Chapter 4

Even the shortest amount of time on a plane can make you feel as though you need a shower. After more than two hours on that plane, I would have killed for one.

I collected my baggage, piling it onto a trolley and pushing it through the automatic doors into the Arrivals area. Nothing like a little manual labour to add to an already serious BO problem, I thought to myself. Pushing my hair back from my eyes and giving a theatrical sigh, I scanned the crowd. I had been told that someone from the school would meet me. How they would recognise me, I didn't know, and I didn't see a board with my name on it anywhere.

For a second I had a mental image of myself, stranded alone at Heathrow Airport. Then I saw a figure waving in my general direction. Looking around, just in case they were signalling to someone near me, I headed towards the young girl who, as I drew closer, began to look very familiar.

"Christine!"

I pulled up short, looked the blonde girl up and down, then smiled in recognition.

"Meg!"

Meg Grayson was the girl who had shown me around the school on my visit earlier in the summer. From memory, she had been very friendly and upbeat, perhaps a little too giggly sometimes, but the kind of girl it was impossible to dislike. I realised that she had told me how she also lived abroad. Her father was in the army, and had been posted out in Germany for the past two years. But seeing her here was a little unexpected.

"I didn't know you'd be here," I said as I followed her, pushing my trolley along towards the exit.

"You're not the only one who lives abroad, you know," she said, laughing. I had to concede the point. Since it was primarily a boarding I was now attending, it stood to reason that at least some of the students would live overseas. Why else would they be boarders?

Meg led me outside. It was dusk, the darkening sky was filled with rain clouds, and there was a wonderfully cool atmosphere that told me it had been raining quite recently. We made our way to the open parking lot, where a minibus with the school's name and emblem on the side was waiting. The driver picked up my bags and placed them on top of the pile at the back of the bus. When I climbed I was greeted by at least seven other students who smiled and were made to introduce themselves by Meg.

Apparently I was the last person to be collected, because once Meg and I were seated the driver started up the engine and we moved away from the terminal. I watched the bright lights of the other cars and buses go past in the darkness beyond my window. It was relieving, in a way, to be back in England, where I recognised my surroundings and understood what people said.

Beside me, Meg chatted away about school and classes, and I listened with half an ear to everything. Eventually, however, I said I was going to rest. The journey had worn me out and I wanted to catch a little sleep before we got back to the school, which was at least two hours drive away. Thankfully, she smiled understandingly and nodded. So I fixed my earphones over my head, and let Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony lull me into a peaceful place between sleeping and waking.

I was woken by Meg shaking me.

"Wakey wakey," she said, grinning. I gave a drowsy groan and looked out my window. We were still moving, but through what looked like a suburban area. Dark trees and fields could be seen between the buildings, most of which appeared to be ordinary houses. But then we passed a few that looked more... well, school-like. Big, red stone buildings with dozens of small windows, or sometimes just a few big long ones.

"Those are the boys' dorms," Meg said, pointing. Peering out of the window I found I could make out silhouettes behind the drawn curtains in the windows. I knew that, thankfully, I would be getting my own room. It was a privilege for Seniors.

We stopped outside the boys' dorms to let them unload their things before moving on to the girls' building, which looked almost exactly the same in the darkness. The few of us remaining piled out of the minibus and, with the help of the driver, got our things down. I slung one bag over my shoulder and dragged one along behind me on its two wheels. My whole body was aching, my little rest on the journey seeming to have only made me feel worse. At the door, one of the girls with us punched in a code and a little green light appeared on the keypad, allowing us inside.

Inside was a small lobby, with a little wooden staircase leading up to the next level and a large billboard against one wall with notices tacked all over it. One of these told us where our bedrooms where and I trailed my finger down the list until I came to my own name, and the room number: 5. Of course I had no idea where that was, but Meg quickly pointed me in the right direction. It was on the ground level, at the very end of the corridor. We parted ways, as Meg had a room on the level above, and I dragged my things along, negotiating the corridor, which was already a considerable mess, with some difficulty. I guessed it was all beginning of the year clutter, with everyone trying to sort their rooms out and get unpacked.

"3... 4... here we are," I said to myself. Using my elbow, I pushed the handle down and then nudged the door open with my shoulder.

Inside, I was glad to see that the room didn't look too bad. It did seem a bit institutional, just a square room with bright yellow walls, very drab curtains, and no furniture other than a desk, plastic chair, bed and wardrobe, which didn't leave much space in the rest of the room. But there were no bars on the windows, although when I tried to open them they could only be opened a few inches, no doubt to stop the room's occupant making a daring midnight escape.

