Out of the Depths (2 page)

I looked at my watch. Mr Hyslop was taking his time. Teachers walked past me in the corridor. Some nodded and smiled. Others ignored me. The odd pupil slouched past.

I wondered if I would like it here. It was so different from my last school. That had been bright and modern, with wide spaces, and open staircases leading to the floors above. St Anthony's was dark and old, with alcoves and nooks and crannies and statues everywhere. The kind of school where you could imagine anything might happen …

Shut up, Tyler! There you go again. New beginning. Remember!

There was a statue standing on a plinth against the far wall. There seemed to be statues everywhere in St Anthony's. This one was holding a baby gently in his arms. One hand was raised in a benediction, and his eyes were looking down fondly at the baby.

I could hear chairs scraping across the floor inside Mr Hyslop's office, as if whoever was in there with him was standing up, getting ready to leave.

I stood up too and turned to the wall behind me. It was covered with framed photographs of graduating classes. They stretched right back to the early 1900s. Went from black and white to colour. In earlier years, the teachers had all been priests or monks. I wondered how many of those faces, priests and pupils, were still alive today. There were years when everyone looked so happy. 1950 they were throwing up their hands joyfully. But 1979 looked like a grim year. I looked closely at all the faces, pupils and teachers. There was a much younger Mr Hyslop again, but looking sullen this time. And there was a tall priest in black, his face set in a frown. Hardly a smile, in fact, from any of them, just steady gazes at the camera.

I turned back as I heard the handle of the door being opened just a fraction, as the Rector and his visitor finished their discussion.

‘Yes, that will be absolutely fine. We'll get that sorted as soon as possible,' Mr Hyslop was saying.

Something drew my gaze back to the statue. What made me look up at his eyes? I don't know.

But they were no longer looking at the baby …

Now they were looking directly at me.

I stumbled back, fell against the chair and sent it crashing to the floor. My head cracked against the case that held the trophies. Blackness closed in around me. I was drowning in blackness. Like dark smoke swallowing me, till all I could see was the face of that statue, and those eyes staring right at me.

I came to, didn't know at first where I was, and the Rector, this Mr Hyslop, was standing above me, looking concerned. I was so glad he was blocking my view of the statue. I was too terrified to look at it again.

‘What happened, Tyler?'

I could still see black spots in front of my eyes. My head ached. My first thought was to tell him. Blurt it all out. Point to the statue and yell, ‘The statue moved. The eyes moved. The statue was looking at me.'

But what would he say to that? I could picture the look he would give me. I'd seen that look so many times on other teachers' faces.

‘I saw Miss Baxter in the supermarket …'

‘Don't be silly, Tyler. She's been dead for six months.'

I could still hear their cold voices, see their disbelieving eyes.

How could I possibly tell the Rector the statue had moved?

Mr Hyslop was waiting for an answer. ‘Tyler? Shall I call the nurse?'

The last thing I wanted on my first day at the new school. ‘I just fell.' I knew my voice trembled. I could feel cold sweat bead on my skin.

‘You're very pale,' he said, helping me to my feet. ‘Sure you'll be all right?

I moved with him inside his office, making sure his big form blocked my view.

‘I think you should sit down for a bit. I'll take you up to your class shortly.'

I kept my eyes on the ground as I stepped behind him.

It was only your imagination, Tyler.
I kept telling myself that. Over and over.
Your freaky imagination.

I wanted this school to be different. Well, it was up to me to make things different. I would not let my imagination ruin things for me here.

Mr Hyslop brought me a glass of cold water, and motioned me very gently to the seat in front of his desk. On it was a brass plaque –
Dr Robert Hyslop. Rector
. Rector. It sounded so grand, so much grander than headmaster. I kept my eyes fixed on that plaque and barely listened as he explained about the school ethos and the rules, and how he hoped I would be happy here. And he asked me again and again if I was sure I was all right. He sounded genuinely concerned. I knew if I didn't pull myself together he would insist I go to the nurse. So I assured him, with a strained smile, that I felt fine. As if blacking out in school was something I did on a regular basis.

