The Red Road (15 page)

“Were you head of Churchill?”
Sam asked, thinking along the same lines as myself.

“No,” Adrian said. “I never
made it that far.”

“Decided to get out while you
could?” I joked.

“No,” Adrian said, still
maintaining the smile. “I was expelled.”

“Really? What happened?” I
asked, a little louder and more excitedly than I meant to. Expulsions
were rare at St Christopher’s and only happened under very
exceptional circumstances. Mostly, boys were rusticated for a few
weeks as a warning that their behaviour was not acceptable. From what
I understood, expulsions were avoided to save face and maintain the
school’s reputation. St Christopher’s would rather avoid the
school gaining a reputation that it was full of bullies, and
rebellious and uncontrollable students. Although I was sure that
recent events would give any such reports a good run for their money.

“Some messy business to do with
drugs,” Adrian said. “A false accusation I should add, but due to
some mitigating circumstances, I was never able to fully prove
otherwise.”

“How come?” I asked.

Adrian didn’t answer that, paying
attention to the service. “Is that Father Benedict leading the
Mass?”

“Yes,” I said, watching as
Father Benedict raised the communion host. “He’s headmaster, but
might be retiring soon to become the Abbot, instead.”

Adrian nodded but said nothing else.

“When did you leave? What year?”
Rob then asked.

“Lower sixth, just as I was
preparing for my A-Levels,” Adrian said. “Made my life more than
a little complicated, I can tell you.”

He was still smiling, but I couldn’t
quite understand why. Being expelled due to drugs wasn’t something
that I would be happy about. But maybe it had been that long ago that
he was now able to look back on it and laugh.

“So, why are you back here?” I
asked. I would never return to a school that I had been expelled
from. I assumed that I would probably never return to a job that I
had been fired from, either.

“I heard about the problems the
school has been having recently, and it reminded me that I’ve not
been here for a while. I thought I’d pop in for a visit and see how
everything was going, and see what had changed.”

He, of course, meant the murder. I
remembered the newspaper article Carson had shown me, that let all
the details out of the bag. Adrian had clearly read it himself.

“Did any of you know the victim?”
Adrian asked.

We admitted that we didn’t.

“Shame for it to happen to
someone so young, in their very first term. His parents must have
been devastated. That sort of thing never went on when I was here. We
had it a lot tougher then, I can tell you, but never anything as
grotty as this. I read about it in the
Evening Post
. It was
the only paper that seemed to actually know the full details of what
happened, rather than just speculating on it.”

I knew that the school hadn’t
publicly admitted to the murder, only the parents of those attending
the school needing those sorts of details. The public had likely been
told a different story, something about Scott Parker having a heart
condition that had caused him to collapse during a run down the Red
Road. Even so, I wondered just how many Q&A sessions the
headmaster had had to field with the parishioners here over the exact
details of the event. I glanced to the parishioners close by,
wondering just how many of them might actually know the real story
and were staying mum for the school’s sake.

“So, what are you going to do
today?” I wanted to know, deciding to move on to another topic.

“Take a walk around the grounds,
talk to any of the staff that I still recognise, perhaps get some
lunch down at the White Horse. They do a fantastic roast down there.
Or at least they did the last time I was here.”

“No, they still do,” Rob said.
“Better than the slop they give us here at any rate.”

“Wafer thin beef, watery gravy,
and undercooked potatoes?” Adrian asked, with the same
irrepressible smile.

“Spot on,” I said.

“A lot of things have changed at
this school over the years, yet the one thing that always stays
consistent is the awful quality of the food,” Adrian said,
chuckling.

Communion was starting, the bowls of
hosts and chalices being handed out to the servers. Sam, Rob, and I
would be making our exit soon, amongst the long lines of parishioners
and boys queuing to receive the offering. With so many people moving
about all over the place it was the perfect cover.

“Shall we go?” I asked Sam and
Rob.

“I’m not bothering,” Rob said.
“It’s just bread and wine.”

