Dangerous to Know (10 page)

“No,” I said to Trelawney. “Nothing’s wrong.” I couldn’t help glancing down at his desk. One of the drawers was open and I could just see a leather wallet shoved in among a jumble of paper clips and manky old pastels. A crisp purple twenty quid note was poking out. There for the taking. I wondered how easy it would be to come back in and help myself. Just as a loan. I’d return it, obviously, at the end of the month.

“Jack?” Mr Trelawney was staring at me now. I couldn’t blame him; I was acting pretty weirdly. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with?”

“Sorry,” I said, looking him in the eye. “It’s just that I slept really badly last night, and then I forgot to pack loads of stuff this morning.”

“Insomnia? Does it happen often, Jack? You should get it sorted out – you can see a doctor about that kind of thing, you know.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not that bad. I’m fine. It was just a one-off.”

Trelawney frowned slightly. “All right, then. Try reiki. My girlfriend swears by it. And if there’s anything you want to get off your chest, Jack, I’m here.”

Trelawney let me go, but I knew he’d be watching me.

There was this really lame science club after school on Monday. You had to go to it if you were doing separate Biology at GCSE. It sucked, but I wasn’t about to annoy Mum even more by not going, and Trelawney obviously had his eye on me. It wasn’t till then that I had my idea.

Mrs Hannay had us watching this really boring film about how they make baked beans (yes, really). It was hot in the classroom and a lone fly circled above the TV. Everyone was yawning, even Mrs Hannay, who must have watched that film, like, a hundred times.

The TV was a brand-new one.

“Thank goodness,” Mrs Hannay had said, rolling her eyes. We’d spent all of last term whacking the old one every five minutes till the wavy blue lines disappeared from the screen. I bet Bethany didn’t have to put up with this at St Agnes’s. I thought of her, still beautiful even in the disgusting burgundy St Agnes’s skirt, hair very black against a white shirt. It seemed so ludicrous, somehow, that we were on opposite sides of town, trapped in different schools. I glanced around the shabby classroom. I’d grown out of this place. I should have been somewhere else, with Bethany. On an empty beach in the rain, in the middle of London, even, anywhere except this shit-heap of a town. Just me and her.

And then Buggy crept into my daydream and that was it.

Maybe
, I thought,
maybe if I can’t pay Buggy in actual cash, I can pay him with something else. Something he can sell on if he wants to.

It was a shame. I liked Mrs Hannay: she was all right, even if she did have a moustache. I was still going to steal her TV and sell it to my dealer, though. Even then I knew it was ridiculous. Where did I think I was living? South Central LA?

I did it anyway.

“You’re a nutter,” Jono hissed at me as we crouched beneath a window of the science block, Sammy was beside us. It was pretty creepy being in school at night. The playground was dark and empty. A lone crisp packet skittered across the concrete. The windows glittered. It was eleven thirty, it would be Tuesday morning in half an hour, and it was cold.

I glared at Jono, but Sammy spoke up first. “Are you sure you want to do this? Can’t you just borrow the cash from Bethany? She goes to a posh school – she must be loaded—”

“Don’t be a wanker,” Jono interrupted. “Obviously he can’t ask his girlfriend for money. It’s not right, is it?” He stared at me, shaking his head. “I don’t get why you never ask your dad. He’s minted. My mum says he’s got millions. Millions! It’s crazy. I mean, for Christ’s sake, how cool is that?”

Jono’s dad was a personal trainer. He lived in Cyprus with a second wife who only looked about five minutes older than Jono. Jono’s dad was too busy shagging to do much else.

I shrugged. What was there to say? Jono was right: I should have been blagging cash off my dad every five minutes. He’s got enough and he must feel guilty – we never see him. But there was the pact. The promise I’d made with Herod and Owen. I wasn’t about to explain that to Jono.

Sammy sighed. “All right, all right. How do we get in? Slaphead must’ve locked up.”

Slaphead was the caretaker – a skinny old weirdo with a big shiny bald patch. His house was right next to the school. He’d definitely call the cops if he saw us, just for being on school property after hours.

I got up and walked to the door, feeling in my pocket. There it was, my bus pass.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” Jono demanded, under his breath.

