

# The Viking and the Vendetta

A. J. Braithwaite

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 A. J. Braithwaite

### For Niamh

### C hapter One

"How about if we meet up in London one day?" suggested Pagan. "You know, see the sights, hang out together?"

"Great idea!" replied Luke. He was lying on his bed, chatting to Pagan Randall on his mobile phone, as he had done on most days of the summer holiday. "I'll ask Mum and Dad if it's OK and call you tonight to let you know."

Just then, his bedroom door burst open and his dad came into the room, as though he'd been summoned by Luke's words. He was gripping a printed piece of paper and looking highly annoyed about something. He pointed at the phone in Luke's hand and then drew his finger across his throat. Luke got the message.

"I've got to go, Pagan. Speak to you later," Luke promised. He ended the call. His father came over to the bed and took the phone out of his hand, turning it off.

"We got you this so that you could call _us_ from time to time when you were away at school. _Not_ so that you could spend a small fortune whispering sweet nothings to your girlfriend." He passed the piece of paper to Luke.

It was a telephone bill for Luke's mobile. Nearly all the itemised calls were to Pagan's mobile phone and the black figure in bold at the bottom of the page showing the total amount owing was considerable: certainly high enough to explain his father's confiscation of the telephone and the angry expression on his face.

"Sorry, Dad," Luke said, "I had no idea it would cost this much."

"Well now you know. You can call her on the house phone from now on – and don't call her mobile, call her home number. And no more than once a week."

As Luke had been talking to Pagan almost every day for the last month, this seemed harsh. "But Dad-"

"Are you in a position to pay this bill?"

"No," admitted Luke.

"Well, when you are, you can make as many calls as you like." Andrew Brownlow stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

After a few minutes, Luke followed him downstairs. His dad was in his study, glaring at the screen and punching at the keys on his computer's keyboard as if they, too, had offended him. It had been a while since Luke had managed to annoy his father this much.

"Er, Dad," began Luke.

"What?" It wasn't a tone of voice that indicated any eagerness for a friendly conversation.

"I don't have Pagan's home phone number and she doesn't know ours. Can I email her?"

"I'm busy right now. Paying _your_ horrendous phone bill. You can email her later."

Luke deduced that this was not going to be a good moment to ask whether he could go to London and meet up with Pagan. He cast a regretful look at his phone on Dad's desk and retreated to the living room. Here, his twin half-sisters were putting together the plastic tracks of their toy railway. They did not understand how to make the pieces fit together to make a circuit for their train to follow, so Luke got down on the floor with them and slotted the tracks into a figure-of-eight layout. He played with Elsie and Molly for a full hour, hoping to improve his popularity rating with his parents before raising the question of his planned trip to London.

At lunch-time, Luke made himself useful by cutting up one of the pizzas into toddler-sized pieces for his sisters. His father regarded him with suspicion.

"Being helpful isn't going to get you your phone back, you know," he observed.

"Actually I wanted to ask you about something else," Luke said. His parents looked at him expectantly. "Pagan suggested that we could meet up in London one day," Luke explained. "I said I'd ask you if it was OK."

The mention of Pagan's name sent another scowl of irritation over his father's face. His mother didn't look happy either. "I don't really want you travelling up to London on your own, Luke," she said. "And, after what happened last year, I'm sure that Pagan's mother won't be too thrilled with the idea, either."

Pagan had run away from home to get away from her mother's new boyfriend.

"But Pagan camped out for a whole week all by herself and she was fine!" protested Luke.

"While her mother was beside herself with worry," Mum pointed out. "You'll be seeing her in September, which will come round soon enough, just be patient."

Luke turned to his father, though with little hope of support from him. "Dad – you'd let me go, wouldn't you?"

"You heard your mother. The answer's no."

After a few weeks of getting along fine with his parents, Luke felt as though he had been catapulted back into the summer holiday of the previous year, when he had been rowing with them almost daily. He lost control over his temper and his tongue, as he had done so often back then.

"I don't know why I bothered asking you anyway. You're not even my real dad!"

In the silence that followed, the hurtful words seemed to bounce back at him from the kitchen walls. Luke immediately wished he hadn't said them.

His father began to rise from his chair and Luke took a step backwards, half-expecting to get a cuff round the head, like he had last summer. But, after a moment, Andrew sat down again, seeming to shrink away from the confrontation. He massaged his forehead with both hands for a moment as he mastered his feelings, his face hidden from Luke. Then he looked up.

"No, I'm not," he agreed, in a conversational tone of voice. "And how do you think your biological father would feel about this?"

Luke wasn't sure, but he strongly suspected that Ned Kelly, who also happened to be their next-door neighbour and the headmaster of his school, would side with his parents. In any case, he was now so embarrassed and guilty about raising the subject in the first place that he said nothing.

"Precisely," said his dad, as if Luke had voiced his thought out loud. "So issues of genetics are completely irrelevant. If this is going to be your response to every disagreement we have then I think you need to come up with a new tactic."

The anger had left Andrew but seemed to have taken up residence in his wife instead. "I can't believe you said that, Luke." His mum glared at him. "Go to your room."

It was so unusual for Mum to be the one to send him to his room that Luke hesitated for a moment, his gaze resting briefly and longingly on the home-made pizza, which he was all too ready to eat. Then he looked back at his mother, about to ask whether he could take a slice with him. The expression on her face made the safety of his bedroom suddenly quite appealing. He retreated upstairs and lay down on his bed, feeling resentful, remorseful and, overridingly, hungry.

After an hour of brooding, Luke decided it might be safe to go back downstairs to try to patch things up with his parents. As he passed his bedroom window, he noticed that Ned was out in the back garden of his house next door, cutting back an overgrown shrub. It occurred to Luke that what he really needed was some exercise to work off his bad mood. He went back downstairs and found his mother in the kitchen.

"Can I go next door and help Ned in the garden?"

"Don't you want something to eat first?" She handed him a plate with a slice of pizza on it. Luke wolfed it down, then gave his mum a hug of thanks and apology.

He walked round to his next-door neighbour's side gate and let himself through. Ned turned at the sound of the gate creaking open and raised a hand in greeting.

"Need any help?" Luke asked. He was in the exactly the right sort of mood to be hacking at a bush. Ned handed over the secateurs he was holding.

"OK, you carry on cutting this back and I'll collect the clippings." He turned and started picking up the pieces of bush that had already fallen to the ground, throwing them into a vividly pink plastic basket.

"Nice colour," commented Luke, looking at the basket.

"It was the only one left in the shop," Ned explained. "Makes it hard to lose, mind you. And I can't imagine anyone ever trying to steal it."

For a while they worked in silence, until Luke stepped back and surveyed what remained of the bush, which was considerably smaller and neater than when he'd started. Ned looked at him.

"Good job. Do you feel better for that?"

"Yeah," said Luke. "It's kind of satisfying." He helped collect up the last of the cuttings.

"Want a drink?" asked Ned.

"Thanks," replied Luke and he followed his neighbour into the house. Ned made some tea for himself and handed Luke a can of Coke from the fridge. They sat down in the small living room of the cottage.

"So, what's the matter?" Ned asked. Luke looked surprised at the question. "Come on, Luke. The way you attacked that bush, it's fairly obvious there's something bothering you."

"I had a bit of a row with my..." Luke paused. Now that he knew that it was Ned who was really his father, he felt a little uncomfortable calling his dad 'Dad' when he was talking to Ned.

"With your dad?" prompted Ned.

"Yes, but that's sort of the point. I ended up telling him that he _wasn't_ my dad. But then I felt bad about saying that. I think it really upset him."

Ned frowned. "I thought you were getting on much better these days."

"It was about Pagan," said Luke. "We were planning to meet up and spend the day together in London, but Mum and Dad won't let me go. They're not happy about me travelling up there on my own. They're treating me like a little kid."

Luke could hear the whine in his own voice and was not surprised when Ned said: "And so you acted like one."

"Would you have let me go?" asked Luke.

"It's hardly relevant," replied Ned, repressively, making Luke feel even worse. They drank in silence for a few minutes, and then Ned spoke again. "What you need to do is think of a way of getting around the objections that your parents have. And I mean one that doesn't involve you sneaking off to London without their permission."

Luke stared at him. "I wouldn't do something like that!"

In reply Ned merely raised his eyebrows and tilted his head forwards slightly. His disbelieving expression summoned from Luke's memory the day in the previous summer when he had absconded to the seaside to meet up with his old school friends without telling his parents.

"That was completely different!" he protested. Ned's eyebrows inched higher still, forcing Luke to carry on talking. "Well, things were different then," he said, lamely. Ned remained silent and Luke was forced to think about it more deeply. " _I_ was different then," he finally admitted.

"Perhaps it's time to prove it then. Think about it, Luke. If your parents don't want you travelling to London on your own, then why not ask if one of them could go with you to meet Pagan?"

"Oh," said Luke. "Yes, that might work."

"And make things right with your dad while you're at it. He _is_ your father in every important way."

"Yeah, I know. I felt bad as soon as I said it." Luke finished his drink, feeling more cheerful. "Thanks, Ned," he said. "I'll go back and talk to them about it."

His father was working at the computer again when Luke sidled into the study. He cast Luke an unfriendly look over the top of his glasses. "What now?"

It wasn't a promising start, but Luke took a few steps into the room and leant against a small table at the side of his father's desk. "I wanted to apologise for what I said earlier, about you not being my real dad."

His father looked surprised. "What's brought about this change of heart?"

"It was a mean thing to say and I'm sorry. I was sorry as soon as I said it."

"You've been talking to Ned, haven't you?"

"How do you know that?" asked Luke, his turn to be surprised.

"Because he seems to be the only person in the world who can make you see any sense. Did he have any other insights to share?"

Luke began to worry that he was somehow making things even worse, by making his father feel inadequate compared to Ned. "It's not because he's my real dad," he said, trying to reassure him. "He's just good at explaining things without being too involved. He said that you _are_ my dad in every important way."

"Alright," said his dad gruffly. "Apology accepted."

Luke escaped to the living room, relieved to have apologised, but unsure whether he had made things any better by doing so. His mother was sewing labels into his new school trousers. Luke's stomach gave a loud growl. "Is there any pizza left, Mum?"

"In the fridge," she told him.

Luke retreated to the kitchen and ate the remains of their lunch, thinking about his promise to phone Pagan and wondering whether to put Ned's suggestion to his parents. He washed the plate and returned to the living room where he started to tidy up the twins' toys in an attempt to get back on friendly terms with his mother.

"Mum," said Luke, after a few minutes.

"Hm?"

"Could you or Dad come with me into London to meet Pagan?"

His mum put down her sewing. "That's not a bad idea, Luke. But I'm not sure how easy it will be. Dad's pretty busy with work right now and I'm not sure I'd want to make that journey with the twins."

A picture of the chaos that could be caused by the twins on a train trip to London formed itself in Luke's mind and he had to admit that his mother had a point.

Andrew came into the room and sat down on the sofa, opening his newspaper and disappearing behind it. His wife explained Luke's proposal and Andrew lowered the paper, shooting a piercing look in Luke's direction. "Is this another one of Ned's bright ideas?"

Luke felt his temper beginning to rise but made a determined effort to keep his voice level. "Yes, it is. Mum thought it was a good plan."

"Well I've got better things to do with my weekends than to take day trips into London just so that you can gallivant around with that silly girl. And you can't expect your mother to do the trip with the twins."

Luke's dad had never had a high opinion of Pagan, mainly because she had managed to poison herself and Luke with toxic mushrooms a few months previously. But Luke couldn't let that comment pass. "She's not a 'silly girl'! And you're just saying that because it was Ned who suggested it!"

"Well maybe he'll be willing to take you into town himself then. And since you can't keep your voice down you can go back to your room." He raised his newspaper again.

Luke made one last attempt. "I promised Pagan I'd call her tonight. Can't I at least send her an email?"

"You heard what I said," replied his father.

Luke departed, shutting the living room door behind him. On impulse, he ducked into the study and retrieved his phone from Dad's desk before going back upstairs. Once safely in his room, Luke turned his phone back on and found a text message from Pagan.

Hi Luke - Mum says trip only OK if I travel down w her on train & meet u at Euston. How about u? xoxox

Luke was fairly sure that texts were not going to add to the phone bill problem, so he composed a reply to Pagan, giving her his home phone number and asking her to call it. He turned the phone off again, slipped it into his pocket and lay down on his bed, feeling pleased with his cunning.

Two minutes later, the phone in the hall rang. Luke crossed his fingers and thumbs, willing his mother to answer it. He put his ear to his bedroom door, trying to hear the conversation.

"Luke!" came his mother's voice. Luke hammered down the stairs, leaping over the last five steps in his haste to get to the phone. "It's Pagan," said his mum, holding her hand over the receiver. "Make it quick," she added. Luke took the phone and his mother went back into the living room.

"Hi Pagan," said Luke.

"What's going on?" asked Pagan. Luke briefly explained the problem with the mobile phone bill and his failure to reach an agreement with his parents over their planned trip to London.

"And Dad says I'm only allowed to call you once a week now," Luke concluded.

"Oh, that's OK, I'll phone you instead," said Pagan, pragmatically. "My phone has loads of free minutes on it each month."

"Great," said Luke. "I'd better go now; I'm supposed to be in my room, in disgrace."

"You bad boy," teased Pagan. "I'll phone you tomorrow."

Luke hung up and went back towards the study so that he could return his mobile phone to his father's desk. As he did so, his dad came out of the living room, looking suspicious. "You said that Pagan didn't know our phone number," he said.

Uh-oh, here we go again, thought Luke. He reached into his pocket and surrendered his phone to his dad for the second time that day. "I texted the number to her," he confessed. "I thought she might worry if I didn't call her tonight and I didn't think texting would cost anything. Sorry."

He watched his father warily, waiting for the inevitable burst of rage. But, to his astonishment, it did not come. His dad was regarding him with a perplexed expression. Luke was even more amazed when he passed the phone back to him.

"You're showing more concern for other people's feelings than I gave you credit for," his father said. "Pagan can call you on that and I'll sort out a different package for it so that you can call her, too."

"Er, thanks," said Luke, startled by this sudden change of heart and delighted to have his phone back again. "I'm really sorry about the phone bill," he added. "If I'd known it was going to cost that much..."

"It was a bit of a shock, that's all," replied Dad, "and it seems to have sent the day off into a downward spiral. I'm sorry if I over-reacted."

He turned and went back into the living room, leaving Luke feeling bewildered. To be on the safe side, he decided to return to his bedroom in case he accidentally said something that caused his father to change his mind.

### Chapter Two

His dad had left for work by the time Luke got up the next day. His mother was busy giving the twins their breakfast when he arrived in the kitchen.

"Luke, I'm running out of milk. Could you pop round to the shop for me and get two pints?" She pressed some coins into Luke's hand and went back to buttering the toast.

Luke walked to the village shop. As he was paying for the milk, Ned entered and picked up a newspaper. Luke waited by the door for Ned to pay and then walked back with him to their terrace of cottages.

"Did you sort things out with your dad?" Ned asked.

"Yeah, eventually," said Luke.

"So you're going to London?"

"Ah, well I haven't managed to wangle the trip to London yet," Luke admitted. "But at least I'm on speaking terms with him again. Pagan's mum has said she'll come down with her because she doesn't want Pagan travelling on her own, either."

They strolled along in silence for a while.

"As it happens, I was thinking of visiting London soon to see an exhibition at the British Museum," Ned commented. "If you still want to meet up with Pagan, I could probably come as far as Euston with you as your official escort."

Luke stared at him. "That would be great!" he said.

"Fine by me," said his dad when Luke put Ned's offer to him later that day. "So you're finding that there are some advantages to having two fathers, then?"

On the next Wednesday, Luke and Ned travelled up to London to meet Pagan and her mother, Julia. The morning was clear and the neighbours were in good spirits as they boarded the train and sat down opposite each other, either side of a table. Ned had a newspaper with him, but instead of disappearing behind it, as Luke's dad would have done, he folded it open at a page of word puzzles and enlisted Luke's help in tackling them. They worked on them together as the train passed in and out of bright sunshine and dark, noisy tunnels on their way into the city.

Half-way into the journey, a small elderly woman with a large bag joined them at their table. She started to lift the bag onto the luggage rack but was clearly going to struggle to get it above her head. Luke leapt to his feet and took the bag from her, safely stowing it in the rack.

"Oh, thank you my dear," she said. She sat down in the seat next to Luke and bestowed a grateful smile on him. Addressing Ned, she added "Your son is a very thoughtful young man."

Luke and Ned shared a conspiratorial smile, absurdly pleased at having their true relationship recognised by a stranger.

At eleven o'clock Luke and Ned were waiting at Euston station for the Randalls. The crowd that had just disembarked from the Manchester train filled the left hand side of the station concourse, heading to the exits or to the Underground escalators. Some were dragging small wheeled suitcases; others were striding in a purposeful, business-like manner, while still more were ambling along in a more aimless fashion, looking almost surprised to find themselves at their destination. When Julia and Pagan emerged from the throng into a bright shaft of sunlight coming from the high windows at the front of the building, Luke could not suppress a small gasp of surprise.

When he had first met Pagan, in June, her hair had been dyed a nondescript shade of light brown and she had been dressed in similarly unmemorable clothing. Now, the brown had been washed away and her hair was back to its natural shade of pale blonde. The jeans and baggy tops of the runaway had been replaced with a figure-hugging, arm- and leg-revealing summer dress in a pale shade of blue. In the beam of sunshine, she glowed. Luke became painfully aware that if Pagan had looked anything like this on the day they had met, he would never have found the courage to speak to her, let alone do what he had done: ask her to pick up cigarette ends for him. And if Julia had not been walking next to her daughter, Luke would have had great difficulty in recognising this radiant young woman as the person he had started to think of as his girlfriend.

Pagan had spotted him and Ned and she pulled her mother towards them with an excited smile on her face. "Hi," she said, beaming at Luke.

Still dazzled by her and tongue-tied by shyness, Luke was only able to offer a feeble echo of Pagan's smile and her greeting. "Hi."

Ned and Julia were more articulate: they shook hands with each other and started talking about their journeys immediately, leaving Luke and Pagan staring at each other in silence, with Pagan beginning to looking puzzled at Luke's failure to say anything more substantial than 'hi'. After a few awkward seconds, Luke recovered his ability to compose complete sentences, although his voice came out more hoarsely than usual. "You look great," he managed to say.

"Well, at least my hair's back to its normal colour now," said Pagan. "And I will confess that I spent a bit more time in front of the mirror today than I could when I was camping in the woods."

"That's an understatement," interjected Julia, "I thought she was never going to leave the bathroom this morning and we nearly missed the train!"

"Mu-um," complained Pagan, rolling her eyes dramatically.

This exchange went some way towards reassuring Luke that, despite her considerably changed appearance, Pagan was still the same person underneath. Julia had a knack for saying the right thing. He smiled up at her in gratitude.

"How are you, Luke?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he replied, pleased to find that his voice had returned to normal.

"Good. Well, I'm sure you two are anxious to be free of us. Pagan and I are booked to go back on the six twenty train tonight, so why don't you meet us back here at about six o'clock? Pagan's got my number if you run into any problems."

"OK," said Luke and Pagan, in unison. Pagan took Luke's hand and grinned at him. They started to walk away but Pagan stopped and half-turned back.

"What are you two going to do?" she asked.

"I'm heading off to visit the American print exhibition at the British Museum," Ned told her, looking at Julia to see what her plans were.

"That sounds interesting," said Julia. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," replied Ned.

Pagan gave Luke's hand a slight squeeze, which Luke interpreted as a sign that she still harboured hopes of a romantic relationship developing between her mother and Ned. Luke pulled her away towards the Underground entrance, hoping that the adults hadn't noticed the soppy look on Pagan's face.

*

"Shall we walk down to Bloomsbury?" Ned asked Julia.

"Yes, let's. It's too lovely to be travelling by Tube today," she replied.

It wasn't a long walk, but by the time they reached the museum they were both feeling sticky with city heat. The interior of the museum offered a cool and peaceful refuge, although the lower floors were busy with tourists. There were fewer people in the exhibition area upstairs where the American printed artworks were on display. Ned and Julia drifted apart so that they could examine the illustrations at their own pace.

Julia was buying postcards of some of the images from a small shop in the exhibition area when Ned caught up with her again. She packed her purchases into her handbag and smiled at him. "Are you ready for some lunch?" she asked.

"The restaurant here is pretty good," said Ned. "Shall we treat ourselves?"

"Why not?"

The restaurant was running an American-themed menu to match the exhibition. "Does all this make you feel nostalgic for the States?" asked Julia, after they'd ordered. She had found out on their walk from the station that Ned had lived there for a while.

"A little," replied Ned, with a smile.

"How long were you over there for?"

"Ten years, in all."

"And what made you come home again?"

Ned took a long drink of his water before answering. "It was a combination of factors, really. By the end of that time I was working as the deputy principal in a great school and was looking to take on a headship. I was monitoring jobs over there and over here when the post at Hawley Lodge came up. It sounded perfect: a small school which had been poorly managed for a time. It gave me a chance to throw myself into something and really make a difference."

"And what were the other factors?"

Ned raised his eyebrows. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

Julia shrugged. "Reading between the lines is my job, I suppose."

"I knew you were the right person to take on as Hawley Lodge's counsellor," said Ned, "but I wasn't expecting you to start using your skills on me."

"Sorry, force of habit."

"No, it's OK. I just haven't talked about any of this to anyone before. You're not going to start charging me by the hour are you?"

Julia laughed and Ned steered the conversation in another direction. "How's your relocation going?"

"We'll be moving in to the cottage next Wednesday," Julia replied, accepting the change of subject with a smile and a nod. "I'm renting out our house in Manchester to a friend and will be leaving a lot of the furniture there, as the cottage is quite a bit smaller. It'll be fine for the two of us, though," she added, not wanting to sound as though she was criticising the new home that Ned had helped to get for them. "And the village is lovely. The only thing I know I am going to miss is my vegetable garden - I've got so used to growing my own food - but maybe I can get one of the allotments in the village."

Ned frowned. "I've heard there's a long waiting list for those, I'm afraid. But I have been wondering about whether we should start a vegetable garden at the school. There used to be one there, in the old days when Hawley Lodge was a country house with lots of staff."

"That's a good idea," exclaimed Julia. "Maybe the school could have a gardening club?"

"If you're willing to run it, I think that would be great. Most kids these days have no idea where their food comes from," said Ned. "Our groundsman, Paul, would be willing to help out, I'm sure."

"Done!" said Julia. "I would be utterly lost without a garden to potter around in."

"I'll be back in the village next week, so will be able to help out if you run into any problems with the cottage," Ned offered.

"Wonderful!"

