Mr Thomas was first on the scene. He broke into the ring of chanting onlookers and by doing so, silenced them; as though their ability to shout was dependent on the completeness of the circle. Luke and Wharton did not immediately notice the change in the volume around them; each was so entirely focused on the other, attempting to land punches while preventing his rival from doing the same. They were both holding tight to each other's clothing with their left hands, as they span in a flurry of blows around the enclosure formed by the other students.
"Brownlow. Wharton. Stop it."
Mr Thomas's words, delivered in a conversational tone right behind their heads, put an instant end to the fight as the two combatants returned to an awareness of their surroundings. They parted, hot, panting and unkempt, while the deputy head addressed the crowd.
"Move along, it's over." The audience turned and reluctantly drifted away from the scene of the disturbance.
"You two: with me." Luke and Wharton followed behind Mr Thomas as he led them up the main staircase to his office on the floor above. Luke knew they were in trouble, but his over-riding feeling was of relief: relief to have finally been able to physically vent his frustrations on Wharton and an even greater relief that it was the deputy head and not the headmaster who was going to be sorting out the consequences.
Mr Thomas's office was in Death Alley, the same corridor as Ned's, but was not a room which Luke had been inside before. It faced north, over the driveway at the front of the school and, like Ned's, it was lined with bookshelves, although it was considerably smaller than the headmaster's study, with only one tall window where Ned's had four.
The deputy head shut the door behind them and crossed to the window, where he leaned up against the deep wooden sill, folding his arms and regarding the two boys. Luke and Wharton had positioned themselves as far away from each other as was physically possible in such a small room.
"I'm not going to ask what that was all about," began Mr Thomas, "because I don't suppose you'll tell me and, quite frankly, I'm not in the least bit interested. You are both fully aware of the school rules in relation to fighting so I won't insult your intelligence by reminding you of them.
"Now I could put you both in detention for the rest of the week, but I seriously doubt that such a course of action would achieve anything at all. You've got a history of personal rivalry and you've both apparently got a lot of time on your hands and plenty of energy to spare." Mr Thomas looked at them speculatively. "On balance, I think getting you to work on some sort of co-operative activity might be more constructive."
Luke glanced across at Wharton and recognised his own misgivings about this plan in the expression on the Viking's face. Luke briefly wondered if it might be socially acceptable to beg for the detentions instead.
"As it happens, I think I might have the perfect project for you. Keep your Saturday afternoons free, gentlemen, because unless you can manage to work together productively it might take you a few weeks to complete."
Luke looked over at Wharton again, who was staring morosely at the floor, not looking at all curious about Mr Thomas's scheme.
"Er, what's the project, sir?" asked Luke, since Wharton did not seem to be about to ask.
"I need to make some arrangements with other people first," replied the deputy head. "Report back here at two o'clock on Saturday and all will be revealed. Now clear off to the sick bay, both of you, and get your battle scars seen to."
As soon as Mr Thomas said this, Luke became aware of a throbbing pain in his left temple and realised that his right hand felt stiff and sore. When Wharton turned to leave the room, Luke saw that the Viking's left eye socket was already turning an interesting shade of deep purple. They walked down Death Alley to the sick bay together without a word. Matron passed no comment on their injuries, but checked them over, cleaned and dressed the cut on the side of Luke's head and then dispensed ice packs for them to hold against their bruises.
"Come back and see me later if you need some painkillers," she told them.
"What did you get? Detention?" asked Jay when Luke joined him on the way into Mr Wilmot's maths lesson after leaving the sick bay.
Luke was delighted to find that his friend was talking to him again. Maybe it had been worth punching Wharton, after all. "No," he replied, as they took their seats. Under cover of the background noise of the class settling down, he explained the unorthodox punishment that Mr Thomas was devising for them.
"I think I'd rather have a week of detentions," replied Jay, a little too loudly. Mr Wilmot had just taken his place at the front of the class and the room had fallen into silence while Jay was still speaking.
