Heartache High (3 page)

‘Well, it’s not
easy to figure out is it?’ Jassy says, indicating the three
dimensional Mobius strip (sphere?) she’s been trying to fix
together on her desk. ‘That’s the sort of thing we spend our
lessons trying to work out, really.’

Dave must see
the worry flashing across my face. He hurriedly blurts out, ‘But,
having said that, most of us have come to the conclusion that we’re
not
dead, right?’

Jassy happily
nods in agreement.

‘So we
are
still in the real world?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Real enough,’
Jassy chuckles, playfully tapping Dave on the head with her
pencil.

‘Ouch!’ Dave
laughs, then adds, ‘But exactly
where
in the real world it
is, we’re not sure.’

‘But that’s
impossible
!’ I protest.

Other people
have recognised my presence by now.

They observe me
with either a concerned or an amused grin on their faces, like
they’re having to put up with the sort of person you hope isn’t
going to sit next to you on the bus.

‘All we’ve got
to do is walk out of here. And that’ll at least give you an idea of
where we are!’

Jassy and Dave
swap amused glances.

‘Steph,’ Jassy
says kindly, placing a consoling hand on mine, ‘once you’ve
enrolled at Heartache High, you can
never
leave.’

*

‘No one ever
leaves? That’s ridiculous; let’s
all
just walk out of here!
How could anybody stop us?’

‘Oh sure Steph,’
Dave says, ‘no one’s
ever
thought of
that
before!’

‘If a school
this size is
somewhere
, surely a plane or something has
flown over it? Surely we get deliveries of food or…or whatever else
we get delivered. Are the guys driving the trucks just going to
think, Oh, that’s really unusual; all these kids being kept trapped
here as prisoners in a Victorian school!’

‘Ah, that’s
interesting, the way you said
prisoner
.’

Dave says it
like it’s a profound insight I’ve made rather than a desperate cry
for help.

‘Did you ever
see that old TV series,
The Prisoner
?’

‘Nuh uh.’ I
shake my head

‘There was this
guy, an ex spy, who was kept trapped on this weird, dream-like
island.’

‘Portmeirion.’

‘What?’ Dave
turns back towards Jassy.

‘It was
Portmeirion, in Wales. I once went on holiday there with my mum and
dad,’

‘It wasn’t
Portmeirion, Jassy; it was an island! If it was in Wales, how
difficult would it be to leave there, eh? You’d just get on a bus
wouldn’t you, “Ticket to Cardiff please”?’

‘Buses aren’t
allowed in Portmeirion.’

‘Look, Jassy; it
was
filmed
there, right? But it was
supposed
to be an
island
, yeah?’

‘Are you saying
we’re
on an island?’ I ask.

I reckon it’s a
simple enough question, but both Dave and Jassy pull thoughtful
frowns,

‘Weellll,’ says
Dave eventually, ‘I suppose that depends on what you mean by an
island.’

‘What I
mean
by an island? Just how many types of island are
there?’

‘“
No
man is an island, entire of itself”; didn’t John Donne say
something like that?’ Jassy says sagely. ‘But, of course, he
is
an island if he turns away from everybody
else.’

‘But I’m
not
turning away from everybody else, am I?’ I insist
irately.

Why can’t they
just give me a straight answer, rather than trying to impress upon
me just how much better education is at Heartache High?

‘Look, it’s
difficult to explain just how it works here,’ says Dave with an
apologetic grimace. ‘It’s probably one of those things it’s best to
discover for yourself if you’re ever going to accept it; I thought
it was quite a profound experience, if I’m being
honest.’

‘Yeah, ‘Jassy
says, ‘though
I’d
change the word
profound
to
terrifying
.’

‘Ah, that’s
because you’re not regarding it as the physical phenomenon I took
it-;

Jassy tosses a
balled up scrap of paper at his head.

‘There’s another
physical phenomenon for you, Mr bloody Spock!’

How can these
guys just take all this so light-heartedly?

We’re
trapped
here?

I don’t believe
it – I’m going to escape
right
now
!

*

I rush out of
the laboratory, leaving Jassy, Dave and the rest of the class to
stare after me with open mouths.

How could we be
trapped here?

That’s
ridiculous!

It’s just a
school – and, as they more or less admitted, for all they know we
could just be stuck somewhere in Wales for all they
know.

Everywhere I
look now, there are boys and girls, all teenagers from what I can
tell.

They’re hanging
around in the corridors, chatting and giggling in groups like it’s
just a normal school after all.

Outside, the
lawns I thought were neat but empty of life are meeting places for
other groups, most of whom have laid out blankets so they can lie
down on the grass.

There are sports
fields too, a football match being energetically played on one of
the pitches.

There are even
bursts of music being played on what I soon realise are old-style
CD players.

Carole King. The
Walker Brothers. Bread.

Old songs, most
of which no one plays anymore back in the real world.

Not unless
you’ve suffered the pangs of heartache anyway. The kind of music
that you can cry yourself to sleep listening to.

Yeah, I’ve been
there too Carole.

I stride past
all these groups of people, ignoring them, heading in a direction
where the array of buildings seem to begin to peter out.

