Class Act (11 page)

C
HAPTER
20

BONKERS AS A CONKER

‘You see, Brian, I understand you.' Quincy took a little white bottle from his pencil case. ‘Because we're just the same.' He unscrewed the bottle and stood it on the desk. ‘Peas in a pod, two flies on a pie.'

Brian's stomach shrank. How on earth could he resemble this freak?

As if he'd spoken out loud, Quincy smiled. His teeth were the colour of custard. ‘Not so good at our books. But we notice things. Little things. Creepers and crawlers, scuttlers and squirmers, ants and fleas, beetles and bees. And we love them, don't we? Because we know what it's like to be crushed and downtrodden. We know how a slug feels under a shoe.' He yanked Florrie's ear. ‘Remember when you called me Bug Brain for getting three out of fifty in Maths? Or that time you told Pandora Crudge to give me some of her head lice because they'd boost my brain power?'

The teacher stared fiercely ahead.

‘Course you don't – because what was it to you?' He frowned at her thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. That nose of yours really doesn't work. Shall we try again?' He lifted the lid from the little bottle. With the brush attached to it, he painted her nose white. He tutted. ‘Never let us use Tipp-Ex, did you? Said we couldn't hide our failures. Well, you were right. You still look terrible.'

Florrie pressed her lips together.

Quincy danced round to the front of the desk and hoisted himself neatly on top. ‘Well, Brian.' He crossed one leg over the other and placed his hands delicately on his knee, like an actress on a chat show. ‘All that talk of insects got me wondering.' He changed to thoughtful professor, frowning and scratching his head. ‘Are woodlice really so stupid? Are nits truly twits? Tiny, yes, and timid too … but did you know that there are more than a million species of insect in the world?' He smacked his knee like a cowboy at a hoe-down. ‘That there are ten times more termites than humans?' He leapt off the desk. ‘There are more kinds of beetles than plants,' he sang. ‘Butterflies taste with their feet.' He pranced round the room. ‘A cockroach can live nine days without its head. Ants can carry fifty times their own body weight. Did you know –' he skipped back to the desk, ‘that insects have lived on this planet
two thousand
times longer than us? Now
that
,' he bent towards Florrie as if to kiss her cheek, ‘is what
I
call success.' He blew a gigantic raspberry. ‘You may rule the classroom, but bugs rule the world.'

Her face was a fist. ‘You're mad,' she muttered.

‘As a moth!' He fluttered his arms. ‘Which, did you know, use the moon and stars to find their way? Which can sniff each other seven miles away and disguise themselves as –' he leaned over and whispered in her ear, ‘poo.' Then he cupped his hands and yelled, ‘Pretty smart,
HUH
?!!' As she jerked her head away, he twirled round the desk. ‘So.' He stopped in front of it and beamed at Brian. ‘I decided to learn from them. I watched them whenever I could: ants carrying crumbs, greenfly on cabbages. I listened to them, talked to them, played Catch the Caterpillar and Hunt the Weevil. They became my closest friends.' He leaned his elbow on the desk. ‘Because, Lord knows, I had no others.'

Panic skittered round Brian's chest.
You're right
, he thought.
We are alike
. He stared with horror at his fellow school-hater and insect-lover.
Will I grow up to be like you?

Quincy grinned. ‘And what fine friends they are, Brian. They never insult you, never argue. If you're sad, they listen. If you're angry, you squash 'em. If you're bored, just pull 'em apart.'

Brian felt his earlobe shudder.

‘Best of all, they make the perfect snack.' Quincy ran his tongue over his top lip. ‘Mmm. Ladybird wings, crisp and spicy. Butterfly heads, chewy as chocolate.'

The shudder spread right through Brian. He pulled his hair forward to protect Dulcie's ears from this Jack the Bug-Ripper.

‘You're revolting,' said Florrie.

Quincy reached for the pencil case. He brought out a permanent marker. Grabbing her chin, he drew a droopy black moustache beneath her white nose. ‘Look who's talking,' he said sweetly.

The triumph Brian had felt at her humiliation drained away, leaving a scum of disgust and fear. Quincy Queaze was proving madder by the minute.

‘So that's why …' Quincy drew curly ends on the moustache, ‘I became a gardener. Chums and yums on tap.' He put down the pen. ‘And the prettiest ornaments too.' He pointed to the ceiling. ‘Did you see them brightening up my lampshade and rug, Brian? And when they stop moving, I just collect new ones.'

‘Monster!'

Brian's left hand flew to his ear. Of all the moments for Dulcie to shriek! And now Quincy was striding towards him. He backed against the door and waited for him to rip out the earring and pop it in his mouth like a butterscotch.