"That can be arranged, Trenton, if you don't keep quiet," said Mr Wilmot.
"Sorry, sir," muttered Jay.
By the end of the lesson Luke's whole head was throbbing. He glanced over at Wharton and gained some satisfaction from the sight of the Viking's pale face and his bruised eye socket. Luke really wanted to duck into the sick bay again and get some painkillers from the Matron to ease his headache, but he was reluctant to show any sign of weakness in sight of Wharton.
The afternoon break was only ten minutes long and beyond that was the prospect of Mr Wilmot's IT lesson stretching on into the late afternoon. The thought of staring at the glare of a computer screen while his head was aching so much spurred Luke into going back to the sick bay. He was not surprised to find Wharton there when he arrived. Matron was handing him some pills and watching him swallow them down. She eyed Luke as he stood on the threshold of the room. "You too, huh?"
Wharton left and Matron made Luke sit down. "How are you feeling?"
"I've just got a headache."
"Not feeling sick or dizzy?" she asked, looking closely at his eyes.
"No," said Luke.
"And you can remember what happened earlier on?"
"Yes!" Luke told her, beginning to feel irritated.
"Don't get snappy with me, young man, I'm just checking you for signs of concussion," Matron replied, sounding a little snappy herself.
"Sorry, Matron," said Luke.
The bell for the next lesson rang as Luke took the painkillers. He knew that going the long way round to the IT suite would make him late, so he headed in the other direction, taking the more direct route down the rest of the usually-out-of-bounds corridor towards the east wing of the school.
As he reached the door at the end of the corridor, it opened and Ned came through it in the opposite direction, heading for his office. He was carrying a briefcase and not wearing his black gown. He must have just arrived back from a meeting somewhere. The frown which had appeared on his face on seeing Luke out-of-bounds in Death Alley, transformed into an expression of concern when he noticed the sticking plaster on Luke's bruised temple. "What's happened to you this time?"
Luke did not want another discussion about Wharton with Ned. He tried to sidestep the headmaster and get to the door behind him. "I'm going to be late for IT," he said.
Ned did not move, blocking Luke's exit. "I asked you a question," he pointed out. His tone was civil, but there was an unmistakeable warning in the words.
Luke sighed, resigning himself to a row with Ned over the fight and a further showdown with Mr Wilmot over his late arrival in the IT class. "I got in a fight," he admitted, "but Mr Thomas-"
"With Benjamin Wharton?" Ned cut across him.
"Yes."
"I've warned you about continuing this feud."
The painkillers had not yet started to ease Luke's headache and the pain, combined with his irritation at managing to attract yet more trouble, sapped his self-restraint again. He found the volume of his voice rising as he replied.
"Yes, but you haven't warned Wharton, have you? I've been trying to rise above it all year but there's only so much of his shit that I can take. It's not fair!"
He stared defiantly back at Ned, aware that he had overstepped several invisible marks with this short speech, but beyond caring. He was furious to find
that tears were forming in his eyes. Ned's face remained impassive. He gestured towards the door to his office, which was just behind Luke. "Shall we?"
It was not really a question, but an order. Ned unlocked the door and Luke followed him through the secretary's ante-room to the office beyond. Luke was glad that Miss Croft was not at her desk as this meant that his outburst in the corridor had remained unheard by anyone else. Ned closed the inner door of his office behind them and crossed to his desk, putting his briefcase down on the floor beside it.
The afternoon sun was flooding through three of the four tall windows of the room and, as usual, the school's ancient heating system was keeping the temperature higher than it needed to be. Luke's shoulders slumped as the heat of the room drained away his willingness to fight.
"Why don't you take a seat?" Ned asked, indicating one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Luke collapsed into it and watched Ned walk to the window closest to him. The sun had begun to drop behind the west wing of the school and the shadow of the building was now falling over this end of the room. Ned lifted the lower sash and dropped the top one by a few feet. Some of the heat of the room escaped through the top of the window and the wind, which had been so coldly piercing outside in the lunch hour, flowed in through the lower half to replace it. The fresh air washed over Luke's face and this time it was welcome: cooling him down and doing a great deal to improve his spirits.
