The Red Slayer
14 - Bunking Off

Chapter Fourteen – Bunking Off

I’ve eaten my feelings before: during exams, after exams, post-therapy, that time we read Never Let Me Go in English. This is different. This beef burger, stuffed with lettuce, tomato, gherkin and cheese, is a symbol of frustration and spite. I tear through it like tissue paper, ripping every morsel until its only remains are a few crumbs in the open wrapper on the table.

I’m still hungry so I order another, along with fries and a large milkshake. I’m sat at the table with it again when Dante walks through the door and spots me. He comes over and slumps his schoolbag on the seat opposite me and tears off his school tie as if it’s strangling him. ‘You all right?’ he asks.

‘I wouldn’t be comfort eating in Burger King if I was,’ I reply glumly.

He smiles. ‘Fair point.’

He gets up again to order his food, joining the queue just as Luke and Olga arrive. The latter comes to sit with me while Luke orders for them.

‘How did I agree to this?’ she says. ‘We’re going to be in so much trouble.’

‘Like our parents never broke the rules,’ I say.

‘True, but they still have the power to ground us.’

She lightens up when the boys return with more trays of food and tuck in. After the first few bites, I look at each of them. Grumpy Dante slurping his soda, frustrated Luke stabbing fries into his little pot of ketchup, and fuming Olga ripping her veggie burger into smaller bites.

‘How can we all have bad days at once?’ I remark.

Dante shrugs. ‘Fate?’

‘Asshole teachers?’ says Luke.

‘The cruel and unfulfilling feeling of your talents going underappreciated for no reason?’ says Olga. ‘Or all of the above?’

I realise I’m slouching and sit up. ‘Either way, they must have been bad if they made you want to bunk off.’

Luke glances at Olga and his face lights up. ‘Tell them about Mr. Bush.’

‘Mr. Bush?’ says Dante. ‘That Maths teacher you hate?’

She nods. ‘He might not be a teacher much longer.’

Dante and I lean forward to hear more while Luke vibrates with giggles.

‘He’s a big, fat racist,’ says Olga.

Dante gasps. ‘Are you sure?’

’Quite sure. He thought me helping a girl next to me undermined his authority so he summoned our Head of Year to the classroom so he’d have backup when he told me off. And then…’ She shivers. ′Then he said, “you should be grateful to have an education. Other girls from India don’t get half your privileges.’

I stare as the rusted cogs in my mind struggle to move. ‘Other girls from India…but…you’re not Indian.’

‘I know!’ Olga squeaks, loudly enough to turn nearby heads.

‘Does he know you’re not from India.’

‘Iorwen, the whole school should know. Global Week was last month and I did a whole presentation about Pakistan because it’s where my parents are from. But no, like other ignorant white people, he thinks all Hindus are Indian.’ She scoffs. ‘It’s like he never heard of Nepal.’

‘And even if you were Indian,’ I say, ‘Isn’t it still racist to say you should settle for bad teaching?’

Luke stops giggling and goes back to stabbing his ketchup pot with fries. ‘I didn’t have much fun with teachers today either. I was showing my sketchbook to some other kids before the lesson started and the teacher took it from me, leafed through them and said I’d be lucky if I got a C for it. I tried to draw my anger out at lunchtime but…’ He sighs heavily, clenching a fist that would very much like to throw something across the room.

‘That’s so cruel!’ Dante snaps. ‘Almost makes my day seem cheerful.’

‘What happened?’ I ask.

He sighs. ‘I just—I couldn’t stand going to Business Studies today. My parents want me to have a secure office job like them, but…’ He puts a hand on his bare neck and winces, ‘Thinking about being stuck in such a place makes me feel ill. When you texted, Iorwen, it gave me the kick I needed to leave.’

‘Why did you want to bunk off today then?’ Luke asks me. ‘What happened?’

I roll my eyes, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

***

The position Tara found us in was damning to say the least. The two of us sat on the floor, her sitting between my legs with my hand over her mouth. Whitman ordered us out with much shouting and marched us to the Headmistress’s office. Tara acted like we were being arrested, hunching over in her chair, blubbering and clenching her tights until she tore giant ladders in them. And there I was, calm and relaxed. We weren’t in huge trouble. Nothing worth suspension at any rate.

Mrs Silvera, our head, was stern, which made Tara’s tears flow faster, but my heart rate barely rose. ‘You girls know better than to go hiding out in a storeroom. What was wrong with the class room you were using?’