But instead he grasped Brian's shoulders. ‘Imagine it.' His blue eyes shone. ‘All those suckers under your thumb. You can do what you like and they can't answer back.'

Brian sagged against the door. Dulcie was safe – for now.

‘It makes you feel …' Quincy's fingers dug in like tent pegs, ‘so powerful. Like – ooh – like a
teacher
!'

He scuttled back to the desk. His right hand closed round Florrie's neck. ‘Just as you had fun with me, I have fun with them.' Her eyes bulged like marbles. ‘And just like you,' her face was turning purple, ‘I have my favourites.' He let go, leaving her spluttering for air. ‘Bees.'

Dulcie shrieked again. Brian drowned it in a cough.

Quincy beat a rhythm with his knuckles on the desk. ‘Bees are the brightest, bees are the best. Bees knock spots off a ladybird's vest. Clean their bedrooms, nurse their brood, feed their queen on God's own food.'

‘Food,' groaned Tracy.

‘Yes, yes.' Quincy waved a dismissive hand. ‘Coming soon.'

Brian pressed his hands against the door.
Focus
, he told himself. Florrie was fighting from her chair. Dulcie was losing it in his ear. Someone had to keep calm round here.
What do they do in the movies?
His head filled with Batman, Sherlock, James Bond.
Keep the bad guy talking
. Easier said than done when his mouth was dry as toast, his palms were wet with sweat and his head was buzzing with …

Buzzing with?
He caught his breath. ‘Those bees,' he said carefully. ‘The ones outside. Did you, um … create them?' He swallowed. Quincy was friendly enough now, but any rash word might pop the matey bubble.

Quincy put his palms together and smiled kindly, like a vicar about to preach. ‘Brian,' he said softly, ‘you are too kind. Create is a word we normally reserve for God.' His eyes rose to the ceiling. ‘But, yes, in all modesty I confess they are mine, bred for one single purpose. My beautiful, dutiful,' he turned and roared at the teacher, ‘FLORRIBEES.'

Dulcie squealed. Brian fingered his left ear, hoping she'd heed the warning and keep quiet.

‘What purpose?' Florrie whimpered. The defiance in her eyes was melting to fear, as if she finally saw the true madness of her captor.

‘To teach you a lesson you'll never forget.' Quincy snatched the pen from the desk and wagged it at her threateningly.

‘Now!' Dulcie whispered. ‘Grab the cactus from the desk, shove it in his face and get the keys from his pocket.'

‘No way,' Brian hissed. ‘He's too quick for me. And shut up if you don't want to be eaten.' He tried, and failed, to think of a better plan.
Wrestle him to the ground?
Impossible – he looked far too strong.
Get the others to pin him down?
Dream on. Their brains were as doughy as doughnuts and, besides, they seemed more on Quincy's side than his.

Why? What's he done to them?
Brian sensed that the answer held the key to all this craziness. Their craving for scones, those hideous bees and their horrible flowers … what was the link?

An image burned into his brain. A clumsy old gardener in a crowded room. ‘The prize-giving!' He gasped. ‘You gave Alec and Tracy and Pete those scones. Then you dropped the tray so that no one else would eat any. You drugged them with honey from those bees! That's why they're here and haven't left.' He pressed a fist to his mouth.
Idiot!
So much for speaking carefully. He cowered against the door as Quincy turned to him.

But there was hurt, not anger, in his eyes. ‘Oh, Brian, how on earth could you think that?'

Brian swallowed. What was he
supposed
to think about this nutter who redesigned nature?

‘I'd never drug these dear children.' Quincy's eyes were bright and warm. ‘No, no, I
invited
them. One little taste and they wanted more. So after a while it was only polite to invite them back for tea. And they came, one by one.' He turned to the children. ‘Only too gladly, didn't you, guys?'

Alec shifted restlessly in his chair. Tracy licked her lips. Pete bit his cheek. The mere thought seemed to get them drooling.

‘And I did nothing to the honey – not me. But it was a good guess, Brian.' Quincy rubbed his hands. ‘Ooh, I love a juicy puzzle, don't you? As long as
I
know the answer.' He turned and punched Florrie's arm. ‘And
you
don't!'

Brian stared at the man he'd once pitied, now drawing spots on her nose. The man who'd once shuffled from the school hall, shamed and scorned. Who'd now turned the tables, trapping them all like butterflies on a lampshade or spiders on a rug.