Beyond the last
of the buildings, it looks like open parkland, then a thick patch
of trees.

I can’t see any
walls or fences. It looks like you just have to be prepared to walk
for a good while before you come to the nearest village or
town.

I glance back,
checking that no one is following me.

Thing is, even
if someone sees me trying to leave and comes chasing after me, how
long can they hold me for?

My mum and dad
must have realised I’ve gone missing by now.

The police will
be out searching for me.

Mum and dad will
be out looking for me.

How hard can it
be to leave this place?

Okay, so I could
be miles away from where they’re looking; but my pictures going to
end up in the papers isn’t it, perhaps even on the TV
news?

Hey, who knows,
when I get back, when I’m rescued, perhaps even Iain will notice me
at last.

Like he did in
my dream.

He’d stared at
me like he’d noticed me for the first time.

His eyes wide.
His expression one of surprise, perhaps even shock.

Normally, if
he’d looked at me like this, I’d be wondering if I’d got some sort
of embarrassing ink stain across my cheek. Or some horrendously
large insect stuck in my hair.

Not this time
though.

Okay, so it was
in my dream, where you can always exude more confidence than you
could ever hope to possess. Or perform amazing feats that would
make Wonder Woman steam with envy.

But,see, when it
came to Iain, a dose of reality would usually slip in, even in my
dreams.

Sure, we’d be
together, but it was still
me
, not some impossibly wonderful
super woman.

Otherwise, it
wouldn’t really be me with him, would it? It would be some other
girl, a girl nothing like me.

Last night
though – all that went out of the window.

I’d never ever
felt more beautiful.

More
seductive.

I was geisha,
Venetian courtesan and Mata Hari all rolled into one.

How could Iain
resist me?

How could any
boy resist me?

Dreams,
huh?

Don’t you just
love them?

And here, on the
outskirts of Heartache High, a smaller wished-for dream of mine has
just come true.

Buildings. Large
ones too. The edges of a town.

I can see their
tops appearing through the trees lying just ahead of me.

I break into a
run, dashing through the last of the trees without any
consideration for the odd branch that whips out at me as I hurtle
past.

I can even hear
people shouting now, the sounds of something like a fair or a
sporting event taking place.

Freedom!

And it was all
so easy.

What is it with
Jassy and Dave and all the others?

Do they like it
so much at Heartache High they can’t be bothered to really make an
effort to leave?

The trees give
way to open parkland then, beyond that, neat lawns.

A football match
is underway.

Groups of young
people are lazing around in groups on the grass.

Music’s
playing.

Carole King. The
Walker Brothers.

Welcome back to
Heartache High.

*

As I walk across
the lawn, past the groups sprawled across the grass on their
blankets, I get the impression that seeing someone walk out of the
woods isn’t an unusual event here.

Some of the
other students glance up at me.

Some are amused;
Hey look, there goes another new kid, another dork who flattered
herself she could do what we couldn’t do and break out of
here.

Some look at me
sympathetically; Poor kid – how many of us made that mistake when
we first arrived here?

How do I know
they’re thinking this?

I don’t. But if
I were one of the kids looking up at some new girl who had just
walked out of the woods, I figure that’s what I’d be
thinking.

I realise I’m
hungry.

I haven’t had
any breakfast.

From what I can
remember, I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday
afternoon.

Is that a good
sign, that I’m hungry?

I mean, if I
were dead, if I were a ghost, I wouldn’t get hungry, would
I?

I turn to one of
the girls looking up at me with one of the more pitying
looks.

‘Excuse me; is
there anywhere to eat round here?’

‘Sure,’ she says
brightly, pointing off to yet another Victorian-gothic block, ‘over
there, in the refectory hall.’

‘Yeah, figures,’
I say. ‘Although I wasn’t quite expecting something so
normal
around here.’

‘Yeah, it takes
us all by surprise, the normality of it all.’

‘Thanks.’ I
continue on my way.

‘It’s not as bad
here as you think it’s going to be,’ the girl shouts after me
kindly. ‘You get used to it.’

I spin around on
my heels.

‘Here?’ I say.
‘But where
is
here? What are we all doing here? Why are we
trapped here?’

One of the boys
lying on the blanket by the girl’s side looks my way.

‘You’ll find
you’ve got plenty of time to try and figure that one out,’ he says.
‘If you ever come up with the answer, please make sure I’m the
first to know.’

*

The refectory
hall’s busy.

Kids impatiently
queuing up at the long food counters like they also haven’t eaten
since yesterday lunchtime.

I join the
queue, picking up my tray, a large plate and cutlery.

No one’s dishing
the meals out; you just help yourself to the food piled up in
large, heated compartments spread out across the counter
top.

There’s every
type of meat you can think of too. You just have to carve off
whatever you want from the large joints lined up beneath a row of
heat lamps.

There’s also
fish, cheese, fruit, desserts.

Hot drinks pour
out of small machines on the counter.

Cold drinks from
large machines set against the wall, or glass-fronted refrigerators
if you prefer bottled or canned.

I don’t see
anyone urgently refilling the machines, like I used to see back in
my old school.