The Students of Barrenmoor Ridge Page 9

  ‘We’ll unzip my sleeping bag,’ he suggested. ‘Put on as many clothes as we can. Sleep in our gloves and put the bag over us. We’ll be fine. It’s only about eighteen hours until it gets light.’

  ‘You know how to cheer someone up,’ Casper moaned.

  Liam allowed him silence. His stomach rumbled, and he reached into his bag for the biscuits, putting them on the ground between them with the last of his water.

  ‘You forgot to buy the Cava.’ Casper’s dewy, brown eyes lifted from the floor.

  ‘We’ll buy some in the village tomorrow.’

  ‘Always look on the bright side, eh?’

  ‘Absolutely, Cass.’ Another moment of silence, and Liam said, ‘You okay?’

  Cass shook his head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need for that.’

  The rain drummed harder on the tent which shuddered as the wind regained its strength. The temperature was dropping rapidly.

  ‘You know you’re my best mate, don’t you?’ Liam said.

  Looking away, Casper sighed. ‘Best mates don’t have secrets.’

  It was an accusation that chilled Liam’s blood. Casper knew what he had been brought here to be told, and Liam was crippled with guilt.

  ‘You think I’ve got a secret?’ he stammered, his throat dry and nervousness swamping his confidence.

  ‘Not you.’ Casper rubbed his face with one hand before looking helplessly at his feet. ‘Me.’

  Eight

  Liam’s mind tripped over itself as it raced through the possibilities, all of them once unlikely but now certain. Casper had a girlfriend he’d not mentioned, he was dropping out of school, running away from home, about to tell Liam he found him a clingy and demanding friend and was going to drop him, he wanted to go home right now…

  ‘I was going to tell you when we got back, but…’ Casper paused to weigh up the seriousness of his impending announcement, giving them time to appreciate the severity of the rain. ‘But maybe we should deal with the tent first.’

  ‘Okay, mate,’ Liam said, telling himself Casper’s secret wasn’t going to be anything to worry about, while harbouring a suspicion that it wasn’t going to be good news. ‘You remember what Mr Mazur said about being comfortable in one of these things?’

  ‘Not really.’ Casper unwound his legs.

  ‘We’ve got one sleeping bag. Here.’ Liam passed it. ‘Unzip that. I’ve got another jumper you can wear.’

  ‘It won’t fit.’

  ‘It’ll be snug, but that’s the price you pay for having muscles. I’ve got another pair of trousers. They’re slightly too big for me.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m alright. Two of us in here, it’ll soon warm up.’

  The wind disagreed as a gust hit the tent, shaking it and driving rain harder against the flysheet. Liam wasn’t too worried. They had pegged-out well, and the tent was designed for bad weather. Being new, it wouldn’t leak, and they had cleared the stones from underneath that might otherwise have punctured the groundsheet. The grass provided a little cushioning, though not much, and the roll mats he had been carrying were not the thickest, but were better than nothing.

  With the sleeping bag laid out as one thin blanket, they had something to sleep under when the time came, but staying warm was going to be another matter. They kept their boots and gloves on as they examined their provisions.

  ‘At least there’s no shortage of water,’ Liam said after sipping from his half-empty bottle. ‘We can put it outside to catch the rain.’ It was important to stay positive. That was something he did remember their instructor telling them as they prepared for a night in Snowdonia. It had been summer, and the only danger they faced was from overheating, a far cry from where they now found themselves.

  The meagre supplies were laid out and halved, and Liam’s spare clothes put to one side for when they were needed. There was nothing else to do but sit as comfortably as they could.

  ‘What does your weather app say now?’ Casper asked, sitting opposite and trying not to lean against the wall.

  Liam took his phone from his pocket and tapped it into life. ‘Ah,’ he said, frowning. ‘It says no signal.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Yeah, but hang on. The last page is still open, so this afternoon it said… Oh.’ It still wasn’t good news. Scrolling down, he discovered the storm had been predicted and would worsen, the wind rise, and a thunderstorm was due during the night. Apparently, it would still be there in the morning. ‘We’ll be fine,’ he said and put the phone away. ‘So... you want to tell me what’s on your mind?’

