9. MR GREY
AUTHOR: Nightshade2412
Charlie Grey had been surprised at his invitation, to say the least. First of all, it was strange enough that a teacher was invited to a student's party, even if he'd never actually had Alex in one of his classes. He'd also been decidedly cool with Alex ever since the boy had run off on the trip to Venice. He was tempted to politely decline, but Tom had made it clear that there'd be plenty of other adults there and had been adamant that he should come, and when he remembered all the rumours that swept through the school every time Alex made an appearance, he realised that his pool of friends had been significantly reduced.
Besides, that red-haired woman living with him had been very pretty. Jack, wasn't it? So, in the end, he dragged himself away from in front of the holiday reruns on TV (marking those essays could wait until after Christmas, right?) and cycled the familiar route to the Rider residence in Chelsea. There were no books in his basket this time, just Cheese Twists and a box of chocolates that was really intended for Jack, not the party, as long as he could smuggle them past Tom.
He managed to hand it to her on the doorstep - she was pleasantly surprised, but he didn't get time to talk because someone else was coming up the path behind him and she quickly ushered him through. The room was already overcrowded when he arrived. He recognised a few teenagers from Brookland. Tom was bouncing around, talking to everyone excitedly, and James Hale was standing on the arm of the sofa hanging up some final streamers, and there was a little group hanging around by the buffet table. But apart from that there was an eclectic mix of strangers. Tom was right about there being plenty of adults, but he was lost over who to start with.
He took a few steps in the direction of a group of twenty-somethings laughing raucously in the corner, but they were all ridiculously muscular and looked like they knew each other and so he stopped, intimidated. Maybe later?
"Ah-ha! Hey there, Mr Grey. Charlie. Can I call you Charlie?"
Tom had appeared at his elbow, and although he was grateful for the assistance in working out what he was supposed to be doing he couldn't get a word in edgeways to say that no, you can't call me that, I'm your teacher.
"You look a bit lost there - ooh, cheese straws, let me take those - so let's see... Tulip!" Tom caught the sleeve of a woman who looked like she was dressed for the office rather than a casual party, in a smart skirt suit. "Charlie, this is Tulip - excuse me, must dash."
And he was gone again, disappearing into the crowd.
"It's Mrs Jones," the woman said wearily, as though she'd already made that correction far too many times today already.
"Mr Grey," he responded, offering a sympathetic smile as he accepted her handshake. "I'm a teacher at Alex's school."
"Yes," she answered. It was as though she already knew exactly who he was, although he didn't understand how she possibly could.
"Er... and you?" he added, when she didn't automatically reply.
"I was a colleague of his uncle," she answered briefly, glancing at something over his shoulder, already distracted from the conversation. "Excuse me, I think I see someone I know..."
She moved off, muttering something under her breath that sounded like exploding baubles, heading for an incredibly fat man who had just come through the door. So much for that reprieve - he was back to standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. He eyed the food, wondering if he could escape by hovering over at the table, but the Brookland teenagers were still there and he recognised a couple from his classes.
He turned his back on them and headed across the room instead, weaving his way through clusters of people having animated discussions, with accents from all over the world. Several Americans, a few Australians - did that man have a dog with him? - and some of them seemed to ooze authority.
Not for the first time, he wondered how much went on in Alex Rider's life that he didn't know about. He, like practically everyone else at the comprehensive, didn't believe the endless stream of doctor's notes for a second.
He mentioned as much to one of the other guests, one of those scary military-looking men, but though the man confirmed the appendicitis, he was left more confused than ever. What did he mean when he said Alex "trained" with them? (What kind of name was Snake, anyway?)
Alex had been quiet lately, though. He had only passed him a couple of times in the corridors in the final week of term when the boy had shown up again, but he had looked pale in a slightly sallow, unhealthy way, with dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had kept his eyes down and winced when someone bumped into him. Charlie wouldn't be surprised if he had spent some time in hospital, but he didn't think it was for the flu, or measles, or whatever the latest excuse had been.
He didn't get a chance to greet Alex - he was too busy fending off a crowd of well-wishers, looking hopelessly over his shoulder for Tom and failing to catch his attention. Better to give him some space, Charlie decided. He was about to try to catch a minute with Jack but then he heard the doorbell ring again and she disappeared again to let the latecomer in.
He poured himself some lemonade and waited for her to reappear again, but when she did, she was whisked off elsewhere before he got a chance and he was left facing the new guests. There was a tall man with a beard holding the hand of a small boy that was maybe four or five. The man smiled at him expectantly and he had no choice but to introduce himself.
