Wicked! (34 page)

Emlyn was studying the building pack.

‘Are all staff wearing protective gloves and all balloons held firmly by a team member?’ he shouted.

‘Yes,’ went up the cry.

‘Well, turn on the heat.’

Scarlet and black, navy and emerald, Prussian blue and orange, shocking pink, violet and yellow, mauve and dark green: the balloons bobbed like tropical fish.

Mauve and dark green, held by Paris as Janna’s hairdrier poured hot air inside it, quivered most. Jade put her hand round the cardboard tube, pretending to toss it off, then, encountering an icy look from Paris, blushed and let go.

‘Do you like the bus my father gave you?’ she demanded.

‘It’s absolutely wonderful,’ cried Janna, ‘it’ll change our lives. We can’t thank him enough.’

‘The balloons should take four minutes to fill up,’ advised Emlyn.

Kitten stood well back. ‘I’m sure the glue’s going to catch fire.’

‘Out of nuffink, just bits of paper and glue, we’ve made somefing beautiful,’ said Kylie in a choked voice. Like we could be, she thought.

The press had now arrived in force and, with no sign of Stancombe, photographed balloons and happy, excited children.

‘Everyone ready?’ yelled Emlyn.

‘No,’ protested Lando France-Lynch.

‘He’s never been able to get it up,’ shouted Junior.

‘They’ll never fly either,’ mocked Cosmo and, as everyone was concentrating on the balloons, whipped Amber’s mobile from her pocket.

‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,’ shouted Emlyn. ‘Five, four, three, two, one, lift-off.’

Away went the balloons, the tropical fish metamorphosing into a swarm of coloured butterflies, flying over the gold trees into the bright blue autumn sky.

Lubemir and Boffin’s black and red balloon caught on the spikes of a sycamore, triggering off a stream of Albanian expletives until a gust of wind freed it to bob after the others. Sailing south-west over the Mansion, Primrose’s orange and Prussian-blue prizewinner stalled on the gold weathercock.

‘First time she’s bounced on top of a cock,’ giggled Amber.

‘Let’s see how far they go,’ said Feral, taking her hand and together they raced through trees and school buildings, followed by a whooping Milly and Graffi, Lubemir and Pearl and, after exchanging shy smiles, by Aysha and Xavier.

‘Black shit sticks together,’ observed Cosmo. Jade laughed and slid her hand into his.

‘Xav has just been very rude to me, I think he needs taking down a peg or two.’

‘Or three, or four, or five,’ agreed Cosmo. ‘It will be arranged.’

‘The Montgolfiers always maintained—’ began Boffin.

‘Oh, shut up, Boffin,’ said Primrose.

Janna and Paris stood side by side watching until the last balloon floated out of sight.

‘They’re a symbol of Larks,’ whispered Janna. ‘We’re going to take off and really fly and so will the partnership with us and Bagley—’ Her voice broke.

Turning, Paris saw tears spilling over her lower lashes. Taking the hairdrier from her, he put it on a trestle table, then somehow his hand slid into hers and they smiled at each other.

‘God speed,’ cried out Janna, as the last emerald and navy balloon bobbed briefly between the tall chimneys, ‘such a wonderful omen.’

Paris didn’t know when to let go of her hand, so he left it to her.

Interesting, reflected Cosmo, who was standing behind them. Miss Curtis clearly likes toyboys as well as wrinklies.

The rugby fifteens, probably wrecked from all that pounding on hard ground, had gone in, so Emlyn also observed Janna and Paris. She’s very near the edge, he decided, and so besotted with Hengist, she’s unaware of the havoc she’s wreaking on that poor boy.

‘That was a great success,’ he said loudly.

Janna let go of Paris’s hand, and was soon telling the hovering press that ‘Larks and Bagley’s partnership couldn’t have been illustrated taking off in a more romantic and beautiful way.’

31

Stancombe still hadn’t turned up, but the Larks and Bagley balloonists, over orange juice and slices of Mrs Axford’s cherry cake in the pavilion, were getting on much too well to care. Nor did they notice Cosmo slipping Amber’s mobile into the pocket of Feral’s tracksuit top, which he’d left hanging on the back of his chair.