*

Luke and Pagan were enjoying being tourists for the day. They rode on the big wheel of the London Eye and then took a boat trip down the Thames. After a hamburger lunch on the Embankment they took the Underground to Oxford Street and spent time in the shops there. Luke remembered his sisters' impending birthday and they spent an agreeable hour exploring the Hamleys toy store in Regent Street. They settled on buying additional pieces for the twins' train set, which was their favourite toy of the moment.

"I'm sick of walking," Pagan declared, as they left the store. "Let's just go and...sit somewhere."

Luke liked the sound of that, particularly in combination with the sly sideways look Pagan gave him when she made the suggestion. He examined the Tube map he'd been carrying all day. "Regent's Park is the next stop on from Oxford Circus."

"Sounds great," smiled Pagan.

At the park they found themselves a bench in a secluded area, surrounded by trees and shaded from the afternoon sun. Luke was strongly reminded of the time they had spent together in Pagan's campsite under the trees of the country club near his school when they had first met in June. The spot was improbably peaceful, with the loudest noise coming from the birds of the Park. The surrounding city and its millions of people could have been many miles distant. Pagan tucked her handbag into the Hamleys bag with the twins' toys and Luke shoved it underneath the seat. He relaxed onto the wooden bench, resting his arm along its curved back. Pagan leaned up against him, briefly resting her head on his shoulder. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils. After a few seconds, Pagan turned her face to his and Luke bent his head forwards, all too ready to kiss her. Their lips were micrometres apart when a rough voice inserted itself between them with the force of a crowbar.

"Aw, how sweet. Now stand up and hand over your phones and cash."

Absorbed in each other, Luke and Pagan had failed to notice the approach of two men. The one who had spoken was looming over them behind the bench. In his right hand he was holding a long knife, cruelly-curved and shiny with menace. The other man had his back to them, making sure that no-one else was approaching.

Luke and Pagan slowly got to their feet and the mugger followed them round to their side of the bench, holding his knife close to Pagan's face as Luke handed over his phone and his last few banknotes. The man slid them into the pocket of his hooded top with his free hand. He looked expectantly at Pagan.

"I'm not carrying any," she said, truthfully enough.

"What's in there?" The mugger pointed towards the white Hamleys bag underneath the bench.

"A toy train set for my baby sisters," Luke told him. "But it might be a bit advanced for you."

There was a brief moment of stillness before the mugger responded to these imprudent words. He punched Luke hard in the stomach, forcing him back onto the bench, winded and unable to react. Then the man lunged forward, one hand bunching the neck of Luke's t-shirt, the other holding the knife against the side of the teenager's face. Luke could see every detail of the mugger's deep acne scars and the strands of greasy dark brown hair which were escaping from his hood. The man's upper lip curled into a snarl, revealing yellowish teeth.

"Less of your cheek," he hissed, his warm breath washing over his victim. The snarl became a sadistic smile as the man pulled the knife across Luke's face, carving a gash into his skin. Luke still had no breath with which to cry out, but Pagan had plenty. As blood spilled from the wound, dripping down onto Luke's white top, she let out a piercing scream.

For a moment, the birds stopped singing.

### Chapter Three

"C'mon Spud, time to go," the other mugger said, looking around uneasily. The knifeman followed him as he ran off into the trees.

Pagan ducked down and dragged the Hamleys bag from underneath the bench. She removed her handbag and dug out a plastic-wrapped packet of tissues which she ripped open with her teeth and passed to Luke, her hands shaking. Luke held the wodge of soft paper against his bleeding face as Pagan sank back down onto the seat. "It's not as bad as it looks," he tried to reassure her, once he'd got his breath back. In reply, she punched him on the arm, almost as hard as the mugger had punched his midriff.

"You idiot!" she shouted. "What did you have to go and say that to him for?"

Next, Pagan got her phone, first dialling 999 to summon the police and then phoning her mother's number. Help soon appeared in the form of a Royal Parks policeman, who checked Luke over and called an ambulance to meet them on the nearest road. While they waited for it, the teenagers told the constable what had happened. Pagan's phone rang and Julia spoke to her. "We're just getting to the park, Pagan, where are you exactly?"

"I'll pass you on to the policeman, Mum and he can explain where we are." Pagan handed her phone to the officer, who gave their location to Julia. The taxi pulled up shortly afterwards and Luke was relieved to see Ned climb out of it after Julia.

When she caught sight of Luke's blood-stained top and the drenched red bundle of tissues he was holding against his cheek, Julia cried out in horror. Pagan had not mentioned the knife attack in her call.

"Oh my God! What's happened to you? Are you alright?"

The adults rushed over to them and Pagan's self-possession fractured. Tears began dripping down her face as freely as the blood had run down Luke's a few minutes earlier. She was gathered into a motherly hug by Julia while Ned stopped in front of Luke and took hold of his chin, tilting his head sideways and gently removing the bloody paper to examine his injury. Luke looked up at him, feeling dangerously close to tears himself. His neighbour's face was grave.

"How did you get this?"

Ned's level voice calmed Luke down enough to allow him to describe the mugging and to explain that the mugger had sliced his face open with a knife. He didn't go into detail about the exact circumstances which had provoked the attack. As he talked he was watching Ned to gauge his reaction to his tale. He could see a puzzled frown forming on his neighbour's face and was sure that he was not entirely satisfied with Luke's explanation. Julia did not seem to notice any problem with it, however; she released Pagan and bestowed a hug on Luke instead. "You poor thing. What a terrifying experience."

He was spared from any further questioning by the arrival of the ambulance.

"You seem to be developing a taste for riding in these things," Ned remarked.

He accompanied Luke to the hospital, while Julia and Pagan were driven around the area in a police van, to see whether Pagan could spot the muggers. It was arranged that they would all meet up at one of the local police stations, once Luke's gash had been treated.

Luke and Ned waited in the Accident and Emergency department. Above their heads was a stern notice warning against the use of mobile phones. Ned looked up at it and commented, "I should phone your parents and tell them that you're in hospital. Again. Will you be alright on your own for a bit?"

"Yeah, fine," said Luke.

Ned left the building and returned five minutes later.

"How did they take it?" asked Luke

"Your mum was all for getting on a train and coming up to London herself," replied Ned. "But I persuaded her that you were quite OK and we would probably be home before she could get here."

The deep cut in Luke's cheek was sealed with thin strips of adhesive dressing. Ned didn't say much but Luke was grateful for his company. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, anyway. Once he had been patched up they took a taxi to the police station where they were reunited with the Randalls, whose hunt for the muggers had been unsuccessful. Pagan and Luke's statements were taken (neither of them mentioned Luke's rash words to the mugger) and, at last, the four travellers were free to return to Euston.

On their way back into the station Luke's injury and bloody top attracted some startled glances from passers-by. Pagan was uncharacteristically quiet and didn't hold Luke's hand as she had earlier in the day. Luke thought she was probably still annoyed with him for making the situation with the muggers worse than it needed to be. He felt shy of her again and furious with himself and their attackers for spoiling what could have been a perfect day.

The Manchester train on which the Randalls were booked was long gone and already half way to its destination, but Julia persuaded a sympathetic train company employee to let them use their tickets on a later train. The four of them parted company. Julia and Ned shook hands again. Her smile was warm. "See you next week," she said.

Pagan's goodbye to Luke was more muted. She just said "Bye, then," and turned away to walk towards the platform entrance. There was no smile to accompany her words and certainly no hug or kiss. Julia compensated for her daughter's coolness by patting Luke's shoulder and giving him a sympathetic look.

"Take care of yourself," she said.

Luke nodded but didn't speak and Julia followed her daughter into the sloping passageway which led to the train. As they vanished from his sight, Luke could not help but dwell on the contrast between Pagan's cold farewell and the warmth of her greeting in the same location at the beginning of the day. He clearly had not been forgiven for his impulsive words in the park. The pain of the cut inflicted by the mugger seemed insignificant in comparison.

He walked in silence with Ned to the escalator and down through the advertisement-lined tunnels leading to the Underground station. A southbound Victoria Line tube arrived as soon as they reached the platform. The train was busy with commuters and they both had to stand all the way to Victoria. Luke found that his bloody top worked like an invisible protective barrier, ensuring that he had more space around him than any of the other passengers. He was becoming weary of the scandalised looks he was getting from their fellow travellers. He tried to hide the stains by wrapping his left arm and shoulder around one of the pale blue metal posts which supported the roof of the carriage and which the standing passengers had to cling on to as the train lurched jerkily through the hot, airless tunnels.

The nearest people to him were a dark-skinned young man and woman whose attention was focused entirely on each other. They were the only people in the coach who appeared unaware of Luke's grisly appearance. Luke watched the couple kissing every time the train stopped at a station and found himself hating them with an equally strong passion.

At Victoria, Ned led Luke upstairs into the small shopping precinct above the station where he insisted on buying Luke a new t-shirt from a men's clothes store. "Your mother will turn a knife on _me_ if you arrive home covered in blood. You look as though you've spent the day as an extra in a horror film."

Once he had paid for Luke's new top, Ned made him change into it, right there in the shop. Embarrassed, Luke pulled off his gore-spattered shirt and replaced it with the new one, humiliated at having to do so under the curious stares of the sales assistants. He stuffed the shirt into the Hamleys bag, out of sight.

They secured a table to themselves on the train that would take them home; Luke's injury proving useful again as a deterrent to anyone who might have considered sharing their space. As the train left Victoria and began to pick up speed, its noise provided them with a degree of privacy. Ned took advantage of it to return to the topic of the mugger's attack. Luke had been expecting and dreading this: he was fairly sure that his neighbour had been dissatisfied with his earlier account and with the statement he had given to the police.

"So, did you get knifed because you tried to stop the mugger from taking your things?" Ned asked.

"No. I didn't dare. He was holding his knife at Pagan's face," Luke explained.

Ned's eyebrows went up and his head tilted forward. He was back in cross-examination mode. "And yet yours is the one with the knife wound."

Luke was reminded of the cigarette-end incident of the summer term, where Ned, in his role of headmaster, had used careful questioning to deduce Luke's plan to plant the incriminating evidence in the room of his rival, Benjamin Wharton. This interrogation felt as if it was going to go the same way. He suspected that Ned was not going to let things rest until he had got all the facts.

Luke tried to change the subject, although he knew it was unlikely to divert the inquisition. "What did Mrs Randall mean, when she said 'see you next week'?"

"I'm going back to Hawley Lodge on Monday and I'm going to pop by and make sure they've moved in to their new house OK on Wednesday," Ned replied. He returned to his previous line of enquiry as though there had been no interruption, this time with an open question which demanded a straightforward answer. "How exactly _did_ you come to be cut?"

Luke sighed. He was beginning to think that his neighbour had missed his true vocation as a police detective. He consoled himself with the thought that at least Ned wouldn't be landing him in detention as a consequence of nailing down the truth this time. "I provoked him," he admitted, going on to explain how, while keeping a wary eye on Ned, to see how he was going to react. "Then Pagan screamed and they ran off," he finished.

Ned was frowning.

"And then Pagan punched me," Luke added resentfully, rubbing the bruised part of his arm and hoping to distract Ned into offering sympathy instead of blame.

"Now _that_ attack seems more than justified," said Ned in a tone that was far from sympathetic. "She must have been scared stiff. Luke, you do realise that you could both have been killed just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, don't you?"

Ned's voice rarely betrayed his feelings and this was the first time Luke had ever heard him sounding genuinely angry, although he was not shouting in the way that Luke's other dad normally did. Luke supposed that Ned's exasperation was perfectly reasonable under the circumstances but he felt ill-equipped to cope with it, especially as he knew he was likely to face a similar response from his parents when he got home. One of the significant _dis_ advantages of having two fathers in his life was becoming all too clear. As far as Luke was concerned, the throbbing cut on his cheek and the chilly nature of his parting with Pagan were painful reminders enough of how reckless his words to the mugger had been.

"I know!" he snapped back. "And now Pagan's not talking to me, I've had my face sliced open and I've screwed up the whole day for everybody. I'M SORRY, ALRIGHT?"

Luke didn't have anything like Ned's control over the volume of his voice. By the time he reached the end of this short speech, his shout was much louder than the background noise of the train. Passengers around them in the carriage were lowering their newspapers, phones and novels and staring at the two of them with open curiosity; perhaps pleased to have the monotony of their daily journey broken by this unusual helping of drama. Ned and Luke glared at each other for a few moments and then Luke broke the tension by letting out a sound that was half-laugh and half-sob. "And now I'm arguing with you like I do with my old man. Just perfect."

He overlapped his forearms on the table and dropped his forehead onto them, hiding his face (and the tears that were threatening to fall and shame him further). Ned said nothing for a few moments, and then placed his hand lightly on the back of Luke's head. It was a gesture of comfort and, perhaps, forgiveness. When he spoke, his voice was back to its usual even tone.

"Pagan will come round, Luke. When someone cares about you, they can't help but be angry when you put yourself at risk like you did today. It's just a temporary thing."

Luke filled his lungs with a deep breath and tried to absorb some of Ned's restored calmness into himself. He let out the air in a long, slow exhalation and pushed himself upright again, feeling more hopeful."D'you think so?"

"I'm positive. But you will need to explain how sorry you are, first. And it might be best if you can manage to do that without shouting at her."

*

On the Manchester train, the Randalls were also exchanging information about the way in which they had spent their day. Pagan didn't want to talk about Luke, so pressed her mother to tell her what she and Ned had done.

"Well, we went to the museum and looked around the American prints exhibition, which was interesting," Julia started. "Then we had a really lovely lunch there and wandered round some of the other parts of the museum. I was pretty tired by the afternoon, so we decided to go on one of those tourist bus tours of the city. It was such fun: I haven't been on an open-topped bus for years!"

Julia laughed at the memory but then stopped and paid attention to her daughter.

"And then you rang and we jumped off and got into the taxi. I know your day ended badly, Pagan, but did you have a good time before that last part?"

Pagan's feelings were muddled. She shrugged and said nothing, staring out of the window at the arch of Wembley Stadium which was glowing orange as it caught the light of the evening sun.

"Don't give me that, Pagan Randall." Julia's voice was sharper than usual and Pagan turned to look at her, startled out of her dejection. Heavy-handed parenting wasn't her mum's usual style. "You stopped talking to me about your feelings once before and look what happened then. Tell me what's the matter."

Pagan smiled and shook her head. "I'm not planning on running away this time, Mum. Although I made such a fool of myself that I almost wish I could. It was when that guy slit Luke's face open with the knife, I-," she covered her face with her hands, unwilling to complete the sentence.

"What?" insisted Julia.

Pagan slowly raised her head out of her fingers, her face screwed up, as though she was in pain. "I screamed," she said. "I screamed like a flipping eight-year-old. It was so humiliating. Luke must think I'm a complete idiot."

"Well it sounds like a perfectly natural reaction, to me," Julia reassured her. "I should think he's more worried about the fact that you barely spoke to him when we left."

"I was too embarrassed. He must have been thinking what a big girl's blouse I was."

"Pagan, I'm sure he was thinking no such thing. I saw his face when you walked off to the train. He looked heartbroken when you barely said goodbye, as if you'd just slapped him in the face."

"I did punch him quite hard after we were mugged," admitted Pagan.

"When he'd just been sliced open with a knife?" asked her mother, her voice shrill with disbelief.

"Er, yeah," said Pagan, thinking that perhaps it did sound rather unkind when she put it like that.

"Well, you really know how to show a boy a good time, don't you? First you nearly kill him by poisoning him, then you punch him when he's already been stabbed. If the poor lad's got any sense he'll run a mile from you!"

Pagan knew she was only joking, but she began to wonder if her mother might not have a point. Perhaps this relationship had been cursed with bad luck from the very beginning.

### Chapter Four

Ned accompanied Luke to his parents' house. The door flew open before they reached it and Luke's mother rushed out to greet them. She examined Luke's face and gave him a powerful hug. Finally releasing him, she turned to Ned and took his hands.

"Thanks for looking after him. I'm so glad you were there."

Luke's dad joined them and added his thanks to his wife's.

"We've kept supper until you came home," said Luke's mum. "You'll join us, won't you, Ned?"

Ned agreed and the four of them entered the house. Mum had made a quiche and there were bowls of potato and green salad next to it on the kitchen table. The twins were already in bed. The four of them sat down and began to help themselves to the food. Luke's stomach growled in anticipation of the meal; it seemed a long time since he'd eaten that hamburger beside the Thames with Pagan.

It was strange to be eating a meal with all three of his parents at once; it was only rarely that Luke spent any time with all of them together. He felt unusually self-conscious, as though he were somehow having to live up to each of their expectations of him. Seeing his mother and Ned together always made him feel uncomfortable, anyway, as it made him remember that they had once (however briefly) been lovers. And no-one likes to think about their parents in those terms. He found it difficult to understand how they could now act neutrally towards each other, having once been so close. Surely there must still be some spark of feeling between them? Luke tried to imagine being equally cool towards Pagan and then felt another stab of almost physical pain as he remembered the way they had parted. Perhaps that was what it felt like for Ned, when he was around Luke's mother.

Absorbed in these dismal thoughts, Luke hadn't noticed that he was being asked a question, but the way the adults were all looking at him told him that an answer was expected. "Sorry, what?" he asked.

"I think you mean 'pardon'," said his mother, reprovingly.

Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be on my best behaviour for her, in front of Ned, thought Luke. He eased his resentment by stabbing his fork into a piece of potato.

"I asked you how you ended up getting knifed," his dad repeated.

Here we go again, thought Luke. He looked over at Ned, reluctant to face a re-run of their row on the train, but unable to avoid telling them the truth when Ned already knew what had happened.

But (not for the first time) Ned came to his rescue, apparently interpreting Luke's glance as an appeal for help. "As I understand it," said Ned, "Luke was trying to distract the mugger's attention from the bag holding Pagan's things. But the man reacted violently, punched Luke in the stomach and cut open his face."

Luke nodded to confirm Ned's version of events and gave his neighbour a half-smile of thanks, wondering why he hadn't thought of explaining it that way to Ned in the first place. But then he felt dishonest, so he added, "It was my own fault, really."

"You're not to blame that there are people out there who think they can go around stealing things at knifepoint," Luke's mum said, hotly. "I hope the police catch him and lock him up for good."

"Is Pagan OK?" asked Dad.

Another difficult question to answer, but Luke couldn't leave this one to Ned. "She's fine," he managed to say in a slightly hoarse voice. He did not feel like being honest about the fact that Pagan had hardly spoken to him since the attack and that he was worried she would never speak to him again.

He remained quiet for the rest of the meal, listening to the others making polite small talk and trying to ignore the pain which was radiating from the cut on his face with every mouthful he ate. As soon as he felt he could, Luke excused himself and went to bed.

It wasn't a good night's sleep. Every time he rolled on to his left side the pain in his face woke him up. Then Luke would find himself reliving the events of the previous day and found it difficult to nod off again. At six o'clock in the morning, he woke once more and knew that it was pointless trying to get back to sleep. He got up and went downstairs to the computer in his father's study. During the night he'd decided that he would send an email to Pagan in the hope of re-establishing a friendly relationship with her. He spent a long time writing it, trying to hit the right balance between apology and humour, without coming across as desperately needy.

Hi Pagan

Just wanted to say sorry for being a complete idiot yesterday.

Ned gave me a bit of a bollocking on the way home cos I had to tell him why I got cut with the knife. He did buy me a new t shirt to replace the bloody one, tho, so i cant complain too much (except he made me change into it in the store in front of the shop assistants, which was well embarrassing!!).

I havent got your home phone number, or i'd ring you to say sorry properly. Totally understand if you never want to talk to me again,

Love,

Luke

xxx

ps i've got quite a big bruise on my arm where you hit me... :-)

Luke hit 'send' and hoped that this email would soften Pagan's feelings towards him.

*

Julia and Pagan spent the morning packing up books in their living room in Manchester in preparation for their move. Pagan was uncharacteristically quiet; still brooding, her mother assumed, on the state of her relationship with Luke. At lunchtime Pagan took a break and logged on to the computer while Julia went into the kitchen and started to prepare some cheese-on-toast. Her concentration on the task was interrupted by a loud squeal from her daughter, who ran into the room and gave Julia a hug which nearly knocked her off her feet. "You were right, Mum!" she shouted and then practically _skipped_ out of the room again, flinging the words "I'm phoning Luke!" over her shoulder as she left.

Julia surmised that her daughter's relationship with Luke was back on track. She turned to look at Pagan's father, who was smiling out at her from a photograph attached to the door of the fridge-freezer. "I wish you were here, Roy. I don't know if I can handle this teenage love affair by myself," she told him, shaking her head.

*

On the Friday of that week, Luke and Ned had arranged to go out for one last hike over the Downs before Ned's return to Hawley Lodge. The weather was overcast and cool: more like autumn than summer. The combination of the weather conditions and their map-reading turned Luke's mind towards school and the forthcoming orienteering season. These thoughts raised a question which had been bothering him and which he needed to sort out with Ned. The problem was, that doing so would involve reviving memories of the confrontation they'd had at school in the previous term. He waited until they stopped for lunch before broaching the difficult topic.

"Er, Ned," he began.

"Mm?" Ned replied, his concentration on the hard-boiled egg that that he was peeling.

"Will I be able to join the orienteering team at school again this year?"

He had been banned from the team by Ned for going out of bounds while on a training run in the summer term. Luke was not sure whether this was ban was just for the previous school year, or if it was supposed to continue into the new one. It made sense to settle the issue while they were out on the Downs together rather than to wait until they had resumed their school roles and Ned had retreated to his headmasterly distance, but Luke was uncomfortable about bringing up the subject during the holidays: a time when they usually avoided mentioning their life at school.

Ned glanced over at him, looking surprised at the question. "I suppose I wasn't explicit about the duration of the ban, was I?"

"No," said Luke, adding (in an attempt to keep the conversation light), "but I'm hoping it wasn't a life-time one."

"New year, clean slate," declared Ned. "Goes for everyone."

"Oh, good." Another thought struck Luke. "So does that mean Wharton might get back on the team too, then?" he asked, dismayed.

"You can't expect to have your slate wiped clean and not his," Ned pointed out, fairly.

"I s'pose not," said Luke, pleased to have resolved the niggling question, but less thrilled at the idea of Benjamin Wharton being allowed to compete again. Wharton was an obnoxious member of the Viking house at school and he and Luke couldn't stand each other.

"I thought the rivalry between you two was quite good for the team," Ned observed.

"Sort of," admitted Luke. "We get good results when we're trying to beat each other, but..." He stopped himself. He had been going to complain about Wharton's general behaviour, as though Ned _was_ just his neighbour or relative, but it had suddenly occurred to him that doing so would be like telling tales, with Wharton having no means of presenting his side of the story to their headmaster. It wouldn't be fair, however tempting it was. This was one of those awkward moments when the join between their two worlds interfered with what would otherwise be perfectly natural behaviour.