  Casper regarded him with his lips pursed, huffed a breath through his nose and picked up his hat. His hair was messed up, and he made it worse by scratching his scalp before putting the hat back on. He rolled it so that it covered the tops of his ears and clamped them to his head.

  Liam’s backside was already sore from sitting on the hard ground, and he stretched his legs, his feet towards the door. Resting on one elbow, he tugged his jacket over the small of his back as far as it would go, but it made little difference against the cold, and his breath circled upwards, adding to the condensation gathering around the lamp.

  Casper copied him, and staring directly into Liam’s eyes, said, ‘Do you remember how we first met?’

  ‘Er, yes.’ How could Liam forget? ‘I was in the broom cupboard playing the accompaniment to Mozart’s clarinet concerto.’

  ‘Broom cupboard,’ Casper smiled. It was good to see.

  ‘That’s what I call it. Poor excuse for a practice room.’

  ‘Why were you playing that? There wasn’t anyone good enough to take the solo.’

  ‘Mr Stark’s idea,’ Liam said. ‘He thought Oliver what’s-his-name from the year above could handle it in the concert. Anyway, why do you ask?’

  ‘Conversation.’

  ‘Really?’

  The smile had faded as quickly as it came. ‘I was trying to find my way to the chemistry lab,’ Casper remembered. ‘It was my first week. It was coming to the end of break, and I had plenty of time. I heard music coming from the… broom cupboard and stopped to listen.’

  ‘You mad creature.’

  ‘No. I was impressed. More than impressed actually.’ Casper took a pause, staring at Liam as though he was trying to read what was behind his eyes, or maybe he was just remembering. The smile made another brief appearance. ‘I rested against the door, so I could hear better.’

  ‘Even when I stopped?’

  ‘I was hoping it would start again. The bell hadn’t rung for class.’ Casper shrugged as best he could in his awkward position.

  ‘And when I opened the door, you fell in.’

  ‘Took me by surprise.’

  Liam laughed gently. ‘Fair to say you didn’t make the best impression, stumbling sideways into my arms and swearing.’

  Liam had no choice but to catch him as Casper fell. He remembered what Casper was wearing because the clothes were similar to his own. A white shirt, a tie, and a plain blue, V-neck jumper beneath a black blazer. Uniform wasn’t compulsory in the sixth form, and no-one wore it. Casper wasn’t wearing the school badge, and the tie wasn’t uniform either, but it was as if he had approximated the outfit as best he could. Smartly dressed and smelling of aftershave, he looked like a young businessman, shocked and spouting words in a foreign language.

  ‘The first thing you said to me was, “Watch it, mate”,’ Casper said. ‘And I expected you to push me off. Being the new boy and all that, I thought I was going to get thumped.’

  ‘Ha! I’m pleased to say I’ve never thumped anyone,’ Liam said. ‘I was as shocked as you were.’

  ‘I did apologise.’

  ‘You did, and then you went straight on to ask me if
I’d been playing.’

  ‘”I don’t see anyone else in this prison cell.”’ Casper impersonated Liam’s southern accent. ‘”Can’t exactly fit an ensemble in here.”’

  ‘Yeah. The piano was pretty obvious too, and I was holding the score.’

  ‘What did you think about what happened next?’

  It was a strange question and Liam wasn’t sure where it was leading. They’d righted themselves, and he’d tried to look affronted, as any self-respecting sixteen-year-old would after being almost hugged by another boy, but his heart had started bouncing in his chest. It wasn’t because he’d legitimately grappled with another lad in a cupboard, though that thought did zip across his mind, and it wasn’t because the new boy had the looks of a catalogue model, it was because he was someone different. A face he didn’t recognise, a change who might liven up the dull gene pool of adolescents Liam had grown up with, and, more importantly, a stranger. Casper brought opportunity, and in the moment of silence that followed their embarrassing encounter, he knew they were going to be friends.

