in her seat and shot Oz an accusatory glance. “I know you don't like her much…”

“I never said that,” Oz said. “It's just that some of the stuff she says is a bit weird; that's all.”

“I know,” agreed Mrs Chambers wanly. “But she means well, and she is good company. She knows her own mind and has a view about almost everything.” Her voice trailed off before she added as an afterthought, “And she has feng shui'd our lounge very nicely, don't you think?”

“Yeah,” Oz muttered, the memory of how he'd barked his shins on a coffee table, which was five feet from its usual position, still sharp in his head. He sighed. “I know you like her, Mum; it's just…well, I hope she likes you, that's all.”

“That's a strange thing to say.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes, it feels like she's more interested in Penwurt, that's all I'm saying.”

“Why wouldn't she be interested in Penwurt?” Mrs Chambers protested. “You keep telling me it's ‘amazing' and ‘brilliant,' don't you? Although all I can see is that it's full of damp,” she added under her breath. There was another lingering pause and another couple of glances from Mrs Chambers, who eventually added, “I mean, so what if she wants to use the dorm? It's the last place I'd want to hold a meeting, but Rowena sees its…potential. And it'll mean a bit of money coming in. She's even talking about holding healing weekends if it all goes well.”

Oz squirmed in his seat. This was not what he wanted to hear, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her what Ellie, Ruff, and he had been thinking because…because it just sounded like kid's stuff. Just because she'd written a book about the Beast of Seabourne
didn't
mean she could curse people with it. Didn't mean she was in Gerber's pocket either, and so far, they hadn't found any link between the two. Still, Oz couldn't just let it go.

“But you don't believe all that stuff she says, do you?” He threw her a questioning glance.

“I don't know what to believe anymore, Oz. I thought your dad was chasing wild geese until Soph turned up. If that pebble isn't proof that there are strange and mysterious things in the world, I don't know what is.”

Oz heard her words, but he couldn't help feeling there was something a bit contrived about them. As if she were saying them to convince herself more than him.

“Yeah, but Soph's different. She's real, and the only reason we think she's weird is the technology that made her isn't something we understand.”

“Well, perhaps that's true, but we need to pay our bills, Oz, and Soph hasn't done that yet, has she?”

Oz thought about telling her about their treasure hunt but didn't. After all, it wasn't something they could rely on. He still felt that, somehow, she would disapprove, too. Besides, though Soph was totally brilliant, she wasn't magic; she couldn't make money appear out of thin air. She could do some amazing technological things and had lots of answers to lots of questions, but Oz had already figured out that you had to know what sort of question to ask her. He didn't think “Can you get us out of our money troubles?” would work too well. He decided to change the subject. “So, are you going to this soiree thing of hers?”

Mrs Chambers shook her head. “I'll be too busy in the kitchen.” She looked across and must have seen the concern he felt written in his face. “Look, I did try rainbow healing, but all it did was give me a headache, worrying about one of the tubes falling on me while I slept. But don't tell her that,” she said with a resigned smile.

Oz grinned. He felt suddenly a bit better. “I won't,” he said. But all the way to school, he couldn't stop from thinking about the Cuckoo.

The concert featured a school choir, a year ten dance group, the witch scenes from
Macbeth
by year eleven, and a recorder quartet. Mr Holland's sixth form art class had decorated the hall with giant Easter eggs and a few Easter banners, but the place still smelled of wax polish and slightly of stale sick from where a year seven girl had thrown up in assembly that morning.

However, none of it mattered, because the main attraction was undoubtedly the orchestra. Oz concentrated as hard as he ever had, and when the first half finished with the theme from
Indiana Jones
, the crowd stood and gave them a standing ovation, so they played it all again—twice. At halftime, Oz managed to catch up with Ellie chatting with a group of her hockey-playing mates, one of whom happened to be Natasha Stilson, a very pretty dark-haired girl that Oz quite liked. She sent him a single flashing smile before turning back to her group of friends.

“Orchestra's brilliant,” Ellie said, breaking away to join him. “Miles better than anything else. And all the girls think you're cute.”

“Really?” Oz said, wiping sweat from his face with a paper napkin Ellie handed him.

“Obviously, I put them right on that,” Ellie added. “Especially Natasha. We can't have her thinking the wrong thing, can we?”