Amber and Milly were wildly impressed when they discovered Pearl had done Janna’s Winter Garden make-up.

‘I mean she’s pretty for a wrinkly today, but in that picture with Hengist, she looks like Meg Ryan, and you can see Hengist really, really fancies her,’ said Amber.

‘Will you make me up one day?’ begged Milly.

‘Pearl’s going to do the make-up for a joint production,’ said Amber.

‘Then I can quite confidently play Helen of Troy,’ giggled Milly.

Pearl was in heaven.

‘What d’you want to see this afternoon?’ asked Amber.

‘The theatre, and Graffi’s desperate to see the art department. He’s dead talented.’

‘Dead lush as well,’ sighed Milly.

‘Not as lush as Feral,’ said Amber.

‘Feral’s my boyfriend,’ said Pearl sharply.

‘Ah,’ said Amber.

If Feral were taken, which was indeed a body blow, she’d better call Peregrine. She patted her pockets. Where the hell was her mobile?

Johnnie Fowler, who’d been too uptight to have any lunch, had a fourth piece of cherry cake as he discussed safe-breaking and drugs with Lubemir.

‘I tried to kill Miss when I were high on crack, so I went cold turkey.’

‘Ve vould have allowed you to kill Alex Bruce,’ said Lubemir. He turned to Feral: ‘Vat vould you like to do this afternoon?’

‘Amber Lloyd-Foxe.’ Feral shook his head in wonder. ‘She’s the hottest girl I’ve seen in years.’

Amber, however, had slid out of the dining room, raided the art department and was racing towards the car park.

Dora, spitting with rage, was leaning out of the science lab window as Stancombe’s crimson and gold helicopter finally landed on the grass, to be greeted by a diminished press corps fed up with waiting. As Larks’s splendid minibus glided on to the field for the official presentation, no one realized that Amber Lloyd-Foxe had graffitied the back with silver spray paint.

Larks pupils lined up in two rows like ball boys at Wimbledon as Stancombe leapt lithely down on to the grass. Even today, when he’d cultivated an au naturel Richard Branson look – carefully ruffled hair, open-necked check shirt, designer jeans and a shadow of stubble, he didn’t get it quite right. The tan was too mahogany and the Dolce & Gabbana label deliberately worn outside his belt.

Striding out to meet him, Alex Bruce explained why Hengist was tied up. Stancombe was incensed.

‘You’d have thought . . .’

‘I know, I know, I’m afraid our Senior Team Leader is a lawlessness unto himself.’

Next moment, Sheena Anderson had jumped down, and a gust from the helicopter took her black dress over her head to reveal black hold-ups, a neat Brazilian and a wodge of white loo paper shoved between her legs. This was greeted by whoops and wolf whistles. Cosmo whipped out his camera. Dora nearly fell out of the window as a furious Sheena tugged down her skirt.

‘Funny place to keep your hanky,’ observed Pearl.

‘Stan came,’ murmured Paris.

Feral laughed. ‘You OK, mate?’

‘We had a load of press here at three-thirty. They’ve rather drifted away,’ Alex told Stancombe. ‘Let’s get on with the presentation.’

Rocky, who’d already torn the gold paper off the magnum of champagne, very reluctantly relinquished it so Kylie could present it to Stancombe who, accustomed to the tropical heat of his apartments, was now shivering uncontrollably in the north-east wind.

Janna then came forward to shake his hand.

‘It’s the most beautiful bus in the world, it’s wonderful of you. We are all so grateful.’

A second later Jade, putting on a little girl’s voice and crying, ‘Daddy, Daddy,’ ran across the grass to get in on the act.

‘Hi Jadey, how’s my little princess?’ Stancombe kissed her lingeringly on the mouth.

‘Gross,’ muttered Milly.

‘Can we have a photograph of you and Jade?’ asked the
Gazette
.

Meanwhile the helicopter pilot, who’d been kept waiting hours the other end, had charged off to the Gents, whereupon Larks and Bagley pupils swarmed on to the helicopter, examining, pressing buttons, bouncing on the pale beige upholstery, helping themselves to coloured cigarettes.

‘Put it back,’ said Paris furiously as Feral pocketed a gold ashtray. Sulkily Feral did. A second later, the same ashtray slid into Lubemir’s pocket alongside a silver cigarette case. Everyone would blame the yobbos from Larks.

