Out of the Depths (6 page)

Jazz giggled. ‘Maybe he fancies you? Who do you mean?' She turned right round to look, but just then, the door was flung open, and Mr O'Hara almost fell into the classroom laden with books.

Jazz called out to him. ‘Mr O'Hara, Tyler here wants to know why we're not allowed to ask about the murder.'

I tried to slide under the desk. A flush came to the teacher's face. ‘That is not a subject for discussion, Jasmine.'

‘But I mean, sir, you can't blame her for being interested.'

I tried to pretend I was invisible.

‘The school could be making loads of money out of
this, sir. Murder tours round St Anthony's … a bit like the ones they do in Edinburgh,' Adam shouted. ‘Or even ghost tours … if we had a ghost, that is.'

‘Why
is
this school
not
haunted, sir?' Callum asked in a deep imposing voice, as if it was a question he'd been pondering for a long time. ‘I mean, we've had a murder … but no a sign of a ghost.'

The teacher dropped the books on his desk. ‘And a very good thing too, Callum.'

‘You were here when the murder took place, weren't you, sir?' It was Mac who asked him. ‘Ben Kincaid was your best friend, wasn't he?'

I saw the teacher's face grow pale at the memory. Did no one else notice that?

‘You would think,' Mac went on, ‘that Ben Kincaid might have been a bit miffed at getting murdered and come back to let
you
especially know how annoyed he was.'

Bold as brass, Jazz called out to him, ‘Tell us about the murder, sir.'

His eyes were cold when he looked back at her. ‘A murder is no cause for entertainment, Jasmine. It was a tragedy. A tragedy for a lot of people.'

‘Especially for Ben Kincaid,' Mac muttered.

‘Yes,' Mr O'Hara said. ‘And for his mother, and for Father Michael … and for the whole school, and that is all I am prepared to say about it. Don't ever ask me again.'

‘You and him had a fight, didn't you, sir? Just before he was killed.'

Mr O'Hara's face went red. I saw his hands balled into fists on the desk, the knuckles white. He wanted to stop talking about this. He looked up sharply at Mac. ‘Read about it on Wikipedia, did you? Well, Ben Kincaid had a fight with just about everybody at some point.' He bent back over his books. I had never seen him look angry. Mr O'Hara was always even-tempered and happy. But talking about Ben Kincaid … and being reminded of a fight he had had with him had made him lose his composure. I could see the muscles in his jaws clench and unclench as if he was struggling to hold in his anger.

Jazz whispered to me, ‘Must be hard to lose your best friend like that. Especially when you've had a fight with him.'

Mac had said it was over a girl, but no one really knew. And I thought, so many people had been affected by that murder, like circles in a stream when a stone is
thrown into the water. Mr O'Hara too. Ben Kincaid had been his friend.

Mysteries
, I thought, as I walked down the long drive at the end of the day,
there are mysteries here
.

The lake was shrouded in smoky mist. I looked back at the statue of the college founder as he stood silently looking out over that lake. Fearfully waiting for him to move.

He didn't stir; maybe none of them ever had. But there were mysteries here, and, in spite of my fear, I wanted to find out more about them.

Two days later a new boy joined the class. At least new to me, though not to everybody else. Gerry Mulgrew. He looked insolent as he stood in front of Mr O'Hara. His leg was in a plaster cast covered with messages. Most of them rude.

‘Mulgrew,' Aisha informed me softly. ‘He likes to think he's the class bad boy. Kicked a ball at the stained-glass windows trying to break them. Couldn't even do that right. Broke his leg instead. He's actually an idiot.'

Mac leaned across the desk and whispered in her ear, ‘I don't think you're allowed to call anybody an idiot any more, Aisha.' I watched wisps of her hair quiver with his breath. Was she blushing? ‘It's not politically correct.'

She shrugged. ‘He can take me to the Court of Human Rights.'

‘I'm on your side, Aisha,' Jazz said. ‘Gerry Mulgrew is an idiot.'

As if to back them up Mulgrew started heading for his desk, tripped over someone's bag and went face down on the floor.

Mr O'Hara helped him up. ‘Ah, we've missed you, Mulgrew. Trying to break your other leg, are you?'

‘Just lookin' for a wee bit of TLC, sir.' Mulgrew got to his feet. ‘I'm still convalescing.'