I was going to remind Rob of the
importance of the symbolism, but I bit back my words. “Sam?” I
asked. “We’ll get out when we’re done. Best we go now, before
the line gets too long and people see us leaving.”

“Sure,” Sam said, getting to his
feet.

“Are you coming, Adrian?” I
asked.

“No,” Adrian said, nodding in
Rob’s direction. “I’m in agreement with your friend here.”

I started up with Sam, when I became
aware of a shape looming close to us. Ah, hell. It was Mr Hancock,
otherwise known as Handjob, the housemaster of Tudor. He always
looked to me that he should be working the door at some exclusive
nightclub, picking the riffraff up by the scruff of their necks with
one hand and tossing them away. Even more so today, dressed in one of
his best suits for church. He crouched down behind the chairs,
clearly wanting to make sure that none of the parishioners watching
could tell that we were in trouble.

“Boys, as you’re obviously not
participating in the Mass, could you all make your way to the tearoom
and help to set up after you’ve had communion?” he rumbled,
the light glancing off his totally bald head.

“Yes, sir,” we all said.

Damn
, I thought. Now I was
going to be stuck here for longer. Providing the post-Mass tea did
give us the chance to get stuck into the tea, coffee, biscuits and
occasional chocolate rolls, but it could also mean that we didn’t
get to enjoy our Sunday freedom until almost midday, especially if we
got collared into having to clean up.

“Good,” Mr Hancock said, nodding
towards the ever-lengthening line of those queuing for communion.
“Off you go.”

“I’m not going,” Rob said.

“
Go
, Robert,” Mr Hancock
ordered, his tone not inviting argument.

We started up, queuing up to receive
communion, before we all headed for the tearoom. I saw Mr Hancock
meet the eyes of our short-term companion as we did so.

“Morning, Dean,” Adrian said
with a smile and a nod.

“Morning, Adrian,” Mr Hancock
replied. There was no warmth in his voice.

~ ~ ~

The hot water urns were huge great
containers that had to be filled from a hose in the kitchens of the
church. The resulting contents were then so heavy that it took two of
us to hoist them onto the tables, only a little over three feet high.

We commenced setting out the cups
with the help of some of the regular parishioners that liked to
involve themselves with such things. Mr Hancock put in an appearance
just as Mass was ending, to ensure that we hadn’t skived off
halfway through the task, and soon enough the boys and churchgoers
were filling the back hall, asking us to prepare them a cup of either
tea or coffee. I obliged without a grumble. I had hoped that perhaps
there wouldn’t be too many staying for tea and biscuits, meaning
that I could escape at a more reasonable time. Sadly, we were still
in the grip of winter, and so there were perhaps more than usual,
everyone keen for a hot drink before venturing back outside. The
snows would be coming soon, I was sure.

The crowds thinned after about
forty-five minutes, and another ten minutes later we were finally
able to start packing up. Mr Hancock continued to watch the three of
us. An hour of my Sunday gone. I wouldn’t be able to pull the
sneaking-off stunt for another three weeks at least now. I then saw a
man hovering, recognising him as Adrian Willis. He met my eye and
came over, still wearing that same smile.

“Doesn’t work every time,” he
said.

“No,” I answered, finding myself
grinning. “Though I don’t normally get lumbered with tea duty.
Usually, they just catch up with me as I’m sneaking out, tell me
that Mass hasn’t ended and to get back inside.”

“I always used to hide out in
Churchill. I knew all the secret hiding spots, and every way in and
out of that building, without getting seen.”

“I’m not sure Butcher has
anything like that,” I said. “If it did, I probably wouldn’t
have lost an hour of my Sunday doing this.”

“Probably the worst bit about
providing the tea is that you’re not allowed to eat the biscuits,”
Adrian said.

“Absolutely, and lunch is probably
going to be shit today, too. Oh, sorry,” I corrected.

