At one o'clock she walked back towards the village. The pub was close to the duck pond in the centre of the village. It was a wide, two-storey building made of brown bricks, with a thick growth of green creeper over the full width of its front. Three wooden picnic tables with green umbrellas were stationed along the front of the pub, with small white picket fences separating them from the road. Hanging on the fences were planters full of brightly-coloured flowers.
Pagan had never been inside a pub by herself and wasn't even sure if people her age were allowed to go in by themselves. The door to the pub was standing open when she got there so she went inside and ordered a glass of orange juice. The woman behind the bar served her without comment and Pagan took the drink outside, relieved. She sat on one of the benches in front of the pub, deliberately choosing the one with a used ash-tray on it. The other tables were empty. She removed a plastic bag from her rucksack, held it open under the table and quickly glanced around to make sure that no-one was looking at her. But there was nobody in her line of sight and the flowers in the planter on the fence were doing a good job of hiding her from view.
Pagan tipped the contents of the ash-tray into the plastic bag and returned the bag to her rucksack. She finished her drink with a sense of achievement at fulfilling her mission. Now what? she wondered. The thought of spending all afternoon in her tiny tent was not appealing and she felt sure that she had seen all that the little village had to offer.
Pagan decided to take a trip into the nearest town. She walked over to the bus-stop to see when the next bus might be arriving. It was due to leave at just before two o'clock, so Pagan waited for it and, when it arrived, bought a return ticket to the town. The ride was a short one, taking her past the station she had arrived at on Sunday night (which seemed a long time ago now) and then on into the small town.
When the bus stopped on the high street, Pagan got out and went to explore. The town was not large but it had a natural history museum in it which was free to enter. Pagan traipsed around the museum. It felt as though she had stepped back in time. There were many displays of stuffed animals and birds, which started off being interesting but after a while Pagan found herself becoming depressed by the fact that all the creatures were dead. Some of them were the last examples of long-extinct species. Pagan stared sadly into the glass eyes of the Quagga, wondering how it came to be so far from home.
After about an hour in the museum, Pagan left and walked slowly down the high street, looking for somewhere to stock up on food. A small shopping precinct led to a supermarket where Pagan was pleased to be able to purchase fruit, bread, biscuits and some more canned food at a more reasonable price than she could get them at the small shop in the village. She also felt more anonymous in the larger store. Now that her rucksack was comfortingly heavy again, Pagan thought about heading back. The next bus to the village was at quarter past four, which gave her time to walk the whole length of the high street and back.
There were not many shops and most of them seemed to be estate agents or charity shops. There was an electrical goods store on one corner and Pagan stood outside watching the televisions for a while. She couldn't hear them but after two days away from home, she was feeling rather starved of modern technology. A news channel was playing on most of the silent screens and Pagan gasped as her own face appeared abruptly on the screen, captioned with the words ‘Missing Teen'. She turned quickly away from the window, her heart pounding, and pulled her baseball cap down over her face, now terrified that she would be recognised and that someone would call the police. She walked swiftly back to the bus stop and waited for the bus back to the village, impatient for it to appear and allow her to return to the sanctuary of her tent.
The short journey back along the country road to the village seemed to take an age. Half way back to the station a gaggle of teenaged school children climbed onto the bus, chatting loudly and teasing each other. The stop must have been close to their school. Pagan felt conspicuous in her jeans and t-shirt, as the other teenagers were all wearing their school uniform of red tie, white shirt, black trousers and black blazer. A teenager out of uniform at this time on a school day stood out just as much as a teenager in uniform would at the weekend. Some of the other kids got off at her stop in the village and she sensed them watching her curiously as she walked away from them towards the country club. I hope none of them will see the news tonight, thought Pagan.
The following day, Pagan stayed near her tent, glad she had enough food to last her for a few more days and nervous about being seen by anybody. Now that people were going to be looking out for her, the idea of venturing away from the safety of her campsite seemed crazy. She hoped that by now Shelley would have told the police about Brian and that soon she would be able to go back home. She decided that she would stay in the tent for a few more days and head back home on Sunday. Camping in the woods wouldn't be quite so dull if that boy brought her some good books to read but she knew she would go mad of boredom if he didn't.
By mid-afternoon Pagan was hugely bored of sitting next to her tent. At five minutes to three she climbed over the wall with the bag of cigarette butts and waited to see if the boy with the books would show up. I can't stay here for another three days with nothing to do, she thought. If he doesn't turn up with something for me to read, I'm going to have to go home tomorrow.
PART III: Retribution
Chapter Eleven
Luke headed to the Forum for a break before his Wednesday afternoon orienteering training run. The room was fairly full of Romans, many of whom were watching the television. Luke picked up one of the newspapers that were lying on a coffee table near the middle of the room, intending to look at the football pages.
He unfolded the paper. On the front page was a school photograph of a pretty girl with long blonde hair, smiling out self-consciously. The hair was different but Luke immediately recognised the face as that of the girl they had met on the path. He spread the paper out and read about the missing Pagan Randall and how concerned her mother and the police were about her safety. Briefly checking that no-one was watching him, Luke folded the paper over to hide the front page and went to the year nine's dormitory.