"Er- hello, I'm Charlie Grey," he said.
"James Adair," the man greeted. They shook hands.
"And who's this little guy?" Charlie added, grinning at the boy peering up from where he was plastered to his father's side.
"This is my eldest son, John," the man said. "I have two kids, but the younger came down with chicken pox so he's staying at home with my wife. John's already had it, thank goodness."
He grinned in sympathy and then asked the question that he wished he could put to all of the guests here.
"So - how do you know Alex?"
"I've only met him once, actually," James said. "I suppose you could say that I had a connection with his father. Alex was a bit… confused, and Mrs Jones asked me to clear a few things up. She knew more than I did about the whole affair, but probably thought Alex would take it better coming from me. I'm not quite sure why I'm here, but for some reason I got an invite and I guess I wanted to make sure he was doing ok now."
"It's certainly been a difficult year for him," Charlie agreed, glancing over to make sure Alex and his students were still occupied and out of earshot. "I teach Humanities at his school - not that he's in my classes, I know him because I tutored him over the summer - but he's a popular topic in the staffroom, to say the least."
"Really?" James said. "How much does the school know about him?"
The way his question was phrased made Mr Grey wonder what Adair knew - what there was to know. He pushed the thought to one side - Alex was a good kid, he was sure of that, even if he had caused the headache of the century when he disappeared on the school trip. And he was barely fifteen.
"His uncle died about a year ago, and he's been out of school more often than in it since then," Charlie answered. "A string of illnesses, or at least that's what we've been told. Nobody really believes it, though. He comes back injured, bruises and burns and broken bones. The kids pass round rumours of him being a druggie, or in a gang, and even a few of the teachers seem to buy into it. At least, none of us believe the endless supply of doctor's notes…"
"Whatever he is, or does, I think I can safely say that he doesn't take drugs, nor is he in a gang," James said quietly.
"Yeah," he sighed, "I just wish I knew how to help him, that's all."
They shared a moment in silence. Young John was bored of the adults' conversation, leaning against his father's leg as he looked round with interest. He let out a gurgle of laughter as he watched an explosion of glitter coating a girl in a velvet dress, who shrieked and stomped and stormed out. Charlie looked over too - what the hell had that been? Probably a teenage prank. At least he hadn't seen who'd done it. He didn't want to go into teacher-mode.
"Excuse me."
Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see a slim, fair man, about his age, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
"I'm Marc Damon," he said, his Australian accent pronounced. "How would you like to play a game of Monopoly?"
Mr Grey glanced at James and shrugged at him.
"Sure," he said, "why not?"
They followed him to a low coffee table. One side was already occupied - it was the man with the dog, wearing designer sunglasses even though they were indoors.
"Who've you found for me, Damon?" the man asked, leaning back.
"This is Charlie Grey and James Adair," Marc said.
Mr Grey frowned - he didn't remember introducing himself. He remembered how Mrs Jones had also seemed to know exactly who he was. Had he missed out on some pre-party memo?
"Graham's son," the man said, nodding. Charlie glanced over at James, who smiled tightly in response.
"That's right. And this is my own son, John."
"Yes, I heard the story.
John seemed more interested in playing with the dog's fur than paying attention to the confusing introductions.
"I'm Ethan Brooke, and this is Garth," he continued, stroking the labrador's head. "Thank you for agreeing to play with me. "Will, ah, little John be joining us?"
"...He can be on my team," James said, recognising that there was no way the boy would stay focused long enough to finish a game.
"Please." Brooke made a sweeping gesture, indicating that they took a seat.
Marc was already setting up the board and it was immediately obvious that this wasn't the classic London set Charlie had grown up with, Old Kent Road to Mayfair. For starters, the places were different, all different locations in Australia, and everything was bigger - the squares, the playing pieces, even the dice. He realised, as he noticed the ridges and watched Marc guide Ethan's hand to show him where "GO" was, that the elder man must be blind, and wondered why he hadn't seen it before.
He had adapted amazingly well to the handicap, though. After the initial guidance he moved with perfect precision. Charlie realised, as he handed over a sizeable stack of notes, that however harmless he might appear at first glance, this was not a man to be reckoned with.
He kept half an eye on Jack when he could, but she only paused by them once, and if he wasn't mistaken her tone was particularly frosty with the Australians. Later, he saw her lean in to kiss a pretty blond woman, and his heart did a painful flip.
He sighed and knocked back his glass of wine. Ah well, at least he wasn't standing around awkwardly anymore. He shifted to a more comfortable position and settled in to salvage what he could of his losses.