Alchemy

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“Why did you do it?” asked Mr Hudson again. (“Why did you?” Roland wanted to retort, surveying at the objects on the desk in front of him).

“Dunno!” he said. To his embarrassment his voice came out as a guilty third-former’s mumble. It was a long time since he had said anything in any teacher’s presence that sounded so furtive and defeated. These days, if he were reprimanded (which occasionally still happened), he mostly succeeded in finding a reply that was literary or witty enough to win a reluctant grin. Mind you, it was a tricky thing to bring off. Clever answers could sometimes infuriate teachers who weren’t in the mood for them. It was important to get the balance right. Roland had always believed, however, that he had Mr Hudson well and truly sussed. For one thing, Mr Hudson was a terrific reader and responded warmly to other readers, and Roland vaguely imagined that, at the end of the year when school was finally over, they would shrug off their unnatural roles of teacher and pupil and would become friends of a sort, talking about books when they met, and joking with one another in a worldly way.

“I can’t just let it go,” said Mr Hudson. “I can’t overlook it.” He waited, but Roland had nothing useful to say

“I’ve obviously thought it over for a day or two,” said Mr Hudson. “You do realise, don’t you, that if I went to the principal he wouldn’t overlook it, no matter how sorry you said you were. He is a little – well, let’s say obsessed with the Crichton College image out on the street – which happens to mean behaviour in public places, such as supermarkets.” Roland thought of the school principal, Mr McDonald, who had never seemed to be impressed by Roland’s wit. “I don’t think he’d necessarily expel you, or anything like that…” Mr Hudson went on, giving Roland a faintly relenting smile as he spoke. Then he paused, looking at Roland in a measuring way before completing his sentence. “But I think he’d probably have you struck off as a prefect.”

Roland, who had been about to relax and even to smile a little himself, relieved at detecting the smallest degree of camaraderie, felt his face stiffening once more as he imagined the guessing and gossip that would blaze up around the school if he were toppled in any way. His friends probably wouldn’t desert him (though some of them might find their tolerance blurred with scorn and secret triumph), but his mother – his mother would be as degraded as if she had been caught shoplifting herself. The thought of his mother’s humiliation struck him like pain. As for Chris – sexy Chris with the long legs and the small, sharp breasts (dulled and camouflaged during the week by the Crichton school uniform, but joyously outlined by her weekend clothes) – Chris was ruthless with losers. Shoplifting! She’d dump him. No question. And then, as these thoughts flicked wildly through his head, it suddenly came to Roland that Mr Hudson was working his way towards – not a punishment, but a proposition. He looked up from the pens, the pie and the notebook and studied his teacher warily.

2. AN ALARMING PROPOSITION (#ulink_345bc2a8-ce9d-5af1-a7a0-8c11f4e29bb5)

“Help me to discharge my conscience,” Mr Hudson now suggested, right on cue. “Give me the illusion of having done something constructive about your stupidity – and I won’t go to the top about it. What do you say?”

He was about to propose a deal. Roland was flooded with such relief that he began blushing for the second time in five minutes. Still, he knew he couldn’t afford to feel at ease just yet.

“There’s a girl in your class who’s having some sort of problem,” said Mr Hudson. “Don’t ask me how I know about it. I just do know. Let’s leave it at that. But I don’t know exactly what her problem is. I’d like you to – well…” He paused. “I’d like you to take a bit of interest in her. Cultivate her. Find out what’s happening in her life and report back to me. Do you think you could bring that off?”

It was almost worse than being told he must confess to the principal – almost but not quite.

“Who is it?” Roland asked in a resigned voice.

Mr Hudson’s sigh was nearly inaudible. Roland’s apprehension suddenly deepened.

“Jess Ferret,” said Mr Hudson, and as Roland’s mouth fell open in silent protest, he added hastily, holding up his hands, palms outward, and shaking them at Roland as if he might need to ward him off, “I know she’s not one of your crowd but—”

“She’s not part of anyone’s crowd,” Roland was dismayed enough to interrupt him. “Sir, the Weasel – Jess Ferret, that is – likes being on her own. She says she does. I can’t push in on her. It wouldn’t work. I just can’t.”

“Are you telling me that someone as self confident as you can’t talk your way into a conversation with poor old Jess?” asked Mr Hudson derisively “After all, you talk your way out of plenty of situations – well, maybe not shoplifting,” he added rather meanly, “but I’ve heard you in action over and over again by now. And you’ve known Jess for years. It’s not as if she’s a total stranger.”

“Sir, everyone knows that Jess likes to be left alone,” said Roland, ashamed at the desperation in his voice. He was sounding utterly uncool.

“Something’s happened to her over the last day or two,” Mr Hudson persisted. “I want to know what it is. And as to her saying she likes to be alone, well, I don’t suppose it occurs to you that that’s what people sometimes say when they feel they’re going to be left alone anyway. They pretend (even to themselves) that it’s what they wanted all along. And just in case you’re in any doubt… No! I’m certainly not asking you to make a…” he hesitated, “…a close friend of her. All I’m asking is that you take a bit of interest in her and see if you can’t get her to confide in you a little. I mean, look at it this way – you’ve got status in the school and she’ll probably be flattered, deep down. She just might confide in you. And then you can report back to me. Once I’ve got a clearer picture of what’s going on, I’ll take over.”

It suddenly occurred to Roland that, even allowing for the fact that a caring teacher might scheme on behalf of some pupil who seemed at risk, there was something peculiar about this assignment. His eyes narrowing, he lifted his head and for the first time stared directly at Mr Hudson, only to catch a flicker of something eager yet furtive coming and going behind that expression of official concern. Their glances locked. Then Mr Hudson looked down rather quickly at the pens and notebook on his desk, drawing in a hissing half-breath, which he managed to turn into casual emphasis of an instant which was far from casual. When he looked up again, his expression was bland and judicial once more. What’s going on? Roland wanted to know. What’s really going on? But at that moment he felt too unsure of himself to ask.

“Well, I’ll try,” he said, giving in. He had no real choice. “But she mightn’t want to… I mean what if she tells me to get lost.”

Mr Hudson smiled a little. “Don’t worry about what she might say” Roland could almost feel him relaxing, there on the other side of the pens, the pie and the red notebook. “If she’s stubborn – well – we’ll talk about other possibilities. But for the present I suggest you get into conversation with her – you know – talk about books … films … cricket … whatever she’s interested in. She does read a lot. Oh, and science. She’s keen on science. Her father’s some sort of scientist. Ask about him, if you like. Her mother works, and so does yours. You’ve got something in common. Tell her about your parents and see if you can’t find out about hers. Parents are reasonably universal territory, aren’t they? We’ve all got them. Is it a deal?”

But this was no deal. It was an order.

“Yes sir. OK. But—”

“But me no buts!” quoted Mr Hudson, smiling now, not even trying to hide his pleasure that things were going the way he wanted them to go.

“But…” echoed Roland’s inner voice… the cautioning voice that had first spoken to him in his old nightmare. “But…” it repeated, without having any more to say.

And a few minutes later, Roland was walking down the school corridor, feeling a stranger to himself. Twenty minutes ago he had been in charge of life. Now he was tottering on the edge of disgrace. “But…” repeated that inner voice.

And this time something contrary and irrational leaped up inside him. It was as if he had been secretly hoping… well, certainly not for this, but for something dangerous and wild – something to override his everyday life, even though he had worked so steadily over the last seven years to set that responsible life firmly in place.