Game Theory by Barry Jonsberg

Author:Barry Jonsberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2016-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

I had no idea I was going to school until I got there. And I didn’t know I was tracking Gutless down until I went to Mr Monkhouse’s classroom to find him.

I knocked on the door and waited. Mr Monkhouse could get grumpy if someone just burst into his classroom. It interrupted his flow, he said, and he liked flow. I did too. When Mr M was chasing after a mathematical idea it was kinda beautiful, even if very few of his students were able to follow the mental path he was beating. He didn’t mind that. In the end he often taught to an audience of one – himself – and if others were able to join in, that was fine. It just wasn’t obligatory.

The door opened and a different teacher stood there. He was short, bald, and sported a salt-and-pepper beard, trimmed close. My mouth opened and closed again. Mr Monkhouse was always in class. Some students reckoned he slept there.

‘Can I help you?’ said the man.

‘I was looking for Mr Monkhouse,’ I said.

‘He’s off sick. I’m the relief teacher.’ He went to close the door so I put the flat of my hand against it. The teacher regarded me for a moment and any trace of friendliness evaporated. There wasn’t much to start with.

‘I need to see Gutless Geraghty,’ I said. ‘It’s an emergency.’

‘Who?’

‘Sean. Sean Geraghty. He’s a student in this class.’

‘And do you have a note from reception?’

‘No. It’s just that . . .’

‘Then I suggest you get to class, young man. The students here are working.’ This time, the door closed with unmistakable finality.

I went out into the pale and sickly sunshine and sat down on the grass bank overlooking the basketball court. The entire school was deserted.

Sick. Mr Monkhouse was sick. I remembered a time when Mr M broke his arm and didn’t miss a day. He had one of the students write on the board for him. I pulled my phone from my pocket and found his number in contacts. He’d given it to me a year back, when it became clear I was his best student. Hell, I’d even been round to his house for personal tuition a couple of times. I rang and didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. He might be ill, but there was a thought rattling around at the back of my head and I wanted to talk to him. The phone rang and rang, and just when I was sure it was going to voicemail, he answered.

‘Hello?’ It’s only one word, I know, but he didn’t sound sick.

‘Mr Monkhouse. It’s me, Jamie Delaware.’

There was a pause, like he was trying to place me. ‘Jamie,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not in school at the moment. I’m not well.’

‘What’s the problem, Mr Monkhouse?’

Another pause.

‘That’s none of your damn business, Jamie. Don’t ring me again.’ The line went dead.

I put the phone away and got to my feet. Something strange was going on.

Mr Monkhouse was nearly always patient.

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