Ned did not seem to have noticed the early termination of Luke's sentence. "Perhaps you two should take the new school year as a chance to wipe your old grievances off the slate, too," he suggested.

"That would be good," said Luke, "but I can't see it happening."

"Then just be sure to keep the rivalry inside your orienteering competitions," warned Ned, suddenly sounding much more like Mr Kelly the headmaster than Ned the neighbour.

"Are you saying that in your official capacity?" Luke teased him, but Ned did not laugh.

"I'm just trying to give you some friendly advice," he replied, "but I'm perfectly prepared to repeat the warning in a more forceful manner to both of you in my office if necessary."

There was that abrasive overlap again.

"I think I saw enough of your office last year," said Luke, remembering the various times in year nine when he had ended up there; several of them connected with the feud between him and Wharton.

"I can agree with you on that point," said Ned. "I don't think those occasions were particularly enjoyable for either of us."

Luke hadn't really thought about how Ned had been feeling during those interviews, but now he considered the matter he realised the discomfort went both ways. "And we didn't even know we were related, then," he remarked.

"Do you think that would have made any difference?" asked Ned.

Luke pondered this for a while. "No, I don't think so," he said.

"Nor do I," agreed Ned.

They fell silent but Luke's mind became uneasy again as he remembered the way in which the previous school year had ended. When he had ended up in hospital, his fellow Romans had led the other students in the school to believe he had been caught smoking and had progressed from this to dabbling in the consumption of mind-altering mushrooms. Pagan's involvement in Luke's hospitalisation was only known to the school's staff, and as Luke had rather enjoyed the notoriety caused by the general misunderstanding, he had not been in any great hurry to explain that he hadn't smoked a single cigarette and that the mushrooms that he'd eaten had been quite innocently picked and cooked for him by a runaway teenage girl.

Whatever Ned's beliefs about clean slates, Luke had a troubling suspicion that the memories of his fellow students might be less easily wiped clear. He touched his hand to his cheek, which was healing up well. The scar that would be left behind by the mugger's knife was unlikely to help matters; it was bound to add spice to the stories that were already in circulation about him. Ned had warned him the previous year about trouble attracting more trouble and Luke was worried that his new reputation might not be easy to dislodge. He did not, however, think it was wise to share these concerns with Ned.

The next day, Luke and his dad went into town to sort out a new phone for Luke. While his father talked about call plans with the shop assistant, Luke browsed the various handsets.

"Found one you like?"

Luke pointed at a pale pink phone. "I'll take that one please."

There was a brief silence as the two men contemplated the phone that Luke had chosen and then looked back at Luke.

"Are you sure?" asked his dad. "It's a bit...pink."

"Yeah," said Luke. "I reckon no-one's going to want to steal a phone that colour."

Andrew slapped him on the shoulder. "I think you've got a point there. OK, pink it is."

The expression on the shop assistant's face was dubious, until he saw the opportunity of making a further sale. "You could always buy a cover for it," he suggested. "Then it wouldn't be quite so obviously pink." Luke succumbed to this idea and with its black protective cover it was only possible to see the pinkness of the phone when you were very close up to it.

"You're not worried that people are going to make fun of you for that phone, then?" asked his dad as they walked back to the car.

Luke pointed to the scar on his face. "Would you pick a fight with me now I look like this?"

*

"But Mum, it's _tiny_!" It did not take Pagan long to explore their new home. The front door opened straight from the street into the living room. Stairs went up to the left and a kitchen and bathroom occupied the back of the house. Upstairs, there were two bedrooms. The kitchen door opened out into a small, paved back yard, with barely room for the small wooden table and four chairs which were placed there

"Why do think we left most of our stuff in Manchester?" asked Julia. "I know it's small, but it's big enough for the two of us for now." She was already carrying in the cat's basket and some of the other belongings they had brought with them. "Hurry up and help me empty the car so that I can move it out of the way for the removal van."

By the time Ned arrived at their house later in the day, the removal van had been and gone and the Randalls were busy unpacking their possessions. Julia opened the door to Ned's knock and welcomed him inside. Ned looked around the small living room.

"It looks like a home already! I'm impressed."

Pagan thought this was rather dishonest of Ned: to her the room seemed cramped and untidy, with boxes and packing paper still piled in one corner. However, her mother was looking delighted at this praise. "I'm just making some tea, the kettle's on," she said. "Take a pew!"

Ned sat down in the armchair by the window: the only seat that was not cluttered with books or boxes. He smiled at Pagan. "How are things going with you?" he asked.

"Fine," said Pagan. "I start at the High School on Tuesday."

"Are you nervous?"

"Yeah, a bit," admitted Pagan. "But I expect it won't take too long to settle in. And at least I'll get to see Luke at the weekends."

"Oh, I suspect you'll see him more often than that."

"Really? I thought he wasn't allowed to come to the village on weekdays."

"That's true for year nines, but the year ten students get a bit more freedom," explained Ned. "As long as he signs back into school by ten o'clock and keeps up to date with his work, then he's free to come to the village whenever he wants."

Pagan brightened up considerably at this news. "That's great!"

"And I'm sure both of you will be sensible about balancing your school work with your social lives," Ned said. Pagan made a face at him in response to this blatant bit of headmasterliness. Ned smiled and raised his hands in apology.

A thump on the chair behind Ned's head announced the arrival of a tabby (and tubby) cat. Ned turned and met its solemn brown gaze. "Hello. Who's this?"

The cat mewed and then landed heavily on Ned's legs.

"That's Minnie," Pagan told him. Ned rubbed the cat's chin and she settled herself down in his lap, apparently pleased to find someone who was a) stationary and b) willing to provide her with attention.

"What on earth do the boys find to do in the village in the evening?" Pagan asked. Her explorations of the place in June had not given her the impression that it was a seething hub of nightlife.

"Sometime they go into town on the bus," replied Ned. "Otherwise, I think the usual activity is to hang around the park in the centre of the village and try to chat up the local girls." The corner of Ned's mouth twisted in amusement at the look of indignation on Pagan's face. "However, I believe they soon discover that there are just as many local boys as there are girls, and the local boys tend to have their own opinions about who should be hanging round the girls. And as our boys have to be in school uniform, it cramps their style somewhat. It's also quite a long walk from Hawley Lodge to the village. The novelty of being allowed out in the evening soon wears off, in my experience."

Julia came back in, bearing a tea tray. Ned smiled at her. "You've found the tea-pot already then?"

"Are you kidding? With removal men around it's the one item you can't ever pack away!" Julia set the tray down. "And I see the cat has found you. Just push her off if she's a nuisance."

"I like cats," Ned told her, "and I think I ought to get to know all my new tenants, don't you?"

Julia poured the tea and handed a cup each to Ned and Pagan.

"I was just warning Pagan that you're likely to be seeing quite a lot of Luke this year," Ned told Julia.

"That's fine by me, he's always welcome," said Julia. "And so are you, Ned, if you fancy some home cooking for a change from school dinners. Or don't you socialise with Luke now you're back at school?"

"We certainly managed to lead almost separate lives last year," said Ned, "but thanks to Pagan and her mushrooms, things have changed quite a bit since then." He raised his teacup in a toast to Pagan, who gave him and her mother a conspiratorial smile.

"Which reminds me," continued Ned, "I should probably mention to you both that Luke hasn't told anyone at the school that I'm his father, so I have to ask you to keep that information between ourselves."

"But why hasn't he?" asked Pagan.

"I believe he thinks it might damage his reputation," replied Ned. "He didn't even tell anyone there that I was his next-door-neighbour and I imagine that being his father must be ten times worse."

"Isn't keeping this quiet going to become a bit awkward?" asked Julia.

"Perhaps," conceded Ned. "But he thinks he will be treated differently if the staff and students know. I can understand his reluctance to tell people, can't you?"

"Ye-es," said Julia, doubtfully. "I just feel that it's generally better to be open and honest about things." Her eyes rested on Pagan. "Keeping secrets always leads to problems in the end."

### Chapter Five

It was the first full day of school and the sign-up sheets for the school's various clubs and societies were once more covering the notice board in the entrance hall. Luke headed straight to the one for the orienteering club and wrote down his name, noting, with a brief surge of irritation, that Wharton's name was already on the list. While Jay was signing up for the photography club, Luke scanned the other lists. The one headed 'Gardening Club' caught his attention. This piece of paper had been decorated with coloured illustrations of fruit and vegetables and it stood out from the other sheets which were all plain white. The leader of the club was named as Mrs Randall.

No-one had yet signed up. Luke wrote his own name down on it and then turned to see Jay giving him a disbelieving look.

"Gardening?" he asked, in a tone of disgust.

Luke shrugged. "Yeah, well, I do some for Ne- for one of our neighbours in the holidays. No-one's signed up for it yet and I like Mrs Randall."

Jay snorted. "You mean you like her daughter."

"That's got absolutely nothing to do with it," Luke grinned. He had told Jay all about Pagan within ten minutes of being back in his company.

"If having a girlfriend means having to shovel piles of horse crap around then you can keep her," said Jay. "You've just waved goodbye to your credibility, mate."

Maybe that's no bad thing, thought Luke. "Does it bother you?"

"Yeah, it does," said Jay, feigning annoyance. "Think I might start hanging around with Wharton this year, instead of you."

There was a moment of stillness, then Luke responded to this threat of treachery by giving Jay a hard sideways shove. Jay pushed him back, laughing, and it was at this point that they both caught sight of Mr Wilmot, their housemaster, approaching from the front door and looking characteristically irritable. Before he could get close enough to comment on their boisterous behaviour, the pair made a sedate but speedy exit upstairs to the sanctuary of the Forum, the common room for the members of the Romans house.

That evening, Luke and Jay returned to the entrance hall to sign out. They weren't the only ones; around half of the other year ten students had already seized this first opportunity to escape from school during the evening hours. The Romans wrote their names in the signing-out book and sauntered through the front door of the school, liberated by their new freedom.

Luke had arranged with Pagan to call in and collect her on their way into the village. He was a little nervous about how she and Jay were going to get on, but also hopeful that Pagan might have already made friends with some of the village girls and that one of them might make a suitable girlfriend for Jay. He didn't want to have to choose between being with Pagan and being with his best friend.

Pagan answered the door to them and Luke made the introductions.

"I remember you from that time by the country club," Pagan smiled at Jay. "When you lot persuaded me to go and pick up those cigarette butts."

Jay grinned back at her. "Yeah, that plan wasn't one of our best. Poor Luke really copped it."

"While the rest of you got away scot free, I suppose," teased Pagan, coming out of the house and closing the door behind her. "I'm surprised he's still talking to you. Who were the other two that were with you?"

"Taj and Fred," replied Jay. "They came out earlier – we might see them as we walk around the village."

The three wandered past the village's duck pond, with its ancient wooden stocks. Luke and Jay indulged themselves in a fantasy which involved Benjamin Wharton being imprisoned in the stocks while they pelted him with over-ripe tomatoes.

"I can't wait to meet him," commented Pagan. "You make him sound so appealing."

Pagan's wish soon came true. The teenagers arrived at the park in the centre of the village a few minutes later, where a number of the year ten Hawley Lodge students were already loitering, looking conspicuous in their school uniforms. A small group of more comfortably-dressed local kids had established their claim to the swings and were meticulously ignoring the Hawley Lodge contingent.

The arrival of Luke and Jay in company with a girl created a ripple of attention in both groups. Pagan raised a hand in greeting to one of the girls on the swings. "Come and meet some of my friends," she said to the others.

"Hiya," Pagan said, as they reached the village teenagers. She waved her hand around the group. "I go to the High School with these guys. This is Barney: I'm working with him on a geography project. "

Luke appraised the boy that Pagan was standing next to. He was tall and dark-haired, with a pleasant, open face. Luke took an instant and completely unreasonable dislike to him.

"And this is Christina," added Pagan.

With a jolt of surprise, Luke recognised the brown-haired girl on the swing as the orienteer who had sprained her ankle in one of the competitions earlier in the year. He missed the rest of Pagan's introductions as he and Christina locked glances and smiled, remembering their first meeting.

Pagan was now introducing Luke to her friends. "This is Luke, the boy I was telling you about who I met in the summer when I was hiding out in the woods. And this is his friend, Jay."

Luke wondered what exactly Pagan had told them about him. Christina spoke up. "I never got a chance to thank you for helping me last term," she said. "Thanks."

Pagan stiffened and looked from Luke to Christina, obviously confused (and, Luke was pleased to note, perhaps a tiny bit jealous).

"I sprained my ankle in an orienteering competition and your boyfriend came to my rescue," explained Christina. She turned back to Luke. "What happened with that other boy?" she asked. "The one who didn't stop?"

Luke experienced a warm glow of happiness at hearing Christina use the word 'boyfriend'. "He was kicked off the team," he reported, with some satisfaction, "but he'll probably get back on it again this year."

"Too bad," said Christina. "Oh look, speak of the Devil."

Luke turned to see Wharton approaching, flanked by the other year ten Vikings.

"Oh, it's _him_ ," said Pagan, who had had a brief but unpleasant encounter with Wharton just before she'd met the Romans back in June.

Wharton cast a haughty look around at the group of village teenagers. When he recognised Christina his expression became even uglier.

"You got me thrown out of our orienteering team last year," he said, approaching her in a menacing manner.

Christina folded her arms and stared back at him, completely untroubled by the implied threat. "I think you'll find that it was you who got yourself thrown out. If you're going to play, little boy, you should learn how to play by the rules."

Outnumbered as he was, Wharton backed down from the confrontation with Christina and took out his annoyance on Luke. "Enjoy associating with riff-raff do you, Brownlow?"

Barney made to grab Wharton, but Pagan stepped between them. "He's not worth the energy, Barney."

Wharton stared sneeringly round at the High School students before stalking back towards the other Hawley Lodge boys.

"I don't think much of your friend, Luke," said Christina.

"He's no friend of mine," Luke assured her. He saw Taj and Fred approaching from the other side of the park. "But these two are." He beckoned the other Romans over and introduced them. Now that everyone had met Wharton and had formed their own low opinion of him, Pagan started telling her friends the story of the day she had first met Wharton and Luke. The Romans told their side of the cigarette-end story and Christina followed it up with a description of Wharton's reaction to her sprained ankle. By the time the Romans had to leave, they had established the beginnings of a friendly relationship with Pagan's school friends and Wharton's character had been comprehensively ripped to shreds.

"What d'you think of them?" Pagan was keen to know, as they arrived back at her front door.

"Anyone who hates Wharton is a friend of mine," replied Fred. "Come on Taj, Jay, let's go back. I don't want to have to watch these two saying goodnight. Goodbye, Pagan – don't keep him out too late!"

The other Romans departed and Pagan raised her eyebrows at Luke. "Have you got time to come in?"

Luke looked at his watch. He had to be back at school by ten o'clock and it was only 9.30. "I've got a few minutes," he said, with a shy smile. Pagan opened the door of the cottage and grabbed Luke's hand, pulling him inside. A wolf-whistle issued from another group of returning Hawley Lodge students as he shut the door behind them.

*

The orienteers held their first training session of the year on Wednesday afternoon. Luke had kept up his running over the summer and it looked as though Wharton had, too: they were both equally determined to gain back the team places they had lost in the previous school year.

In the changing rooms afterwards, Wharton wasted no time in returning to the attack.

"So did you all know that Brown-nose has is going out with some slapper from the High School?"

Luke said nothing, paying much closer attention to his shoe-laces than the task really required, trying to block out Wharton's words.

"My brother told me that they used to have fights in the village with the High School boys," continued Wharton. Luke assumed that this was just a typical Wharton wind-up exercise, but Connor Reid, a Norman year 12 with no particular affection for Wharton, unexpectedly backed him up.

"Yeah, that's right. My eldest brother was here the year that they all ended up in the village pond. The police got involved and everything. Caused quite a stir, back in the day. Of course, that was before Kelly's time."

"Think it's a tradition that needs to be brought back, myself," announced Wharton.

"Yeah, good luck with that," said Connor, in a sarcastic tone.

Luke said nothing, but was pleased to note that there didn't seem to be much enthusiasm for Wharton's idea among the rest of the orienteers. It would be just typical of Wharton to resurrect the old feud now that Luke was making friends in the High School camp.

The first meeting of the gardening club took place after school on Friday, in the school's library. Luke was relieved to see that he wasn't the only member: a fair few of the younger Romans had joined and there were three older boys from the other houses. Luke nodded a 'hello' to Guy Beeston, the only other year ten in the room.

Julia had the sign-up sheet in her hand and was using it to identify the members of the club. "Of course we won't normally be meeting indoors," she explained, "it's going to be very much an outdoor, hands-on sort of club, but we need to do some research before we start. What I'd like to do is start building our garden on the site of the original kitchen garden for Hawley Lodge. And for that, we're going to need Mr Hannaford's help."

Mr Hannaford was the school's librarian and Julia led the members of the gardening club along to the back of the library. Here, Mr Hannaford greeted them and showed them some papers and photographs which he'd laid out on a table for them to look at.

"I found these at the local archives," he told them, "where they keep the old records relating to this area. Hawley Lodge was owned by an important local family once, and the archives has a number of documents and plans relating to the property. These are copies of the photographs and plans of the house from the early twentieth century, so they're about one hundred years old."

Luke looked at one of the photographs, which showed a garden in front of a tall brick wall. A man and a girl in old-fashioned clothes stared at the camera, in front of several rows of precisely spaced leeks. The girl had a determined look on her face which reminded Luke of Pagan.

"We think that's Jacob Turnham, the head gardener," Mr Hannaford said, pointing at the man in the photograph. "He was living in the head gardener's cottage here in the 1901 and 1911 census – that's the house where the headmaster lives now. The girl in the picture is his daughter, Violet."

"A good name for a gardener's daughter," commented Julia. "Where was this garden, exactly?"

Mr Hannaford pulled another paper out of his pile. It was a plan of the grounds of Hawley Lodge, dated 1900. "You can see the gardens as they were laid out around the house in this plan," he said. "The walled garden was between the gardener's cottage and the house, close to the kitchens which would have been on the west side of the main house in those days. Most of the walls were destroyed during the Second World War when a bomb hit the garden, but much of the north wall is still there. The path from the headmaster's house runs along the northern side of it."

"I've talked to Mr Davey, the groundsman," Julia told them, "and he is willing to let us start our garden on the south side of the old wall. It's a bit overgrown with brambles and weeds at the moment, so our first job is going to be to clear some space. Let's go and have a look at it."

The small group followed Julia out of the west entrance of the school. Guy and Luke fell into step together. "Did you bribe all these Romans to join the club?" asked Guy.

"No," Luke said, "what makes you say that?"

"Well, there seem to be rather a lot of them, that's all."

"Nothing to do with me. What made you join?"

"I like growing things. My parents own a garden centre and I miss helping them out with it, when I'm away at school."

Guy's face and arms were tanned. His blond hair looked bleached and Luke supposed that it was a summer of working outdoors in the garden centre that had achieved this affect, rather than a trip to the hairdresser's.

They had arrived at the site of the past and future garden. It did not look promising. Luke felt a pang of regret for the long-dead head gardener and his daughter as he looked at the overgrown patch of land they had once tended with such care. But Julia Randall did not seem discouraged. She waved at the area around them. "See how much sunshine this area gets," she told them. "No trees close by to shade it, and the wall to the north which will give the garden shelter from the worst of the weather. We're close to the school, so not far to carry any vegetables we grow. With a bit of work, this will make a lovely little garden, with room for expansion if we need it. We could even put up a greenhouse, perhaps."

Julia was being wildly optimistic, in Luke's opinion. Nettles and brambles seemed to be the only things that this patch of land was willing to support.

"It's too late to do any work on this today, and we're not dressed for the job," Julia announced, eyeing the school uniforms and polished black shoes of her team. "Mr Davey is willing to lend us some tools, as long as we return them to him clean, so I suggest that next week you meet me here after school, wearing clothes that you don't mind getting dirty, and we can start work on clearing our first bed. Is that OK with you?"

She was answered with a series of nods around the circle.

"Let's try that again with a little more enthusiasm. Will I see you here next Friday?"

"Yes, Mrs Randall," came the reply.

"You'll see, in just a few weeks this will look completely different. Off you go, then."

The boys picked their way out of the bramble patch, dodging the stinging nettles and headed back to the school. Julia and Luke stayed behind and she gave him a questioning look. "What are the chances of any of them coming back next week?"

Luke spread out his right hand and rocked it from side to side to suggest that the chances were a bit slim. "Fifty-fifty?"

Julia's face registered her disappointment.

"But I can probably put some pressure on those young Romans to turn up, if that'll help..."

"Thanks, but I don't want to force people into taking part," Julia told him. "I know it looks a bit daunting at the moment." They stared at the nettles in silence.

"I thought I heard your voices." Ned appeared from the direction of the school. "So this is the site for the garden, is it?"

"Yes, although it doesn't look much like one at the moment," admitted Julia. "I think I've just scared most of my club off before we've even started. At this rate poor Luke will be the only active member."

"I have every faith in you," Ned said, smiling. Julia began explaining her plans for the garden to him. Something about the close attention that Ned was paying to Julia's words made Luke aware that his own presence was surplus to requirements. He muttered an unheard excuse about having homework to do and went back into the main school building, feeling slightly disgruntled and wondering if Pagan had been right all along about the chances of a romance forming between her mother and Ned.

*

Luke turned up to the next session of the gardening club in some trepidation, half-expecting to be the only person there. When he got to the site of the proposed garden, he was relieved to see that Guy was already there and that the four youngest Romans had still not lost their enthusiasm. Julia was handing out gloves, shears and garden forks. The six remaining gardening club members set to work with a will, carefully cutting back the brambles and nettles and then starting to dig out the roots. This was not an easy task. The roots of the nettles were long and yellow, with the texture and toughness of electric cables. By the time they had cleared a reasonably-sized bed, everyone was exhausted; their faces streaked with dirt and their shoes caked with mud.

Julia was delighted with their progress. "Well done, guys. This is fantastic. Next week we'll be able to sow some seeds and garlic cloves. Maybe we'll be picking some lettuce and herbs before winter sets in. In later meetings we can build some cold-frames to protect the seedlings in the colder weather. But for now," she looked around at the circle of dirty faces. "For now, I think that you might all want to go and have a shower."

The boys headed indoors. Guy peeled off to the stairs that led up to the south-west wing of the building, where the Saxons' dormitories were. Luke and the year seven Romans started to head towards the staircase on the other side of the school, which led up to the Romans' and Vikings' quarters.

"Hold up," Luke said, suddenly noticing the state of their shoes. "I don't think we should go through the entrance hall – we'll coat the floor with dirt."

Everyone stopped and looked at their feet.

