Tell Tale by Sam Hayes Read Free Book Online Page B

had to fall.

CHAPTER 8
    A few days into term and a stomach bug sweeps the school. Sick bay is full and first period after break I’m sent to fetch another fallen pupil. ‘Frankie, would you collect Lexi from the IT room? She’s got the wretched cramps.’ Matron jots down a girl’s temperature reading. ‘Another one down.’
    I pause a moment, soaking up Matron’s strength and resilience. She is the type of woman to hold fast; to grow older yet stay the same. I imagine she’s been a matron most of her life.
    ‘No problem.’ I wash my hands. I’ve just changed yet another set of messed bedsheets. ‘Poor little lambs,’ I whisper as I wind along the corridors. I’ve not been to the IT room yet, although I’ve seen where it is.
    A brilliant light shines out through the square of netted glass in the door, making me screw up my eyes. I enter and the glow and low-pitched hum and warm dry air of a dozen computer fans swallows me up.
    ‘Another one,’ I whisper to myself. The pupils turn, shuffle and giggle. ‘Another one ill.’ A scraping chair switches my senses back on. ‘Matron told me that Lexi is unwell,’ I say to the teacher.
    He points to a girl sitting in the corner with her head tilted over a metal waste bin. ‘Please, take her.’ He is annoyed that his class has been disrupted.
    I weave between the desks. ‘Come on, Lexi.’ I scoop her up under the armpits. ‘Let’s get you into bed.’ Lexi leans on me as I lead her from the class. We’re bathed in an eerie light from the wide crescent of computers.
    ‘Back to work,’ the teacher says loudly.
    The girls quieten down and face their screens. It’s as I’m guiding Lexi behind the bank of monitors that I catch sight of something that makes me freeze for a second; something that makes me study the two girls hunched and giggling over their computer so I can remember their faces for later – blue hairband, dental brace, long blond hair. I guide Lexi back to Matron with the image on the monitor emblazoned in my mind.
    My arms are piled with laundry and my face is pressed into the scent of washing detergent. I am exhausted. With luck, he won’t even see who is behind the stack of sheets; with luck he’ll step out of the doorway and let me pass. But when I peer round the side of my load, I see that Adam is fixed firmly inside the doorway, deep in conversation with several of the older girls. He’s clutching his laptop, gesturing with his free hand. He is completely blocking my way.
    ‘Excuse me,’ I say. My elbows begin to sag under the weight of the sheets. ‘Can I get through?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ I hear one of the girls say. ‘Anything you say,sir.’ And then the peal of familiar teenage giggles.
‘Anything
for you, sir.’
    ‘Could I just . . .’ I feel like a character from a comedy movie. Any second my stack of washing will end up on the floor and a stampede of schoolgirls with muddy hockey boots will trample all over it.
    ‘When, sir? When would you like us to do that for you?’ More giggles. I approach the doorway, eyeing the long length of the corridor beyond. I grit my teeth.
    ‘That’s enough!’ Adam’s raised voice cuts through the laundry. Then I’m knocked for six, shoved against the wall as he storms off.
    ‘Hey!’ I cry, but Adam is gone, striding off through the school, clearly angered by whatever has just taken place.
    As predicted, most of my laundry lies scattered on the floor, but no muddy stampede arrives, and nor does Adam turn back to apologise or help me gather the sheets. When I look up, the girls are gone. It’s all I can do to stop myself curling up in the soft mess and falling into an exhausted sleep.
    ‘Can’t you just give me a tablet or something?’
    I’m pairing socks while pretending not to listen. It’s a thankless task. Tomorrow they’ll all be back in my basket again. But it’s a good way to learn the names of faceless girls, perhaps take a guess at their age by the size of their feet.