“Watch and learn,” I replied, and slid the bus pass into the crack between the door and the frame, holding down the handle. I’d read about this trick but never tried it. To be honest, I didn’t really expect it to work. Surely Slaphead would have bolted most of the doors from the inside?

“I think,” Jono whispered in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “that you’re meant to use a credit card.”

“I haven’t got a credit card, dickhead.”

I was more surprised than Sammy and Jono when the lock clicked and the door swung open. For what felt like hours we stood there staring at the dark, empty corridor. Then suddenly we all moved at once and rushed in, Sammy closing the door carefully behind us. Inside, the stench of cheap bleach and detergent burnt my nostrils. Without saying a word, we headed to Mrs Hannay’s classroom. Our boots squeaked on the polished floor: Doc Martens are a nightmare for breaking and entering. I was first to reach the door. It was unlocked.

I wondered how Herod had felt that night he broke into the Art Block, the night Mr Trelawney found him. If I could bend time, shape it the way I wanted, I might run down the corridor, run through five years as if they were doors opening one after another and find Herod there in the Art room, pouring life into a hump of dead clay, alone with just one light flickering overhead.

“The security here’s crap,” Jono whispered. “They’re asking for it.”

We went in. There was a lingering smell of fags. Old Hannay must’ve sneaked a crafty smoke after school, doing her marking. Who could blame her? Considering none of us had ever burgled anything in our lives before, we operated like a well-oiled machine. Jono knelt down to unplug the shiny new TV. Sammy and I took an end each.

“You owe me for this,” Jono snarled.

“Yeah, yeah. When was the last time
you
bought any weed?”

“Oh, piss off.”

“Come on!” Sammy looked terrified. “Let’s go.”

“Not yet,” I said. “Insurance.”

“What are you talking about?” Jono hissed.

“Look, either wait here or follow us.” I led Sammy off down the corridor towards the art room, the pair of us hugging Mrs Hannay’s TV. Jono followed. I knew he would.

I don’t know why I did it. I just couldn’t stop myself. We put down the TV outside Trelawney’s room and I reached out for the doorknob. It was like looking down at someone else’s hand.
I’m not the kind of person who does this,
I thought.
This isn’t really me.

I wasn’t really expecting the door to open. Trelawney was probably supposed to have locked it, but I knew he didn’t always remember.

“What is he playing at?” I heard Jono say.

“Mate—” Sammy sounded worried. Well, he had good reason to be. The longer we stayed, the likelier it was we’d get caught. And we really, really didn’t want to get caught.

I walked over to Trelawney’s desk, the drawer still jammed open by the jumble of sketch books, receipts and other crap inside. I actually couldn’t believe my luck when I saw it.

Mr Trelawney had forgotten to take his wallet out of the desk. I reached out, opened it.

“You idiot,” Jono whispered. “Sam, stop him.”

“What are you doing?” Sammy demanded. “This is too full-on. Nicking the TV was funny. This is just dark. Put it back.”

“Pack it in, Jack!” Jono sounded really scared.

“Just in case.” I folded up the twenty pound note and stuck it in my back pocket. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“You’ve lost the plot,” Jono muttered, and Sammy just said, “Let’s get out of here.”

I wasn’t going to argue with that.

So we ran, Sammy and me doing this weird crablike sideways dash across the playground with the telly, which was getting heavier by the second, followed by Jono. We made it to the fence, Jono got over. We passed him the TV and then legged it off down the riverbank back towards town taking turns to carry the TV. When we got to the green, we finally stopped running and slumped onto a bench, breathless and weeping with silent laughter. The further away from school we’d got, the funnier it’d seemed. It was a relief to sit down. I put the TV on my lap, leaning forwards to rest my head on top as I caught my breath.

“What are you going to do with it now?” Sammy asked, rubbing his arms. “That thing’s heavy. I mean, you can’t exactly take it home, can you?”

Jono yawned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going home. I’m knackered. You so owe us, Jack.”

“Fine, fine,” I told him, “like I said, next time, you buy the draw, Jono. I’m taking this to Buggy’s.”

“What,
now
?” Sammy asked.

“The chippy’s open till one, isn’t it? He’ll be there. Look, don’t worry about it. You both go home, get some sleep. I’ll deal with this. It’ll be fine.”

“What if he turns nasty?” Sammy demanded, shivering and rubbing his arms. It was getting even colder. There were no clouds in the sky.