He felt even happier when Ned took the chair next to his, rather than sitting down behind the desk. The fact that Ned had left his black gown hanging on the back of the door also gave him comfort. These both seemed to be indications that Ned was not going to be talking to him in his official role, which, Luke felt, was just as well. He was pretty sure that shouting and swearing at your head teacher would be near the top of the list of Really Stupid Things To Do, for a regular student.
Ned said nothing, but leant forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped together, waiting for Luke to explain himself.
"I'm sorry," said Luke. "That came out all wrong."
His neighbour remained silent and Luke was forced to carry on.
"I've been putting up with Wharton all year, because of what you said to me in the summer and after Christmas. I've kept walking away from confrontations with him and it's just got worse and worse. Pagan-" He hesitated, reluctant to put his next thought into words, as though doing so would somehow make it definitely true. "Pagan and me have just split up because of it." His voice cracked slightly as he said it.
"'Faint heart fair lady ne'er could win'," suggested Ned.
"Well, yeah," agreed Luke.
"So was that what the fight was about?"
"Yeah – he said he thinks Pagan will go out with him now."
Ned made a small sound, which might have been a snort of disbelief. He followed it up with a question. "So, do you think standing up to him on this occasion will have helped matters?"
"I dunno," said Luke, hunching forwards, rubbing his aching head and staring down at the familiar pattern of the carpet. "I hope so. It might make him think twice: I gave him a black eye." He looked back up at Ned. "If I'd done this months ago it would have saved me a lot of grief, but I was trying so hard to stay out of trouble. I wish I hadn't bothered. Then we were reading Romeo and Juliet this morning and-"
"Hold on," interrupted Ned. "Are you going to try and pin all this on William Shakespeare?"
"There was this bit where things just get worse when Romeo doesn't stand up for himself," Luke explained. "It made me think that's what I was doing, too."
"Well, I've heard of people blaming video games for inciting violence, but I think this is the first time that reading Shakespeare has been given as a contributory factor. I'm going to talk to Mr Garnet. Maybe we should think about changing the English curriculum."
Luke had to smile.
"You should have told me sooner about the problems you were having," Ned added.
"But then it's like telling tales," objected Luke. He could feel his headache beginning to ease. He tried to explain again. "This year has been a nightmare because Wharton didn't get warned off by you like I did and because I've been trying too hard to do what you said."
"So you're just asking for a level playing field?"
"Yeah, exactly. If I make mistakes, then that's my lookout."
"OK, I can live with that. Now we've got that straight I think we'd both better get back to work."
They rose to their feet and walked towards the door. Ned lifted his black gown off its hook and pulled it on.
"There's one more thing I need to make clear," the headmaster said. Luke looked up at him. Ned's face was serious "I don't want to hear language like that from you again."
He didn't complete the sentence with an 'or else...', but he didn't need to. It was clear to Luke that his neighbour had just donned his official personality as well as his gown. Luke's face grew hot and he nodded, feeling awkward.
"Understood," he replied. "Sorry." Then, to show that he recognised the shift in their roles, he added, "Sir."
Ned looked startled at this sudden formality, but before he could comment, there was a light, almost playful, rap on the door and it opened outwards, revealing a smiling woman Luke had never seen before. Her smile vanished when she saw that Ned was not alone.
"Oh darn it. The woman I spoke to downstairs told me you'd be free right now. I'll come back later."
Ned was staring at her with an expression of astonishment, apparently robbed of speech. Luke watched him with curiosity. He'd never seen Ned so confounded by anything. He turned his attention back to the source of this disturbance. She was pretty enough, supposed Luke, and there was no denying that her hourglass figure was being shown off to perfection by the impeccable fit of her clothes. They were of a style Luke associated with the wealthy women who visited the country club across the road from the school. The woman's hair was equally well-designed: dark, sleek and short. Her fingernails and lips were painted in a precisely-matched deep red and, judging by her accent, she was American.