"Let's go up these stairs," said Luke. "Then if there are any awkward questions about the dirt, it'll be the Normans and Saxons that have to answer them."

The younger Romans saw the sense in that idea, so they all changed direction and went up the western staircase.

"Shame it won't be the Vikings that get blamed, eh?" asked the freckled, blonde boy who was climbing alongside Luke.

Luke grunted in a non-committal manner.

"Is it true that the Vikings raided your dormitory last year, and got away with it?" persisted the year seven boy, whose name, Luke recalled, was Oliver Samuels. Luke remembered the event all too clearly.

"Yes, and they made a right mess of it. We were up half the night, cleaning up."

"Did you raid their room, too?"

"No," said Luke sourly, thinking of the plan to plant cigarette ends in Wharton's rubbish bin. "We were planning to, but it went wrong and I nearly got expelled over it."

"Cool," said Oliver.

They had almost reached the top of the staircase and Luke was about to explain that it had been anything _but_ cool when he heard someone shouting on the floor above them. He held up his hand to stop the others from carrying on. It was Mr Garnet, the Saxons' housemaster, and he was berating Guy for walking mud into the school.

"Go back," hissed Luke, and the small party crept quickly down the stairs again, doubling the depth of the trail of dirt they were leaving behind them. At the foot of the stairs, Luke spoke to the year sevens in a slightly louder voice than was strictly necessary: "I think we should take off our shoes here, so that we don't walk mud into the school."

He was answered with grins by the younger boys. They all took off their footwear and resumed their original course across the entrance hall, leaving poor Guy to account for the quite unbelievable quantity of mud that was now plastered on the westerly staircase. Guy was in trouble already, reasoned Luke to himself; there was no point getting the Romans involved, too.

Oliver and the other Romans were chattering and laughing about their narrow escape as they followed Luke back to their side of the school. Luke felt like a mother duck with a flotilla of ducklings bobbing along behind him. He had a strong feeling that he could head in any direction and this gaggle would follow, trusting him every step of the way. It made him feel uncomfortable, so he put on speed to put some distance between himself and the younger boys. He was feeling guilty about leaving Guy to take the blame for all the mess they'd made and wasn't in the mood to listen to the gleeful chatter of the year sevens.

### Chapter Six

When the year nines left the Forum at their designated bedtime of 10.30pm, the year ten Romans usually had it to themselves. All the younger students were in bed and the older students (officially members of the Upper School) had generally gone off to the lordly privacy of their own study-bedrooms on the floor below. It was a peaceful half-hour and during the course of the autumn term, Taj had taken advantage of this rare private time to teach Luke and the others how to play poker.

Part-way through their game on a Tuesday in mid-October, the door to the common room swung open and Mr Wilmot entered. It was rare for him to visit the Forum at all and almost unheard of at this time of day. He was not alone. Immediately behind him were the four newest Romans, pyjama-clad and sullen-faced. Luke and his friends scrambled to their feet and, under cover of their movement, Luke deftly swept aside the small pile of coins they'd been playing for and slid them into his pocket. If Mr Wilmot knew they'd been gambling there would be trouble and it looked like there was enough of that in the room already: the year sevens should have been fast asleep in their dormitory by now.

The eleven-year-old boys were not only wide awake and out of bed, but were also carrying an incriminating array of items between them: a feather pillow, a Swiss-army knife and a can of shaving foam. They had clearly been intercepted on their way to raid one of the other House dormitories. Luke recognised all four of them as members of the gardening club. He caught the eye of Oliver Samuels, who was holding the knife, and pulled a sympathetic face at him. Then Luke realised that Mr Wilmot was glaring right at him, so he quickly replaced his expression with a more disapproving look.

"Mr Thomas found these boys out of bed and in the Vikings' wing just now," Mr Wilmot informed them. "I think you year tens need to be _reminded_ ," (at this point he gave Luke a particularly sour look) "that as the senior boys on this floor, it is your responsibility to ensure that the younger students go to bed on time and stay there."

Taj, Luke, Jay and Fred frowned down at the year seven boys. It was bad luck on them that they'd been caught by Mr Thomas. It meant that Mr Wilmot would be even more unforgiving than usual. He always was if one of the other housemasters intercepted a Roman doing something they shouldn't be. He took the knife and the can of shaving foam from the hands of the would-be raiders. "I will see you four in detention tomorrow evening." He turned back to the year tens. "And if there is any repetition of this sort of behaviour, you gentlemen will be joining them."

A mumbled chorus of "Yes, sir," and "Sorry, sir," greeted these words.

"You lot: off to bed," Mr Wilmot told the year sevens. Once they had trudged away, he closed the door behind them and came back to the older Romans. "Perhaps if you spent more time on your duties and less time on your personal entertainment, this situation might have been avoided." His glance rested upon the interrupted game of poker and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I presume you are all aware of the school's rules about gambling?"

"Oh yes, sir," Taj assured him, enthusiastically. "We're just playing a game. Would you like to join us in a round?"

The other Romans looked at Taj in alarm, but it seemed that he had hit on exactly the right thing to say. Mr Wilmot backed away from the table as though it had burst into flames. "Er, thank you, but no. I'm going to go and make sure that those year sevens are in bed." He managed to make this sound like a job that the year tens should be doing.

When Mr Wilmot had gone, the boys collapsed into their seats and Luke pulled their pot-money out of his pocket and placed it back in the centre of the table.

"Quick thinking, Luke," said Fred. "If he'd seen that cash we would've definitely been in detention tomorrow night." They turned their attention back to the game.

"There's only one Viking dormitory they could have been raiding at this time of night," observed Luke. The others nodded.

"Yeah," said Jay, "Wharton's. It's like they were getting revenge for that raid the Vikings made on us, last year, bless their little hearts."

Luke remembered the conversation he'd had with Oliver Samuels after their gardening club meeting and his stomach gave a guilty lurch. Was this all his fault?

"I particularly liked the feather pillow idea; that would be a nightmare to clean up," said Taj, gathering up the cards and starting to deal out a new hand. "A really nice touch. They deserve a medal, not detention."

"I suppose we'd better not tell them that, though," said Fred.

"No," agreed the others. They exhaled a collective sigh of regret, forced out by the new weight of responsibility on their shoulders.

*

Luke and Pagan were managing to see each other nearly every day, although both of them were finding that their homework load was increasing. When they couldn't see each other, they spent time phoning and sending text messages or emails to keep in touch. The rule at Hawley Lodge was that phones had to be kept locked away during the school day, so Luke got used to reading and sending texts to Pagan in the morning and again while he was doing his homework after school. It was a welcome distraction from the piles of maths that Mr Wilmot seemed to be heaping on the year tens.

A more than usually exclamation-mark-heavy text arrived the morning after the year seven raid.

Mum's going out on a date with Ned tonight!!!! He's taking her to the theatre!!!!

xoxox

Luke smiled down at the excitable message. He felt sure that Pagan wouldn't be completely happy until Ned and Julia got married.

U picking out ur bridesmaids dress this wkend then? ;-) C U tonite. xxx

He put his phone in his bedside locker and went downstairs for breakfast, sitting with Jay and Taj. Fred came in a few minutes later and Luke noticed him having a short conversation with Oliver Samuels, the would-be raider from year seven as they both loaded up their bowls with cornflakes. When he joined the other year ten Romans, Fred sat next to Luke and said "Looks like you've got yourself a fan club."

"What?"

"Jay was right, turns out those year sevens were trying to get revenge on Wharton for that raid last year."

Taj leant forward. "But they weren't even here last year."

"Seems that Wharton's got the small Vikings on his side," explained Fred. "And they've been bragging about how Wharton pulled one over on us last year. Our little year sevens decided to take matters into their own hands."

Oh, wonderful, thought Luke. This _is_ my fault. It wasn't just about him and Wharton any more. It appeared that half the school was getting caught up in this stupid feud. He'd made a promise to Ned, but how on earth he was going to stay out of it if the younger boys were going to start doing things like this in his name? Did Oliver and his friends join the gardening club just because of him, too? Luke resolved to take Oliver aside at the earliest opportunity and have a private talk with him. He needed to stop this before it got out of hand.

"I wish they wouldn't," he said.

"What, getting tired of your hard-man reputation already?" teased Jay.

"I've never been hard in my life!" protested Luke. Snorts of laughter greeted this remark and Luke shook his head in resignation as he waited for the hilarity to pass.

*

Luke and Pagan went to the park to hang out with Jay and the High School kids that evening, as they usually did, even though they could have had the cottage to themselves, thanks to Julia's date with Ned. The wind was in the north-east and it felt chilly. Luke didn't think the group would keep up this habit of meeting after school for much longer. It wouldn't be much fun sitting on the swings and the picnic table in the winter. By seven o'clock it was completely dark and a fine drizzle was starting to fall: the penetrating sort of rain that damps both clothes and spirits. The gathering broke up sooner than normal and Jay headed back to the school, leaving Luke and Pagan at the door of Pagan's cottage. Pagan unlocked it and flicked on the living room lights.

"God, it's freezing in here," said Pagan, blowing on her hands. "Mum must've forgotten to put the heating on." She went to the control panel for the central heating and slid a small controller sideways. There was an instant roar of response from the gas boiler in the kitchen as it fired up. Pagan peeled off her coat and hung it on a peg by the front door. Luke followed her example, placing his on the back of the sofa. Pagan was rubbing her upper arms and shivering.

"It'll take a while for the house to warm up. Let's go up to my bedroom and get under the duvet." She led Luke upstairs but stopped halfway up and turned to give him a stern stare. "Fully-clothed, I mean. Don't get any ideas, young man."

"I wasn't!" protested Luke, untruthfully.

They kicked off their shoes and curled up together in Pagan's bed. Wrapped in each other's arms, they soon got comfortably warm. After a while, Pagan sighed and sleepily rolled over to face the wall. Luke fitted his body around her back and legs. He could hear Pagan's breathing becoming slower and deeper and knew that she was close to dropping off. I should go back to school, he thought, but this feels so good. He closed his eyes, savouring the scent of Pagan's hair and the heat of her body against his.

There was a sudden blow to his midriff. For a moment, Luke was back in Regent's Park with Pagan, being punched by the mugger. His eyes flew open but instead of the hooded and pock-marked face of the mugger, they met the solemn brown gaze of Minnie, Pagan's cat, who was firmly planted in the centre of his chest. He was flat on his back in Pagan's bed. "Ugh, geroff, Minnie," he grunted, pushing the cat on to the floor.

Next to him, Pagan lurched into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

Luke checked his phone. 10:45. Shit. They both must have fallen asleep and he had missed his curfew time by a full forty-five minutes. He swung his legs out of the bed and pulled on his shoes. "Better run." He gave Pagan a brief but passionate kiss and then charged down the stairs. He was half way across the living room, grabbing his coat and heading for the front door, when it swung open towards him. Julia had her keys in her hand and behind her was Ned. Luke froze in mid-stride.

"I expect Pagan will be asleep by n-" Julia stopped mid-sentence when she saw Luke. The two adults stared at him and an awkward silence fell upon the room. All three of them were immobilised, as though someone had pressed a 'pause' button on the scene. Thumps from the staircase announced Pagan's entrance and Luke turned to look at her, mainly to avoid having to meet Ned and Julia's eyes. Then he wished he hadn't. Pagan's face was pink from the warmth of her bed and her usually-smooth hair was a tousled mess. The awkwardness of the silence intensified. Luke involuntarily pictured Mr Wilmot writing it on a whiteboard as an equation:

_(a + b + c)_ n

Where _a_ was the embarrassment of being caught out of school after hours by Ned, added to _b_ , the certainty that he had just ruined the end of Ned and Julia's date and _c_ , the dishevelled state of Pagan. And then all this was multiplied to the power of _n_ , the natural suspicion that forms in an adult's mind about the intentions of a teenaged boy towards a teenaged girl.

Why am I thinking about algebra at a time like this? thought Luke. Why am I thinking about _Mr Wilmot_ at a time like this?

Reluctantly, Luke turned back to Ned and Julia and read everything that he'd just thought in their shocked expressions. Julia was the first to speak. Well, shout, in fact.

"What have you been doing?!" She rounded on Luke, doing an excellent impression of an enraged sabre-toothed tiger defending her young. Pagan crossed the room, matching her mother's fierceness as she pushed herself between Julia and Luke as a human shield.

"We fell asleep!" she yelled back. "Nothing happened; the house was cold, so we curled up under the covers and fell asleep. It wasn't Luke's fault, it was mine. Look-" she gestured down at herself, "I'm still fully dressed!"

Luke wasn't sure this was helping. "I'm sorry," he said to Julia. "I didn't mean to nod off. I'm late, I really better get back to school."

"I'll walk back with him," said Ned to Julia. His voice did not sound friendly and Luke wanted to say 'Please, don't bother', but suspected that this was not going to be an option. From the look on Julia's face, Pagan hadn't heard the last of this yet, either.

"Bye, Pagan," he said. "See you soon."

"I wouldn't bet on that," warned Ned, holding the door open so that Luke could walk past him out of the house. Ned spoke briefly to Julia and then followed Luke to the street.

"Are you going to gate me?" Luke asked, as they started to walk towards Hawley Lodge. He assumed Ned's remark meant he was going to be banned from leaving the school for a while.

"It's a house matter, so it will be up to your housemaster, not me," replied Ned. "I imagine it will depend on how well you've been getting on with Mr Wilmot lately."

Given the year tens' confrontation with the housemaster the night before, Luke didn't feel optimistic. He wondered whether Ned was aware of the young Romans' attempted raid on the Vikings' dormitory, but decided it was best not to ask. It was good that Ned had offloaded the school discipline side of things onto Mr Wilmot, though. Their conversation now had nothing to do with breaking school rules - point _a_ in Luke's Equation of Awkwardness - and everything to do with points _b_ and _c_. Luke wasn't anxious to examine those at all, but he knew he owed Ned an apology and wanted to get it over with quickly.

"I'm sorry about all that," he said. "Ruining the end of your evening, I mean."

"I think it's Mrs Randall you should be apologising to," commented Ned.

So Julia was 'Mrs Randall' all of a sudden, Luke noticed. "I did try," he said, "but I don't think she was in the mood to hear it."

They were passing underneath a street lamp as he spoke. Ned halted and put a hand on Luke's arm to stop his progress. In the orange pool of light he stared into the teenager's face.

"Luke, you were there last year, you know why Pagan ran away from home. You must have some idea of the way her mother feels about what happened to her and why she reacted in the way she did."

"But that was different," protested Luke. "I'm not doing anything Pagan doesn't want me to do." That sounded wrong and he hurried to correct himself. "We weren't _doing_ anything. We just fell asleep!"

"Luke, you _slept together_ , in Pagan's bed. I think that is enough of an abuse of Mrs Randall's hospitality, don't you? I think you need to give to think about giving them both the respect they deserve."

Luke didn't reply. He felt that both Julia and Ned were over-reacting, but he didn't want to make matters worse by saying so.

*

Pagan had no such scruples. "Mum, you're making a big fuss about nothing. Lighten up, can't you? Nothing happened!"

"I'm just trying to protect you, Pagan, can't you see that?"

"I don't _need_ protection now," snapped Pagan. "Last year, that's when I needed protection, when your boyfriend was trying to grope me every five minutes and you never even noticed! It's a bit late to start getting over-protective now."

Julia gasped as though Pagan had chucked a bucket of water over her. "Are you going to carry on throwing that in my face for the rest of my life?" she demanded.

"Only when it seems to still be making you act like an idiot," retorted Pagan. "I like Luke and he's no threat to me at all. Perhaps if you got yourself a proper boyfriend you wouldn't be so obsessed about what I'm doing with mine all the time."

Pagan knew that this remark was bordering on spiteful. But Julia did not fight back. She simply dropped onto the sofa, her indignation punctured. To Pagan's horror, tears began overflowing from her mother's eyes as she put her elbow on the arm of the chair and sank her forehead into her hand.

"Oh God, I'm sorry Mum, I didn't mean that!" Pagan flung herself down next to Julia and hugged her. For a while, neither of them spoke.

"I thought we'd got over the Brian business in the summer," said Julia eventually, fishing a tissue out of her bag and wiping her eyes and nose. "But we never manage get back to the way we were before it all happened. And now I'm terrified of getting close to another man in case the same thing happens again."

"Ned's nothing like Brian," Pagan reassured her.

"Ned's lovely," agreed Julia, "but it's not that simple, Pagan. He's my boss, for one thing. And our landlord, for another."

Pagan dismissed those objections with a wave of her hand. "That doesn't matter and I'm sure he likes you; he just needs a bit of encouragement. The odd goodnight kiss, perhaps?"

Julia snorted. "If we can ever get to say goodnight without being interrupted by our children."

Pagan blushed and Julia laughed, returning her hug. "Just be careful, sweetheart. I know you're sensible, but it can be quite easy to get carried away. Luke's very existence is proof of that."

*

Ned and Luke were getting closer to Hawley Lodge. Luke's thoughts were turning towards how he was going to explain his late arrival to Mr Wilmot and to the other year ten Romans, but it seemed Ned still had things he wanted to say.

"You just have to take things slowly with Pagan and use a little self-restraint and common sense," Ned said.

"Like you did with my mother you mean?" retorted Luke, who was getting a little tired of Ned's preaching.

There was a pause in the conversation and Luke wondered if he'd gone too far.

"I was actually coming around to talking about that, yes," replied Ned, apparently unruffled by Luke's attack. "That was a perfect example of how not to handle these things. And it was your poor mother who got lumbered with the consequences.

"Although," he added, "you do seem to be making sure that I get my fair share of strife these days."

Luke couldn't help but laugh at this and was feeling happier as they entered the school. Then he saw Mr Wilmot prowling the hallway near the signing-in book and his optimism faded. The housemaster was obviously waiting for him to turn up, late. Mr Wilmot looked up as they approached, his disgruntled expression changing to one of puzzlement as he looked from Luke to Ned.

"Brownlow inadvertently fell asleep at his girlfriend's house, Mr Wilmot," explained Ned before either the housemaster or Luke could speak. "It was an honest mistake, I believe. I've told him that getting in late is a house matter and that it is up to you to decide on the appropriate course of action. We had a talk about privileges and responsibility on our walk back and I think he understands the seriousness of the situation."

Luke tried to set his features into an appropriately contrite expression, while inwardly cheering at Ned's intervention, which translated itself in Luke's mind as 'I've already chewed him out, so give the kid a break.'

"Well," finished Ned, "I'm off to bed myself. Remember what I said, Brownlow."

"Yes, sir," said Luke, humbly. Ned dropped the merest hint of a wink in his direction before turning away to go back to his cottage. Luke's spirits rose even further and he had great difficulty keeping his face sombre as he waited to hear Mr Wilmot pronounce sentence.

The housemaster seemed confused by the fact that his prey had been delivered back to school by the headmaster. Luke was sure that he was mentally tearing up the script of the lengthy lecture he had been preparing for him.

"Well then," said Mr Wilmot, frowning down at Luke, who decided it was safest to say nothing at all. "You're gated until the weekend," he declared. "Now sign yourself back in and get off to bed."

Luke nodded. "Goodnight, sir," he said, and did as he was told. He suspected the confrontation would have gone a lot more badly if Ned had not been there to defuse Mr Wilmot's initial anger. He sent grateful thoughts in his neighbour's direction as he climbed up to the top floor.

Everyone was getting ready for bed when Luke entered the dormitory. He was greeted with shouts of "Where have you been?" as he walked through the door.

Luke explained what had happened, although he decided not to mention that he had fallen asleep in Pagan's bed. Saying so might have given him some temporary kudos with his friends, but it didn't take a big leap of imagination to picture the story getting back to Pagan. If she heard that he'd been bragging about sleeping with her, he was certain that their relationship would come to an abrupt end. He involuntarily rubbed the place on his arm where she had punched it in the summer. It would probably be a painful one, too.

### Chapter Seven

Luke didn't encounter Julia again until the next meeting of the gardening club on Friday afternoon. He was dreading seeing her, but she was perfectly friendly towards him during the meeting, which puzzled him at first. But then he realised that he was seeing Julia's professional face, the one she presented to all of the other students. Why are my relationships with adults always so complicated? Luke thought.

After their meeting he waited behind and, bracing himself for an instant change in Julia's attitude, said: "I wanted to talk to you about the other night."

Sure enough, Julia's smile switched off. "Oh. Why don't you give me a hand returning these tools to the shed and then we can talk in my office."

Five minutes later, they were in Julia's office. It was a small room on the main floor of the school, next to the administration office. Luke had not been inside it before and he looked around in interest. Julia's desk was in front of the one tall window, which offered a view over the courtyard beyond. Between the desk and the door there were two low, greenish chairs of the type found in staffrooms everywhere. Between them was a small table on which a white vase full of orange and yellow flowers had been placed. Luke fleetingly wondered whether they had been a gift from Ned.

A photograph of Pagan smiled out of a silver frame on the desk. The sight filled Luke's heart with courage. Julia gestured him to one of the green chairs. She didn't take the other, but perched on the edge of the desk, obscuring Luke's view of Pagan's picture. Did she do that deliberately? thought Luke. The counsellor folded her arms and waited for him to speak, her expression now less friendly than it had been in the garden. Without Pagan's smile to sustain it, Luke felt his courage began to ebb away.

"I'm sorry if I -" Luke scrabbled around in his memory for the words that Ned had used on Wednesday night, "- abused your hospitality."

A tightening at the corner of Julia's mouth (the merest shadow of a smile) suggested that she was well aware that this was not a phrase that Luke had come up with by himself. She said nothing, however, leaving Luke to blunder on unaided.

"It just was a mistake; I wouldn't do anything to hurt Pagan. I'm sorry that I upset you."

Julia sighed. "I expect you agree with Pagan, who informs me that I over-reacted, big-time."

Luke raised his right shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. "Well, I know it looked bad," he admitted. "And after everything that happened last year I can see why you reacted like you did. I just wanted to apologise."

Julia unfolded her arms and sat down in the other green chair. Luke interpreted her shift in position as a sign of forgiveness, something that her next words seemed to confirm. "We'll say no more about it. I'm sure that you and Ned discussed it at length on Wednesday night."

"Just a bit," Luke agreed with a wry smile, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Did you get in a lot of trouble for being late back?"

"Not too much," said Luke. "I think it helped that Ned was with me. It put Mr Wilmot off his stride a bit. I'll be able to see Pagan again this weekend. If..."

Luke left the sentence hanging, giving Julia a hopeful, sheepish look. She laughed at him.

"Yes, you can visit. You can come for lunch on Sunday if you like."

Now he _knew_ he was forgiven. For Julia, making food for people was a declaration of affection.

"Thanks!" he said. "That'll be great." He got up to leave, his smile as broad as the one on Pagan's face in the photograph on the desk. "See you Sunday!"