‘We were—’ I began

′Revising!’ Tara asserted. ‘For our exams. The library was too crowded.’

‘Then what was wrong with the classroom?’ asked Silvera. ‘That store cupboard doesn’t have great lighting.’

I stared Tara down, anticipating her excuse.

Mrs. Silvera noticed. ‘Do you have something to say, Miss Davis?’

I sat up straight. ‘I can’t say anything that Tara doesn’t want me to say.’

‘Why’s that? Is something happening between the two of you?’

I wanted to say yes, but I folded my hands in my lap and replied, ‘No comment.’ Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

’Girls, you know you can talk to me. Are the two of you involved in some way?’

It was Tara’s chance to admit we were a couple. She was fine saying it to strangers, but when it came to someone vaguely familiar, she shrank into herself again. Leaving me to explain ourselves.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘Miss, we are girlfriends. But we only kiss, I promise. Tara doesn’t want her family to know yet. We were only in that closet for a quick kiss, but she fell asleep. Mr. Whitman must have assumed the worst, but we promise we weren’t doing anything inappropriate.’

I guess it was a little much for Mrs. Silvera to take in. She let us off with a polite request to keep private moment, platonic or not, outside school. Tara stopped crying and slumped out, reeking with shame. I followed, nonchalant. But the moment we rounded the nearest corner, she rounded on me.

‘Why did you tell her?’ she hissed.

‘It was either tell her or get a detention for no reason.’

‘Oh, because that would be awful,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Now she’s going to call home about us.’

‘She won’t. I told her you weren’t ready to come out. And my dad already knows—’

‘I forgot,’ she scoffed. ‘It doesn’t matter what you do.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Your mother is Clarissa Dalloway so you get away with everything at this school. Ever since you were Hamlet, your ego’s been huge. And I saw you leering at that Kaarlo guy like he’s a piece of candy. How can you call yourself gay and like him, eh?’

‘I’m bi,’ I asserted and put my hands on my hips.

‘Last week you insisted you were gay.’

‘Well, it turns out I was mistaken.’

‘Next month you’ll be calling yourself pan or demisexual or whatever.’

I stamped my foot on the floor. ‘Fine, if you’re going to be a bitch and a coward about this, maybe I’d be better off dating a boy! If Kaarlo were single, I’d dump you for him in a second because he doesn’t care what people think of him!’

At that moment, I realised people were staring. Pupils of all years and a few teachers. Among them, Bradley and Vicki. My heart rate jumped right up and all I could think of was to get away from those eyes. I walked out, I don’t know how I got out of school without being stopped, but the next thing I knew I was walking towards Kensington High Street, saw a Burger King and texted the three of you. I wasn’t sure if you’d join me, but I’m glad you did…

***

‘…I really needed to vent.’

I take another angry bite of my burger while Olga puts her arm around me.

‘Are you two broken up then?’ she asks.

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘I said some pretty unforgivable stuff. It’s so stupid. She wouldn’t be so sensitive if I were a boy.’

Dante stretches his hand over the table to mine while Luke gives me a warm smile. They don’t say anything, but the affection is there. We munch through the rest of our food discussing happier things, like all the books we’ll read when our parents ground us for skiving.

‘What should we do now?’ asks Luke when he’s munched his last French-fry. His eyes switch to me. ‘Your house?’

‘Dad might be there. Why don’t we go somewhere in London we haven’t been before?’

We each sling our bags over our shoulders and I lead the way to the Tube station further down the street. But once we get there and we stare at a map of the District and Circle lines, I can’t decide which one we’ll take.

‘I have an idea,’ says Dante. ‘We’ll hop on the next train to arrive.’ Without hesitating, he leads the way to the barriers. Luke, Olga and I follow him through the Friday afternoon crowd like ducklings. The next train is a District Line. Once on board, and sat next to one another, we stare at Dante again with “Now what?” faces.

‘Let’s see what happens,’ he says. ‘We’ll get off when we feel like it.’

Surrender ourselves to fate? But how do I switch my brain off and follow my gut? It’s okay on a rooftop, five storeys above a stone pavement, that’s still in the city. Ill-gotten as this afternoon may be, I’m not going to spend it in Dagenham.

Five stops in and I wonder if needing to pee is the sign to get off. In and out of the cold, steely Westminster station and I realise it was just cramps. We pass through Temple and I’m starting to get a little bored. Meanwhile, Luke picks his nails and Olga tells Dante about her family moving here from Pakistan.