Jazz laughed. ‘I didn't even think you'd know what convalescing means.'

He stuck out his tongue at her, then his eyes fell on me. ‘Hello, gorgeous,' he said. ‘You're new. What's your name?'

Now it was my turn to blush. The class jeered and whistled. Mr O'Hara banged a book on the desk to silence them. ‘Right, Mulgrew. Limp to your seat and let's get on with the lesson.'

Mulgrew winked at me and said, ‘You can sign my plaster any time.' Then he made a big show of dragging his leg as he made his way past me and up the aisle. His eyes didn't leave mine and when he winked again he caused even more whistling. I turned to watch him – the whole class did – and was surprised to see him sitting
in the pale-faced boy's seat.

I nudged Aisha. ‘Where's the boy who usually sits there?' My eyes were scanning the class. The pale-faced boy was missing.

‘There? That's always been Mulgrew's seat. Nobody else has ever sat there.'

I shook my head. ‘No. No. There's been a boy sitting there since the day I started.' I pulled at Jazz's arm. ‘Remember I told you he was always looking at me.'

Jazz looked blank for a moment then she smiled. ‘Yeah, I remember … but I couldn't really see who you meant.'

‘He was there. He was definitely there.' I wished I could remember his name, if I ever knew it. But his face was in front of me almost like a photograph. The intense, dark eyes, the pale face, the boy I had seen since that first day. My mouth was dry. I was trying to understand. Aisha touched my shoulder gently. ‘You just made a mistake,' she said. ‘It was probably Sam Petrie.' She pointed out the other dark-haired boy in the class, the boy who usually lay with his head on the desk. But Sam Petrie had a mop of curly hair, and a constant smile. He looked nothing like the boy I was talking about.

I was still looking all around the class. Mr O'Hara
noticed. ‘Is something wrong, Tyler?'

I almost blurted it out to him. But I caught Mac looking at me, something like disapproval in his eyes. And I changed my mind. ‘No, sir …' I muttered.

Mr O'Hara told us to open our books. The lesson began. And all I could think of was – who was the boy I had seen, day after day? Where had he gone?

He
had
been there. I couldn't be mistaken.

Jazz put an arm round my shoulder as we moved to the next class. ‘You're in one of your dazes, Tyler Lawless. She turned to Mac, walking behind us. ‘Tyler swears another boy's been sitting in Mulgrew's seat.'

‘Making up more stories, eh, Tyler?' Mac's voice was full of sarcasm and it made me angry. I turned on him.

‘No! I am not making up a story. I
did
see him. He
was
there. And what are you saying things like that for! What have I ever done to you?'

Mac leapt back, making out I might hit him. He held his arms in front of him for protection. ‘Get crazy lady off me,' he said and he laughed. But there was no humour in the laugh.

I could have punched him then. ‘I did see that boy.'

He let out a fake shocked gasp. ‘Hey! A ghost. Maybe you saw a ghost.'

That only made me angrier. ‘He wasn't a ghost. He was flesh and blood. Solid as you and me!'

Adam butted in. ‘I read in a book that ghosts are like flesh and blood. You could be standing right next to one and you wouldn't know it. They look real.'

Jazz screeched with laughter. ‘There must be two moons in the sky. Adam's read a book.'

They all laughed then. All except me. I was chilled to the bone. The boy with those intense, dark eyes. I could still see his face in front of me …

I felt Mac staring at me. ‘Seems strange things are always happening to you, Tyler.' I didn't like the way he said it. But his next words floored me. ‘It's not the first time you'd have seen a ghost, is it?' He put on a phoney, girlie high-pitched voice. ‘I saw my teacher out doing her Christmas shopping … Funny since she's been dead for six months.'

Jazz stared at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Mac?'

Mac tutted. ‘I was playing football at her old school at the weekend. She's the talk of the place. Always making up stories like this. She was expelled from that school. They all know about her.'

‘I was not expelled! I left!' My voice was too loud. Other people in the corridor turned to look at me.

Jazz swung towards me. ‘You saw a ghost at your last school?'

I'd wanted things to be so different here, and now my reputation had followed me, dragged screaming to this school by Mac. He seemed to be enjoying my embarrassment. ‘I think you just like to be the centre of attention, Tyler. That's what they said at your other school. You always wanted to be noticed. You caused nothing but trouble there with your stories.'