Julia waved him away and he ran up the stairs to the Forum, taking them two at a time in blatant disregard for the school rules about running indoors.

*

Meals at Hawley Lodge were usually relaxed, self-service affairs, but on special occasions and on Sunday evenings the dining arrangements were more formal, with the younger students taking it in turns to serve a three-course meal to the rest of the school. The staff table was at the front of the hall, with four tables, one for each house, stretching away down the length of the room. The older boys sat at the end nearest the teachers' table, with the rest of each house arranged roughly by age, so the youngest students were closest to the back of the room.

Usually, at these more formal meals, Ned made a short speech before anyone was allowed to start eating, in which he mentioned any significant events that had taken place in the preceding week, or perhaps made observations on current events in the world outside the school. Although it rarely had any religious content, this brief address had come to be known as the Headmaster's Sermon.

On the Sunday after Luke had been gated, the boarders gathered for their evening meal. It was the Norman year eights' turn to serve dinner and they had begun by delivering bread rolls and bowls of tomato soup to the assembled diners.

"I hope the sermon's quick today," muttered Fred, who was sitting opposite Luke, halfway down the Romans' table, which was on the easternmost side of the hall. He lowered his head towards the steaming bowl, apparently quite ready to suck its contents up through his nose, elephant-style. "I'm starving." It did smell good, although Luke was still fairly full of Julia's excellent Sunday lunch and wasn't as hungry as Fred clearly was.

Once the servers had taken their seats, Ned rose from the staff table and walked towards the lectern, which was at the head of the four House tables. The background noise of conversation began to quieten into a respectful hush and Luke's eyes, like everyone else's eyes, were on the headmaster. This meant that he was completely taken by surprise when he was hit on the collar bone by a flying bread roll. He caught it instinctively, as it dropped into his lap, and let out a surprised shout of "Hey!"

All around the room, heads turned in Luke's direction, but further down the Romans' table, Oliver Samuels had seen one of the Viking year sevens throw the edible missile from the next table over. He jumped up with an enthusiastic shout of "Food fight!" and pitched his own roll towards the Viking instigator. In an instant, nearly all the younger Romans and Vikings were pelting each other with the poppy-seed-coated projectiles. The older students, inhibited by their proximity to the staff table, did not join in, instead treating the battle as a form of pre-dinner entertainment. Under cover of the bread storm, Fred (who was not one to waste an opportunity to eat when it presented itself) made quick work of his own roll, swallowing it down to meet the urgent demands of his stomach, while Luke and the others watched the fun.

Order was quickly restored by the outraged Roman and Viking housemasters, who sped down the hall to the front line of the war-zone. Luke was delighted to see Mr Wilmot get hit on the ear by a Viking-thrown roll as he entered the fray. Once the year sevens and eights were back in their seats, the Norman servers were set to work gathering up the spent ammunition from the floor. In the meantime, the headmaster replaced his planned words with some pointed observations on the behaviour of the combatants.

"To make things simple," he concluded, "I suggest that the housemasters take note of the names of those boys who are currently lacking a bread roll and enrol them in detention tomorrow evening."

Fred looked stricken as he regarded his own now-empty side plate. Luke saw his problem and became aware that he still had hold of the Viking roll that had started it all. He nudged Fred's foot with his own and passed the roll to him, under the table. Fred grabbed it and stealthily slid it onto his plate, as Mr Wilmot made his way down from the year seven's end of the table, identifying the breadless offenders.

Fred mouthed "Thanks!" at Luke, who responded with a conspiratorial smile. Getting a sudden feeling that someone else was watching him, Luke glanced beyond Fred to find Ned staring straight back at him from the lectern with a frown forming on his face. Luke's smile faltered then faded as a sinking feeling took hold of his stomach. He realised that Ned was interpreting his smile to Fred as a sign that Luke was pleased with the way the food fight had gone. Uh-oh, he's thinking that I masterminded the whole thing, Luke thought.

With no way of explaining the truth of the matter, Luke dropped his gaze to his soup, which looked a lot less appetising than it had done mere minutes before. Ned returned to his place at the staff table and the meal proceeded without further incident. The only thing that made it different from usual was the distribution of noise: the inhabitants of lower end of the Viking and Roman tables were much quieter than normal.

*

After the meal, when the students had been dismissed from the hall, the teachers lingered over their coffee, as they usually did on Sunday evenings.

"Well, I think that's the first food fight we've ever had here," commented Charlie Garnet, the Saxons' housemaster.

"I was too busy looking at my notes to see what happened, exactly," said Ned. "Did any of you see how it started?"

"Brownlow had something to do with it," John Wilmot put in, "I'm sure I heard him shout just before it all kicked off."

There was a look of satisfaction on Wilmot's face which Ned regarded with unease. He knew that the relationship between Luke and his housemaster had never been good, but this time it seemed to him that Wilmot had a point. He had heard Luke's shout, too, after all.

"Could you make some enquiries within your house, John?" he asked. "Maybe see what young Samuels has to say for himself."

Wilmot, meanwhile, had caught the eye of Rhys Thomas. "I wonder if Brownlow was behind that year seven raid on your Vikings the other week," he speculated. "It seemed odd for new students to come up with an idea like that."

Thomas shrugged. "I don't know, John. Perhaps it's something else you can ask Samuels about."

Much to Mr Wilmot's disappointment, Oliver Samuels refused to incriminate Luke when he was interrogated by the housemaster the following day. He would only admit that he had seen a bread roll being thrown at the Romans from the Viking table and had simply retaliated. He would not say who had thrown the first roll and also maintained that the raid on the Viking wing had been entirely the year sevens' own idea and that no-one else had suggested it to them. Mr Wilmot was forced to leave the matter there, but was far from satisfied. He understood the strange code of honour that operated in the school (he had once been a pupil there himself, after all) and he was sure that the younger boy was merely protecting his mentor.

*

News that the headmaster and Mrs Randall were dating had made its way around the school, through the usual mysterious channels. Luke's friends found the situation hilarious.

"If you're not careful, Luke, you're going to end up with Kelly as Pagan's step dad," Jay informed him. "Or even worse, your father-in-law!"

Luke forced out a laugh, hoping that it sounded more natural to Jay's ears than it did to his own. "Yeah, wouldn't that be weird?"

Having to play-act to Jay was bad enough, but Wharton's reaction to the news soon became unbearable.

"Of course he's only dating Mrs Randall because he really fancies her daughter," he said.

This was so horribly close to what had happened to Pagan with Julia's former partner, Brian, that Luke couldn't hide his shock at the suggestion. He flinched, but said nothing. He was trapped in the school mini-bus, on the way to an orienteering competition, so couldn't follow his usual policy of walking away from Wharton's provocation.

Wharton noticed Luke's reaction and was delighted. From this point on, he brought up the subject at every opportunity, coming up with increasingly revolting scenarios involving Ned and Pagan. Luke tried to close his ears and mind against them. He'd promised Ned that he wouldn't maintain the feud with Wharton, but the fact that he refused to retaliate didn't seem to be any sort of discouragement to Wharton. Avoidance of the Viking was the only strategy available to him, which was at least easier now that the evenings were dark and the Hawley Lodge year tens had given up walking into the village after school. They spent the evenings in their respective common rooms, giving Wharton fewer opportunities to needle Luke.
Having Sunday lunch at the Randalls' house became a regular event for Luke in the winter. On one windy and wet Sunday in early December, Luke entered the cottage to find Ned there too, sitting in the armchair by the window with the cat comfortably coiled in his lap. He was wearing what Luke thought of as his holiday clothes: jeans and a crew-necked sweater. Pagan was on the sofa, her legs curled up beneath her. The small coal fire was alight and the room was warm and welcoming, after Luke's walk through the cold, driving rain outside.

Julia came through from the kitchen. She was wearing a dark red apron with 'Domestic Goddess' written across the front. She took Luke's coat from him.

"I'll hang this up on the back door to dry," she said. "Sit down by the fire and get warm: your hands are freezing!"

Luke obeyed, rubbing his hands together to restore some sensation back into them. He discovered that he was feeling slightly shy of Ned, and being in the room with Julia, Ned and Pagan was bringing back uncomfortable memories of the night when Luke had fallen asleep in Pagan's bed, nearly two months earlier. That was the last time he had talked to Ned, although he'd spent a lot of time with both of the Randalls since then. Luke hoped that sharing a meal with them and Ned wasn't going to be as uncomfortable as it had been when Ned had joined him and his parents for supper back in August.

"Horrible day, isn't it?" observed Ned, breaking the ice with the safest topic of conversation in history.

"Horrible," agreed Luke. "Did you see the tree that's fallen down across the country club's drive?"

"Yes," replied Ned. "I'm surprised Mr Pritchard hasn't paid me a visit already, insisting that you were to blame."

Mr Pritchard was the owner of the country club, an unlikeable man who had visited Hawley Lodge the previous year, with a complaint about Luke.

"Well, about that..." Luke said, adopting a confidential manner, as though he was planning to confess. Pagan and Ned laughed.

Julia brought in a tray of drinks, handing a cup of coffee to Ned and cans of Coke to the two teenagers.

"Dinner's about ready," she said. "Why don't you all come through, if you've warmed up enough, Luke?"

Luke nodded and they all followed Julia into the kitchen. With the Randalls' folding dining table fully extended, there wasn't much room for the four of them to squeeze around it.

"Lucky we're all fairly slim," said Julia. She opened up the oven and brought out a mashed-potato-topped pie.

"What's that on top of it?" asked Pagan, looking at the shape etched into the top of the potato.

"It's a snowman," said Ned, decisively.

"A rabbit?" suggested Luke.

"Well, it's a fish pie, so it's supposed to be a fish..." confessed Julia."But I think I'm going to have to accept that I am never going to be a master of mashed-potato-art."

They helped themselves to Julia's pie and the accompanying vegetables and made quick work of them. Luke enthusiastically accepted Julia's offer of a second helping of pie, but Ned shook his head.

"It's delicious, but I've got to eat a three-course meal tonight," he explained. "I won't fit around your table if I have seconds."

"You won't be invited back if you don't," Pagan told him, with a serious expression on her face. "Luke's only allowed to come for lunch because he'll eat anything Mum makes _and_ always comes back for more."

"Luke runs off his big meals with all the orienteering," said Ned. "I don't get as much exercise as he does during term time."

"But you make up for it in the holidays," said Luke. "You nearly killed me last year, the first time we went hiking."

"You've got a lot fitter since then. How's the orienteering going this term?"

"It's been good," Luke replied. Apart from Wharton going on about you fancying Pagan every five minutes, he thought. But there's no way I'm going to tell any of you about that.

"I know this is going to sound really ignorant of me," Julia said, but I've never really understood what orienteering is."

Luke happily explained the sport to Julia, telling her about the way that Ned had prepared him for it by teaching him how to read a map and then suggesting that he join the club when he first started at Hawley Lodge the previous year.

Julia dished up a bread-and-butter pudding for dessert and Luke's stomach began to protest at the quantity of food it was dealing with. Ned was teasing Pagan about her taste for reality-TV shows and Julia was joining in. It was almost as comfortable and familiar as being at home with his own family. What was I worrying about? Luke wondered.

It was still raining when Luke and Ned had to leave to get back to Hawley Lodge.

"I've got the car here," said Ned. "I'll give you a lift back."

"Thanks," said Luke. A couple of months ago he would have declined the offer, but now that it was common knowledge at school that he was seeing Pagan and Ned was dating her mother, it didn't seem to matter so much if people found out that he and Ned sometimes saw each other socially in term time. Life was getting easier, all round, Luke thought, with satisfaction, as he settled into the front passenger seat of Ned's car and stretched the seat belt around his overloaded abdomen.

### Chapter Eight

The staff car park was on the eastern side of the school. As Ned drove past the end of the circular driveway that went up to the front entrance on the north side of the school they saw that the usually-empty grassy area in the centre was filled with people: the students were all lined up according to year, as they did during fire drills. Most were standing miserably hunched against the wind and rain, while others fought with wayward umbrellas in an attempt to gain some shelter from the weather.

"That's not good," commented Ned, frowning. Not a planned drill, then, thought Luke. Ned parked the car and the two of them walked around the outside of the east wing to join the throng of people at the front of the school.

Mr Wilmot immediately headed over to them, carrying a huge golfing umbrella over his head and a general air of self-importance. "There's been a fire in one of the rooms," he told the headmaster. "It's out now, but the fire brigade are on their way."

"Was anyone hurt?" asked Ned.

"No, it was in a waste paper bin and Mr Thomas extinguished it. It was in the Viking year tens' dormitory."

Luke's head jerked upwards as he heard this and his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the year seven Romans in their line. Mr Wilmot noticed.

"Where were _you_ when this happened, Brownlow?"

"At the Randalls' house, with me," supplied Ned.

"But you know something about this, don't you?" Mr Wilmot demanded of Luke.

The correct response at this point would have been for Luke to come back with a prompt and hearty denial. But at the back of his mind was his awareness of the younger Romans' determination to avenge the Viking raid on his dormitory. A few milliseconds passed while this knowledge interfered with Luke's ability to form the words of his reply. "No, sir," he managed to say, eventually.

The momentary hesitation was enough to gain him a sharp look from both men.

"Convenient that you were out of the building when it happened though," observed Mr Wilmot.

Luke's mouth dropped open, ready to protest his innocence, but Ned tilted his head towards the lines of students and said "Join your class". His expression was grim and Luke hoped that this was because the school had been close to burning down, rather than a sign that Ned thought he was somehow involved with starting the fire.

Luke turned away and joined the rest of the year ten boys, ignoring the curious looks he was getting from the other students as a result of his brief interview with the headmaster and Mr Wilmot. Great, thought Luke irritably, now they're all thinking that the fire had something to do with me, too. The warm glow of contentment he had been feeling on the way home from Pagan's house had vanished, as though the wind and rain had driven it away.

Jay moved his umbrella so that it covered both of them. "Did you hear what happened?"

"Yeah," said Luke, watching as a fire engine turned into the curved driveway and pulled up with a hiss of air brakes outside the school's big oak front door. Ned greeted the firefighters and then went into the building with them. "Wilmot thinks I've got something to do with it."

"But you weren't even here!" Guy Beeston said.

"Since when has a cast-iron alibi ever stopped Wilmot from suspecting me?" said Luke, bitterly. "He's got Kelly doubting me as well. Bastard." He glared at Mr Wilmot, who was now talking to Mr Thomas, probably spreading his suspicions to the deputy head, too. A crunching of gravel turned all heads back to the driveway, where another vehicle had drawn up next to the fire engine.

It was a police car. Even in the gloom of the late winter afternoon, the green fluorescent markings along the sides of the vehicle were dazzling. The low-level buzz of conversation among the waiting boys faded away as they watched two police officers emerge. They were pulling on waterproof jackets of the same day-glo green colour. Underneath them, the men were wearing black stab vests over their shirts, which made them look broader and more muscle-bound than they probably were. The steady patter of the rain on the canopy of umbrellas was the only sound to be heard.

Mr Thomas took the policemen into the building and the awed silence they had created began to dissolve.

Guy held out his hand to Luke, a serious expression on his face. "It's been nice knowing you," he said. "I hear that juvenile detention facilities aren't so bad these days."

Luke slapped his hand away. "Piss off," he said, forcing a laugh.

It was another twenty minutes before the fire brigade gave the all clear for re-entry to the building. Once they had shed their dripping outer layers, the students were directed into the hall where their headmaster was waiting for them on the raised platform at the front. He had somehow found time to change into his own school uniform of suit and tie, with the black academic gown over the top of it. Luke thought that it would be difficult for a casual observer to find any similarities between this forbidding authority figure and the relaxed, easy-going man he'd shared lunch with. The other teachers stood at regularly-spaced intervals along the sides of the hall, as they usually did during school assemblies. But their faces were not usually this sternly disappointed. Most of the students looked miserable: they had wet feet and pinched, cold faces. They were uncharacteristically quiet as they filled the hall; too well aware that one unpleasant experience was about to be followed by another.

"For what we are about to receive..." muttered Fred to Luke. Luke managed a weak smile in response. The year sevens were a few rows in front, so it wasn't possible for him to see whether they were exhibiting any signs of guilt. He was feeling an element of responsibility for the whole affair which was proving difficult to shake off and the sight of Ned's grave face wasn't helping. When everyone was in the room and standing silently in front of him, the headmaster began to speak.

Safe in the knowledge that Ned knew he'd been nowhere near the fire, Luke listened to Ned's words with a feeling of detachment, as though he was watching a performance in a play. As usual, Ned did not raise his voice, but there was no difficulty in hearing him, or in understanding the depth of his anger.

"...I have persuaded the police that we will investigate this event within the school, although if there is any repetition of such an attack, you can be assured that it will become a police matter," continued Ned. "Arson is a crime. There will be a full investigation and those responsible _will_ be caught. I strongly urge those individuals to admit their involvement to their housemaster immediately so that we can put this situation behind us as soon as possible and ensure that it does not happen again. It goes without saying that if anyone has any information as to the identity of the arsonists, he should communicate it to a member of staff at the earliest opportunity."

With these words, Ned's eyes connected with Luke's. Luke found himself jolted out of his role as Innocent Bystander and framed instead as Key Witness for the Prosecution; a much less comfortable position. He dropped his gaze to the floor, resolving to corner the year seven Romans as soon as possible. This stupid vendetta between them and the Vikings needed to stop, and soon, before things got completely out of hand.

"I don't generally approve of whole-school punishments for the actions of a few as yet unidentified individuals," Ned went on to say. A ripple of dismay passed through the ranks of boys as the headmaster paused, allowing these words to sink in.

"However, it seems to me that giving up an hour of your Sunday afternoon to stand outside in the wind and rain has essentially had that effect," he relented. Tense shoulders all around the room relaxed again. "I hope that this unpleasant experience will encourage you to ensure that such an act is never repeated in this school. Now, go and get into dry clothes."

The boys filed out silently, year by year, as they usually did after assemblies. The year ten Romans headed for the eastern staircase and climbed the stairs to the top floor with the Vikings close behind them. The smell of smoke grew stronger as they got towards the top of the staircase and it was more than just smoke: there was a distinct stench of rotten-egg underlying it.

"Smell that?" said Fred, loudly enough for the Vikings to hear. "I reckon the Vikings were so scared of that fire that they crapped themselves."

A roar of rage rose from the Vikings below them on the staircase and the Romans ran, laughing, to the top of the stairs with the Vikings in full and furious pursuit. The Romans' headlong rush came to an untidy end when they ran into Mr Thomas on the top landing. The deputy head glared at them as they careered to a halt, with the Vikings piling into them from behind.

In retrospect, Luke thought it was probably their laughter that had really sparked off Mr Thomas's rage. His normally peaceful Sunday afternoon had been spent dealing with firefighters, police and the clean-up operation in the Viking's dormitory. The boisterous, exuberant arrival of the group of year ten Romans and Vikings so soon afterwards must have been one provocation too far for the normally laid-back deputy head.

By the time Mr Thomas had finished bawling them out for 1) running in school, 2) unruly behaviour and 3) setting a bad example to the younger students, there was quite a logjam of those younger Romans and Vikings trapped on the stairs behind them, listening to every word.

"After what has happened today, I would expect a little more thoughtfulness in your conduct," continued Mr Thomas. "I will see you all in detention tomorrow evening."

Having relieved his bad mood by transferring some of it to the year tens, Mr Thomas allowed the boys to return to their own rooms. The press of younger students broke free from the staircase and followed them down the corridor in uncanny silence. No-one was daring to speak a word, for fear of sparking off a new explosion of rage in the deputy head.

Luke waited until the Romans were safely behind the closed door of their dormitory before raising the subject that was bothering him.

"I need your help, guys," he said. "This vendetta is getting ridiculous and we need to convince the year sevens to stop pulling stunts like this."

"Why?" asked Fred, who had kicked off his trainers and was peeling the wet socks from his white and wrinkled feet, his face contorted in disgust.

"Because Wilmot's convinced it's got something to do with me," Luke replied. "Perhaps if we all put a bit of pressure on them, they'll give it up."

"What makes you so sure it was them?" asked Taj, his voice muffled as he pulled a clean sweatshirt over his head.

"Who else could it be?" countered Luke.

Taj's head re-emerged from the neck of his sweatshirt and he looked over at Fred and Jay in turn. None of them said anything, but they both went strangely still.

Luke stared at them all in confusion until the meaning of their silence crashed into him like a physical force and he flopped down on his bed, his knees unable to bear the weight of it.

"You are _joking_ ," he said, staring at all three of his friends in turn. "You mean that it was _you?_ "

"Shhh!" Fred held his finger to his lips. "D'you want the whole school to hear you?" He looked out of the window as if he was worried that the Saxons in the rooms of the wing opposite them might have been able to catch what Luke had said.

"Why didn't you tell me?" demanded Luke in a fierce whisper. "I thought we were supposed to be friends!"

Taj and Fred looked to Jay, who was rubbing his hair with a towel and scrupulously avoiding making eye contact with Luke. "We didn't think you'd want to do it," he said. "You put us off doing anything about the Vikings last year. And the way you've been acting round Wharton lately, backing off all the time... We thought it was best to go ahead without telling you. We did it today because we knew you'd be going to Pagan's for lunch and Wilmot wouldn't suspect you."

"But he _does_ suspect me," said Luke.

"And you've been too busy anyway, what with Pagan and everything," added Jay.

Luke detected resentment in Jay's voice. Is this all because he's jealous of the time I'm spending with Pagan? he wondered. He remembered the worried look on Ned's face as they drove past the lines of students outside the building and felt a pang of sympathy for his neighbour. "You could have burnt the whole school down!" he said.

Jay lowered the towel and faced Luke. "There you go again, sounding like a teacher. It was just a smoke bomb, not a real fire. Fred lit it, with a length of slow-burning fuse and everything, and it worked a treat." As he recalled the afternoon's events, Jay's resentment faded away and was replaced by enthusiasm. "Luke, you should have seen the smoke pouring out of their window. There was sulphur in the bomb, too. Wharton's dormitory is gonna _stink_." The other two chuckled at the memory.

Luke felt torn. He _was_ pleased that they had finally got revenge for the Viking's raid on their dormitory last year. But he was hurt at being excluded from their plans and annoyed that he'd somehow ended up being Wilmot's number one suspect even though he had known nothing about it.

"We wouldn't have told you at all," said Taj, "but we couldn't help you torment the year sevens for something they didn't do."

"D'you think the staff will work out it was you?" Luke asked, thinking of Ned's lecture and his determination to track down the arsonists.

Fred snorted. "Not likely. They can't pin it on us. We'll just ride it out. It wasn't really arson anyway, just a prank. There's only a week left of school and the teachers will forget about it after Christmas. The fuss'll die down in no time."