  ‘You want me to say I was impressed?’ Liam asked. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

  Casper was always doing that, but then so was Liam, as if they both needed reassurance about everything from their playing to their appearance.

  ‘No,’ Casper said. ‘I just wondered what you were thinking.’

  ‘You mean, what were my thoughts when I first saw you?’ If that’s what he wanted to know, it was exactly what Liam would tell him. ‘I thought you were a new teacher at first, what with the suit and tie job, not to mention the five o’clock shadow. Then I thought, no, he can’t be. And then I thought…’ Clearing his throat allowed time to put together a sentence that wouldn’t embarrass Casper, but which wouldn’t be dishonest. ‘Then I thought, “He’s going to go down well with the girls.”’

  Casper blinked, as surprised as when he’d fallen through the door. ‘I meant, what did you think about the music,’ he said.

  ‘Ah.’ Liam blushed. ‘Yes, I was very impressed.’

  Their first meeting was permanently scored in Liam’s mind.

  ‘Mozart’s clarinet concerto?’ Casper had asked. ‘Second movement in D. Adagio. Do you have anyone who can play it?’

  ‘No. Mr Stark is an optimist.’

  ‘Got time for a go?’

  ‘You play the clarinet?’

  ‘No, but I have this.’

  Fumbling in his bag, Casper pulled out a black box with two rusty clasps and a handle, and before Liam had a chance to figure out what it was, had placed it on the upright and popped the lid.

  ‘I’ve only got the part transposed for the clarinet,’ Liam said as soon as he saw the oboe. ‘That’s in C, isn’t it?’

  Casper was already putting the instrument together. ‘It is, but I’ll transpose.’

  ‘There isn’t time for that.’ The end-of-break bell was due to ring in a few minutes. Even if the piano accompaniment had provided the soloist’s part in the correct key, there would only be time to play a couple of pages. There was definitely no time to rewrite the part.

  ‘I’ll do it as we go,’ Casper said and sucked on a reed.

  ‘You can do that?’ It took Liam hours to transpose when he had it do it for music theory, and he was horribly inaccurate.

  ‘I’ll have a go. Close the door.’

  Had he been a year younger and had this been Jason asking to be shut in a cramped cupboard, Liam would have known what was coming, but this guy was no Jason. He was taller for a start, darker, and his eyes twinkled with intelligence. Liam didn’t know exactly why he thought that, he could just tell, and where Jason was as musical as a foghorn, the new boy put his instrument together as though he played for the Philharmonic, and sounded a note perfectly, making sure he was in tune while Liam closed the door.

  ‘I’ll count you in,’ Liam said, returning to the piano.

  Keen to see just how good this rookie was, he opened the music as he sat, and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Want me to take it slowly?’

  ‘No, original tempo,’ Casper said, leaning in to read the clarinet line. ‘It’s slow enough. Ready?’

  As Liam counted them in, he was aware that this was the first time he had played the piece with anyone listening, and he knew he had to play well. There were only three decent musicians in the school, himself, Madeleine and David, the other members of his A-Level class, and he was keen to impress the upstart who seemed to think he was as good as they were. Even the best clarinettists found the movement difficult, not because of the complexity so much, but because it called for perfect breath control on the long, held notes. It was hard enough to keep perfect pitch on a clarinet with its flat, single reed, but an oboe was far more difficult. Not only that, the instrument’s sound was more piercing, and the slightest derivation from true pitch stood out like a catfight.