At Monument, a woman gets on with a tote bag bearing the words Carpe Diem in gold writing. That’s good enough for me. I jump to my feet and announce, ‘We’re getting off at the next stop.’

We speed walk through Tower Hill station, up the steps and through the barriers. Outside, a shallow ramp takes us to a spot where we can see the Tower of London in all its medieval glory. We get closer to the large pedestrian area looking straight ahead at the centuries’ old stone walls.

‘Shall we go in?’ I say. ‘I can pay for the tickets.’

‘Nah,’ says Luke. ‘We should go to Tate Modern. It’s free to get in there.’

‘I know,’ says Olga and makes a beeline for a granite slab nearby which serves as a bench. We follow her over. ‘Why don’t you do some parkour?’

Dante and I look at each other, then at her. ‘Seriously?’

She nods. ‘You can let off some steam, Luke might get some inspiration, and I’ll just have fun watching.’

Luke agrees and sits next to her while Dante and I take off our blazers I roll my shoulders out, slowly, to check for pain. I’m mostly recovered from the dislocation, but I feel the odd twinge from lifting my schoolbag.

Dante goes first. Running towards the unoccupied half of the slab before vaulting over it and performing a roll on the ground. Olga and Luke clap.

My turn. I cartwheel over and make a perfect landing. Luke and Olga give me a standing ovation while Dante playfully rolls his eyes. I briefly clutch my right arm as a pulse of pain passes through it.

‘That’s amazing!’ Luke whoops. ‘Let me give it a try.’

We spend the next twenty minutes giving him a lesson on basic technique. It’s like teaching a horse to jump. At first, he leaps too soon and bangs his shins on the granite, amid much swearing, or he stops at the last minute. But with each attempt, he fares better until only his hand touches the stone as he overcomes it.

‘It’ll take a while to do Iorwen’s trick,’ jokes Dante.

Luke laughs. ‘I can do a two-second handstand and that’s it. Show us some more stuff,’ says Luke.

Dante and I oblige. I only use my left hand to cartwheel this time while Dante backflips off the slap and lands with a slight wobble. The three of us stare, gobsmacked. I didn’t know he could do that.

‘What else can you do?’ asks Luke. ‘Can you do that wall run thing?’

I snort. ‘Of course. Let’s find somewhere where we can show you.’

‘I think we’ll have to,’ says Olga, subtly pointing up the hill to a couple of police officers on horses. It’s almost half-three now, but we shouldn’t draw their attention. We walk side-by-side at a casual pace, rounding the corner of the Tower, and head to the bridge. I suddenly gasp once we’re halfway across, startling my friends.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Forgot to breathe.’

‘Let’s get to the rooftops,’ says Dante. ‘If we just find a nice flat spot, we’ll have some privacy.’

It takes ten minutes to find the way up we’re looking for. A few pedestrian streets off the main road leads us to a fire escape. Dante and I are quick to make our way up. Olga mounts each step as if they’ll give way under her while Luke urges her on from behind. Once up top, we’re entranced by the view of the Thames and the Tower from here. Both bathed in the orange afternoon sun.

‘Wow!’ says Luke. He whips out his phone to take a picture while Dante and I drop our bags and leap to another building and back again, despite Olga’s petrified gasps.

‘Be careful,’ she says.

‘This is nothing,’ I reply and point to the Shard a few hundred metres away. ‘I’d B.A.S.E jump off that if I could.’

She and Luke watch as Dante and I jump back to the second roof and show them the wall running technique. The more they clap, the more stunts I want to perform. There’s another building, it looks tricky to get to. I rush forwards and use momentum to scurry up the wall we’ve been running against. My right arm twinges so I let my left do most of the pull up work.

From there, I wall-run over a barbwire fence, hop of the edge of a balustrade and soar over another gap with nothing but concrete below and make the landing. Olga which throws off my focus to make a good landing.

My legs entangle in the descent and, while my knees manage to catch me, my torso lunges forward onto a skylight.

‘Iorwen!’ Dante shouts. He climbs up the wall to reach me, but I throw up my hand.

‘I’m fine!’ I call back, leaning on the skylight as I turn with a cocky smile. ‘Bad landing. I think we’ve had enough. Why don’t we go to Tate Modern now?’

Luke smiles. I begin to push myself off the glass, only to hear it cracking under my weight. One appears and another spreads, crawling across the dome. I’m too fatigued to react in time.

The glass gives way and I go with it. Gravity practically grabs me by the throat to pull me into the darkness below.

© Alice of Sherwood, Ja

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