Luke hoped he was right. He thought about the look Ned had given him in their impromptu assembly just now, letting him know that he was expecting him to report any information he might have about the fire. And when you combined that with Ned's interrogation techniques and Luke's inability to lie convincingly...

The only solution Luke could see was to avoid being anywhere near Ned for the rest of the term.

The last week of any term was always a gradual transition into holiday mode: a time of high spirits as staff and students alike anticipated their forthcoming freedom from the routine of school. Levels of work dropped off and there was a slackening of expectations and a general leniency in regard to the school rules.

But not this year. The teachers seemed to have taken the arson attack as a direct challenge to their authority and Christmas spirit was in short supply in the week which followed. Mr Thomas's outburst on Sunday afternoon was just the start of it. If anything, the staff were stricter than they usually were right at the beginning of the year; cracking down hard on even the most minor infringements of school rules. The boys' lockers and possessions were searched for evidence of involvement with the Viking dormitory fire and there was a general sense of oppressive surveillance which subdued everyone's spirits. Even the usually irrepressible year sevens were acting more like it was the week before an exam than the week before the Christmas break.

On Monday evening Luke looked around in surprise at the number of other students who joined the Roman and Viking year tens in detention.

"I think the teachers are having a competition to see who can hand out the most detentions this week," he muttered to Jay as they sat down together for their hour of imprisonment.

The Christmas edition of the school's newspaper, _Paper Dart_ , came out the next day. It must have been hastily re-written on Monday because it now featured the Viking arson attack on its front page. It named no names, but did not hold back from casting suspicion in the direction of the Romans' house.

"History teaches us that the Romans were one of the earliest users of fire as a weapon and, given other recent incidents, we wonder whether the answer to this mystery lies in that quarter of the school." Jay read the article out loud to the other year ten Romans as they sat down to breakfast. "Who writes this stuff? What a pompous arse."

"There's one editor from each house," said Taj. "But you can be sure that it was a Viking who wrote that bit."

"I think we should write a letter of complaint in the next edition," put in Fred, in a tone of moral outrage entirely for the benefit of anyone who might be overhearing them. "How dare they make allegations like that with no evidence? It's just as likely to be the Vikings trying to get the Romans into trouble, or the Saxons and Normans looking to get in on the action."

The newspaper was only repeating the widely held view among the students that it must have been Romans behind the attack but the various searches of lockers and possessions had failed to provide any proof of their involvement and Luke's three room-mates maintained a convincing outward appearance of complete innocence about the whole affair which Luke could only admire. When he couldn't escape to Pagan's house he resorted to hiding in the library as a way of avoiding the speculation and making sure that he didn't run into Ned.

He was glad when his parents arrived on Saturday to take him home. He was going to miss seeing Pagan nearly every day, but the prospect of four weeks of no homework and of not having to be constantly on his guard because of the Roman and Viking vendetta seemed like bliss.

*

The weather turned cold after Christmas and the roads were treacherous with snow and ice. Ned offered to take Luke back to Hawley Lodge to save the Brownlows from having to make the journey themselves. It meant that Luke would arrive at school a day earlier than the other students, but after a month away he was anxious to see Pagan again and didn't mind at all.

On the morning of their departure, Ned kept the car engine running while they loaded it with their possessions, so that the windscreen would defrost and the inside of the car get warm by the time they were ready to leave.

"What is that terrible smell?" asked Luke as he hefted his bag into the back of the car.

"It's just the catalytic converter," Ned replied. "It always smells like that on cold mornings."

"It's as bad as that Viking smoke bomb," said Luke, waving his hand in front of his face and screwing up his face in disgust. He hugged his parents and sisters goodbye and climbed into the passenger seat of the car as his family hustled back into the house to get out of the cold. Ned got behind the steering wheel but did not immediately put the car into gear. Luke looked over at him, wondering why they weren't getting going yet.

"What makes you think that the fire was a smoke bomb?" Ned asked, turning his head away from the road in front and fixing his eyes on Luke.

Luke had a sudden sensation of teetering on the edge of a deep trap, with only the slimmest chance of avoiding falling into it.

"I- I just thought that's what it was," he said, trying to keep his voice light and innocent-sounding and his face neutral under the scrutiny of Ned's stare.

"Indeed it was," agreed Ned, his tone just as light and seemingly friendly. "But to my knowledge, the only people who knew this to be the case were the firefighters, police, and school staff." The briefest of pauses, then the knockout punch. "And whoever set it off, of course."

Luke swallowed and looked down at his hands, deciding, belatedly, that silence was probably the best response. But dumb insolence had never worked with Ned.

"Luke?" Now the harsh edge in Ned's voice demanded an answer.

"Can you just forget I said that?" asked Luke, a note of desperation creeping in as he met Ned's eyes again.

"So you do know who was responsible."

Luke nodded, his face mutely begging Ned not to ask him to reveal what he knew.

"Were you involved?" Ned's glance was penetrating.

"No!" Luke replied vehemently. "I didn't find out until afterwards." He couldn't suppress the hint of bitterness in his voice and it did not escape Ned.

"You sound disappointed," he observed, acidly. But he must have been at least partly satisfied with Luke's reply, because he turned his attention back to the road, put the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb.

Luke found the rest of the journey awkward. Ned needed all his concentration to keep the car on the icy roads and avoid collisions with other vehicles. Luke kept quiet, furious with himself for his slip of the tongue and weighed down with a general sense of guilt and an uncomfortable feeling that Ned was unlikely to leave the matter there.

### Chapter Nine

The snow on the roads was deeper in the Chiltern Hills and when they finally arrived at Hawley Lodge, Ned turned off the engine with a sigh of relief and rolled his arms around to ease the stiffness in his shoulders. A journey that would normally take two hours had taken them closer to four.

"I wouldn't want to do too many trips like that. We got some bad winters in New England, but at least in America you can put winter tyres on the car. And they plough the roads properly." He turned to look at Luke. "You and I need to have a talk, but not right now. My first priority is to get some food and a cup of tea." Ned looked at his watch. "We've missed lunch, so I'll get the kitchen staff to send up some sandwiches to my office. You go and drop your stuff in your room and meet me there in half an hour."

"OK," said Luke, unethusiastically. They unloaded their things and Luke trudged a path through the snow to the door of the east wing, while Ned headed off round the front of the building to his cottage.

It was eerily quiet in the school as Luke climbed the stairs to the top floor. He called home to let his parents know that they had arrived safely and then unpacked his things. Pagan was already back at school, so he wouldn't be able to speak to her until later in the day. Snow had started to fall again and Luke leaned against the window of the year ten dormitory, watching it drifting down into the courtyard below and fondly remembering the snowball fight he'd started the previous winter with a well-aimed shot at Wharton's head. The whole Viking/Roman feud could probably be dated back to that one event, he reflected. But even if he had the chance of going back in time and changing his actions, there was no way he'd give up the opportunity of reliving in his mind's eye that glorious moment when the snowball exploded over the head of his tormentor.

It was mid-afternoon and already getting dark. There weren't many lights on in the rest of the school but down and to his right he could see that the four windows of Ned's office were illuminated. Luke checked the time on his phone. Half an hour had passed already. He looked around at the empty beds of his three roommates and felt a surge of guilt at his unguarded words to Ned. "Don't worry guys," he told the room. "I'm not going to grass you up."

In the corridor known to the students as Death Alley, the door to Ned's secretary's office was open and Miss Croft was adding some papers to a filing cabinet just inside. Last year, the way she had greeted Luke had proved to be a reliable measure for the warmth of welcome he could expect from the headmaster.

"Hello Luke! I hear you had a terrible journey to get here. Go on through, the food's just arrived. You must be starving."

She was smiling and friendly enough today, Luke thought, but he wasn't sure that this was a good indicator of Ned's opinion of him at the moment.

Inside the office he found Ned standing at the table in the centre of the room, sorting through a pile of mail with one hand and holding a cup of tea in the other.

"Help yourself then come and sit down," he said, gesturing towards a pile of egg-and-cress sandwiches, a pot of tea and a jug of orange juice at the other end of the table. Luke poured himself a glass of juice and loaded a spare plate with food. He squeezed into the green leather chair opposite Ned, who had now divided his post into two piles. Junk and non-junk, Luke presumed; or maybe urgent and non-urgent. Ned refilled his cup from the teapot, picked up some sandwiches for himself and sat down next to Luke at the other end of the table. He didn't mess around with small talk.

"I've been thinking about our conversation in the car," he began, "and I don't blame you for wanting to keep other people out of trouble."

Luke's shoulders relaxed a little.

"So I'm not going to pressure you to tell me who was involved. But I do want you to be aware that your name has already come up in relation to the smoke bomb affair."

I bet it has, thought Luke, conjuring up a mental picture of Mr Wilmot and throwing imaginary darts at it.

"And I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the way you and Benjamin Wharton were acting towards each other in year nine," continued Ned.

Luke thought of all the times during the autumn term when he'd forced himself to walk away from Wharton's jibes without rising to them. His indignation prodded him into making a response. "Whatever happened to 'new year, clean slate'?" he demanded.

"You and Wharton ended up in detention together just before Christmas," Ned pointed out.

"Along with half of year ten!" protested Luke, somehow uncomfortable to learn that Ned was keeping tabs on his misdemeanours, even if it was part of his job as headmaster. "It wasn't just about me and him."

"That is what's causing me concern," said Ned. "This year it seems as though every single Roman is engaged in an ongoing and orchestrated feud with every single Viking."

"And you think I'm behind it," said Luke, flatly.

"No, I don't. But I do think that you and Wharton started it and it's not going to stop until you two can put your differences aside. Your behaviour, and Wharton's, is the key to that. I need you to set an example that our more impressionable younger students will follow."

Luke recalled the generally subdued behaviour of Oliver Samuels and his friends at the end of the previous term. "I think the year sevens were pretty frightened by the police being here and all that talk about arson in December," he said.

"That _was_ the general idea," replied Ned. "With any luck, the thing has died a natural death anyway. It's rugby and hockey season now, so the two houses can take their competitiveness out on to the playing fields instead." He started to eat his sandwiches and Luke picked up one of his, hoping that Ned was right.

*

Sport seemed to take over Luke's life in the next few months. There were orienteering competitions every few weeks and he also found himself on the year ten's rugby team. Wharton had been put on the hockey team and Luke wondered whether Ned had ensured that they had been allocated the different sports on purpose, as a way of keeping them apart as much as possible. Their competitiveness in orienteering remained as strong as ever, with each determined to beat the other.

The school's staff were maintaining the tight hold on discipline and supervision which had been established in the week before Christmas. Even the youngest students were being burdened with heavier-than-normal quantities of homework and Luke suspected that the teachers were all under orders from Ned to make sure that no-one had any free time in which to pursue the feud between the Romans and Vikings. The plan seemed to be working: nobody had the energy to spare for planning further attacks and everyone was being careful to follow the rules for fear of losing what little free time they had left. Luke had mixed feelings about this: he was simultaneously resentful at the extra work and grateful for not having to worry about what the Romans and Vikings would do next.

Even Wharton seemed to have got bored of Brownlow-baiting and was being only half-hearted in his snide remarks when their paths crossed. Luke began to feel more confident about maintaining the unspoken truce which had been established between the two houses since the year tens had set off the smoke-bomb. Luke still felt aggrieved that his friends had not included him in their plans and this resentment was now tinged with a sense of guilt about nearly giving them all away to Ned on the way back to school. All the extra work was preventing him from spending much time with Pagan, which was another source of irritation. All in all, his relationship with Jay, Taj and Fred was becoming strained. The four Romans still played cards together in the evenings but they had given up playing for money because Mr Wilmot had started a new and irritating habit of walking into the Forum at odd times of the day and it became too much of a bother to keep the cash out of sight.

On weekends when Luke wasn't playing rugby or taking part in an orienteering competition he would sometimes go with Ned, Julia and Pagan to the cinema or out for a pizza. It broke up the routine of the school term and Luke began to feel that the four of them were forming the nucleus of a new family as they all got to know each other better. He only ever told the other Romans that he was going out with Pagan, as there was enough gossip already in the school about Ned and Julia. Luke didn't want the news about their shared excursions to get back to Wharton and give him more ammunition for snide remarks about Ned and Pagan.

*

One wet Friday afternoon after the Easter break, the names of those who would be playing for the school's sports teams in the summer term were put up on the notice board in the hall. Luke was hoping to be chosen for the cricket team and he and Jay joined a group of other boys who had congregated there to examine the lists. Luke's name was down and so, inevitably, was Wharton's.

"Yesss!" shouted Jay when he saw that Luke had made the team. He turned to give Luke a high-five. Luke's brief bubble of happiness at seeing Jay so pleased was almost immediately burst by the sound of Wharton's sneering voice.

"Of course, Brown-nose _would_ be on the team. He gets special treatment now the headmaster's porking his girlfriend."

Luke lunged sideways and shoved Wharton against the wood panelling of the entrance hall, pinioning him by his upper arms. "Take that back."

"Or what?" said Wharton, looking amused. He glanced down the hall to the counsellor's office. "Are you going to tell Mrs Randall what I said?"

It took a huge amount of willpower to do it, but Luke released the Viking with one last push. He turned away in disgust, heading for the stairs: anywhere that was away from Wharton and his laughing lackeys. Jay was alongside him, looking puzzled.

"What's the matter?" Luke asked him, bad-temperedly.

"I don't understand why you're letting Wharton get away with all this stuff," Jay complained. "He's walking all over you this year and you're just rolling over and letting him do it."

Luke thought of his promise to Ned to avoid stirring up more conflict between the Romans and Vikings. There was simply no way that he could explain any of this without also explaining the nature of his relationship with the headmaster and he couldn't do that without changing the way that Jay and the other Romans saw him. "Look, it's complicated," he said, "but if he carries on like this he's going to get a nasty shock one of these days."

"Right," said Jay, sounding unconvinced. Luke's fists clenched and he knew that he was dangerously close to throwing a punch at his best friend. Wharton better keep away from me this term, he thought. Or something is going to have to give.

The following Saturday, Luke and Pagan caught the bus into town. Pagan had told Luke about a new café that her mum had found there and they had decided to try it out for lunch. The place was busy and the food was good, but Luke was subdued, his mind on his argument with Jay and the increasingly obnoxious behaviour of Wharton.

When Luke came back from a visit to the toilets, he was horrified to find that Wharton and his Viking cronies had come into the café and were occupying the table next to theirs. Worse still, it looked as though Pagan was talking to them. Luke weaved his way through the busy café; his one thought being to get her out of there before Wharton started expounding his theory about Ned fancying her rather than Julia.

"Let's go, Pagan," said Luke, picking up his coat and pulling it on.

"What's your hurry, Brownlow?" asked Wharton. "We're in the middle of a conversation here."

"It's not a problem, Luke," said Pagan. "Ben just asked a question, there's no need to get upset."

Alarm bells were sounding so loudly in Luke's head that he could barely think straight. _Ben?_ Since when were Pagan and Wharton on first-name terms?

"I don't want to hear anything Wharton's got to say. Let's go."

"But I don't want to go yet. I haven't finished my drink."

The tone of Pagan's voice should have been warning enough, but Luke's only thought was to get her away from Wharton and his insinuations. He grabbed Pagan's arm and tried to pull her up and out of her seat.

"Let go of me!" Pagan was suddenly furious.

"Yeah, leave her alone. She's not your private property." The smug look on Wharton's face was too much for Luke to bear. He picked up Pagan's glass of Coke and threw its contents in the Viking's face. Immediately, the café's owner was at the scene.

"Right, that's it. Get out, you lot, and don't come back. Consider yourselves barred." Luke got the impression that the man was thrilled at having the chance to deliver that line.

Pagan, Luke, and the Vikings left. Pagan shook Luke's hand off as he tried to help her get her jacket on.

"I'll get you for this, Brownlow," said Wharton, as they emerged onto the street, and he pointed at the brown Coke stains all over his cream-coloured top. But Wharton was the least of Luke's problems. Pagan squared up to Luke as though ready for a fight.

"That's my mum's favourite café. I can't believe you've got me barred."

"I-" Luke started to apologise.

"Save it. I'm calling Mum to take me home. Just go away and leave me alone." Pagan stormed off, pulling out her mobile phone as she went.

Luke was left with Wharton and the other Vikings. A malicious smile was spreading over Wharton's face. "Mission accomplished, I believe," he said, blowing on the nails of his right hand and pretending to polish them on his jacket in a gesture of triumph.

The road was busy with Saturday-morning shoppers and Luke was heavily outnumbered by the Vikings. The sensible areas of Luke's brain were warning him that starting a street brawl which he had no hope of winning was a seriously bad idea, but the primitive, animal core part was drowning them out with deafening messages of _Threat! Competitor!_ and _Punch him!_

Luke's whole body tensed and he clenched his fists.

"Excuse me, dear, but I can't get through." An elderly woman in a motorised wheelchair was addressing him. The path was not wide enough for the chair to pass Luke and the four Vikings.

"Oh, sorry," said Luke, recalled to an awareness of the rest of the world by the woman's words. The need to attack Wharton faded away as he stepped sideways to let her pass. Instead, he turned on his heel and ran after Pagan, trying to ignore the jeers which followed him down the street.

Pagan was putting her phone back in her bag when Luke caught up with her.

"Mum's coming to get me. I don't want to talk to you right now," Pagan told him. "I can't believe the way you behaved back there."

Luke opened his mouth to explain, to get her to understand, but Pagan held up her hand. "Just stop," she said. "I don't want to hear it." She turned away from him, her face determined and angry.

Luke knew her well enough by now to know that trying to say anything else was a waste of time. He checked the time on his phone. It would be an hour before the next bus back to the village. He didn't want to stay in the town with Wharton on the loose, so he decided to walk back to the school. It was four miles, but there was a route across the fields which meant that he wouldn't have to face anyone he knew for at least an hour, and that suited him just fine. He strode away from Pagan without another word.

On Sunday, Luke went for a long run in the morning, trying to work off his low mood with physical activity. It didn't work. He tried calling Pagan when he got back, but her phone switched straight to the answering service and he couldn't think of anything to say. It felt odd not to be heading down to the Randalls' cottage for lunch. He spent the afternoon in the library on his own, catching up with his schoolwork and trying to stay out of Wharton's way. Jay was sympathetic when he heard what had happened in the café, but Luke suspected he was secretly pleased that he and Pagan had fallen out.

It was almost a relief to wake up to the rigid structure of a Monday morning. After breakfast, Luke went back to the Romans' dormitory and tried to phone Pagan again. This time, he had an apologetic message ready for the machine. As Pagan's recorded voice cheerily told him to "talk after the beep", Jay entered the room. Luke hastily ended the call and dropped his phone into his blazer pocket. There was no way he wanted anyone else to overhear this one-sided conversation.

"She still not talking to you?"

"No." Luke didn't want to discuss the situation with Jay, but Jay had other ideas.

"Why don't you go down tonight and try to talk to her in person?"

"Why don't you butt out and mind your own business?" Luke snapped back. He stalked out of the room and headed downstairs for the start of morning school.

Jay avoided Luke during the mid-morning break and Luke wasn't in the mood to seek him out and apologise. He headed straight for the library, instead, and made a start on the History homework that Mr Thomas had given them in their first class of the day. The lesson before lunch was English with Mr Garnet. Jay sat down next to Luke in his usual seat, but said nothing and did not look at him.

The class was reading _Romeo and Juliet_. They play had not managed to capture Luke's attention before, but now they had reached a scene where things were building up to a fight, which seemed to suit Luke's mood just fine.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

The play was interrupted by the arrival of a text message. The boy reading Romeo's part stopped mid-speech and every head turned in the direction of the noise. Luke jumped guiltily and put his hand over his pocket, as if to try and silence the phone.

Mr Garnet held out his hand. "You know the rules, Brownlow. Turn it off and hand it over."

The penalty for having a phone in class was to have it confiscated for the next 24 hours. Luke got to his feet and slouched his way to the front of the class, taking out his phone as he went. He turned it off without seeing who the text was from and put it into Mr Garnet's hand. Wharton was sitting in the front row of desks, right next to where Mr Garnet was standing and he stared at the phone in the English teacher's hand, perceiving its pink nature for the first time.

"You've got a pink phone! Is that your mum's, Brownlow?" he asked, scornfully. A snort of laughter went around the room.

"That's enough, Wharton. Let's get back to the play, shall we?" said Mr Garnet, as he put the shaming phone into his own jacket pocket. "You can collect it from the office at lunchtime tomorrow, Brownlow."

Luke sank back into his seat and they carried on reading the play. Romeo was refusing to fight a man called Tybalt and Romeo's best friend, Mercutio, couldn't understand why. Luke thought he knew how Romeo was feeling. He followed along with the story, interested to find out how things worked out. Not well, it seemed. Annoyed by Romeo's lack of response, Mercutio ended up fighting Tybalt himself and when Romeo tried to stop the fight, Mercutio was wounded and died of his injury. Angered by his friend's death and blaming himself for his own lack of action, Romeo then murdered Tybalt.

By the time the bell rang for the end of the lesson, Luke had made a number of resolutions, the most pressing of which was to get back on friendly terms with Jay. But Jay was out of his seat and moving away from him before he could say a word. Luke gathered up his things and followed the rest of the class to the hall for lunch. Jay was already sitting with Fred and Taj when Luke picked up his sandwich and a drink. He didn't feel like joining them and making a public apology, so he took his food out into the courtyard at the back of the school.

### Chapter Ten

It was a windy and cool May day but the sun was shining on the benches against the wall of the building, providing at least an illusion of warmth, although not enough to tempt anybody else outside. Luke ate his lunch in peaceful isolation and stayed in the courtyard as long as he could, but the cold wind eventually became too much and he gave up his solitude to return to the heat of the school building.

Monday afternoons were the worst school session of the week for Luke: first there was maths with Mr Wilmot and then after the afternoon break there was IT, also taught by Mr Wilmot, although in a different room. Luke's plan was to head for the maths classroom early, to avoid having to talk the other year tens.

It wasn't his lucky day. The first people he met on re-entering the school were Wharton and his band of Viking followers. Luke suspected that they had been looking for him, from the way Wharton instantly swung into the attack.

"Nice phone, Brownlow. I didn't realise you were gay. Explains a lot."

"Just leave me alone, Wharton. Go and torment someone else."

"No wonder your girlfriend's sick of you. Perhaps it's time she got herself a real man for a change. I reckon I'm in with a chance there, myself."

The thought of Wharton going anywhere near Pagan was enough to destroy the barriers of indifference that Luke had painstakingly constructed against the Viking's jibes. This time there was no old lady in a wheelchair to distract the animal part of his brain as it took control of his body. Before he really knew what he was doing, he found himself swinging a punch at Wharton. His fist connected with Wharton's left cheekbone, making a satisfying _thwack_. Taken by surprise, Wharton was thrown off balance and staggered sideways for a step or two. He recovered quickly though, and came straight back at Luke, his hands bunched into fists, ready for battle.

