They didn’t know how long it took to treat a scald so they had to be quick. For the others, it was simple: they just had to cook something and cover their rats with it. For Al, though, things weren’t quite as simple.
He was making burgers, and because he was making burgers, he then had a bit of a problem: just how did he hide his rat under what was really just a few large lumps of cooked mince? The only way round it he could think of was to scrounge something from the other guys, some pasta, some potato, some cheese sauce—anything that would do the job. What he did not want happening was Miss seeing the rat before she was supposed to, before she’d had a mouthful of what it had been served with. It was going to take some doing. He only hoped he could pull it off.
He stole a quick glance at the door—no sign of her yet—and set about making the most important meal of his life.
First, he sprinkled flour over his hands to stop the mince sticking to his fingers. Next, he sprinkled some over the top surface of the table to stop the mince sticking there, too. Then, slowly, carefully, he tipped his soggy mess out of its bowl.
He looked down at it, made a quick calculation. About four good-sized burgers, he reckoned. It would be enough. Another quick check to see that Miss wasn’t back yet then he was dividing his mixture into four almost equal-sized portions. The time had come to set in motion his backup plan. As well as his rat, he’d also brought along a few strips of the felt they’d used for fur, and these he planned to add to each burger as he shaped it ready for frying. That way, Miss would not only see rat, she’d also (hopefully) think she’d eaten rat.
He whipped out his strips of “fur” and pressed one into each of his four portions of mixture. Then he was moulding and patting them into burger shapes, taking care to cover each strip. He was finished. All he had to do now was cook them.
There was a cooker free. He found a frying-pan, heated a little oil in it and, when he thought it was just hot enough, carefully placed his four burgers in it. He watched as they sizzled, wanting them to come out just right. Miss would be tasting them, and more than anything else in the world just then, he wanted her to taste and taste and taste. He let them cook for a few minutes and turned them over. He would be doing the same until they left the pan, cooking and turning, turning and cooking, and every few minutes so that the insides were thoroughly cooked through without the outsides getting the chance to burn. It seemed to be working.
Even as he stood there thinking this, he was aware of someone standing beside him. He looked up. It was Keren, still looking a little sheepish.
‘Do you suppose he’ll be all right?’ was all she said. He did not need to ask who she meant.
‘If he is, it’ll be no thanks to you,’ he said shortly.
‘Oh, come on! It wasn’t all my fault!’
‘As good as,’ he muttered.
Silence. He glanced down at her. She looked utterly desolate, and he felt something soften inside. For the first time in all the time he’d known her, he found himself feeling sorry for her.
‘He could have been hurt, you know,’ he went more gently. ‘Really hurt.’
‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I guess I just let you get to me, that’s all.’
There was another silence between them, but this time awkward, embarrassed. Then she was speaking again, but more, he guessed, to break the moment than anything else.
‘What are you making?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Looks like burgers of some sort but—’ She pulled up short, very intent on the contents of the frying-pan. ‘What’s that?’
Al looked down. Oh, no! In keeping them turning, he’d managed to uncover a scrap of fur. It was only small but it was there, trailing away quite clearly from the meat that was supposed to be hiding it. He flipped the burger over again, covered it. He wasn’t nearly quick enough. When he looked at Keren again, she was glaring coldly at him.
‘You really are up to something, aren’t you?’ she whispered.
‘And if I am?’
‘What? What are you up to? Are the others in on it, too?’
How could he deny it? ‘Yes, we’re up-to-something—okay? But you say one word and I’ll make sure Miss finds out what really happened to Spike. Got it?’
Keren didn’t answer, just turned on her heel and stomped off. When next he glanced her way, she was back at her table, ignoring him and busying herself with her egg noodles. He could live with that. He looked down again at his burgers. If he could keep the one with the fur showing upside down, he would be okay…if he could keep it upside down. And with Miss prodding and poking it while she did her usual tasting, that could not be guaranteed.
But at least they looked done, and with the time they’d spent in the pan, they should be. He removed them from the heat and shovelled them onto the plate. They looked just fine, smelt even better, but he was not finished yet.
He took them back to his table, to set them down while he rummaged around in his bag. It was still there, right where he’d been hiding it all this time, the final ingredient in his creation. He placed it on the plate and stacked his burgers around it. That was when things started to fall apart. No matter how he tried to stack them, no matter which way he tried to place them, his four good-sized burgers would not, could not cover his rat. And even worse, whatever he could scrounge from the other guys, it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to do the job that his burgers couldn’t.