Shame, I thought with a sardonic grin.

Setting my two big bags down, I pulled my mobile phone out of my pocket. The thing didn't work in Italy, but I switched it on, knowing that my father would probably try and call me soon, to check that I had arrived safely. Setting it down on the desk, I began unpacking my things. I didn't intend on doing it all tonight, I was too tired. But I did need to get out a few essentials.

I changed quickly into my sweatpants and t-shirt before making up my bed with the duvet and pillows the school provided. I was just about to grab my towel and go in search of the bathroom when my phone began ringing. I answered on the second beep.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

I smiled with relief at the sound of my father's voice. "Hiya."

"Made it okay, did you?"

"Yep. All in one piece... no hassle."

"What are you up to now?" he asked.

"Just unpacking," I told him casually, trying to ignore the feeling of homesickness that was quickly building in the pit of my stomach.

"Great. Did you meet anyone?"

"I saw Meg... but right now I think I'll just go to bed. I'm too tired to be friendly."

My father chuckled down the phone. "Alright then, honey. I'll leave you to it."

A lump rose in my throat. I actually would have liked to talk to my father for longer, in spite of my tiredness. But I knew this phone call would be pretty expensive and so I reluctantly let him go, and we hung up. I stared sadly at the phone in my hand, then tried to get a grip on myself. Quietly I went to the bathroom just down the hall, got cleaned up and then returned to my room, climbing into bed and snuggling down under the covers, trying to block my ears to the loud pop music that was coming from the next room and fighting back miserable sobs.

When I finally did sleep, it was to dream about standing in the ruins of my school and my home and hearing nothing expect a dull roar in my ears, the echo of an explosion that had deafened me. When I tried to call out for help no sound came out until I knelt down among the scorched stone and blackened wood, and cried noiselessly into my hands.

I was woken by the violent ringing of a bell just outside my door. I raised my head and looked about me. The faintest of light was coming from behind my curtains, and when I checked my watch I noted that it was 7:00AM. With a groan I pulled the covers back over my head. I had checked the schedule for the dorms... you got a warning bell at 7:00, and then another at 7:30 to summon everyone to breakfast and a roll-call. I had about fifteen minutes to just lie in bed, and I did just that, not feeling particularly motivated to go anywhere or do anything, but aware that I would have to.

Finally I dragged myself out from under the sheets and got dressed in the school uniform, which looked more like a business suit to me, with a navy, jacket and knee-length skirt. I tweaked the collar of my white shirt, then quickly put on a little make-up to get rid of the tired bags under my eyes.

The bell rang again, and I heard people moving out of their rooms into the corridor. I joined them, smiling at the few people who greeted me.

Roll-call was taken, and I answered to my name through a mouthful of cereal, the only thing I could manage with my nerves as they were. Meg was there, and introduced me to all the other seniors who were there. Most of them looked friendly enough, although one girl, named Charlotte, raised her eyebrows when Meg mentioned I would be taking music.

"You're a musician, are you?" she asked, in a slightly condescending tone, pushing her luxuriously thick auburn hair back from her face.

"Yes," I said, feeling slightly in the spotlight under her gaze. "Singing mostly."

"Really?" she asked, her expression growing ever more disdainful.

"Really," I said with an air of finality. I was not prepared to be intimidated by this girl who, even from first appearances, seemed to be a bit of a snob. I didn't want to pick a fight by challenging her tone of voice either, so I ignored her for the rest of breakfast and kept my eyes fixed down in my bowl of cereal.

"Don't mind her," Meg said as we were heading towards the main assembly room. "She's probably just worried about you being competition."

"Competition?"

"Yeah... she's all high and mighty about her voice. I mean... she's good. Really good... but she's such a little..." She trailed off, pulling a face that made her point clear enough.

"The 'this town ain't big enough for the both of us' type?" I said in my best cowboy voice.

Meg laughed aloud. "Exactly."

Well, that wasn't good. One thing I didn't need right now was a catty little bitch who looked for enemies everywhere she went. I wasn't going to let her stop me from doing my best in singing... just because she couldn't stand the idea of being bumped off whatever pedestal she had erected for herself. That wasn't why I'd come here, after all.

Not that I wanted to come here in the first place, I thought bitterly to myself.

The assembly hall was a massive building that looked more like a auditorium. The headmaster, who gave a small speech to us all, stood up on a large stage, surrounded by red curtains and hangings. It looked very professional, with scaffolding showing at the back along with various backdrops and furniture obviously used in plays. A large black piano stood off to one side, and I couldn't help feeling excited at the thought of performing on that stage. I just hoped I would get the opportunity.