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrian
waved away the apology. “I’m not offended, and there’s no one
up there to hear it, either,” he added with a glance to the
ceiling. He then looked about himself, before reaching into his
pocket and presenting me with two packets of biscuits – custard
creams and chocolate digestives. He must have taken them off a table
before they were unwrapped and put on plates, to be walked around the
hall and offered to the parishioners.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Because lunch probably
will
be shit, eh?” he winked.

“So, if you don’t mind me
asking, what exactly happened with your expulsion?” I asked as I
began to stack up the used cups.

“I was believed to have been
dealing drugs,” he said quite matter-of-factly.

“Really? Dealing?” I repeated a
little softly.

“
Believed
,” Adrian said,
putting emphasis on the word.

“Heroine?” It was the only drug
that immediately came to mind.

“Good lord, no!” Adrian laughed.
“That would be understandable.”

And dealing
some
drugs is
okay?
I wondered.

“No, I was expelled by the school
because they found a certain amount of weed in my room – cannabis,
I mean – and believed that I had been supplying it to other sixth
formers. I denied it, of course, as I didn’t bring any drugs into
the school. But they then made us all take a urine sample test, and a
number of the sixth formers, including myself, came up positive. One
of them must have planted the weed in my room and then ratted me out
as the supplier.”

“But you did smoke it yourself?”
I asked.

“Yes, but just not at school,”
Adrian said, his smile now faded. “On weekends with friends back
home and during the school holidays. I’m not sure how the plant
sussed out that I was a smoker, too. Maybe I just seemed far too
relaxed most of the time, or perhaps he could just
tell
. I may
have even mentioned it without meaning to,” he shrugged.

I didn’t know what to think.
Cigarettes and porn were banned at the school and taken very
seriously, fines and letters being sent home to parents. Expulsions
were also in place for sustained bullying. Adrian, on the other hand,
had been regularly smoking cannabis. Whether on school grounds or
not, I found that pretty serious.

“So, they expelled me at the end
of the summer term of the lower sixth and sent out information about
it to all the parents, to make an example of me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Adrian only nodded.

“What did you do?” I asked. “Did
you go somewhere else? A sixth form college or something?”

“I couldn’t. After I was
expelled, the police got involved and I received a criminal record.”
Adrian shrugged.

“Oh,” was all I could find to
say. “That was unnecessary.”

“It messed my life up, to be
honest. I couldn’t get into medical school and no decent college
would take me. My dreams of becoming a doctor were pretty much
destroyed. I then just worked temporary jobs until I eventually
managed to get some journalism skills and was able to become a
freelance medical journal editor.”

“Well, at least you got to work in
medicine,” I offered as a condolence.

“Yes. I can work from home and be
my own boss. It doesn’t pay as much as I’d like, and, of course,
I would have preferred to have been a doctor. But,
c’est le
vie
.” He shrugged again.

“What happened to the other boys?
Did they get expelled, too?” I asked.

“No. The school classed them as
the
victims
and let them off.”

My jaw became slack. They let the
other boys off? Was this another case of the school being scared of
the sixth formers? Or perhaps the others were prefects, heads of
houses, or even the head boy? Favouritism was most likely the cause,
whatever it had been. Expelling boys in positions of authority, who
were meant to be role models for younger pupils, wouldn’t look very
good. I formed a hunch that the cannabis had perhaps belonged to the
head boy. Of course, I had to take Adrian’s word for it. It was
possible that he actually
had
been dealing and just told
people the story about being set up to make himself feel better about
his own decisions in life. I felt sorry for him, though. The result
of his expulsion was far worse than I thought he deserved. He seemed
like a nice enough guy.

Adrian looked about, seeing that
most of the parishioners had left and that only a handful of
regulars, monks, and school staff were still milling around.

“I’d
best be going,” he said, offering me his hand. “Nice to meet you
... er ...”

“Joseph,” I said, realising I
had never introduced myself, and shaking his hand.

“Do you prefer ‘Joe’ or
‘Joseph’?”

“Joe.”

“Okay. Have a good Sunday, Joe.
Enjoy the biscuits,” he said. I was glad to see him smiling again.