Here, he placed the newspaper into his rucksack with the books he had borrowed from the library. He returned to the common room and tried to act normally, although his mind was now distracted with speculation about Pagan. At two Luke set off for his run. By three o'clock he was back at the country club's wall, where Pagan was waiting for him.
"Hi," Luke greeted her, coming to a stop, breathing heavily.
Pagan smiled shyly at him. Precisely the same smile as the one in her photograph in the paper, Luke thought.
"Did you get some books?" she asked.
Luke shrugged the rucksack off his back and opened it up. "I hope they're OK," he said, handing her the four hard-backed volumes. "I asked the librarian for some good stories and he gave me these. You'll have to tell me what happens in them, because he's bound to ask what I thought of them."
"Thanks!" she said, sounding pleased. "Oh, here are the things you wanted." She passed him the bag containing the cigarette ends.
"I found something else," Luke said, tucking the bag into his rucksack and removing the newspaper. He unfolded it to show her the front page.
Pagan went white and put her hand on the stones of the wall for support. She took the paper from Luke, read the story and then stared up at him.
"Have you told anyone?" Her voice was no more than a whisper.
"No, of course not," said Luke, whose sense of fair play and solidarity had been finely honed by his time at Hawley Lodge. Pagan sagged against the wall in relief, then looked up and down the path.
"I'm camping in the woods here," she confided in him. "Temporarily, until things at home sort themselves out. Look, I don't want to be seen, can you come back to the tent?"
Luke's eyes rested on the ‘Pritchards Country Club: Member's Only' sign above their heads and he hesitated.
> "It's OK," she reassured him. "I'm only just inside the boundary and I've never seen anyone here."
She climbed over the wall, pointing out her chalk-mark and Luke carefully checked the path was empty before following her over. Pagan led the way to her well-disguised tent.
"D'you want a cup of tea?" she asked, as though Luke had popped around to see her at her mother's house.
Luke smiled at her. "OK," he said.
Pagan pulled her bedding roll out of the tent and laid it on the floor for Luke to sit on. Then she carefully set up her little gas stove, lit it and filled one of the small pans with water. Then she found her flask and put a tea bag inside it.
"Why did you run away?" Luke asked as they waited for the water to heat up.
Pagan's face looked sad and her mouth twisted into a small grimace.
"I was having problems with my Mum's boyfriend," she said. "But I really don't want to talk about him."
"Are you planning on staying here long?"
"I can't stay very long," Pagan told him, "because I'll run out of money. But I'm alright for a week or so, I think." She changed the subject. "What are you planning to do with those cigarettes?"
Luke explained the situation he'd been placed in on Monday with his sports shirt being used to decorate the statue in the front of the country club.
"Oh, I saw it on the statue!" Pagan told him. "It's a pretty weird-looking sculpture, isn't it?"
Luke nodded. "But it's supposed to be really valuable. He said it was a… Henry something."
"Henry Moore?" asked Pagan. "I've heard of him – my Mum took me to the sculpture park near Wakefield, once." She fell silent and Luke saw she was missing her mother badly.
"It's the only thing I don't like about this school – not seeing my mum and sisters," he confided.
"How old are your sisters?" Pagan asked, snapping herself out of her sorrow.
"They're twins and they're nearly three," Luke said.
"Wow, that's quite an age gap between you and them!"
"Yeah, I think they had to have fertility treatment or something," Luke said, "and that's why they ended up with two. They're a bit of a handful and noisy as hell."
"What about your dad?"
"What about him?"
"Well I notice you didn't say that you missed him."
Luke's nose wrinkled in a look of distaste. "I don't get on with him that well. I really didn't want to come to this school and we had a lot of rows about it last year. He seems a bit happier now that I'm getting on alright here though. What happened to your dad?"
"He died of cancer when I was eight," Pagan told him. "Brian, my Mum's boyfriend, moved in about a year ago." She sighed. "I really hope Mum's kicked him out by now."
"Can't you phone her and find out?" asked Luke.
"I'm not using my mobile in case they track me down," said Pagan. "And I checked the public phone in the village this morning but it wasn't working."
"We have to keep our phones locked away during the day," Luke told her, "but if there's someone I could phone for you…"
Pagan smiled at him. "Thanks, I'll think about it."
The water in the pan was now boiling. Pagan made the tea and poured them both a cup. They sat and drank in silence for a while.
"What made you come here?" Luke asked. "It said in the paper you're from Manchester."
"I did some research on the Internet," Pagan explained. "I wanted somewhere secluded that was on the way to London. Somewhere near the railway but not too heavily populated. This place looked good on the map and on the satellite pictures."
Luke stared at her with respect. "Wow, you're amazing," he said, meaning it, then becoming embarrassed at his over-enthusiasm and blushing.
Pagan smiled back at him. "Thank you," she said, simply.
Then the two of them lolled in the afternoon sunshine for a while, chatting about their schools, their families and Pagan's recent experiences.
*
At four o'clock, the year nines were gathering in the hall for their third detention of the week.
"Where's Luke?" muttered Taj to Jay and Fred. They both shrugged their shoulders and got out the work they were going to be doing during their hour of imprisonment.