Once assembly was over, Meg had to rush off to meet a teacher... to hand in some holiday work, she said. Unfortunately, she left before I had the opportunity to ask where the English room was. It was my first lesson, and as I watched the mass of students surge out onto the campus, moving in all directions, I began to feel incredibly lost.

Glancing around, I spotted an elderly looking gentleman that I assumed was a teacher. He looked reasonably harmless, and so I approached him, my class schedule in one hand. A few minutes of direction giving and pointing later, I was reasonably confident I could make it to the room without getting more lost than I already was and, thanking the teacher, dashed off.

I was late, which wasn't the best start to my time at the school, and did little to ingratiate my presence with the elderly teacher, who gave me a disdainful look as I entered, apologising profusely.

"How nice of you to join us, Miss..." he consulted a register, "Day."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said again, wishing desperately that he would let me sit down so I didn't have to experience the sensation of being watched and giggled at by every other student in the room. Finally he gestured to one of the empty desks, going to various cupboards lining the walls of the room and extracting several books, which he then deposited in front of me.

"These are the books you will be requiring for this years syllabus."

I stared at the pile of books. Fabulous, I thought to myself. Already I could see that there were several texts which I had not been required to read at my last school. Obviously I had a little catching up to do.

"With me you will be studying Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness," the teacher went on, "along with T.S. Eliott's The Wasteland, which will make up your coursework. And once that's out of the way we'll be looking through First World War poetry and literature, if you see me after class I'll give you a list of reading material. Any questions?"

"Yes," I said, slightly puzzled. "Don't we have to do more? I thought we had to do a Shakespeare play."

"Indeed you do," the teacher said, ignoring the slight titter of laughter that came from the students. "But not in my class. Now... if you'll open your Conrad, we'll start looking through..."

Outwardly I did as he instructed, but on the inside I was panicking just a little. I had two English teachers? How much work would we actually be doing here? And what would it be exactly? Knowing my luck, more stuff I didn't have the first clue about. World War Poetry I could deal with... but I had no idea about the story we were now reading through, or the piece that was supposed to go with it for our coursework.

There was a tap on my elbow. I turned to look at the young man next to me. He was grinning in a way I assumed was meant to be encouraging, but I couldn't help being slightly disturbed because, as I stared back at him, with his soft-looking, light blonde hair and rich brown eyes, I was overcome by a sense of familiarity (not to mention the sudden appearance of butterflies in my stomach).

"Don't panic," he whispered when the teacher's back was turned.

"Easier said than done," I muttered back, but smiling in return. "Who's the other teacher?"

"Mr. Finch. He's not as bad as Atkinson, though."

Atkinson, I assumed, was the teacher we were confronted with now. I glanced at him, to check he was still distracted by whatever he was writing up on the whiteboard.

"I'd hate to think he was worse."

The guy stifled a laugh, and then we both had to straighten up and pay attention, although I did feel slightly heartened by the fact that it wasn't only me who thought the teacher was a bit of a gargoyle, even from first appearances. But throughout the lesson I kept stealing little sideways glances at him and, by the time the lesson was finished, I was so certain I knew him I was determined to ask him directly.

As we filed out of the classroom, I tugged at his elbow.

"Hello again," I said, smiling and hoping I wasn't betraying my embarrassment.

"Hello again," he echoed with the same grin.

"Look... do I know you?" I asked, resorting to bluntness once again in my nervousness. He gave me a quizzical look, his admittedly gorgeous face wrinkled in concentration. "I know it's a weird question," I went on, "I just got the funny feeling..."

"Like we've met before?" he broke in suddenly. "Yeah... I thought that when Atkinson said your name was Day. What's your first name?"

"Christine. What's yours?"

The smile of recognition had already lit up his face. "Richard Carlson," he said with a hint of relish.

As soon as he said the name I had it. Suddenly I was besieged by a rush of bitter-sweet memories from years ago. Bitter because they reflected a time when my mother had still been alive, and we had been living up in the vast countryside that made up The Lake District... a place I still missed desperately. But sweet too, because I realised that the young man in front of me was none other than the little trouble-maker who, at eleven years, had taken me out on Lake Windermere in a rowing boat, in the rain, made mudslides with me in his back garden and whose family often joined mine on summer holidays down in Cornwall. Richard Carlson had been my childhood friend and (I felt myself blush even admitting it to myself) secret crush. He had been sweet and good-looking even then, although I had never declared, my feelings for him, let alone acted on them. We had been far too young for that.