By the time he stood up to take me to my class, my head had stopped throbbing and I'd steeled myself to face that statue again.

Mr Hyslop moved aside so that I could leave the office before him. My eyes were drawn to the statue. I couldn't not look at it. My gaze moved slowly from the sandalled feet peeping out from under his long robe to his raised hand … and, finally, up to his face.

I gasped at the gentle eyes: they were resting on the baby again.

The Rector followed my gaze. ‘St Joseph,' he explained. ‘I hope you don't mind statues, Tyler. You'll find they're everywhere in St Anthony's. They're part of the school's heritage. The whole building is listed, so we try to keep everything intact.'

I only nodded and said nothing, and as we passed up the long, tiled corridor, there were statues on every side. Saints and monks and nuns and angels.

I would have to get used to them.

Anyway, it had only been my imagination. The kind eyes had only ever rested on the baby. Why would they look at me? How could he have moved? It was impossible.

By the time I walked into the classroom, I was determined to forget the incident. It was nonsense, I convinced myself. And I even managed a smile as Mr Hyslop introduced me to the teacher, Mr O'Hara.

He was a good-looking man, couldn't have been more much more than forty, with a thick mane of rich grey hair. Bet a lot of the older girls had a crush on him. He walked to the classroom door with Mr Hyslop and spoke for a whispered moment with him before he left.
Then he came back to me and smiled. ‘So this is Tyler Lawless. Our new girl.' He turned to the class. ‘Now I want you to make her feel very welcome.'

I looked round the classroom taking in all the faces. It was hard not to be drawn first to the raven-haired girl sitting in the front row. Her hair was too black to be natural, and it stood up in wayward spikes. Her eyebrow was pierced with a silver ring. She was biting on the end of a pen, and she had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. They were staring straight at me, sizing me up. She looked bold and a bit scary, and yet there was something I liked about her right off. And when I barely smiled at her, she flashed me a grin right back.

There was an Asian-looking boy sitting beside her, all gangly, and beside him a red-haired boy. He leaned across and whispered something and the Asian boy glanced at me, nodded and laughed. Were they laughing at me? I was sure they were. Why did I always think people were laughing at me? I hadn't done anything yet.

My eyes moved behind them to a fat boy who studied me with a cold stare. Right at the back, a pale-skinned boy just watched me curiously. An Asian girl caught my eye too. She wasn't the least bit interested in me. She couldn't take her eyes off the boys at the front.
Fancied one of them probably.

I took all this in while Mr O'Hara kept right on talking. Didn't listen to a word he was saying, so when he finished and said, ‘So what do you think, Tyler?' I realised I didn't know what he was talking about. That's always my problem too. Letting my mind wander. Not listening.

I must have looked blank.

‘Never mind.' He patted me on the shoulder. ‘It's a lot to take in at once.'

He showed me my seat. It was in the row by the window and before too long I was forgotten. The lesson continued.

There were statues in this classroom too. A small one on the windowsill, and a larger one in the corner. I recognised this as St Francis. Everyone knows him. Birds on his shoulder, and on his outstretched hand. And by his feet, a fawn. I couldn't be afraid of him.

It made what I had imagined earlier seem even more stupid now.

As soon as the lesson ended, the spiky-haired girl came up to me, put a hand on my shoulder. ‘So you took one look at old Hyslop and you fainted then?'

I was flabbergasted. ‘How did you know?'

She laughed. ‘Heard him whispering to O'Hara to keep his eye on you. You can't keep a secret in this place.' She giggled and nodded at the statue. ‘Saw you staring at the statues. You're no' a Catholic?'

‘No,' I said. ‘But I don't mind the statues,' I added quickly. I didn't want to offend her.

‘This is St Francis,' she informed me, touching his foot as she passed. I noticed that his foot was worn, as if many people had touched it before her.

‘I know,' I said.

‘I'll keep you right about the statues.' She grinned at me. ‘I'm Jasmine, by the way,' she said. ‘But everybody calls me Jazz.' She held out a packet of chewing gum. I took a piece just to be polite, and she popped another into her mouth.

