Seven Strange - Brian Jacques

But he was not. Jonathan was behind the park gatepost, then he was hiding in the bushes, next he was waving from the bridge. Kate began to lose her happy mood; the chase was irritating her. “Jonathan, stop right there. I have to talk to you!”

Gone again? She could stand it no longer. Standing on the bridge she watched him on the bandstand conducting an imaginary band. Why wouldn’t he speak to her? Why didn’t he stop in one place until she caught up with him? Look at him, waggling his arms about with that idiotic grin on his face. Her hands gripped the stone lintel of the bridge tightly as she shouted aloud, “You’re stupid, Jonathan Coleman, stupid and silly, d’you hear me? I never want to speak to you again. Think you’re clever, don’t you! Go on, laugh, but Robbo, Smudger and Bingo will have the last laugh, and you needn’t come crying to me. So there!”

She flounced angrily off across the park, her cheeks bright red.

Smith and Robbins leaned over Bingham’s shoulder as she read the note Jonathan had passed to her.

“I’ll give you ten pounds for the coalman and another ten for the caroler if you promise to leave us alone. Be at the back of the hut on the sports field tomorrow night at eleven.

Jonathan Coleman”

Robbins whistled through his teeth. “What d’you make of that?”

Smith sniggered. Bingham silenced him with a glare.

“It means that our coalman has got money from somewhere, quite a bit of it too. He’s trying to buy insurance for himself and the little caroler. Do you know what that means?”

“He’s in love!”

Bingham looked down her nose at Robbins.

“It means that if he can get his hands on that much money, there’s bound to be more. He can pay up again and again, if we play this right.”

“Suppose it’s some kind of trap?”

Bingham folded the note pensively.

“No, I don’t think so. He’s too innocent for something like that. But you could be right, I suppose. We’d better take out some insurance to cover ourselves in that case. Tomorrow night, you two get up on top of the sports hut, that way you’ll get a good view all around. If any parents, teachers or police are with him, we can beat it, long before they ever get to the hut. Guess who’ll look foolish then, telling stories to get others in trouble and wasting other people’s time at dead of night on a wild goose chase.”

Robbins began giggling again; so did Smith. She joined them.

It was a perfect plan.

Next morning Jonathan walked through the school gates unhindered—the three bullies were not waiting there. Kate swept regally past him, ignoring his cheerful hello. As he went into school something made him glance backwards. His strange friend was standing on the roof of the sports hut, laughing and holding both thumbs up. Jonathan smiled and gave a thumbs-up in return before going into assembly. At break time he went to the session behind the hut. Kate was there but their tormentors were not. Jonathan looked around.

“Where is everybody today?”

Kate bit her quivering lip. “Prob’ly hiding like you were yesterday.”

“Hiding? I wasn’t hiding anywhere. I was sick!”

She stamped her foot angrily. “You’re sick, all right! Jonathan the vanishing boy, Jonathan the grinning idiot, why don’t you run off and hide somewhere now? I’m going in, there’s the buzzer.”

Kate stormed off, leaving Jonathan sad and perplexed.

At lunchtime he stayed alone in the canteen; nobody bothered him. Kate avoided the canteen and went out onto the field for lunch. As she passed the hut Bingham darted out and caught her by the back of her neck.

“Come on, caroler, behind here. The old firm wants a word with you!”

Robbins and Smith were there, perched on the upturned garbage cans. Kate looked hopefully at them.

“I came this morning but you weren’t here. Do you want me to sing?”

Bingham thrust the note under Kate’s nose. “What’s this all about?”

Kate read it, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I don’t know, honest.”

Smith drummed his heels against the garbage can. “Oho, I’ll bet you don’t.”

Bingham’s eyes were dangerously cruel. She pulled Kate’s ponytail, waggling her head back and forth.

“Listen, you. That money better get here on the dot tonight. Tell your friend that if he tries any fancy tricks we’ll make an example of you both that this school will never forget. Now beat it quick!”

Kate ran off with hot tears welling in her eyes, wishing that she had never met Jonathan. Running off, grinning, hiding, playing tricks then acting the innocent, and now this. She saw him watching her from the science room window; he was smiling and nodding to her. Tight lipped, Kate stopped to gather a handful of gravel from the path. Before she could raise her arm to throw it at the window he was gone. It was all too much. She broke down and cried, rubbing her eyes with dusty hands until her face became grubby and tearstained.

A chilly night breeze had sprung up, it chased a page of yesterday’s newspaper across the dry turf of the sports field. Robbins strained his eyes against the darkness.

“Something’s moving out there. Maybe it’s him!”

Bingham pulled out a cigarette, watching the deserted field carefully.

“It’s only a piece of paper. Stop yelling all over the place, will you! Anyone got a light?”

Smith produced matches. He tried lighting the cigarette for her but the wind blew the match out. He giggled nervously. Bingham gave him a cold stare. “Will you two stop acting like a pair of little kids, sniggering and getting excited over bits of paper.”

Robbins slumped moodily against the hut.

“We’re only keeping a lookout. It’s pitch black out there, you know.”

Bingham took the matches and lit the cigarette herself.

“Well of course it is, genius. It is nighttime, after all. Wait a sec, what was that?”

“What was what?”

Bingham’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Over there in the doorway.”

Robbins laughed scornfully.

“Now who’s acting like a little kid, eh! It’s only some newspaper; the wind’s blown it into the passage doorway. Look!”

He ran off toward the school building, glad to have something to do other than stand about. Diving into the darkened doorway recess he caught the windblown paper and waved it aloft.

“See, I told you, yesterday’s Daily Mail.” He let it flutter from his grasp to be carried away on the breeze. “Whooo! Look, a ghost!”

Smith watched the paper lifting above the school building. He gave a small whimper and went rigid. Robbins arrived back panting.

“Whew! It’s hard running after ghosts. What’s up with him?”

Bingham turned to Smith. He stood ashen and shaking, his finger pointing. “Th … th … there, first-floor staff-room window. He was there!”

She grabbed him by his blazer collar. “Who was?”

“Him! The coalman. He was watching us, laughing.”

Bingham threw the cigarette down and ground it savagely with her heel.

“Right, that’s it! Frightened to death by a piece of paper blowing past a windowpane. It was only a reflection, you dimwit. And you, Robbins, you’re as bad, prancing about like a two-year-old. ‘Whooo! Look, a ghost!’ Listen, if we want to make twenty pounds tonight and more in the future you two had better stop acting soft. Now get up on the roof of that hut and keep watch.”

Cowed by the big girl’s temper the pair climbed on the garbage cans and hauled themselves up to the flat roof of the hut. Smith was about to remind her that it was she who started the panic by sighting the newspaper in the doorway, when a heavy gust of wind caused him to drop on all fours. He complained unhappily.