An instant crowd of onlookers formed around Luke and Wharton, shouting "Fight, fight, fight!" and calling out encouragement and advice.

The struggle was brief, in the nature of all fights that take place on school premises anywhere. The noise from the spectators attracted an almost immediate response from the teachers, which was hardly surprising, as the drama was being played out right outside the school's staff room.

Mr Thomas was first on the scene. He broke into the ring of chanting onlookers and by doing so, silenced them; as though their ability to shout was dependent on the completeness of the circle. Luke and Wharton did not immediately notice the change in the volume around them; each was so entirely focused on the other, attempting to land punches while preventing his rival from doing the same. They were both holding tight to each other's clothing with their left hands, as they span in a flurry of blows around the enclosure formed by the other students.

"Brownlow. Wharton. Stop it."

Mr Thomas's words, delivered in a conversational tone right behind their heads, put an instant end to the fight as the two combatants returned to an awareness of their surroundings. They parted, hot, panting and unkempt, while the deputy head addressed the crowd.

"Move along, it's over." The audience turned and reluctantly drifted away from the scene of the disturbance.

"You two: with me." Luke and Wharton followed behind Mr Thomas as he led them up the main staircase to his office on the floor above. Luke knew they were in trouble, but his over-riding feeling was of relief: relief to have finally been able to physically vent his frustrations on Wharton and an even greater relief that it was the deputy head and not the headmaster who was going to be sorting out the consequences.

Mr Thomas's office was in Death Alley, the same corridor as Ned's, but was not a room which Luke had been inside before. It faced north, over the driveway at the front of the school and, like Ned's, it was lined with bookshelves, although it was considerably smaller than the headmaster's study, with only one tall window where Ned's had four.

The deputy head shut the door behind them and crossed to the window, where he leaned up against the deep wooden sill, folding his arms and regarding the two boys. Luke and Wharton had positioned themselves as far away from each other as was physically possible in such a small room.

"I'm not going to ask what that was all about," began Mr Thomas, "because I don't suppose you'll tell me and, quite frankly, I'm not in the least bit interested. You are both fully aware of the school rules in relation to fighting so I won't insult your intelligence by reminding you of them.

"Now I could put you both in detention for the rest of the week, but I seriously doubt that such a course of action would achieve anything at all. You've got a history of personal rivalry and you've both apparently got a lot of time on your hands and plenty of energy to spare." Mr Thomas looked at them speculatively. "On balance, I think getting you to work on some sort of co-operative activity might be more constructive."

Luke glanced across at Wharton and recognised his own misgivings about this plan in the expression on the Viking's face. Luke briefly wondered if it might be socially acceptable to beg for the detentions instead.

"As it happens, I think I might have the perfect project for you. Keep your Saturday afternoons free, gentlemen, because unless you can manage to work together productively it might take you a few weeks to complete."

Luke looked over at Wharton again, who was staring morosely at the floor, not looking at all curious about Mr Thomas's scheme.

"Er, what's the project, sir?" asked Luke, since Wharton did not seem to be about to ask.

"I need to make some arrangements with other people first," replied the deputy head. "Report back here at two o'clock on Saturday and all will be revealed. Now clear off to the sick bay, both of you, and get your battle scars seen to."

As soon as Mr Thomas said this, Luke became aware of a throbbing pain in his left temple and realised that his right hand felt stiff and sore. When Wharton turned to leave the room, Luke saw that the Viking's left eye socket was already turning an interesting shade of deep purple. They walked down Death Alley to the sick bay together without a word. Matron passed no comment on their injuries, but checked them over, cleaned and dressed the cut on the side of Luke's head and then dispensed ice packs for them to hold against their bruises.

"Come back and see me later if you need some painkillers," she told them.

"What did you get? Detention?" asked Jay when Luke joined him on the way into Mr Wilmot's maths lesson after leaving the sick bay.

Luke was delighted to find that his friend was talking to him again. Maybe it had been worth punching Wharton, after all. "No," he replied, as they took their seats. Under cover of the background noise of the class settling down, he explained the unorthodox punishment that Mr Thomas was devising for them.

"I think I'd rather have a week of detentions," replied Jay, a little too loudly. Mr Wilmot had just taken his place at the front of the class and the room had fallen into silence while Jay was still speaking.

"That can be arranged, Trenton, if you don't keep quiet," said Mr Wilmot.

"Sorry, sir," muttered Jay.

By the end of the lesson Luke's whole head was throbbing. He glanced over at Wharton and gained some satisfaction from the sight of the Viking's pale face and his bruised eye socket. Luke really wanted to duck into the sick bay again and get some painkillers from the Matron to ease his headache, but he was reluctant to show any sign of weakness in sight of Wharton.

The afternoon break was only ten minutes long and beyond that was the prospect of Mr Wilmot's IT lesson stretching on into the late afternoon. The thought of staring at the glare of a computer screen while his head was aching so much spurred Luke into going back to the sick bay. He was not surprised to find Wharton there when he arrived. Matron was handing him some pills and watching him swallow them down. She eyed Luke as he stood on the threshold of the room. "You too, huh?"

Wharton left and Matron made Luke sit down. "How are you feeling?"

"I've just got a headache."

"Not feeling sick or dizzy?" she asked, looking closely at his eyes.

"No," said Luke.

"And you can remember what happened earlier on?"

"Yes!" Luke told her, beginning to feel irritated.

"Don't get snappy with me, young man, I'm just checking you for signs of concussion," Matron replied, sounding a little snappy herself.

"Sorry, Matron," said Luke.

The bell for the next lesson rang as Luke took the painkillers. He knew that going the long way round to the IT suite would make him late, so he headed in the other direction, taking the more direct route down the rest of the usually-out-of-bounds corridor towards the east wing of the school.

As he reached the door at the end of the corridor, it opened and Ned came through it in the opposite direction, heading for his office. He was carrying a briefcase and not wearing his black gown. He must have just arrived back from a meeting somewhere. The frown which had appeared on his face on seeing Luke out-of-bounds in Death Alley, transformed into an expression of concern when he noticed the sticking plaster on Luke's bruised temple. "What's happened to you this time?"

Luke did not want another discussion about Wharton with Ned. He tried to sidestep the headmaster and get to the door behind him. "I'm going to be late for IT," he said.

Ned did not move, blocking Luke's exit. "I asked you a question," he pointed out. His tone was civil, but there was an unmistakeable warning in the words.

Luke sighed, resigning himself to a row with Ned over the fight and a further showdown with Mr Wilmot over his late arrival in the IT class. "I got in a fight," he admitted, "but Mr Thomas-"

"With Benjamin Wharton?" Ned cut across him.

"Yes."

"I've warned you about continuing this feud."

The painkillers had not yet started to ease Luke's headache and the pain, combined with his irritation at managing to attract yet more trouble, sapped his self-restraint again. He found the volume of his voice rising as he replied.

"Yes, but you haven't warned Wharton, have you? I've been trying to rise above it all year but there's only so much of his shit that I can take. It's not fair!"

He stared defiantly back at Ned, aware that he had overstepped several invisible marks with this short speech, but beyond caring. He was furious to find that tears were forming in his eyes. Ned's face remained impassive. He gestured towards the door to his office, which was just behind Luke. "Shall we?"

It was not really a question, but an order. Ned unlocked the door and Luke followed him through the secretary's ante-room to the office beyond. Luke was glad that Miss Croft was not at her desk as this meant that his outburst in the corridor had remained unheard by anyone else. Ned closed the inner door of his office behind them and crossed to his desk, putting his briefcase down on the floor beside it.

The afternoon sun was flooding through three of the four tall windows of the room and, as usual, the school's ancient heating system was keeping the temperature higher than it needed to be. Luke's shoulders slumped as the heat of the room drained away his willingness to fight.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Ned asked, indicating one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Luke collapsed into it and watched Ned walk to the window closest to him. The sun had begun to drop behind the west wing of the school and the shadow of the building was now falling over this end of the room. Ned lifted the lower sash and dropped the top one by a few feet. Some of the heat of the room escaped through the top of the window and the wind, which had been so coldly piercing outside in the lunch hour, flowed in through the lower half to replace it. The fresh air washed over Luke's face and this time it was welcome: cooling him down and doing a great deal to improve his spirits.

He felt even happier when Ned took the chair next to his, rather than sitting down behind the desk. The fact that Ned had left his black gown hanging on the back of the door also gave him comfort. These both seemed to be indications that Ned was not going to be talking to him in his official role, which, Luke felt, was just as well. He was pretty sure that shouting and swearing at your head teacher would be near the top of the list of Really Stupid Things To Do, for a regular student.

Ned said nothing, but leant forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands loosely clasped together, waiting for Luke to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," said Luke. "That came out all wrong."

His neighbour remained silent and Luke was forced to carry on.

"I've been putting up with Wharton all year, because of what you said to me in the summer and after Christmas. I've kept walking away from confrontations with him and it's just got worse and worse. Pagan-" He hesitated, reluctant to put his next thought into words, as though doing so would somehow make it definitely true. "Pagan and me have just split up because of it." His voice cracked slightly as he said it.

"'Faint heart fair lady ne'er could win'," suggested Ned.

"Well, yeah," agreed Luke.

"So was that what the fight was about?"

"Yeah – he said he thinks Pagan will go out with him now."

Ned made a small sound, which might have been a snort of disbelief. He followed it up with a question. "So, do you think standing up to him on this occasion will have helped matters?"

"I dunno," said Luke, hunching forwards, rubbing his aching head and staring down at the familiar pattern of the carpet. "I hope so. It might make him think twice: I gave him a black eye." He looked back up at Ned. "If I'd done this months ago it would have saved me a lot of grief, but I was trying so hard to stay out of trouble. I wish I hadn't bothered. Then we were reading Romeo and Juliet this morning and-"

"Hold on," interrupted Ned. "Are you going to try and pin all this on William Shakespeare?"

"There was this bit where things just get worse when Romeo doesn't stand up for himself," Luke explained. "It made me think that's what I was doing, too."

"Well, I've heard of people blaming video games for inciting violence, but I think this is the first time that reading Shakespeare has been given as a contributory factor. I'm going to talk to Mr Garnet. Maybe we should think about changing the English curriculum."

Luke had to smile.

"You should have told me sooner about the problems you were having," Ned added.

"But then it's like telling tales," objected Luke. He could feel his headache beginning to ease. He tried to explain again. "This year has been a nightmare because Wharton didn't get warned off by you like I did and because I've been trying too hard to do what you said."

"So you're just asking for a level playing field?"

"Yeah, exactly. If I make mistakes, then that's my lookout."

"OK, I can live with that. Now we've got that straight I think we'd both better get back to work."

They rose to their feet and walked towards the door. Ned lifted his black gown off its hook and pulled it on.

"There's one more thing I need to make clear," the headmaster said. Luke looked up at him. Ned's face was serious "I don't want to hear language like that from you again."

He didn't complete the sentence with an 'or else...', but he didn't need to. It was clear to Luke that his neighbour had just donned his official personality as well as his gown. Luke's face grew hot and he nodded, feeling awkward.

"Understood," he replied. "Sorry." Then, to show that he recognised the shift in their roles, he added, "Sir."

Ned looked startled at this sudden formality, but before he could comment, there was a light, almost playful, rap on the door and it opened outwards, revealing a smiling woman Luke had never seen before. Her smile vanished when she saw that Ned was not alone.

"Oh darn it. The woman I spoke to downstairs told me you'd be free right now. I'll come back later."

Ned was staring at her with an expression of astonishment, apparently robbed of speech. Luke watched him with curiosity. He'd never seen Ned so confounded by anything. He turned his attention back to the source of this disturbance. She was pretty enough, supposed Luke, and there was no denying that her hourglass figure was being shown off to perfection by the impeccable fit of her clothes. They were of a style Luke associated with the wealthy women who visited the country club across the road from the school. The woman's hair was equally well-designed: dark, sleek and short. Her fingernails and lips were painted in a precisely-matched deep red and, judging by her accent, she was American.

While Luke was making this assessment of the new arrival, Ned had regained his composure and ability to speak. "No, no. It's alright Meredith, Brownlow was just leaving."

Luke looked up at Ned, half-expecting a word of farewell and some explanation as to the woman's identity, or even an introduction. But Ned's attention was wholly fixed on this Meredith, leaving Luke no choice but to sidle out of the room, feeling thoroughly dismissed. Meredith tilted her head to one side and bestowed a smile on Luke as he passed in front of her through the doorway. The smile did not reach her eyes and Luke could tell that she viewed him as nothing but a temporary inconvenience which was delaying her business with Ned. She swept into the office and closed the door firmly behind her, leaving Luke alone in the anteroom with a trace of her (probably very expensive) perfume and a vaguely unsettled feeling. Who _was_ she? And how come Ned had never mentioned her?

Luke didn't have much time to muse on the mysterious Meredith, as he still had to negotiate the consequences of arriving late to Mr Wilmot's IT class. He entered the room as quietly as possible, but not quietly enough to escape Mr Wilmot's notice. The housemaster was stooped over one of the other students' computers, his short body curled into the shape of a question mark. He turned to Luke with a facial expression to match.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," said Luke. Mr Wilmot continued to look at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. Luke was forced to admit in front of the class that he had been seeing the headmaster. Mr Wilmot's glance immediately flicked over to Wharton. It was obvious to Luke that Mr Wilmot had heard about their fight and was now wondering why the Roman, but not the Viking, had been summoned to see the head. Luke was sure that the same thought would be going through the minds of all his classmates. He could almost see it, hanging in a cloud-shaped thought bubble in the middle of the room. So much for a level playing field, he reflected.

"Sit down, Brownlow," Mr Wilmot told him. Luke avoided looking at Wharton but he didn't need to: he could easily picture the smug smile that was settling on the Viking's face at the thought that Luke had somehow been reprimanded twice for the same offence. Luke dived into the seat beside Jay and tried to ignore the curious looks he was getting from the rest of the class. At least Mr Wilmot hadn't given him a detention or anything for turning up late.

"Tell you later," Luke muttered in reply to the question on Jay's face.

### Chapter Eleven

Meredith closed the door firmly behind Luke and rewarded Ned with a more genuine smile than the one she had given his neighbour. "You haven't changed a bit," she said.

Ned put his hand up to his receding hairline. "Liar."

"Oh, it's so good to see you again, Graham."

"Come and sit down," said Ned, "and explain yourself."

Meredith moved to take the seat that Luke had recently occupied under much the same terms and conditions. Ned watched her walk across the room. Except that 'walk' was not an adequate word to describe her motion. 'Sashay' was the alternative that presented itself to his mind.

Meredith settled into her chair and crossed one shapely leg over the other.

"I've got meetings all around the country this month and a few days' vacation in between, so I rented a car and I thought I'd catch up with some old friends. Naturally, you were at the top of my list."

Ned sat down next to her. "But why? I thought we'd agreed to go our separate ways."

"Can't a girl change her mind?" purred Meredith, her scarlet lips forming a small pout. "How about I take you out for dinner tonight, to make things up to you? Unless your wife would object, of course."

Ned let that last remark pass without comment. "That sounds great." He and Julia had been planning to go to the cinema that evening, but that they could always do that on another night.

"Awesome. I'll pick you up at seven. I've found the perfect spot." She stood up again, her hands slowly smoothing her jacket down over her hips. "I'd better not keep you from your work." Her eyes travelled around the office. "This is an amazing place. Very _Pride and Prejudice_."

Ned rose to see her out and then returned to the sanctuary of his desk, thrown off his stride by this unexpected meeting. After a few minutes of bemused reflection amid a jumble of memories his mind drifted back to the necessity of letting Julia know that he needed to postpone their date. He walked downstairs to the counsellor's office.

Julia's door was open and he found her sorting through a number of packets of seeds on her desk.

"For the garden?" asked Ned, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Yes," smiled Julia. "A donation from one of the boys' grandmothers. Most of them are a bit old, but with any luck at least some of them will germinate."

"I popped by because I need to postpone our trip to the cinema," Ned said. "An old friend from the States has just arrived unexpectedly and invited me out for dinner tonight."

"No problem."

"Could you make tomorrow night instead?"

"Sure."

Ned's glance fell on the photograph of Pagan, smiling out of the frame on Julia's desk. He had almost forgotten about his conversation with Luke in the wonder of Meredith's reappearance.

"Do you know what's going on with Pagan and Luke?"

"In what way?"

"I was talking to Luke earlier and he says that they've split up."

"Have they? Well, he didn't come over for lunch yesterday and Pagan's been in a foul mood, I know that. But she hasn't talked to me about it. Gwen told me she had to patch him and Benjamin Wharton up after that fight they had this afternoon. Is he much hurt?"

Ned shook his head. "Just a scratch to his face. Nothing like what happened in the summer."

"Thank goodness. What was it all about?"

Ned ran his hand over his head. "How long have you got?"

Julia gestured towards her electric kettle. "That's just boiled. I've got time for a cup of tea."

Over their tea, Ned told Julia about his encounter with Luke. "I was all ready to give him grief for getting into that fight with Wharton," he explained, "but the next thing I know, he's giving _me_ grief and saying it was all my fault anyway for putting him in an impossible position. I didn't have a clue how to react."

Julia sipped her drink and waited for him to continue.

"I've been dealing with kids and their problems for the last eight years and I've never felt at a loss like that. He's obviously very upset about splitting up with Pagan and I had no idea what he'd been going through, or that I might have been the cause of it."

"Welcome to parenthood," said Julia. "All the experience in the world with other people's children doesn't count for anything when it comes to dealing with your own. Look at how badly I messed up with Pagan last year, and we're still trying to sort that one out.

"You and Luke have got a particularly unique relationship and it's going to take you both a while to find out how best to make it work. There's always going to be a few hiccups like this along the way while you establish the ground rules and set a few boundaries."

Ned nodded his agreement. "Thanks for listening, Julia. What would I do without you?"

"It's what you pay me for, remember?" teased Julia. "How long is your friend over for?"

"About a month, I think," replied Ned. "She's a specialist in international law and she's got meetings all around the country. It was quite a shock to see her, to be honest. We split up just before I left the States, but we'd been together for nine years before that."

"Oh, I see."

Silence fell between them and Ned drained his cup of tea, burning his throat on the still-too-hot-to-drink liquid. "I'll be off then," he said.

Julia gave him a slightly tight-lipped smile as he ducked out of the room.

*

Luke was relieved when the bell signalled the end of what seemed to have been the longest school day ever. Jay turned off his computer and stood up.

"Coming to the Forum?" he asked Luke.

"In a minute, I'm just gonna email Pagan in case it was her texting me before."

"I forgot you've lost your phone," said Jay. "I'll see you up there."

"Yeah, see you in a bit." Luke smiled at Jay, still grateful to be back on speaking terms with him.

He wrote a long email to Pagan, explaining the loss of his phone and going on to apologise for the way he'd acted on Saturday. He decided not to mention the fight with Wharton, in case she got annoyed again about that - he'd had as much hassle on that subject as he willing to take for one day - but he did ask Pagan whether she had ever heard Ned mention Meredith. He figured that Pagan would be even more curious about her than he was.

It took him a while to compose the email and by the time he joined Jay in the Forum, the room was fairly full of relaxing Romans. As Luke walked through the door, his mind on the English homework he still had to complete, he was startled by the beginnings of a ragged cheer from the year sevens in one corner. This was taken up by the year eights and nines and he soon found himself surrounded by the younger students, all thumping him on the back and congratulating him on the fight with Wharton. The Romans seemed to think that the Viking's black eye was evidence of Luke's victory in the brief contest.

Luke wasn't so sure that he'd actually won the fight but there was something very gratifying about basking in the jubilation of his fellow Romans. He looked across at Jay and the delighted grin on his best friend's face went a long way towards making up for the rest of day. Somewhere at the back of his consciousness there was a guilty feeling about continuing the Roman/Viking feud, but he squashed it down, choosing to believe that his actions today had drawn an emphatic line underneath that particular episode, instead of opening a new chapter in it.

Luke extricated himself from the mêlée and crossed to where Jay was sitting, his homework nearly finished in front of him. Luke sank down at the same table and opened his own books, finally ready to forget about his own problems and start considering Romeo's instead.

But Jay had other ideas. "How come you got sent to Kelly and Wharton didn't?" he asked.

Luke sighed. "It was just bad luck. I ran into him in Death Alley on my way to IT."

"It's not been your day, has it?" observed Jay, sagely.

"That is the understatement of the century," agreed Luke, turning back to his homework.

*

Julia arrived home after work determined to get to the bottom of Pagan's row with Luke. She was expecting her daughter to be as grouchy and uncommunicative as she had been for the last few days and was therefore quite surprised to be greeted with a smile as she opened the front door of the cottage. Pagan was curled up on the sofa with her laptop perched on the arm of the chair.

"Hi Mum, how was your day?" she asked, cheerfully.

"Fine," replied Julia, turning away to hang up her coat in an effort to hide the fact that she was startled by this friendliness. "D'you fancy going getting fish and chips for dinner tonight?"

"I thought you were going to the cinema with Ned?"

"He's postponed it," said Julia, a little abruptly. "So I thought I'd catch up with my daughter instead."

"Fine by me," said Pagan.

"Have you finished your homework?"

"Yes, I was just messing around on Facebook," replied Pagan, shutting the lid shut. "And emailing Luke."

Julia sat down in the armchair, sensing a chance to satisfy her curiosity. "Is he OK?"

Pagan looked puzzled. "Why shouldn't he be?"

It occurred to Julia that Pagan had not yet heard about Luke's fight with Wharton and that perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea for her to be the one to tell her about it.

"Oh, just because he didn't come for lunch yesterday," said Julia, airily.

"I was annoyed with him about something," admitted Pagan. "But he's apologised and I think it's all OK again now."

"Good," said Julia absently, still wondering why Luke had neglected to mention the dramatic events of the afternoon.

"Luke said he met someone called Meredith at the school this afternoon," commented Pagan. "He wondered who she was."

"Oh," said Julia, startled by the question. "She's an old girlfriend of Ned's who arrived unexpectedly today. He's going out for dinner with her tonight, so that's why we're not going to the cinema."

"Did you meet her?"

"No, why?"

"No reason. Just that Luke said she was very smartly dressed."

"Well she must have been, for Luke to notice what she was wearing," laughed Julia. "Are you hungry?"

*

"Have you eaten here before?" Meredith asked Ned as their first courses arrived.

"No, but I've heard good things about it," Ned replied, smiling at their waiter. "How did you find out about it?"

"I asked the hotel reception staff for the name of the best local restaurant," said Meredith.

"Direct and to the point, as ever."

"What else?"

The waiter left them and Ned started on his soup. It was excellent, but the fine flavour was not enough to distract him from the curiosity he carried about Meredith's motives.