“How can he? It’s a brand-new telly, virtually. Worth at least forty quid and I only owe him twenty. Once this is delivered, Buggy’s going to owe
me
.”

They both just stood there staring at me like I’d lost my mind, so in the end I just picked up the telly and walked away.

Home, sweet home. I went in round the back again, onto the roof of next door’s shed, muscles in my arms shrieking as I pulled myself up and through my bedroom window. Buggy had taken the TV, all right, and then demanded the cash as well. Great, just great. I could have nicked the twenty quid and saved myself the hassle.

At least Buggy was dealt with, though. Problem solved – or at least I thought so.

I left the window open just a crack and crouched on the floor a moment, catching my breath. I could hear voices, people talking – not just Mum and Louis, by the sound of it. They were in the kitchen, two floors below, so I couldn’t make out who was speaking. It was half twelve at night. Who would come round at that time of— Then it dawned on me. Owen had come back at last. He really had. I sat on the bed, kicking off my boots.

Everything was changing; it was doing my head in. Would he still be here in the morning?

I thought of Bethany, asleep in her white bed on the other side of town, trapped in a house ruled by a witch. I would have given anything to be away with her, somewhere far off, just us together. None of this. Four days. Four days until I could see her again.

I opened my bedroom door and stepped out onto the landing.

Very clearly, I heard Mum laughing. Oh, yes, Owen was definitely back.

I went downstairs, opened the kitchen door, blinded at first by the bright lights. Louis was leaning against the Aga, opening a bottle of champagne. It was quarter to one in the morning. Owen and Mum were sitting at the kitchen table with a girl I’d never seen before. She was pale and leggy, with long red hair.

“Jack,” said Louis, “just in time to get some glasses.”

Mum frowned at me, her smile disappearing a moment. “I thought you’d gone to bed?”

If only you knew, dear.

I was still
persona non grata
and Owen could tip up like the prodigal son and get toasted with champagne.

“Homework,” I said, automatically reaching into the cupboard for glasses. The red-headed girl was looking at me. Why were they all so bloody cheerful and smiling? Herod was missing and they were knocking back the bubbly stuff. It’s the kind of effect Owen has on people. But when I handed Mum her glass, I could see in her face that she was wearing the
It’s OK
mask. I wondered what she was thinking about behind the mask.

“Jack,” said Owen, raising one eyebrow at me. No one would have guessed that a few days ago we were at a festival together: he had the sense not to mention it. “This is Natasha,” he went on, resting a hand on her shoulder. “We’re having a baby.”

Speechless, I looked at her again. The redhead was skinny, leggy, draped in glittery Indian scarf type things. I suppose she might have been pregnant somewhere under there.

Only Owen could turn up out of nowhere with a girl nobody had met, announce that he’d knocked her up and get a reception like this.

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” Natasha said, smiling. I couldn’t help but admire her cool.

“Yeah,” I said. “You, too.” I took a swig of champagne. It wasn’t as if I had much choice.

It was Friday lunchtime. Jono, Sammy and me were having a crafty fag on the back field. The teachers can never be bothered on Fridays, so I knew we wouldn’t get caught.

I lay on my back with one hand resting on my shirt pocket. I could feel Bethany’s folded letter inside. Bethany had given it to Amelia, who’d given it to Amanda Blake and Amanda had given it to me, saying breathlessly, “It’s so romantic, Jack. I mean, Bethany’s so gorgeous and her parents must be really strict. It’s like a fairy story.”

More like a total hassle than a fairy tale. It hurt, not being with Bethany – I felt a dull ache the entire time, like hunger.
Why can’t I just be with her?
I asked myself a hundred times a day, cursing Bethany’s mother every way I knew how.

Bethany had written on an ordinary sheet of A4 graph paper, using thick black fountain-pen ink. I’d traced my eyes over every smooth, sloping letter. I liked her handwriting – it wasn’t round and babyish like most girls’ with stupid circles or hearts over the “i”s.

“What does it say, then, this love letter?” Jono asked, sarcastically. “What does she want?” Then he said something really gross. I probably would have found it funny if he hadn’t been talking about Bethany.

“As if I’d tell you, anyway,” I replied. “Look, she just wanted to make sure we were still coming to the party on Saturday.” That wasn’t all the letter said, obviously.