Three Hours(6)
It’s just props, Mum, wasn’t like I had to audition or anything.
Props are really important. And Zac’s doing the technical side too, isn’t he?
Yeah, lights. Victor is Macbeth.
Props are just as important.
As the main part? Seriously, Mum?
To me, yes.
Heart soft as a baby bird.
Is that from that TV series?
And I try to give her a compliment.
She looks up Zac’s number on her mobile contacts, swerving into the snow-covered verge as she takes her eyes off the road. She presses dial, two wheels on the verge, the car tipping at an angle. As Zac’s phone rings, she remembers Jamie’s first day, joining in Year 10 after being bullied at his mean, strict school for the previous three years – not sporty like his older brother, not resilient. The other pupils at Cliff Heights School had looked so relaxed in their scruffy clothes, so confident, arms casually flung round each other; Jamie a stiff wooden pin, as if still wearing a blazer and balancing a cap. Then he’d made two friends, Victor, older than Jamie but new like him, and Zac, the same age, who’d been at the school since Reception, a warm-hearted, easy-going boy who’d clap his arm round Jamie’s shoulders and say ‘Jamester!’ and Jamie would look startled but pleased. Zac’s text nickname for him was ‘J-Me’ and Jamie loved it, still uses it for his Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram. Jamie’s never become as outgoing and confident as Zac, the unchecked cruelty at the previous school leaving a legacy of vulnerability.
Zac’s phone goes through to message.
‘Zac, it’s Beth, Jamie’s mum. Are you with Jamie? Is he okay? Can you ask him to ring me?’
She hangs up and rights the car, jolting back on to the road. She didn’t think to ask Zac if he was okay.
She hasn’t seen much of Zac recently, not for ages, because Jamie hasn’t seen him outside of school, at least not at their house. Yesterday she was actually worried about that.
She’s nowhere near the school yet, but there are police cars blocking the road so you can’t even see the school or your child running down the driveway towards you – because that’s been the spooling film of fantasy all this time, that he will run to you and you will be there and that’s the end of it.
Other parents’ cars are just stopped any old how along the verge. No one is wearing coats, one father still in pyjamas; everyone running to their cars to get to school. Beth hurries towards the police, surrounded by a group of parents. A man is shouting at them, ‘Why aren’t you in the school? Why aren’t you doing anything?’ Other voices as she tries to push her way through:
‘Armed police are coming.’
‘There’s been shots inside Old School.’
‘Are any children hurt?’
‘A few minutes ago.’
‘Has anyone been hurt?’
‘I thought he was in the woods, by the gatehouse.’
‘Must be more of them.’
‘He’s in the corridor.’
Beth, a slender five foot two, not a pusher or shover, is at the front, elbows outwards, facing a police officer. ‘I have to get to the school. My son’s in there.’ A right of entry, because who can argue with that? The police officer looks at her like everyone else here has said the same thing.
‘We’re asking relatives to go to The Pines Leisure Centre, outside Minehead. Do you know how to get there?’
But how can she possibly leave him?
‘A police officer at the leisure centre will update parents with information.’
She’s torn between not wanting to leave the place where he is and wanting to be told he’s okay; that he’s safe. She walks back to her car, the icy ground slippery under her shoes, other parents also returning to their cars.
She hadn’t noticed the snow falling, covering her hair and shoulders, but as she drives away, the snow melts, dripping down her neck inside her collar, off her sensibly cut hair and on to her hands, and she feels like she’s abandoning him.
The trees and roads and hedges are being covered in snow, making the familiar landscape unrecognizable.
A text buzzes from Zac.
Hey Beth, J-me went 2 CDT room 2 get cauldron
He’s not safe in the theatre with Zac and his friends. Not safe.
*
In the library, Frank is in the alcove furthest from the door, crouched under a Victorian table that’s bolted to the floor, one hand pressing his mobile against his left ear as he talks to his mum. He has his mobile and laptop with him, even though they’re not allowed in the library, jittery if he’s away from his technology. His other hand is over his right ear to try to block out the sound of the footsteps. They make him feel breathless, like they are hands squeezing his throat. His twin sister, Luisa, is in the theatre, safe.
Feeling a coward, treacherous, he pretends to his mum that he’s almost out of charge and ends the call, because at some point it stopped being her comforting him and turned into him comforting her and he just couldn’t do that any more. He hands his phone to Esme, crouched next to him.
There are thirteen of them in here and to start with it had been almost fun in a weird kind of way, it was all Code red!! Lockdown!! like they were starring in a Netflix series, but now Mr Marr’s been shot and footsteps are walking up and down and it’s something that makes you terrified and small and huddled into yourself.