For the first time that afternoon, he felt panic rise up inside. What was he going to do? He tried again, placed all four burgers crossways but that didn’t work. They just kept falling to one side or the other to expose large tufts of what looked wonderfully like brown fur. He stood back, unable to accept that this was happening to him, and after all their planning, all their efforts!
He froze then, sensed someone standing behind him again, standing behind him and looking over his shoulder like before. Miss! He just knew it was her, knew he’d been rumbled, knew that all their hard work had been for nothing again. Slowly, unwillingly, he peered round. But it wasn’t Miss, it was Keren, staring down at his plate, a faintly puzzled look clouding her face. Then she was glancing up at him, seemed to understand something.
He expected her to speak, to berate him for his immaturity and half-hearted anarchy. But she didn’t. Instead, she just went back to her table, picked up two small plates and came back. She set them down, moved his burgers aside and started spooning stuff onto his plate. She was covering his rat, covering it with egg noodles, the same egg noodles that had been the cause of so much grief. Then she was moving his burgers back into place and spooning from the other plate a mixture of what looked like small cubes of cheese, cucumber and tomato, surrounding the noodles and covering his rat even more.
She finished, stood up, looked at him one last time and went back to her table, all without a word. Al stared after her. All that…! And after the way he’d…! He shook his head in faint disbelief. He couldn’t work her out, couldn’t work her out at all. Maybe, he thought, he should get around to spending some time with her, after all.
But that was later and this was now. He took another look at his plate. Not only could he now not see his rat but he had to admit that his whole dish looked pretty good. Better than that, it looked good enough to eat. He just hoped Miss would think so, too. He was to find out sooner than he expected.
She was back, marching in and clapping her hands for attention. Spike was not with her.
‘Right, class, look at me! You will all no doubt be delighted to hear that Sebastian Pike is fine. It was indeed just a small scald that is being treated by the secretary even as we speak. Has anyone else had any accidents while I’ve been away?’
She gazed round at their blank faces. No one moved. No one seemed even to be thinking, except for Al who didn’t like the way she’d said the word accidents. Did she suspect something?
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ she went on. ‘I assume we’ve all finished cooking?’
A
vague general murmur rose in reply.
‘Right, get your tables ready. As usual, I’ll visit each one of you in turn, see what culinary delights you’ve managed to concoct.’
They got their tables ready. That, at least, was simple. They just had to clear the things they’d used out of the way, give the table a quick wipe over with a damp cloth and place their creations right in the centre, knife and fork ready beside them. Presentation, Miss Palmer called it, the final touch. And this time, just this one time, Al wanted to make a good job of it.
Miss Palmer clapped her hands together once more. ‘Ready?’
Everyone was ready.
‘Right,’ she said, looking round at the whole class, ‘who shall we start with first…?’
She let her gaze wander over them all, as though selecting a victim for some sort of punishment. Then it stopped, and it took a full moment for Al to realise that it had come to rest on him.
‘This is a rare occasion, class,’ she was saying. ‘Alex Bristow and his happy band of would-be chefs have actually managed to turn out a meal. And since this is such a rare occasion, I think theirs should be sampled first.’
Al watched as Miss threaded her way through the tables towards them. Suddenly, the others were edging towards him, as though there might be safety in numbers. Al knew only too well how they were feeling just then. This was it. No going back now. But he also knew deep down inside that they had passed that moment long ago.
‘So,’ she said, ‘four cordon bleu creations await my delectation. Who’s first?’
Al went to offer his dish by pushing his plate forward, but Miss Palmer waved it away.
‘Not so fast,’ she said as she picked up a fork. ‘I’m saving yours till last, Alex Bristow, because I always save treats till last. So what else do we have here? What about yours, Anthony Ryan? What have you made?’
‘Er…it’s called Mince-au gRATin, Miss.’
‘Incredible! You’ve even managed to pronounce it properly. What made you decide on it?’
‘The rat in the gratin, Miss.’
‘Very funny! You know as well as I do that gratin is a French word and means with cheese. Nothing to do with rats at all.’
She plunged her fork into the mince, stirred it round a little and lifted out a mouthful.
‘Not bad,’ she said as she chewed thoughtfully. ‘The mince is perhaps a little overcooked but the cheese comes through strongly. Yes, an interesting combination.’
She put her fork down and moved to the next table.
‘So, Edward Blunden, what about you? What have you made?’
‘RATts’n’tatts,’ Eddie replied simply.
‘With minced up rat in it, I suppose,’ said Miss Palmer dryly. ‘Well, if you were hoping to put me off trying it, think again.’
She shoved her fork into it, sliced through the crisp layer of mashed potato and into the mince beyond. This time, she chewed a little longer before pronouncing judgement.