While Luke was making this assessment of the new arrival, Ned had regained his composure and ability to speak. "No, no. It's alright Meredith, Brownlow was just leaving."
Luke looked up at Ned, half-expecting a word of farewell and some explanation as to the woman's identity, or even an introduction. But Ned's attention was wholly fixed on this Meredith, leaving Luke no choice but to sidle out of the room, feeling thoroughly dismissed. Meredith tilted her head to one side and bestowed a smile on Luke as he passed in front of her through the doorway. The smile did not reach her eyes and Luke could tell that she viewed him as nothing but a temporary inconvenience which was delaying her business with Ned. She swept into the office and closed the door firmly behind her, leaving Luke alone in the anteroom with a trace of her (probably very expensive) perfume and a vaguely unsettled feeling. Who was she? And how come Ned had never mentioned her?
Luke didn't have much time to muse on the mysterious Meredith, as he still had to negotiate the consequences of arriving late to Mr Wilmot's IT class. He entered the room as quietly as possible, but not quietly enough to escape Mr Wilmot's notice. The housemaster was stooped over one of the other students' computers, his short body curled into the shape of a question mark. He turned to Luke with a facial expression to match.
"Sorry I'm late, sir," said Luke. Mr Wilmot continued to look at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. Luke was forced to admit in front of the class that he had been seeing the headmaster. Mr Wilmot's glance immediately flicked over to Wharton. It was obvious to Luke that Mr Wilmot had heard about their fight and was now wondering why the Roman, but not the Viking, had been summoned to see the head. Luke was sure that the same thought would be going through the minds of all his classmates. He could almost see it, hanging in a cloud-shaped thought bubble in the middle of the room. So much for a level playing field, he reflected.
"Sit down, Brownlow," Mr Wilmot told him. Luke avoided l
ooking at Wharton but he didn't need to: he could easily picture the smug smile that was settling on the Viking's face at the thought that Luke had somehow been reprimanded twice for the same offence. Luke dived into the seat beside Jay and tried to ignore the curious looks he was getting from the rest of the class. At least Mr Wilmot hadn't given him a detention or anything for turning up late.
"Tell you later," Luke muttered in reply to the question on Jay's face.
Chapter Eleven
Meredith closed the door firmly behind Luke and rewarded Ned with a more genuine smile than the one she had given his neighbour. "You haven't changed a bit," she said.
Ned put his hand up to his receding hairline. "Liar."
"Oh, it's so good to see you again, Graham."
"Come and sit down," said Ned, "and explain yourself."
Meredith moved to take the seat that Luke had recently occupied under much the same terms and conditions. Ned watched her walk across the room. Except that 'walk' was not an adequate word to describe her motion. 'Sashay' was the alternative that presented itself to his mind.
Meredith settled into her chair and crossed one shapely leg over the other.
"I've got meetings all around the country this month and a few days' vacation in between, so I rented a car and I thought I'd catch up with some old friends. Naturally, you were at the top of my list."
Ned sat down next to her. "But why? I thought we'd agreed to go our separate ways."
"Can't a girl change her mind?" purred Meredith, her scarlet lips forming a small pout. "How about I take you out for dinner tonight, to make things up to you? Unless your wife would object, of course."
Ned let that last remark pass without comment. "That sounds great." He and Julia had been planning to go to the cinema that evening, but that they could always do that on another night.
"Awesome. I'll pick you up at seven. I've found the perfect spot." She stood up again, her hands slowly smoothing her jacket down over her hips. "I'd better not keep you from your work." Her eyes travelled around the office. "This is an amazing place. Very Pride and Prejudice."
Ned rose to see her out and then returned to the sanctuary of his desk, thrown off his stride by this unexpected meeting. After a few minutes of bemused reflection amid a jumble of memories his mind drifted back to the necessity of letting Julia know that he needed to postpone their date. He walked downstairs to the counsellor's office.