The teacher supervising this detention was Mr Thomas, the deputy head and the housemaster for the Vikings. As the boys settled down he did a quick head-count and realised he did not have a complete set. "Has anyone seen Brownlow?" he asked.
No-one answered. He turned to the three Romans with raised eyebrows.
"He went out on a training run, sir," said Jay, honestly. "Maybe he forgot about the detention because of it being Wednesday and not having classes this afternoon. Shall I go and see if I can find him, sir?"
"No, because then I'll have two renegade Romans on my conscience," replied Mr Thomas. "Get on with your work." He went over to the internal telephone at the end of the hall and had a short conversation with someone. The three Romans exchanged anxious glances.
*
Luke checked his watch and was startled to see he'd been with Pagan for over an hour.
"I'd better get back to school," Luke told her. "When d'you think you'll be finished with the books?"
She grinned at him. "I expect I will have finished these by the end of the week," she said.
"I've got school on Saturday morning," Luke told her, pulling a face, "but I could drop round in the afternoon, if you like. If you haven't left by then, that is."
"I expect I'll still be here," she smiled. "I'll see you then."
Luke smiled back at her and then turned away to scramble through the woodland undergrowth back to the stone wall beside the pathway. He had, indeed, forgotten all about the year nines' detention. He entered the school through the door on the east side and went straight up the students' staircase towards the dormitories. As he neared the top of the first flight of stairs he almost bumped into Mr Wilmot, who was on his way down.
"Where have you been, Brownlow?" demanded Mr Wilmot in an unfriendly tone.
"I went on a training run, sir," replied Luke.
"You were expected in the hall for detention fifteen minutes ago."
Luke's lower jaw dropped. "Oh, sorry sir, I completely forgot about that. I'll just get changed and go down."
Mr Wilmot's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he peered more closely at Luke. "Why are you carrying a rucksack?"
"A bit of extra weight, sir, to help with the training," Luke lied.
Unfortunately, Mr Wilmot's sixth sense of trouble-detection seemed to have kicked in, or perhaps Luke was simply a terrible liar. "Take it off."
Luke's stomach seemed to be falling down towards the ground floor. He slipped the backpack off his shoulders and placed it into the housemaster's outstretched hand. Now the books and the newspaper were in Pagan's possession, the bag was not very heavy at all. Mr Wilmot's eyebrows elevated themselves into an expression of polite disbelief as he gauged its weight for himself. He handed it back to Luke. "Open it."
Luke unzipped the bag and held it open so Mr Wilmot could see inside. The housemaster removed Pagan's plastic bag and peered into it. He lifted his head and stared at Luke. "Why are you carrying these?"
Luke could not think of a single innocent answer to this question. He couldn't believe his bad luck at running into Mr Wilmot at this moment.
"Perhaps you'll find it easier to talk to the headmaster about this."
Luke would have protested; would have admitted everything rather than have to face Ned. But Mr Wilmot had already turned away and was walking through the door which led from the east wing to the corridor known to the students as Death Alley, where the headmaster's office was. Feeling sick, Luke followed him through the usually-off-limits entrance.
Ned was working at his desk and did not appear happy to see Mr Wilmot with Luke in tow. "What's the matter?" he asked, abruptly, then focused his attention upon Luke. "Aren't you supposed to be in detention right now?"
"Brownlow skipped the detenti
on and I found him with these in his possession," Mr Wilmot declared, placing the bag of cigarette ends onto Ned's desk.
Ned examined the contents of the bag. "Why on earth are you carrying these around with you?"
Luke did not want to give an answer to this but Mr Wilmot supplied one for him. "Isn't it obvious, headmaster? He must have been smoking!"
Ned turned to the housemaster with a small frown. "I've never met a smoker who carries their smoked cigarettes around with them." He directed his hard stare back to Luke. "Is this something to do with the vest-on-the-statue incident?"
Luke swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir,"
"Would you care to elaborate?"
No, I really wouldn't, thought Luke, remaining silent.
"No?" said Ned, pushing the cigarettes away from him and interlocking his fingers. "So, let me guess: you were going to plant these in the possession of those you thought responsible and get your revenge upon them by making it appear they had been smoking in school?"
Luke nodded again.
"And is anyone else involved in this plan of yours?"
Luke thought of Pagan and of the other Romans and firmly shook his head. "No, sir."
"Then where, may I ask, did you get these from? They don't look as though you picked them up from the road. As far as I can see," continued Ned, pulling the bag back and inspecting the cigarette ends again, "these look as though they have all come from the same packet and have been smoked quite recently."
A horrible realisation struck Luke: now he had lied to protect Pagan, the trap the Romans had carefully prepared for Wharton was going to close neatly and painfully around himself.
"This suggests either that they have been smoked by you or that you have just visited the public house in the village to collect them." Ned's tone of voice was level and reasonable but as the year nines were only allowed to visit the village at weekends, admitting to either offence seemed likely to land Luke in detentions for the rest of the term. While he was trying to decide which of the two options was going to be the least damaging, Mr Wilmot unexpectedly ruled out the first.