“Natasha?” Oz said, trying to sound vague.

“Yes, Natasha. As if you hadn't noticed,” Ellie said, grinning.

Oz turned away, cursing the heat that suddenly flared in his cheeks.

“Ruff didn't make it, then?” he said quickly, hoping to change the subject.

Ellie shook her head. “Had to help his dad again. Said he might make it for the second half.” Ellie's eyes narrowed and flicked up over Oz's shoulder. “Here comes your mum and Cuckoo Hilditch,” she muttered.

Oz half-turned, in time to feel himself being grabbed in a hug, which was, to his immense relief, mercifully brief. His mother wore a proud, ear-to-ear grin and put both thumbs up when she released him.

“You were fantastic, Oz,” she said, her eyes shining.

“Thanks, Mum.” Oz noticed that she had something folded over her arm. Something that looked vaguely familiar. “What's that?”

“You'll never guess,” she said, holding up Oz's lost Lions hoody. “Mr Fidler gave it to me. He was very apologetic. Said he'd found it under the stage a while ago and forgot to give it to you.”

Oz studied the battered and bedraggled garment, which looked like it had lost an argument with some garden shears.

“And yes, before you ask, it is yours. Has your name on the collar.”

Oz lifted up the shredded sleeves. “Can't wear that again.I think you'd better bin it, Mum.”

He was fruitlessly pondering how on earth it had got into this state when, from behind his mother, Oz saw the Cuckoo push her way through the tight crowd, most of whom were precariously balancing cups of tea and biscuit-laden paper plates. Maybe it was the red-streaked hair, maybe it was the long, velvet brocade sheath she wore, but whatever it was, she caused heads to turn as she approached Oz.

“I'm impressed, Ozzie,” she said, managing a tone of reluctant surprise that left Oz wondering if she really was complimenting him at all. “Quite the little drummer boy. You were even in time.”

“Thanks,” Oz said, coughing so as to hide the giggle triggered by Ellie rolling her eyes, but the Cuckoo's piercing gaze felt like it was burning a hole in Oz's forehead.

“You are such a dark horse,” she went on. “What other surprises are there hidden beneath that inscrutable smile of yours, I wonder?”

Oz shrugged uncomfortably while his mother gazed on, her eyes still shining with blind admiration.

“Yeah, look, I ought to really be getting back. Mr Fidler didn't want us to have a break at all, but I said I needed the loo, so…” He turned away and did a double take at a woman glaring at him intently from a few yards away. Oz turned to look behind him but there was no one there bar his mum and the Cuckoo. When he glanced around again, the woman was still there, her eyes blazing, her mouth a thin angry line. She was with Pete Williams, one of Oz's five-a-side teammates, who'd been ill for long stretches of last year. Suddenly, the glaring woman tapped Pete on the shoulder and pointed right at Oz. Pete nodded, and both he and the woman strode purposefully towards him.

Oz watched their approach with growing apprehension, because the woman looked intense and angry. Oz glanced over his shoulder, to see that Mrs Chambers and the Cuckoo were talking with Ellie and none of them had noticed the charging woman. When Oz looked back, Pete Williams had almost reached him.

“Okay, Pete?” Oz said uncertainly.

“Oh, hi, Oz,” said Pete as he barged by.

Confused, Oz turned to see the woman stand behind Rowena Hilditch and tap her on the shoulder.

“Remember us?” said the woman.

The Cuckoo turned, confusion crinkling her face. Then Oz saw a flicker of recognition sharpen her features, distorting them into momentary panic before they settled again into the frosty, controlled smile she wore like a mask.

“Have we met?” the Cuckoo said, as if struggling to remember.

“Williams,” said the woman before adding, “as you well know.” Her eyes were as brittle as morning ice. “You've got some nerve showing up here.”

“I beg your pardon,” the Cuckoo said, trying to make it look as if Mrs Williams had gone stark raving bananas.

“Playing the innocent won't wash. Not this time. Not after almost killing my Peter. I'd have thought you'd want to stay a long way away from kids after what you did.”

“I think you must be mixing me up with someone else,” the Cuckoo said with a dismissive little laugh.

“You've changed your hair. Gone dark, I see. Contact lenses instead of glasses, are they?”