Outside Jade said, ‘You know Amber and Milly, don’t you, Daddy?’

‘Of course.’ Stancombe shook their hands. ‘And I’d like you to meet Sheena Anderson.’ Then, anxious to explain Sheena’s presence to Milly: ‘Sheen’s doing an in-depth profile on me for the
Guardian
.’

‘We know Mrs Anderson,’ said Milly pointedly.

‘How’s Flavia?’ asked Amber even more pointedly.

‘Fine,’ snapped Sheena.

‘We heard she’s got chicken pox even worse than Rebecca. She’s got a temperature of a hundred and four,’ Milly renewed the attack. ‘Mr Anderson was so worried he had to duck out of supervising our balloon-building today.’

‘Rufus is such a caring father,’ said Jade, who always gave her father’s girlfriends a hard time.

Sheena was simply livid.

‘How’s your mother, Milly?’ Stancombe’s voice thickened.

‘She’s really well.’

‘Give her my best.’

Why the hell didn’t the bitch answer his phone calls?

Bagley and Larks were getting bored. The press were getting restless.

‘Why have you given Larkminster Comprehensive such a magnificent bus when you haven’t been a huge supporter of the school in the past?’ asked the Venturer presenter.

Stancombe, ruffling his hair for the camera, said:

‘I feel it’s important for disadvantaged youngsters to escape from the poverty trap and, as a consequence, a life of crime.’

As Larks faces fell or set into sullen lines, Janna’s eyes met Emlyn’s and was comforted to see rage. Stancombe then put an arm round Jade.

‘My daughter is a very privileged young lady to be at a school like Bagley. But I’ve always taught her to treat those less fortunate with kindness.’

‘You have, Daddy,’ agreed Jade fondly.

‘Jade sounds much posher than her dad,’ Graffi whispered to Milly. ‘Can you learn Posh as well as Spanish, French and German at Bagley?’

‘That’s what lots of the parents pay for,’ said Milly.

Stancombe was kicking himself. By arriving late he had lost crucial coverage. He never should have shagged Sheena – and Larks kids had invaded his chopper. Feral Jackson had just leapt out, pulling at the elastic of a pair of black and red panties as though shooting a catapult at Paris, who was laughing his head off.

Then Stancombe gave a bellow. On the back of the minibus someone had sprayed the words ‘Rough Trade Counter’ in huge silver letters. The press was going mad photographing it. Alex Bruce was having a coronary.

Lurking in the bushes Amber chucked the can of silver spray paint into the nettles. That would teach young Feral to make a play when he was already in a relationship – and yet, and yet, those kisses had been so magical . . . And what the hell had she done with her mobile?

Fed up with Sheena sticking her tape recorder in everywhere, the press were packing up.

‘We’d like the two heads with the pupils,’ said a
Daily Telegraph
photographer. ‘Any chance we can drag Hengist out?’

‘He insisted on not being interrupted.’

‘Then we’d better have you in the picture, Mr Bruce.’

Alex was just combing his beard in the minibus wing mirror when Hengist rolled up.

‘Randal, you’re a brick coming all this way.’

‘Randal, you’re a brick,’ murmured Paris, cracking up Bagley as well as Larks pupils.

As Hengist, Janna, Stancombe and the Larks children, still humiliated and angered by his comments, posed together, a peal of bells floated across the soft autumnal air.

‘How lovely,’ sighed Janna. ‘It must be Wally in the chapel.’

‘Thought you only rang bells like that to warn people war had broken out,’ quipped Stancombe.

‘It already has,’ said Paris bleakly.

‘OK, chaps.’ Hengist waved at the press. ‘Got to get back to work. Help yourselves to a cup of tea and a piece of cake inside. Alex’ll look after you. Randal, thanks for coming, and I’d like a word with you, Sheena.’

All amiability was wiped off Hengist’s face as he drew her aside.

‘Glad you’re back. Rufus, as you’re no doubt aware, is looking after your children, probably contracting chicken pox – or more likely shingles, after the pressure to which you subject him – which means he’ll be off for more weeks. Now you’re back, you can bloody well take over.’