Not all.
He felt a rush in his chest: a wind that picked up speed, fuelling his fear into action. As Quincy bent over Florrie, Brian took a step towards him.
If I can just
… another step …
creep up behind him
… and another …
and reach into his pock–

‘Hello?' Quincy spun round. Quick as a flame, he darted round the desk and snatched Brian's wrist. ‘After my keys, are you?'

Brian's throat filled with sand.
Now what? Will he tie me to a chair? Tipp-Ex my eyeballs?

He did something far more shocking. Reaching inside his anorak, Quincy brought out the bunch of keys. ‘Allow me,' he said, walking to the door and unlocking it.

Brian blinked at Florrie. She shook her head in bewilderment. The others were too busy dozing to notice.

Quincy opened the door. ‘Thanks for coming, Brian. Do pop in again. We'll miss you but never mind. Say hi to your schoolmates and give that crabby old cleaner a kick in the Muttocks from me.'

‘Brian!' shrieked Florrie. ‘Don't leave me!'

Backing into the doorway, Brian's eyebrows wriggled in code.
I'll get the gardaí and be back in a jiffy.

Her wail suggested that she didn't speak eyebrow.

And Quincy's grin suggested that he did. ‘Oh, and I wouldn't bother coming back. By the time you get here we'll be long gone. It's been lovely to see you, Brian, really it has. But your visit has rather changed my plans. I can't have you fetching the guards and pooping the party I've planned for so long. So I'll just have to take her elsewhere.' Quincy cleaned his fingernail with the key. ‘But no worries. Have a great life, Brian.' He waved the key at Pete, Tracy and Alec. ‘You too guys. Feel free to leave.'

Tracy lifted her head from the desk. ‘After tea.'

‘Yeah.' Pete stretched his legs out on the floor. Alec nodded.

‘Suit yourselves.' Quincy shrugged in a
what can you do?
kind of way. ‘Now,' he said, clapping his hands, ‘let's get going.' He unzipped his anorak and threw it on the floor. Then he slipped out of his trousers.

Brian gasped. Florrie yelped. Beneath his gardening gear, Quincy Queaze wore a white shirt, a dark blue tie, grey trousers and a light-blue jersey. He slipped the bunch of keys into the breast pocket, on which were embroidered the words, ‘Don't You Know
That
?'

Brian stared at the overgrown Tullybun Primary School pupil. He was crazy as a cucumber, bonkers as a conker – and brilliant. Because what choice had Quincy offered him? To abandon Mrs Florris and save his own skin … or stay here and try to save hers?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the room. ‘I'm not going anywhere,' he said softly.

C
HAPTER
21

FUN AND GAMES

‘How nice you've decided to stay.' Quincy strode past Brian and locked the door again. ‘Now where are my manners?' He beamed like a dinner party host while gripping Brian's wrist in a fist you couldn't argue with. ‘Do make yourself at home.' He dragged Brian to the desk behind Alec's. ‘Please have a seat.' In one graceful sweep he pulled back the chair and pushed Brian into it. ‘Time for our first little game.' Humming a happy tune, he scuttled to the front desk and picked up his pencil case.

‘What game?' Cement settled in Brian's stomach as he pictured Alec being fixed to the wall with drawing pins or Tracy having her nostrils stapled.

‘Oh, just a few questions,' said Quincy airily. ‘The sort you get in class. Alec's been teaching me, sharing the contents of his mighty noddle. I can't wait to show our dear teach that I'm not the moron she took me for.'

Brian licked his lips. ‘But you left school years ago,' he said carefully. ‘Isn't it time to, um – move on?'

Quincy's face twisted into a snarl. ‘You think I haven't tried? I'm telling you, Brian, you'll never escape her words. They'll haunt you forever. Whatever you do, wherever you go, you'll feel useless, pointless, the failure she promised you'd be.'

He might as well have hole-punched Brian's chest.
The failure I already am.

‘Believe me,' said Quincy, ‘others will smell your failure like a bee smells pollen. And they'll run a mile, as if it might rub off on them. So you'll have to invent your successes, your own glittering past.' His face went strangely still as if the tiny muscles that worked so hard to disguise and confuse had given up.

Invent your successes?
A shock ran through Brian. Those trophies upstairs – they were all phony. Quincy Queaze had rewritten his life.

‘But no matter how you try,' sighed Quincy, ‘you'll never undo the damage of her words. Only she can do that.'

Florrie squawked from her chair. ‘You're brilliant. A genius. There, I've said it. Now let me go.'