So it was strange to see him standing there before me, probably just shy of eighteen years, and looking more appealing than ever. The fact that he recognised me in return was unbelievable.

"Oh my god," was all I could think of to say at first.

He laughed. "My thoughts exactly. I can't believe it... it's been how long? Six years?"

"Yeah," I agreed, unable to keep the smile from stretching almost painfully across my face.

It would have been nice to have spoken with him for a little longer, but at that precise moment the bell for the next lesson rang. I had a free class, but Richard was rushing off to a Drama class. I grinned, remembering how he had always wanted to act when we were kids, and often insisted I help him set up mini adaptations of plays and films in our garden, where I played every woman character and he played every male. Promising to catch up with me later he hurried away, with a backwards glance at me as he went.

Well, that little reunion certainly elevated my mood for the rest of the day. Even an encounter with the girl I had met at breakfast, Charlotte, didn't manage to bring me down later that day. We, unfortunately, had Music together. It was a relatively small class, but the teacher was friendly but firm. I could feel her genuine passion for music right from the offset, and that made me certain that, even with Charlotte and her suspicious glares, I would enjoy myself in these lessons. After establishing what kind of musician I was, she resolved to get us started on the syllabus which, thankfully, was quite flexible. We were sent off to various practice rooms, the music department being a completely separate building and therefore having lots of little rooms, some of which were already occupied by part-time teaching staff giving lessons in various musical instruments.

I found an unoccupied room and went inside. Charlotte took the next room along, studiously ignoring me. Well, at least she hadn't yet resorted to catty remarks. Maybe we could just ignore each other for the whole year and not have any nasty disagreements. I did pause once during my own practice to listen to the faint sound of her voice through the wall. She was a soprano like me, and I had to admit that she was pretty good as far as the technicalities of the music went. It was obvious she had received a lot of training over the years... good training. If I was in a position to criticise her then I might have said that she didn't really convey the emotions of the piece, which was the spirited Je Veux Vivre, from Romeo et Juliette. She just sang it... she didn't feel it.

Halfway through the practice, the teacher came in to listen to me, saying she wanted to know what I had to offer them all. Nodding, I passed her some music sheets and saw her give an approving nod at seeing The Jewel Song from Gounod's Faust. She went straight into the introduction, and I sang the opening trill confidently, trying not to let my eyes linger on the woman's face to see her reaction. I gave it my all, since that was what she asked for and as the final chords were played, she turned a very impressed smile to me that instantly had me blushing.

"Well... you've certainly got it, Christine," she said. I ducked my head shyly. "And don't look so modest. If you've got it, flaunt it, as they say."

I giggled, and then she calmly told me about singing in concerts and the school choir, which met every Thursday afternoon after school and sang every Sunday in the school chapel. Apparently I was required to join, as a music student, but I pointed out that I probably would have joined anyway. Any activity that involved singing was a definite plus for me.

At the end of the lesson I left the building, but didn't miss the sharp look that came from Charlotte as I walked past her. I just kept my head down and ignored her, telling myself that at least the teacher thought I was good, and hopefully I would have a chance to perform while I was here.

I had nothing else to do that afternoon, but I received a very welcome visit from Richard, wanting to have a little catch up session. We went on a walk around the campus, reminiscing about our childhood and finding out what had happened to each other after me and my father moved away. He told me that his family had moved down to London, but because he hated the idea of living in a cramped city all the time they had sent him to boarding school here, where he was now (to their dismay) hoping to hone his acting skills.

I gave him the heavily edited version of the past six years... telling him about Paula, Joseph and finally the move to Rome that summer.

"That must be weird," he said thoughtfully. "I mean... Rome's amazing, but it must be pretty hard for you."

I thought of my encounter with that masked man, who had threatened my family and killed another man. "You have no idea."

He didn't pick up on my slightly ominous tone, or if he did he assumed I was being melodramatic. We spent at least two hours talking before he had to leave for rugby practice. As I watched him go, I marvelled at how easy it had been to talk to him, almost as if we had never been away from each other. He was so easy-going and charming, just like I remembered, with that cheeky sense of humour ever-present in his expression.

As the day drew to a close and I found myself getting ready for bed once again, I was beginning t convince myself that perhaps life in this new school would not be so bad after all. I had Meg... Richard... and I had music. What more could I ask for?

I climbed into bed and sank back against the pillows.

In two weeks, I told myself, I'll be wondering what all the fuss was about.

No Erik in this chapter... sorry. Hope Richard is a good enough substitute. (What am I saying?)