whole establishment looking on to witness your punishment. You’d be tied to the triangle, stripped to the waist and thrashed soundly by the male PE staff using the iron-tipped leather thongs of a cat o’ nine tails.’
He paused while the image sunk in.
‘As it is,’ he went on, ‘I’ll take your keys, please.’
Anthony fumbled in his jeans. Anybody who didn’t know Peter Maxwell would have refused to hand them over, muttering about human rights. This was theft, this was, taking a bloke’s car. It was only overnight, of course. AndAnthony would have the humiliation of catching the bus home. Or worse, he may have to walk. But Anthony knew better than to argue. Ever since Year 7, he’d been locking horns, on and off, with Mad Max and the crafty old bastard had won every time. Anthony’s dad knew better than to mix it too, since the Head of Sixth Form could quote every law since Hammurabi to prove he was in the right. And anyway, Peter Maxwell had once taught him, too.
‘It’s only because you’ve been in my Sixth Form for the last twenty years that I’m letting you off this lightly. Now…on yer bike!’
The thumb said it all. It would be a cold day in Hell before Anthony drove at anything faster than minus one again. And he’d take his KFC home with him next time.
The lad all but collided in the doorway with a fraught-looking Carolina Vasquez.
‘Mr Maxwell, Mr Maxwell,’ she blurted. ‘It’s Rodrigo Mendoza. He’s gone missing.’
‘Well, it’s really none of my business, Max.’ Helen was passing her boss a well-earned coffee. It was the Time of the Wall, the wilting hour at the end of the day when teachers either collapse or drift into oblivion or have to be padlocked into their strait-jackets. It was that window of no opportunity after the kiddie-winkies had gone home and before Mrs B arrived with her mops and brooms and vacuum polishers. And peace shall come to Leighford High.
‘No, that’s not a problem, Helen,’ Maxwell said. ‘Thanks. It helps me get my raddled old brain around what’s going on. From the top, then…Jacquie and I “inherited” Juanita, so tospeak, from a family in Tottingleigh. Their circumstances had changed so the girl wasn’t needed. The reference was glowing. Juanita had her green card; everything was hunky-dory. Our neighbour, Mrs Troubridge, had a spare room and welcomed the company, so it couldn’t have been better. Nolan took to her straight away – even my old bugger of a cat seemed to tolerate her in his usual grumpy sort of way. Then she buggered off.’
‘Just left?’ Helen frowned.
‘Apparently. We still don’t know whether she took any of her clothes or not, but she certainly didn’t take them all. They’re still hanging in her wardrobe. Jacquie’s checking the girl’s computer as we speak. But there’s nothing helpful on it. Usual emails, in Spanish, of course. I’ll have to get Janet or Carolina on to them.’
‘Don’t you have an address? In Spain, I mean? That’s the most likely explanation, surely. She’s just gone home.’
Maxwell chuckled. ‘I knew you’d have a scientific, down-to -earth approach, Helen. That’s why I keep you on. That and your irresistible coffee.’ He pulled his usual face. ‘This
is
coffee, isn’t it?’
Helen hit him with an old exam paper. ‘I bet you say that to all the Assistant Year Heads, you patronising old bugger. Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought of it?’
‘I’d thought of it, yes,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t got it. Menorca is all I know. A little island in the Balearic group, evacuated at the time of Lepanto.’ He reached forward and patted her hand patronisingly. ‘That’s 1571, by the way.’
‘Bog off,’ she growled. She and Maxwell had been doing this for years. She’d be heart broken if he ever stopped talkingdown to her. And as for Peter Maxwell, having the Fridge as your right-hand woman in the mad circus that was Leighford High wasn’t a bad thing at all,
He paused while the image sunk in.
‘As it is,’ he went on, ‘I’ll take your keys, please.’
Anthony fumbled in his jeans. Anybody who didn’t know Peter Maxwell would have refused to hand them over, muttering about human rights. This was theft, this was, taking a bloke’s car. It was only overnight, of course. AndAnthony would have the humiliation of catching the bus home. Or worse, he may have to walk. But Anthony knew better than to argue. Ever since Year 7, he’d been locking horns, on and off, with Mad Max and the crafty old bastard had won every time. Anthony’s dad knew better than to mix it too, since the Head of Sixth Form could quote every law since Hammurabi to prove he was in the right. And anyway, Peter Maxwell had once taught him, too.
‘It’s only because you’ve been in my Sixth Form for the last twenty years that I’m letting you off this lightly. Now…on yer bike!’
The thumb said it all. It would be a cold day in Hell before Anthony drove at anything faster than minus one again. And he’d take his KFC home with him next time.
The lad all but collided in the doorway with a fraught-looking Carolina Vasquez.
‘Mr Maxwell, Mr Maxwell,’ she blurted. ‘It’s Rodrigo Mendoza. He’s gone missing.’
‘Well, it’s really none of my business, Max.’ Helen was passing her boss a well-earned coffee. It was the Time of the Wall, the wilting hour at the end of the day when teachers either collapse or drift into oblivion or have to be padlocked into their strait-jackets. It was that window of no opportunity after the kiddie-winkies had gone home and before Mrs B arrived with her mops and brooms and vacuum polishers. And peace shall come to Leighford High.
‘No, that’s not a problem, Helen,’ Maxwell said. ‘Thanks. It helps me get my raddled old brain around what’s going on. From the top, then…Jacquie and I “inherited” Juanita, so tospeak, from a family in Tottingleigh. Their circumstances had changed so the girl wasn’t needed. The reference was glowing. Juanita had her green card; everything was hunky-dory. Our neighbour, Mrs Troubridge, had a spare room and welcomed the company, so it couldn’t have been better. Nolan took to her straight away – even my old bugger of a cat seemed to tolerate her in his usual grumpy sort of way. Then she buggered off.’
‘Just left?’ Helen frowned.
‘Apparently. We still don’t know whether she took any of her clothes or not, but she certainly didn’t take them all. They’re still hanging in her wardrobe. Jacquie’s checking the girl’s computer as we speak. But there’s nothing helpful on it. Usual emails, in Spanish, of course. I’ll have to get Janet or Carolina on to them.’
‘Don’t you have an address? In Spain, I mean? That’s the most likely explanation, surely. She’s just gone home.’
Maxwell chuckled. ‘I knew you’d have a scientific, down-to -earth approach, Helen. That’s why I keep you on. That and your irresistible coffee.’ He pulled his usual face. ‘This
is
coffee, isn’t it?’
Helen hit him with an old exam paper. ‘I bet you say that to all the Assistant Year Heads, you patronising old bugger. Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought of it?’
‘I’d thought of it, yes,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t got it. Menorca is all I know. A little island in the Balearic group, evacuated at the time of Lepanto.’ He reached forward and patted her hand patronisingly. ‘That’s 1571, by the way.’
‘Bog off,’ she growled. She and Maxwell had been doing this for years. She’d be heart broken if he ever stopped talkingdown to her. And as for Peter Maxwell, having the Fridge as your right-hand woman in the mad circus that was Leighford High wasn’t a bad thing at all,
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