Quincy's laugh was drier than a boiled-out kettle. ‘If only I believed you. But, oh dear, what a shame, I don't.' He wagged a playful finger at her. ‘We'll have no lying in
my
class. Or cheating. I'm going to win fair and square. So you'll see I'm the smartest, most popular and fastest person ever. And you'll be so impressed – so really and truly and deeply impressed – that you'll go back to Tullybun and call a school meeting. And in front of the teachers, the parents, the governors, you'll give me the job that I've longed for all these years.' He whacked her on the shoulder in a chummy kind of way. ‘YOURS!'

It's not often that someone's jaw actually drops. But Brian could feel his chin sag and his mouth fall open like a peg bag.
Does he seriously think that'll work? The minute they get to Tullybun she'll have him arrested!

‘And if you think you'll have me arrested –' Quincy wiped his forehead dramatically, ‘well phew for my little Plan B. Now, on with the show.' He marched over and sat at the desk next to Alec's. ‘I want you to watch closely, Brian. If I don't win fairly, it doesn't count. Ready, Alec?'

Yawning, Alec handed him a sheet of paper.

‘Five questions,' Quincy snapped at Florrie. ‘And make 'em hard. I've been well trained.'

She gawped at him. ‘You can't be serious.'

‘Dear me.' Quincy rummaged in his pencil case. ‘Such boldness. Some people just don't learn.' He brought out a pair of scissors and rose from his chair.

‘No!' squealed Florrie as he came towards her, snipping the air.

‘For goodness' sake,' cried Brian, ‘do what he says! Five questions.'

A tear rolled down her face. Tipp-Ex spread from her nose to her cheeks. ‘What's the square root of one hundred and sixty-nine?' she gasped.

‘That's better.' Quincy returned to his chair.

Alec scribbled lazily. Quincy wrote carefully.

‘What's the capital of Greenland?'

Alec wrote. Quincy chewed his pen.

‘One-fifth plus two–'

‘Wait!' Quincy scribbled madly.

‘One-fifth plus two-eighths.'

Alec wrote. Quincy wrote and wrote.

‘When was the battle of–'

‘Hang on!' Quincy crossed out and wrote again.

‘Clontarf?'

Alec wrote. Quincy scratched his cheek. Alec sat back. Quincy threw his pen at Alec's foot. Alec bent down to pick it up. Quincy leaned over to Alec's desk.

‘Cheat!' Dulcie shrieked.

Quincy spun round. ‘What?

Brian coughed. ‘You, um, just looked at Alec's answer.'

Quincy's eyes glittered dangerously.

‘Sorry,' Brian mumbled. ‘It's just that you said no cheating.'

Quincy took the pen from Alec and wrote his answer. ‘Collect the papers,' he said coldly.

As Brian took the sheets to the front desk, Dulcie hissed, ‘He's madder than a swarm of hornets.'

Brian put the answers side-by-side on Florrie's desk.

‘Get me out of here!' she hissed.

What he didn't say:

‘Sure, Mrs F, no worries. I'll just push you, handcuffed in your chair, past that nut job armed with lethal stationery, through the door and up the stairs to freedom and a face wash.'

What he did say:

‘Make him win. It's your only hope.'

Florrie looked at the sheets in front of her. ‘Quincy, five out of five,' she said quickly. ‘Alec, nought out of five.'

Quincy tutted. ‘Oh dear. I do believe you're lying again. Because I happen to know – though don't ask me how –' he looked sharply at Brian, ‘that one of our answers is the same. So Alec must have at least one point, or I must have four points at most.'

Brian gaped at him. He'd insisted on playing fair, then cheated and refused to admit it, then won and refused to accept it! He was changing the rules by the second. How could you reason with someone who had no reason?

‘We'll move on,' said Quincy briskly. ‘Tracy?'

She lifted her head from her desk and moaned, ‘Honey.'

‘On its way, I promise. Now, Brian, show these invitations to Teach so she can read them all out. Let's see who's the most popular round here.'

Brian hurried over and took the cards from Tracy's desk. Returning to Florrie, he held up the first card. She gave a manic giggle.

‘Read it,' he muttered.

‘Dear Quincy,' she said, ‘please come to dinner on Thursday. Love Dave.' Quincy smiled from his desk. ‘Hey Quincy, hope you can make our barbecue on the twelfth, Rory and Ruth.'

‘The twelfth?' Quincy frowned. ‘I think I'm at a party that night.'

‘Dear Mr Queaze, we would be honoured to have your company at our son Humpty's wedding, from Lord and Lady McDumpty.' Florrie snorted. ‘Hey Uncle Quince, please come and stay in July, love Biffy, Ribena and … oh for goodness' sake!' she spluttered. ‘I know Tracy's handwriting. These are all made up!'

Just like on the map upstairs
, thought Brian.
Imaginary friends
.

