Story by: Luke Preston
‘Stand up,’ I ordered. My throat was dry and my voice cracked. I looked down to
him. Was he really about to put his hands on the front of my trousers? He looked
like he was kneeling in supplication, his head bowed, praying almost. He lifted
his round eyes to me, his face somehow displaying insolence and defiance both at
once.
‘Don’t you want the same? Sir,’ he said quietly.
‘Certainly
not,’ I barked back. I found more confidence from somewhere. ‘Get back to your
bed. We will talk about this in the morning.’
Without taking his eyes
from me he stood, reached for his dressing gown and left the room as he put it
on. I stood still gathering my thoughts, and waited until I was in a calmer
state. When things had… subsided, I too left the shower room, switching off the
lights. Ahead of me Alex was strolling down the corridor as if he had all the
time in the world, his dressing gown flapping, untied, around him. Anyone coming
the other way would have been able to see his nudity. I resisted the temptation
to call out to him; my voice would have woken the other boys. Instead I just
stood and watched as he slipped into his room and shut the door behind
him.
As I made my way back down to my rooms I was aware of the sounds of
snoring coming from behind the closed doors of the lad’s studies. Reassured that
most were at least asleep and not up to anything… sexual, I decided to forget
about the incident until the morning. I would wake with a fresh mind and decide
then what Alex and Darren’s punishment would be. In theory I should have hauled
them before the headmaster, but that would lead to expulsion and that, I
decided, would not be fair. Particularly on Darren who had worked so hard during
the last few terms to improve his academic record. As for the new boy? Well, I
would see what explanation he would give. Perhaps he would even tell me why he
had been transferred here in his last term. Perhaps that part of my mystery
would be explained to me in the morning. I reached my rooms, unlocked the door
and went in. Deciding on one last drop of Scotch before bed I turned on the
standard lamp, half filled a glass and slumped into my armchair. The room was
shrouded with shadow then, the only light spilling down onto my lap and up to
the ceiling where it illuminated the wood panels with a small circle. I tipped
my head back and let out a long, calming sigh.
As I sipped from the glass
I noticed something out of place. Something that had not been in the room when I
had left it earlier. There was something in the shadow on my desk. I stared at
it for a while before reaching over to pick it up.
Someone had been into
my rooms and left a book while I had been upstairs. This was no ordinary book,
it was the first, rough draft of this year’s school yearbook. A strange thing to
leave. The fact that someone had been into my rooms not only annoyed me but also
worried me greatly. My room had been locked when I returned. Someone else must
have a key. Apart from the school caretaker, who had a key to every door and
lock on campus, no one else should be able to access master’s private quarters.
Even my wife had not had a key when she lived there. Someone had broken in and
left a draft of this year’s year book on my desk, and then left, locking the
door behind them. I checked around quickly; nothing else was out of
place.
Bemused I sat back again with the book on my lap and opened it.
Sure enough, “Summer 1989, St. Jude’s.” I opened the first section, ‘Upper
Sixth’ and saw a list of names and photographs of the young men who were about
to leave the school at the end of this term. Nothing unusual, nothing out of
place, the book was always prepared just before the start of summer term. Later
it would be printed, after the masters had written in their comments and lists
of boys’ achievements. I turned more pages and recognised all the young men in
my house. Stuart, Dean, Darren, Milo… the usual suspects as I called them.
Maybe, I thought, the caretaker had been asked to deliver the drafts to us
masters for our additions and comments. Finding me out, he had slipped in, left
the book and slipped out. That explanation settled me somewhat and I flicked
more pages as I sipped my scotch.
But then I came to one page that was
not complete. Someone was missing. Amid all the photos and the names of my boys
there was a blank frame and a blank, white text box. I searched back through the
pages to see who was missing. And soon realised. Alex Gould. The new boy I’d
just caught in the shower. There was no photograph or name for him. And why
should there be? He had only just joined us; he had not been at St. Jude’s last
term when the photographs were taken. End of mystery.
I closed the book
with a snap and tossed it to the desk. It landed on a pile of files, they
slipped from under it and it fell to the floor. ‘To hell with it,’ I muttered to
my drink. ‘I’ve had enough for today.’ Quickly tiring now I drained my glass and
prepared for bed. As I reached to switch out the light I glanced at the book
once more.
‘You can stay there till morning,’ I told it and kicked it out
of my way.
It wouldn’t be until later in the term that I would understand
the real significance of the missing photograph. |
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