  As soon as Casper played the first note and crescendoed as the phrase lifted on the arpeggio, Liam knew he was good. By the time they reached the end of the first stave, he could tell he was better than good. His playing was accurate as was his sight-reading and transposition, but it was his interpretation that stunned. Liam had goosebumps by bar six, and by the time they reached bar eight, his eyes were damp. They repeated the opening theme in unison, and when they reached the end of the page, a tear was trickling on his cheek. Mozart always had that effect, but hearing his favourite composer’s music interpreted so perfectly made him shiver. His hands trembled as he turned the page, and he sniffed involuntarily. The piano needed tuning, but the oboe never wavered, and instead of hearing dull hammers on wire, he heard the orchestra, the strings supporting the plaintive cry for lost love that was the solo part. The accompaniment answered the questions the oboe posed, reassuring it, offering sympathetic answers as if saying it would always be there. Casper understood this, phrasing the melody as if he was intentionally trying to make Liam cry.

  Just as Liam thought he would have to stop playing, the music changed. The second theme came in, and a quick downward flurry proved that Casper was articulate as the mood changed from doleful longing to cheeky quips, the phrases ending with invisible question marks that resolved as if Mozart was raising a wry eyebrow.

  Lost in their playing, neither of them noticed that they had been joined by someone else, and it wasn’t until the end of break bell crashed in on the perfection, and the music came to an abrupt halt, that they saw Mr Stark in the doorway.

  ‘Tell me you’re taking my class,’ he said, his eyes wide beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  ‘I am, Sir,’ Liam replied, leaping to his feet. He’d not asked permission to be in the room and was expecting a telling off.

  ‘Not you,’ Stark said. ‘I know you’re good. You. Who are you?’

  ‘George Spectre, Sir.’

  It sounded like the name of a Bond villain, but there were more surprises.

  ‘But most people call me Casper, because of the surname.’

  Stark didn’t understand, but Liam made the connection and thought Casper was a far better name than George.

  ‘And you are taking music?’

  ‘No, Sir,’ Casper said, already running a rag through the oboe as he dismantled it. ‘At least, not here. I have private lessons with Audrey Hannon.’

  Stark was astounded. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘That explains a lot, but it doesn’t tell me why you are not taking music. How long have you been with her? Where are you from? What are you doing here? You’re new, aren’t you?’

  Casper answered the questions in order, and Liam was impressed at his ability. There weren’t many who could keep up with Stark when he was intent on knowing details.

  ‘I’ve been with Miss Hannon for ten years,’ he said. ‘My mother is from Greece, my father from London, I’ve switched schools because m
y mother’s job moved, and yes, I am new here.’

  ‘Your subjects?’

  ‘Physics, Chemistry, Maths applied and pure.’

  ‘Damn.’ Stark threw Liam a stern glare, a challenge and a mild insult all at once. ‘End of term concert,’ he ordered. ‘We’ll work on your accompaniment.’ Turning back to Casper, he said, ‘Whatever Mr Spectre wants to play. Orchestra rehearses on Tuesday lunchtime and Thursday after school, but I can change that if it clashes with your tuition.’

  ‘It won’t, Sir,’ Casper said. ‘But I will have to ask Miss Hannon.’

  Liam gasped at his gall, but Mr Stark was impressed.

  ‘Of course. Tell your tutor I won’t encroach on her teaching, but at the same time, I can’t let a talent like yours drown solely in the vortex of the science department.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ Casper said. ‘I must find the chemistry room, or I will be late.’

  ‘Mozart can show you,’ Stark pointed at Liam. ‘I’ll expect you to be a little late, Dent.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  The music teacher was gone in a flash of white hair.

  ‘That’s us told,’ Liam said, packing away his music. ‘Who’s Miss Hannon?’

  ‘Oh, she teaches at the Royal Academy,’ Casper said as if it was nothing. ‘But she lives in Folkestone, so I go to lessons with her after church.’

  ‘Church? The only time I go is to play the organ,’ Liam said. ‘Not for services, just for fun when they let me.’

  ‘My mother,’ Casper said as if it explained everything. It didn’t, and when he noticed Liam’s confusion, he added, ‘Greek Orthodox. I’m not particularly into it, but when you’re Greek, you’re Greek.’

  ‘You don’t sound it.’

  ‘Born there, brought up here. Are you ready?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To show me the way to chemistry?’