‘Jazz? That's nice.'

She flashed me another of those brilliant smiles and pulled the Asian girl towards her. ‘This is Aisha.'

Aisha shrugged herself free. ‘I can speak for myself, Jazz.' Then she smiled too. ‘Aisha Saleem. Where did you get an exotic name like Tyler Lawless from?' She said it as if Aisha Saleem wasn't equally exotic.

‘Yeah, wi' a name like that you should be a writer,' Jazz said.

I beamed at her. Couldn't help it. ‘That's exactly what I want to be … a writer.'

As soon as I said it, I remembered I had promised myself not to tell anyone about my ambition in this school. It would be my secret. So much for that promise.

Jazz slipped her arm in mine. ‘Great! At last, Aisha, somebody to help us with our English homework.'

She was pulling me along the corridor, which was jammed with pupils hurrying to their next class. ‘Well, Tyler, if you're looking for a story, you came to the right school.' It was difficult to hear what she was saying there was so much noise. Yet, even as her voice became a whisper, I could suddenly make out every word. ‘There was a murder here, years ago … in this school … and they never found the body.'

I wouldn't ask. I would pretend I wasn't the least bit curious, even though I was dying to know all about it.

A murder, at this school? A mystery, a body never found … a writer's dream.

But this was my new beginning. Things were going to be different, and if I showed too much interest they would begin to grow suspicious of me.

There was no more time to talk about it anyway. Rushing from one class to another, getting to know new teachers and classrooms. It was lunchtime before we had any chance to talk, and I promised myself I wouldn't be the first one to mention it.

Jazz collected her tray and swaggered down the school cafe. I followed in her wake. Everyone noticed her. She knew it. She expected it. She had so much confidence I envied her. Then she stopped at one of the
tables and sprawled herself across it. ‘Our table, Tyler,' she told me, and I was pleased that I was included in the ‘our' she was talking about. She put down her tray and plonked herself on to a seat. ‘Come on, Aisha!' she called out, and Aisha was there beside her.

‘Do you think you'll like it here?' she asked me as she sat down.

‘Yes, I hope so …' I looked around the cafe as I spoke.

‘The school cafe'. The name didn't suit this dining hall. It was a massive room with high ceilings and tall windows and, even in here, more statues. An imposing stone fireplace dominated the room, and above it were words carved in an ancient script:

‘It means “The Lord be with you”,' Jazz said, following my gaze.

The plastic tables and chairs looked even more out of place here. There should have been long wooden tables in this hall, and high-backed oak chairs, and torches burning in brass holders on the walls. Once there would have been. I could imagine the candlelight flickering on
the tables, almost hear the low hum of monks in prayer, picture row upon row of boys, heads bent, eating silently.

‘Hi, Callum, come and join us.' Jazz broke into my thoughts. She was calling out to the fat boy as he walked past with his tray. He didn't have to be asked twice.

‘Hi, Tyler, how's it going?' Callum asked.

‘This here Callum,' Jazz said, poking Callum in the shoulder, ‘is the smartest boy in the school … at least, according to him.'

Jazz laughed. So did Callum. ‘Nothing wrong with blowing your own trumpet, eh, Tyler? So what are you good at?'

‘Tyler's a writer,' Aisha said, before I could open my mouth to answer.

Callum leaned over the table at me, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. ‘You'll get a great story here. Have you heard about the murder?'

‘Too late, Callum. I've told her all about it … you can add the gory details I missed later.' Jazz peered above my head. ‘Oh, look, here come Laurel and Hardy.

Laurel and Hardy were the Asian boy and the redhead. They were heading right for us. As soon as they reached the table, they swung their legs over the chairs
and planted their trays on the table, as if they were staking their claim. Seemed everyone was welcome at ‘our' table.

The redhead introduced himself. ‘I'm Adam Drummond. Sorry Jazz is the first person you've met in the school. She always gives a bad impression.'

‘Me and Aisha have been really nice, haven't we, Tyler?'