‘It’s okay,’ she said at length. ‘The mince is cooked just right and I love the way you’ve crisped up the potato layer, but the whole thing could have done with a little more seasoning.’
She moved on to Jon’s dish. With all those pasta twirls draped loosely round his rat, this was the one where she was most likely to make the big discovery. And Al didn’t want her to make the big discovery with Jon’s dish. He wanted her to make it with his dish.
‘So what’s this one?’ she asked as she prodded it with a fork. ‘No, don’t tell me, something to do with rats again—right?’
Jon nodded eagerly. ‘It’s called RATsa Pasta, Miss.’
‘Is it, indeed! I think you all have a warped sense of humour.’
She lifted a forkful to her mouth, mince and pasta all twirled in together, and stood there chewing it thoughtfully again.
‘Yes,’ she said at length, ‘the tomato’s there and you used mixed herbs, yes?…’
Jon nodded again.
‘…But probably a little too much. And as with Edward’s dish, it needs just a touch more seasoning.’
She moved on to Al’s table. He stood there waiting, willing her, wanting her to take the biggest mouthful she could take of delicious, succulent, juicy rat. But she just stopped in front of his table, folded her arms and looked pointedly at him.
‘More rat,’ she said wryly. ‘It just has to be. Don’t disappoint me, Alex Bristow, tell me it’s more rat.’
‘Got it in one, Miss,’ he said.
‘I thought as much. So, what’s it called?’
Al went to answer, then stopped, blinking dumbly. He’d had a name all thought out but it didn’t seem to fit any more, not since Keren had added her contribution. Then it came to him, a flash of inspiration that fitted so well, it might have been almost made for it.
‘RATburger Salad,’ he blurted out. ‘It’s called RATburger Salad.’
‘I should have known,’ she muttered, prodding his plate with a fork. He watched, faintly alarmed. If she stirred the egg noodles any more…but she stopped, was speaking again.
‘Tell me,’ she was saying, ‘your warped sense of humour and the fact that you’re just trying to stop me tasting this aside, why call it a ratburger when there’s no rat in it?’
Quick as a flash, he answered. ‘Why do you call a hamburger a hamburger? There’s no ham in it.’
‘True. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re only a teacher, ain’t you, Miss?’
‘Thank you, Alex Bristow, that will do.’
She sliced through the first burger with her fork, twirled a few noodles onto it and lifted it to her mouth. This time as she chewed, her face seemed to light up in an expression of amazed appreciation, as if she was actually liking what she was eating. She swallowed, that look of surprise still on her face.
‘You know,’ she said as she took another forkful, ‘this is actually very good. Good balance of herbs with the meat…’
She was chewing again as she spoke, refilling her fork as she did so.
‘…and the seasoning is just right…’
Another forkful, another mouthful.
‘…and whatever gave you the idea of using egg noodles? Unusual choice but inspired…’
She reached her fork down for the last piece of the first burger. As she raised it, she stopped, and Al could see it, a strip of something that looked suspiciously like fur hanging from her fork. Had she seen it? Had he been rumbled? It seemed not.
‘You know, class, this is what cookery is all about,’ she was saying. ‘Creating something tangible from what seems like a motley collection of totally diverse and unrelated ingredients.’
She raised the fork to her mouth. This is it, thought Al, but he was wrong. She stopped, went on.
‘A pinch of this, a dash of that and who knows what you might come up with.’
She raised her fork one more time, only then to stop one more time. Al felt like screaming Just shut up and eat, you stupid woman!
‘I only wish you could all try this marvellous creation of Alex Bristow’s but as you can see, there’s not enough to go round and I’m being very greedy.’
She raised her fork one last time in an exaggerated display of tasting Heaven and started chewing. Al just stood and watched. It took maybe a few seconds for her to realise that something was not quite right. She stopped chewing, a puzzled frown on her face. Then she was spitting her mouthful back out onto her fork—looking down at it—trying to work out what it was. In the cooking process, it had absorbed the juices from the mince. It no longer looked like just a piece of felt.
Miss Palmer squinted at it more closely, then at Al’s dish. In stirring it around, she had uncovered the rat’s head. It, too, looked more than just a few bits of cloth sewn together, its false eyes staring balefully at her from under its blanket of egg noodles. She tore her gaze away, glanced again at the other three dishes she’d just tried. Then at Al. Then at all four of them. And she seemed to understand.
&
nbsp; Tony reckoned later that they must have heard the screams out in the corridor. And Jon said Nah, they must have heard them in the staff-room!
Actually, they were both right.
FIFTEEN