Page 99 of Lessons in Life

‘Just practising a few lines fromGrease,’ I lied.

‘Don’t remember anybody saying them words in the film, miss.’ He frowned. ‘Which one of ’em said that, then?’

‘Mr Donoghue or Ms Waters will be after you for not wearing school uniform black shoes.’

‘Don’t really care,’ he crowed, admiring his footwear. ‘I’m going to be leaving this dump pretty soon.’

‘Oh, yes? And?’

Blane tapped his nose. ‘Big things happening, miss. I’m being promoted…’

‘Listen, Blane, this has gone far enough. You’re in deep, deep water, laddy.’ Oh, hell, now I sounded like Superintendent Hastings inLine of Duty. I’d be bringing in Jesus, Mary and Joseph and the wee donkey next. I tried appealing to Blane, softening my words and intonation. ‘We need to see Mr Donoghue so he can report this to the authorities.’ I knew Mason was already working with the local authority gang team on Blane’s behalf, taking a softly, softly approach, coordinating with the police and Youth Justice Service. ‘D’you want to end up like Joel Sinclair? On a tag? On bail miles away from your mum in local authority care?’

Blane frowned at that. ‘If you remember, miss, I’ve done me time in local authority care.’

‘That was different. That’s when your mum couldn’t look after you.’

‘Joel was stupid.’

‘One thing that Joel Sinclair isn’t, Blane, is stupid.’

‘Stupid for going against ’em. Trying to go straight.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Blane,’ I said angrily. ‘You’re fourteen, not some hardened criminal in a police drama. If you’re not careful you’re going to get hurt. And I mean really hurt.’ I couldn’t help but wonder if we should be handing Blane over to the police and local authority for his own good. I determined I’d go straight down to Mason’s office and suggest it was time to escalate things.

Blane shot out a wrist from his grubby grey school shirt cuff, insistent I should see the upmarket watch he was wearing. ‘Joel chose the wrong side. He should have joined our lot when he had the chance. Look, miss, don’t you worry about me. If I get done, then their sharks just get the NRM involved. They can’t touch us then.’

‘Sharks? NRM?’

Blane tutted. ‘Solicitors! You know! Bent probably.’

‘Have you been watchingThe Godfather?’

‘Godfather? I ’aven’t got no godfather.’

Ignoring the double negative without pulling him up as I would have done in an English lesson, I said, ‘And NRM?’

‘You know.’

‘No, I don’t know.’

‘Well, the NRM lot anyway.’

‘National Railway Museum? For a quick getaway?’ Then censured myself: not the place and time for flippancy.

‘Now, you’re being daft, miss.’ He smirked, but I could see him pondering the possibility of the acronym.

‘Look, Blane, I have to get off.’

It was already nearly four and I’d made the decision I was going to drive over to Leeds, to where Sorrel had said the solicitors defending Joel were situated and where Fabian had told me he was going to be working all day. I didn’t want to miss him, so I quickly texted him.

My lovely Fabian, sorry for being my usual pig-headed self.

Am driving over to Leeds in ten minutes. Meet me in Alchemist at 6pm for a drink? On neutral ground?

Let me know if you’ve finished early and are either heading over to Harrogate to see Jemima or back home to Beddingfield. Love you, R xxx

Walking Blane down the corridor, I saw Mason coming back in through the main school entrance from doing his usual afternoon duty overseeing the kids leave the premises.

---