The Taking of Annie Thorne by C. J. Tudor

Author:C. J. Tudor
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781405930987
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2018-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

20

‘Good weekend?’

Beth emerges at my side from amidst a throng of pupils.

She is looking fresh-faced and perky and all the things I generally hate to see in someone at just before eight-thirty on a Monday morning.

I look at her from beneath eyelids weighted with lead. ‘Just dandy.’

She squints at me more closely. ‘Really? Cos you look like crap.’

I shuffle along the corridor. ‘That’s what a good weekend will do for you.’

‘Yeah. Guess when you get to your age the hangovers take longer to get over.’

‘My age?’

‘You know, the middle. Stuff of crisis, spread and prostate exams.’

‘You really are a little ray of sunshine on a dismal Monday morning, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, I haven’t got to my best stuff yet.’

‘Let’s pretend you’ve peaked.’

She winks. ‘Oh, you’d know when I’ve peaked.’

‘Doubtful. At my age.’

She chuckles, low and hearty, and actually, it does go a tiny way to lightening my current dark mood.

So why did she lie?

I’m just trying to work out a way to ask her when a Year 9 with boy-band hair and a uniform on the borderline of acceptable skids around the corner, almost colliding with us, before he manages to gather in his momentum and screech to a halt.

‘Anyone mention no running in the corridors?’ I say briskly.

‘Sorry, sir, miss, but you need to go to the toilets.’

‘I already went, thanks.’

Beth throws me a look.

‘What’s up?’ she asks.

He fidgets nervously. ‘I think you should just go and see, miss.’

‘We need more than that,’ I say.

‘It’s Hurst – he’s got some kid in there and –’ He falters. No pupil likes being a grass.

‘Okay. We’re on it.’ I nod my head to indicate he can go. ‘And don’t worry – you never saw a thing.’

Gratefully, he hurries off down the corridor.

I look at Beth. She sighs. ‘There goes my coffee.’

I can hear muffled shouts and laughter as we approach. I push at the door. Someone is holding it shut from the other side.

‘Piss off. It’s engaged.’

‘Not any more it isn’t.’

I shove the door with my shoulder and we burst in. The kid holding the door stumbles into the urinals. I take in the scene. Three of Hurst’s cronies stand in a loose semicircle. Hurst kneels over a kid on the floor, a Tupperware box at his side. I grab his arm and haul him up.

‘You. Stand over there.’

I turn to the kid on the floor. My heart sinks. Marcus. Of course it is.

‘Are you okay?’

He nods. Tries to sit up, can’t quite make it. I hold out a hand but he doesn’t take it. There’s something odd about his mouth.

‘Marcus. Talk to me. Are you okay?’

Suddenly, he clutches his stomach, lurches over and retches. Half-eaten toast spews on to the cracked and stained tiles, along with something else. A mangled mess of dark bodies and stringy legs. One of them drags itself up and tries to crawl away. I feel my own stomach give a lurch. Daddy-long-legs.

I pick up the Tupperware box. It is still half full of the spindly insects. They’ve been making Marcus eat them.

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