Speak No Evil by Martyn Waites Read Free Book Online

the meals, teach us to cook to take responsibility for ourselves.’
    â€˜So you’re a good cook, then?’
    Another draw on another cigarette. ‘Used to be. But if you don’t keep workin’ at somethin’ you stop bein’ good at it. Like a lot of things.’
    He gives a smile. ‘Very wise.’
    She looks at him, unsure whether he’s laughing at her or not. Just ‘cos I’ve been in prison most of my life doesn’t make me thick, you know.’
    â€˜I know’, he says. ‘I’ve seen your report. I know how high your IQ is.’
    She sits back, pleased with this.
    â€˜So,’ he says, ‘Fenton Hall. What kind of activities did they do there?’
    â€˜There were lessons. But some of the boys couldn’t read or write so they were pretty basic. I’d always liked books so they just used to give me somethin’ to read while the rest were catchin’ up and I’d be away. Loved it. Especially if it was summer, then I could sit outside and read. Just perfect. Felt really alone and at peace then. Really safe.’
    â€˜What kind of things did you like to read?’
    â€˜Well, there wasn’t much choice. Most of the books were for the boys, and the boys, like I said, couldn’t read very well. So I used to read Mr and Mrs Everett’s stuff. They didn’t mind. I read Graham Greene but he could be a bit complicated. Agatha Christie. Loved Agatha Christie.’ She smiles.
    â€˜What was it about her that got to you?’
    She thinks. ‘There was murder. But that didn’t really matter, it was only there to get things goin’. And they always happened somewhere like Fenton Hall, so I could relate to it like that, you know? But the thing I really loved about them was, that no matter how bad things got, there’d always be someone there to sort it out. Make the world safe and everything would be all right again at the end. That’s what Mr and Mrs Everett did. That’s what Fenton Hall did. And that’s all I ever wanted. Someone to make it all right at the end. But it didn’t last. Nothin’ good ever does in this life.’
    â€˜What happened?’
    She sighs. Stubs out her cigarette.
    â€˜I got moved to prison. And that’s when things really went bad.’

5
    Jack Smeaton sat on the wall outside the school canteen, looked around again. Police were onsite and journalists were camped outside. Floral tributes at the huge metal gates were increasing. News of the dead boy had gone round the school like several Mexican waves, each time with a different aspect. From initial shock, horror and loss, to a desperate need for news of the killer being caught, then, when no news was forthcoming, filling the void with prurient, lurid speculation. Some of the kids seemed to enjoy that part of the process the most. That and hurling abuse at the police. But lessons had been suspended and counsellors brought in. All over the school, children from all years were coming together, talking in little groups. They would talk so much, get so involved they would be overcome with emotion and then the counsellors would have to step in.
    Jack just tried to keep his head down, concentrate on getting through the day. He hadn’t made many friends yet so, although he had joined in with some of the others on the only topic of conversation, he spent his breaktimes alone. He didn’t like a lot of the other kids and the feeling seemed to be mutual so far. He was sensitive to emotions and environments and this place was no exception. He could feel fear in the school round the estate. Even without the events of the day. And where there was fear, violence wasn’t far behind.
    So engrossed was he in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear them until they were on him.
    â€˜Where’d you get them from then?’
    Jack looked up. The boy who had stared at him that morning was standing in front of him, his runty