Jazz began to tell him to shut up. But a deep anger came over me. Maybe I am a little mad. Because I couldn't stop myself. I ran at him, gave him a shove that almost had him off his feet. ‘Don't you
dare
say that to me!'

If I'd been a boy, I'm sure he would have punched me. ‘See, that's what I mean, that's what they told me at your old school. You don't behave rationally.'

He didn't take his eyes from me. And I hated the way he looked at me. Because I had seen that look before. On so many faces. The look I thought I had left behind at my last school. The look that said … there was something weird about me. I was some kind of freak. ‘You take that back or I'll show you just how irrational I can be!'

Jazz grabbed me or I would have rushed him again. I tried to shake her off – too roughly, it was more like a punch and I sent her sprawling against one of the statues by the wall. She tried to stop herself from falling and before I could steady myself both her and me went tumbling against the statue.

The statue moved on its plinth. Adam jumped at it, tried to hold it, so did Callum. The plinth too began to topple. Aisha grabbed at it. I saw it was hollow inside, a black hole. I wanted to crawl into it. Mac began shouting angrily at me. Aisha was yelling for someone to help her steady the plinth. Jazz jumped to her feet in a second. I was still sprawled on the ground. It must have looked as if we were having a battle royal. At least, that was the way it looked to the teacher, Mrs Craig, who came running towards us.

‘Right. That's it! What on earth is happening here!' She grabbed at the statue, and with Adam and Callum's help placed it back on the plinth. Then she turned her angry eyes on the rest of us. ‘You lot get to the Rector's office. We don't tolerate fighting in this school.'

She wouldn't listen to our explanations. I was willing to take all the blame, and Mac muttered that was just me trying to be the centre of attention again. No matter
what I did, I couldn't seem to do anything right.

We were all marched up the corridor led by Mrs Craig, past giggling, nosy pupils, and made to sit in the chairs outside the Rector's office. The teacher left us and after knocking on the Rector's door, she stepped inside.

‘I'm sorry, Jazz,' I said. ‘It was an accident.'

Jazz shrugged her shoulders. ‘I know. Don't worry about it.'

Mac wasn't so willing to forgive me. ‘This is your fault, Tyler,' he snapped at me. ‘Getting us all into trouble. Just like in your last school.'

Jazz told him to shut up. ‘You were winding her up. Leave her be.'

‘Intend to from now on,' Mac said.

I got to my feet and began pacing up and down the dark hallway. I was in trouble again. And I didn't even know how it had happened. St Joseph still stood there, and for a second I was tempted to look up at his face. But I wouldn't. Instead, I turned my back on him, and pretended an interest in the long line of photographs on the wall. Year after year of memories. I wished I was in one of those photographs, and not here. 1950 would have been a good year. Everyone happy.

But not 1979. The year no one smiled. Wasn't that
the year of the murder?

There was Father Michael, the priest with the sinister eyes. I recognised him now from the photograph I had seen on the internet.

I looked along the line of boys. All grim-faced.

Mac wouldn't shut up, as if he was trying to goad me into doing something else. Jazz was still berating Mac. So was Aisha. If they all didn't shut up soon, Mr Hyslop would dive from his office and grab them by the collar. We'd be in even more trouble.

Mac had hurt me, was still hurting me. But I would not let him see me cry. Concentrate on something else, I told myself. The photograph.

I saw Mr Hyslop, just a young teacher then, but still with his wild beard. He had been a mountain climber, taking the boys on expeditions, climbing Monroes. He looked the part. I was just about to look away from the photo, when I noticed Mr O'Hara, a younger Mr O'Hara, his grey hair replaced by a thick dark mop. But it was undoubtedly him. Even better looking as a boy than he was now. I peered closer, at the boy standing beside him.

I felt my mouth go dry as I looked at him. He seemed to be staring back at me, his dark eyes intense, just the
way he had stared at me, day after day, from his seat at the back of the class.

I drew in my breath. I had to be wrong. This couldn't be the same boy I had seen every day. But there he was. Staring at me from the past, staring into my soul. Exactly as I had seen him, not a moment older than when this photo was taken.