‘Are not!' Invention must have become second nature to Quincy, judging by the genuine shock on his face. ‘They're my friends.'

‘You? Friends?' Florrie laughed hysterically. ‘You've never had friends and you never will. You said it yourself – people sniff you and run a mile. Why? Because failure's a disease without a cure. If you're born with it, you die with it.'

‘Shut up,' said Quincy quietly.

But the dam had burst. ‘All you can do is infect others,' she yelled, ‘including me! Because a failed pupil is the teacher's failure too. Or that's what everyone thinks: the parents, the governors, the school inspect–'

‘I said shut UP.' Quincy snatched the scissors and pencil case from the desk.

‘Do what you like!' she yelled, her moustache wriggling furiously. ‘Snip me or stab me, what difference does it make? You'll still be a failure.'

Quincy rose from his chair.

‘Cut off my nose,' she sang as he marched towards her, gripping the pencil case and scissors. ‘Slice my ears. Whatever you do, you'll never have friends.'

Oh no.
Dropping the invitations on the floor, Brian lunged forward and tried to snatch the scissors. Quincy dodged neatly round the front desk.

Oh no no no.
Brian covered his eyes.

But instead of screams there was a stuttering, ripping sound. Brian dropped his hands.

It would have been funny if it wasn't so unfunny. Quincy had fished out a roll of Sellotape from the pencil case and was wrapping it round Florrie's head. ‘SHUT UP!' he roared, dancing round her chair, sealing her mouth again and again. ‘SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!'

She did.

When he'd circled her head eight times, he pulled the ring of tape away from her face. She gave a muffled scream as he brandished the scissors. But there was no jab of eyes or stab in the neck, just a clean snip of the tape. Quincy clearly hadn't finished with her yet.

Letting out a slow breath, Brian sank down at the desk next to Alec's.

‘There,' said Quincy pleasantly, patting Florrie's wraparound mouth. ‘No more talking in class.' He put the tape and pencil case on the front desk and smiled at her, calm as cream.

If someone had said four hours ago that Mrs Florris was going to be Tipp-Exed out, coloured in, whacked by a ruler and wrapped in tape, Brian would have bought popcorn and a front row ticket. But now, as he stared at the polka-dotted, moustachioed, Sellotaped, snivelling prisoner, something dark and treacly rose up his throat and sat in his mouth that tasted astonishingly like pity.

Quincy grabbed a fistful of her hair. ‘And you're wrong, dear Teach. I
do
have friends.' He snipped off a white clump and sprinkled it over the floor. ‘These lovely children for starters.' He waved the scissors at Alec, Tracy and Pete. ‘They could have left any time but they chose to stay.' He snipped and sprinkled another white curl. ‘If that's not friendship, what is?' Snip. ‘And Brian here's my besto.' Sprinkle. ‘Aren't you, Brian?' Snip and sprinkle.

Brian nodded, clearing his throat to mask the snort from Dulcie. As long as Quincy believed that, there was a chance of persuading him to let them all go. Or forcing him.
If I could get hold of those scissors, maybe I could threaten him.
At last Quincy laid them on the front desk, though not before prodding the tip of the teacher's nose.

‘Now for our last little game.' Quincy clapped his hands. ‘Ready, Pete?'

Pete dragged himself up from the floor. He stood on the outside of the double line he'd drawn round the room.

Quincy stood level on the inside line. ‘On your marks,' he cried. ‘Get set–' He took off round the track. Then he called back over his shoulder, ‘Go!' He waved at Brian. ‘Ten laps. Start counting.'

‘One,' called Brian, as Quincy legged it round the shorter circuit while Pete ambled slowly and inaccurately along the outer line.

‘Two to Quincy.'

Pete stopped to rub his eyes.

‘Three to Quincy.' Brian rose slowly from his desk. ‘One to Pete.'

Pete yawned.

Brian pushed his chair backwards. ‘Five to Quincy.' He took what he hoped was a casual step towards the front desk. ‘Two to Pete.' And another. ‘Eight to Quincy.' A few more. ‘Four to Pete.' He reached out what he hoped was a relaxed arm. ‘Ten to Quincy.' His fingers closed round the scissors.

‘Thank you thank you,' panted Quincy, throwing his arms out and continuing to run like an Olympic hero before an adoring crowd. ‘And thank
you.
' Trotting past Brian, he snatched the scissors from his hand, then the pencil case and cactus from the front desk. ‘You won't be needing those.' He lifted the desk lid, threw all the potential weapons inside and slammed it down. Then, with a twist and a hop, he popped his bottom on top of all hope.