"And your reason for wanting to take me out to dinner in the best local restaurant?"

Meredith smiled. "You want me to be direct and to the point?"

"What else?"

"Well, okaaaay. Do you remember why we split up?"

"We split up because I wanted us to start a family and you didn't," said Ned.

"Yes. And now I've changed my mind," replied Meredith.

There was a long pause.

"Whoa," said Ned, eventually.

"You asked me to give it to you straight," Meredith told him. "Well?"

"I'm...I'm flabbergasted."

"And?"

"And I don't know what to say."

"You've met someone else," Meredith stated, flatly.

"It's not that. It's just that things...things have changed since we were together."

"You mean you don't want kids any more?"

Ned laughed.

"What's so funny?" Meredith had never like being laughed at and her tone was defensive.

"I'm sorry, Meredith. It's just that my life has got much more complicated in the last year." Ned lowered his soup spoon and reached across to pat Meredith's left hand. "You see, I've discovered that I already have a child, right here in England."

Utter confusion registered on Meredith's face.

"How...?" Then the confusion was replaced with indignation and her voice rose in a crescendo as she said: "You mean you were _unfaithful_ to me?"

Other diners started to look over at their table.

"No!" Ned hastily reassured her, casting an embarrassed smile around the restaurant. "This happened before I came to the States. I wasn't much more than a child myself."

Meredith appeared to be mollified by this news. "So this kid would be quite old by now?"

"Yes, he's fourteen."

Understanding dawned over Meredith's features. ""Oh my God!" she exclaimed, "it's the kid you were talking to this afternoon, isn't it? He looks just like you!"

"Yes, precisely so," said Ned, gesturing with his hands for Meredith to lower her voice. "But it's not common knowledge."

"Does _he_ know?"

"Yes, Luke knows. But we're really only just getting to know each other and it would be hard on both of us if I were to move back to America now."

"He could come stay with us!" said Meredith. "It would be a great opportunity for him – he could come out every vacation."

Ned shook his head. "You need to let me think about it, Meredith. You've obviously had lots of time to consider all this but just coming back into my life so suddenly and expecting me to make a decision...You're asking an awful lot. For now, why don't we just enjoy our dinner."

Meredith pressed her lips together, as though she had plenty more to say on the subject but was having to physically restrain herself from doing so. Ned asked questions about their mutual friends and acquaintances until their conversation became a more natural, normal dinner time chat between two people with a long shared history.

Meredith drove Ned back to the school after their meal.

"I'm in Oxford until Friday," she told him. "But I'll be free next weekend. Can I see you?"

Ned hesitated. "I've got a meeting all day on Saturday," he told her. "But I'm free that evening."

"I could fix us both a nice dinner," she purred, persuasively. "If there's a spare key I could borrow..."

"My kitchen isn't as well equipped as our one in Boston was," warned Ned, remembering the elaborate dinners Meredith used to prepare when she was in the mood to impress their friends.

"I'm sure I'll manage. It'll be like old times."

"I'll leave word with the caretakers that you'll be coming to collect the spare key on Saturday," said Ned, making up his mind. "Thanks for a lovely meal tonight." He leant towards Meredith, kissed her cheek and quickly exited the car.

*

Tuesday turned out to be much better than Monday. Luke suspected that there was some universal law that pretty much guaranteed this anyway, but this Tuesday the contrast was particularly pronounced. There was a lot of good-natured joking from other students about his fight with Wharton. Even Normans and Saxons were coming up to congratulate him on Wharton's black eye. Luke had a sense that his stock of popularity was on the rise again after a period of decline. He still had to face whatever punishment Mr Thomas was devising for him and Wharton, but at least he could draw comfort from the fact that Wharton would have to suffer it, too.

Pagan had sent him back a chatty, friendly email and was suggesting meeting up that evening. He retrieved his confiscated phone from the office at lunchtime and found that the previous day's text message had been from Pagan, too. It simply read:

See you tonight?

Just three words, but their arrival had been enough to set off one of the most eventful days that Luke could remember. Luke smiled down at the text before carefully putting his phone away in his locker. Today might have turned out brilliantly, but there was no way he was going to run the risk of having another day like Monday.

*

"What happened to your face?" Pagan put her hand up to the scratch on Luke's cheek when he called at her house that evening.

"Boxing injury," Luke told her, mostly truthfully. He suspected that their reconciliation would be short-lived if he were to tell her about the fight with Wharton, especially as he had been the one to throw the first punch.

"Poor you," said Pagan, making Luke feel particularly dishonest. He was relieved when Pagan led the way back into the house and up to her bedroom, introducing a significant period of time where there was no need for conversation at all.

Later on, they curled up on the sofa in front of the television.

"Where's your mum tonight?" asked Luke.

"Out with Ned," replied Pagan. "They were supposed to be going out last night but he went out with that Melody woman instead."

"Meredith," corrected Luke.

"What was she like?"

Luke shrugged.

"Oh, come on Luke. You must have noticed something. Was she old, young, fat, thin, ugly, pretty?"

"Youngish, I suppose. Pretty. Not fat, but quite, you know..."

Pagan transferred her full attention from the television to Luke. "No, I don't know."

"Well, shapely, I think you'd call it." Luke traced an outline of Meredith's curves in the air with his hands, earning a sharp slap from Pagan in return.

"Trust you to notice that. What do you think she wants?"

Luke didn't care. "Dunno."

### Chapter Twelve

On Saturday afternoon, Luke reluctantly left the game of football that he had been playing and went back to Death Alley. The door to the deputy head's office was open and Wharton was already there.

"Excellent," said Mr Thomas when he saw Luke. "Let's go."

He led the boys downstairs to the library, where they were met by Mr Hannaford, who was looking more solemn than he usually did.

"As you know," began Mr Thomas, "Speech Day is coming up and each year we put on displays on each of the subjects taught here for the parents and guests to look at in the entrance hall."

Luke had missed Speech Day the previous year, as it had taken place while he and Pagan had been recovering in hospital, so this was news to him.

"This year I've decided to delegate my responsibility for the history display to you two."

Luke and Wharton looked at each other, their faces mirroring expressions of extreme doubt.

"Eye contact! You see, you're making progress already!" remarked Mr Thomas. "I want you to create a display focusing on some aspect of the history of Hawley Lodge. Mr Hannaford has quite a collection of materials that will help you and has kindly agreed to come in on his afternoon off to show you what there is."

Well that explains why he's not looking very happy, thought Luke.

"Here are your display boards," Mr Thomas indicated three large, free-standing, cloth-covered panels. "What you put on them is up to you, but I do expect the end result to tell a coherent story, so it will certainly help if you are able to communicate with each other. It has got to be something that you will be proud to show your parents on Speech Day, which means you need to have it finished three weeks from today. How you organise your time on this is up to you and the only other stipulation is that you must work on it together _at the same time_." He paused. Luke and Wharton said nothing, although the resentment emanating from Wharton was so strong that Luke could almost see it.

Mr Thomas clapped his hands together in a burst of enthusiasm which was shared by nobody else in the room. "Well, you're obviously anxious to get started, so I'll leave you to it."

Sullen silence fell on the library as Mr Thomas made his exit. The boys looked to Mr Hannaford for further guidance. The librarian indicated a pile of ten cardboard boxes on the table next to him. "Photocopies of information from the local archives about the school. Seventy years' worth of photographs, newsletters, newspaper cuttings and the like. Yours to do with as you choose. The only additional rules I have are that you make scans or photocopies of the things you want to display and put the originals back _exactly where you found them_. If anything is out of place when you've finished then I will be telling Mr Thomas about it. Understood?"

Nods of assent from Luke and Wharton.

"Well you'd better get started then," finished Mr Hannaford. He turned away from them and headed to his desk at the other end of the library. Luke and Wharton stared at the enormous pile of boxes with a distinct lack of zeal.

"Better see what we've got," said Luke, pulling the top box towards himself and opening it up. Inside, neatly stacked, were back-issues of the student-produced newspaper, _Paper Dart_.

"They keep copies of that heap of crap?" asked Wharton in surprise.

Luke was startled to hear that Wharton's opinion of _Paper Dart_ tallied exactly with his own. He looked at the label on the next box. "Looks like they've kept all seventy years of it."

"Jesus," commented Wharton.

"Maybe we could link up some of the stories in _Paper Dart_ with the photos?" suggested Luke.

Wharton grunted in a non-committal manner, but pulled out the first of the boxes labelled 'Photographs' anyway. These were from the 1940s and were a mixture of formal photos of Speech Days and class portraits alongside more casual shots of sporting and fund-raising events, arranged in folders by the year in which they'd been taken. Luke dug through the issues of _Paper Dart_ and found the ones from the same period.

"Pick one year from each decade, d'you reckon?" he asked.

"If you like. Years ending in eight?" It was 2008 now, so that made sense to both of them. The _Dart_ had always been published three times a year: once each term. Luke found all the issues from years ending in eight, while Wharton did the same thing with the photographs until they had two chronological piles, one of the student newspapers, the other of folders full of photographs. Then they had no choice but to sit and read the old issues of _Paper Dart_.

"It's bad enough reading the one they print today," grumbled Wharton. He divided the pile into two and handed Luke the half which dated from the 1940s to the mid-1970s. Luke soon realised that he'd got a bad deal: the Hawley Lodge students of the 1950s had written a lot more in their newspaper than their modern counterparts had, although much of it seemed to be poems and the like, which he decided he could safely ignore.

Wharton was reading through the 1998 issues.

"Did Mr Wilmot go to this school?" he asked, abruptly.

Luke looked up, surprised at the question. "No idea, why?"

"Because if this is about him, he was in big trouble in 1998," replied Wharton, passing the Summer 1998 edition across the table to Luke.

Police were called to the village on Friday 5th June when a public brawl took place between boys of Hawley Lodge and the High School. At the height of the battle, several of the combatants escaped from the fighting by running into the village pond, at which point the local constabulary became involved. A number of Hawley Lodge and High School boys were detained by the police and later let off with a caution, including prefects John Wilmot and Marcus Goodchild. The prefects have since been stripped of their badges.

"Ten years ago," said Luke. "Yeah, that would be about right, wouldn't it?"

"Explains why he hates you so much," observed Wharton.

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, you're basically a High School kid, aren't you?" said Wharton. "You came from a state school and so he thinks you're like the kids he was fighting with in 1998, the ones that lost him his prefect's badge."

This spark of insight from Wharton amazed Luke but also made perfect sense.

"I don't s'pose there'd be any photos of that event, though," he said, regretfully.

"Might have made the local newspaper," said Wharton, getting up to look at the labels on the remaining boxes. "Here we go, newspaper cuttings."

He dumped the box in front of Luke, who went through them with considerably more enthusiasm than before, looking for clippings from 1998. And there it was: a quarter-page article in the local newspaper about the shocking behaviour of yobs from Hawley Lodge and the High School. Setting it off was a photograph taken by an enterprising local citizen, showing a group of dripping teenagers climbing out of the pond under the stern eye of two police officers.

"Look at this!" Luke passed the clipping over to Wharton.

"It _is_ Wilmot," said Wharton, snorting with laughter and then hastily suppressing it, with a glance in Mr Hannaford's direction. There was no mistaking the features of the housemaster. The only thing missing was his annoying little goatee beard. "He was involved in the fight and then he ran away from it, into the pond. We have _got_ to use this!"

"No, we can't. Wilmot would crucify us."

"Why? It's just historical research. We could say we had no idea it was him."

There was no denying that Wharton's plan was extremely tempting.

"Let's copy the articles anyway," he suggested. "Then we can think about it a bit more."

Wharton took the clipping and the _Paper_ Dart over to the photocopier and blew the copies of the articles up so they were easier to read. It was even more obvious that the sulky teenager in the newspaper was a young Mr Wilmot when it was enlarged.

After that, the research for the display was less exciting, but they got on quite quickly with it and found stories and photographs for each of the years they had chosen. Luke also copied the archive material relating to the school in its days as a country house and after two hours of work they had enough material to form the basis of their display.

"So now we just need to do captions for them," said Luke, stacking up the pile of copies. "That shouldn't take too long. We'll be ready well before Speech Day."

They carefully put all the items back in their original boxes and Mr Hannaford rejoined them at the table when he saw what they were doing. He nodded in approval at the methodical way they were reassembling the contents of the boxes.

"Good job. Did you find some interesting stuff?"

Luke caught Wharton's eye and then hastily turned his attention back to his box as he felt the familiar bubble of hysterical laughter rising in his chest. Luckily, Wharton seemed to have better control of himself.

"There were one or two interesting things in there, sir, yes," he said, solemnly.

Luke mashed his lips together with his teeth to keep the laugh inside. He jammed the lid of the box back on, stacked it on top of the others and moved quickly towards the door.

"Will you be needing these anymore?" asked Mr Hannaford.

"No, thank you," Wharton replied, picking up their copies and joining Luke. "I think we've found exactly what we're looking for." He glanced over at Luke again. "We've got a fighting chance of getting it done in time."

Luke hurried through the library door with Wharton on his heels. As the library's double doors swung shut behind them, they burst into snorts of laughter. They were back in the corridor outside the staff room, at the very spot where Luke had swung a punch at Wharton on Monday afternoon. The location reminded them both that they were supposed to be bitter enemies and this killed their hilarity more quickly than any intervention by Mr Thomas could have done.

Wharton coughed as though the laughter had been caused by a temporary blockage in his throat. "So when d'you want to do the captions?" he asked.

"Monday after IT?" suggested Luke.

"OK," said Wharton, gruffly. He held up the papers. "I'll put these in my locker." He strode off quickly towards the entrance hall, as if ashamed to be seen in Luke's company.

Luke headed in the opposite direction, out through the western entrance of the school, planning to spend the rest of the afternoon with Pagan.

He pulled the door shut behind him and started to jog past Julia's garden towards the school gates, passing the front of Ned's cottage. But he was forced to stop running just in front of the cottage when a car turned sharply in front of him from the main drive, kicking up a small shower of gravel as it skidded to an abrupt standstill.

It was a sporty Mercedes: not a vehicle Luke had ever seen around the school before (it wasn't the sort of car the teachers went in for). The deep red colour and its aggressive arrival made Luke think of Meredith and he was not at all surprised when the driver's door flew open and Meredith sprang from the car, smooth hair swinging around her face. She was dressed more casually today, but even her jeans and white shirt looked as though they had cost a small fortune. As she came around the car towards Luke he saw that she was wearing a pair of cowboy-style boots.

Meredith was heading for Ned's door, but suddenly seemed to become aware that Luke was standing behind her car. She slowed her pace and looked across at him, her chin high and haughty. But then she stopped completely and paid him closer attention.

"It's Luke, isn't it?" she said.

Luke was so amazed at being addressed by name that he simply stared at her with his mouth open.

Meredith seemed unsurprised by his gormless appearance. She walked up to him and took his hand.

"I'm Meredith Morgan." Her hand was cool and her handshake brisk.

Luke managed to close his mouth and then open it again. "Hi. Luke Brownlow." His voice sounded rasping to his own ears. "Nice car," he added, for want of anything more intelligent to say.

Meredith did not honour this observation with a reply, but launched straight into her own agenda. "I've been wanting to have a talk with you since Graham explained to me about your...unusual relationship."

Luke's brain was working so slowly that it took him a moment to realise that Meredith was talking about Ned, whose real name was not Ned at all.

"Oh. Right," he said, conscious that he was not doing a good job of holding up his end of the conversation but at a loss to know why this stunning woman was making a point of talking to him. The only thing he knew for sure was that he did not want her broadcasting the news of his true relationship with Ned for the rest of the school to hear. He looked nervously back at the school building, hoping there was no-one in earshot of them. "I'm just heading to the village," he added, lamely.

"I'll give you a ride and we can talk," said Meredith, opening the passenger door of her shiny sports car. "In you get."

Someone somewhere in the back of Luke's mind was warning "Never take lifts from strangers" but it seemed that he had little choice in this scenario. He glanced at Ned's cottage, half hoping that his neighbour would appear and rescue him from Meredith's clutches.

Meredith saw his glance. "Graham's out at a meeting and won't be back until later," she told him. "I'm fixing dinner for us tonight, but I can take you to the village first."

Accepting his fate, Luke ducked under Meredith's arm and climbed into the leather embrace of the Mercedes' passenger seat. A waft of that same scent washed over him as Meredith pushed the door shut, imprisoning him in the car. Luke buckled his seat belt and watched nervously as Meredith walked slowly around to the driver's side, tucking her sleek dark hair behind her ears.

Meredith took her seat but did not start the engine. Luke was strongly reminded of the journey back to Hawley Lodge after Christmas, when Ned had refused to put the car in motion until Luke had confessed his knowledge of the smoke bomb affair. With that experience in the forefront of his mind, he eyed Meredith with some trepidation.

"I expect Graham has told you all about me, hasn't he?" began Meredith.

"Uh, no," Luke was forced to reply.

Meredith's eyes widened. "I wonder why," she reflected. "Perhaps you and he aren't very close."

Luke had no idea what Meredith was talking about, but felt the need to jump to Ned's defence. "He doesn't talk much about his time in America," he said. "But we get on pretty well."

"How would you like to visit the United States?" she asked, staring at Luke so intently that he felt uncomfortable.

"I- I'd like to, someday."

"Well that's fabulous, because Graham is planning on moving back there to be with me and it'd be great if you could come stay with us in the summer."

Luke had that same feeling of world-shifting that he'd had the previous year when he'd discovered that Ned was his biological father. His first thought was that Pagan was going to be furious. His second was to wonder why Ned hadn't told him about this plan himself.

"He hasn't said anything..." he managed to say.

Meredith started the engine and shifted the car's automatic gearbox into 'D'. "He hasn't had time to talk to you," she explained, "but we thought it was important to let you know what we've got in mind. Graham's always been so keen to start a family of his own."

She stepped down hard on the gas and the car bolted for the gates.

The road to the village was narrow and twisty, but Meredith drove as if it was a five-lane motorway. She blasted the horn at a group of Hawley Lodge boys who were walking along the road, scattering them out of her way. They responded to her aggression with rude hand gestures and Luke recognised them as Vikings from years seven and eight. He slunk lower in his seat, hoping that they hadn't seen him. Luke shut his eyes more than once on the remainder of the short journey. Another car had to brake hard and swerve out of Meredith's way as she swooped towards the village pond and screeched to a halt beside it. Luke recognised the other car as Julia's.

Anxious to avoid the possibility of Julia meeting Meredith, Luke groped at the handle of the door, but it wouldn't open. He looked at Meredith, who smiled and tapped the gear lever.

"You can't get out while I'm in Drive," she said.

Luke looked frantically over his shoulder at Julia, who was now climbing out of her own car, looking mad. The last thing he wanted to witness was a confrontation between these two women.

"I think that lady's going to come and complain about the way you were driving," he said. "Perhaps you'd better go."

Meredith sighed in resignation and shoved the gear lever forward into P for Park. Luke grabbed the door handle again and this time it yielded to his grip. He bounded out of the car in time to fend off Julia's advance. As soon as he shut the door, Meredith drove off, sweeping the car around the duck pond and then speeding back up the lane past Luke and Julia, leaving them standing in the dust her tyres raised from the road.

"I take it that was the famous Meredith," observed Julia.

"Yep," said Luke.

"What's she like?" asked Julia. "Apart from being an atrocious driver, that is?"

Luke managed to produce something that sounded a bit like a laugh.

"Pretty terrifying, actually," he confessed.

"Hm," said Julia, giving him a searching glance. "Can you give me a hand with the shopping?" she asked, pointing towards the boot of her car.

"Sure," said Luke, quite relieved to have a straightforward physical task to perform after dealing with Meredith's mind games.

### Chapter Thirteen

Luke helped Julia heft the shopping bags into the cottage. Pagan jumped up from the sofa and came to help. She and Julia started to unpack the groceries and put them away. Luke lurked in the doorway of the kitchen, brooding about his bizarre journey to the village with Meredith and trying to stay out of the way of the Randalls as they worked.

Pagan got cans of Coke from the fridge when the shopping was all stowed away and she and Luke sat down together in the lounge.

"Has Ned said anything to your mum about going back to America?" asked Luke.

"What?" cried Pagan. "No way!" She twisted round on the sofa to call back into the kitchen. "Mum, did you hear that?"

Julia came through the doorway, carrying her trademark cup of tea. "Hear what?"

"Has Ned told you he's going back to America?" demanded Pagan.

"No," said Julia, taking possession of the armchair. "What makes you say that?"

"It's what Meredith just told me," Luke explained. "She said that he was keen to start a family." He looked miserably across at Julia. Her eyes widened slightly but she rallied quickly.

"Well I think you should wait and see what Ned has to say about it," said Julia briskly. "It might not be quite as settled as Meredith seems to think." Luke noticed that Julia's nose wrinkled when she said the word 'Meredith', as though she found it distasteful.

Pagan was full of indignation. "He can't go back to the States!" she cried. "What about Luke, what about you, Mum?"

"Pagan, calm down, we don't know if he is going back at all," said Julia. "Let's not jump to conclusions until we hear from Ned about what his plans are."

"She's making dinner for him at his house tonight," Luke told them, feeling increasingly gloomy. Just when his life had started to get back on the rails, Meredith had come along and thrown an almighty great spanner onto the tracks.

Pagan threw back her head and sucked the last drops of Coke from her can. "Come on Luke," she said. "Let's go for a walk."

Once they were out of earshot of the house, Pagan shared her thoughts on the matter with Luke. "We've got to do something to sabotage this dinner tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's obvious what Meredith's planning isn't it?"

"Is it?" asked Luke, rather lost.

"She's going to make Ned a fabulous dinner tonight, persuade him that he's still in love with her and wants to spend the rest of his life in America. She obviously knows that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. She's aiming to seduce him with dinner and then stay the night."

Luke groaned at the mental picture this analysis was creating.

"So we've got to interrupt it. Stop that from happening."

Luke's depression was starting to be replaced by dread.

"You're going to have to create some sort of emergency in the school which only Ned can deal with," continued Pagan, matter-of-factly.

"Like what?"

"Like that fire that happened before Christmas, something like that," Pagan said.

"You want me to start another fire?"

"Well, that's one idea," Pagan said. "Can you think of any others?"

"If I set fire to anything, I'll be expelled for sure," Luke pointed out. "And then it won't matter whether Ned's here or in America."

"He wouldn't expel you," said Pagan, confidently. She had only ever seen Ned in his off-duty mode and couldn't imagine him kicking his own son out of the school.

"Pagan, I think he would," said Luke, picturing the scenario all too clearly. "You weren't there after the last fire. He was livid. He'd tear me limb from limb."

"Well, OK, maybe a fire's not a good idea. But we need some sort of distraction; otherwise she's going to get her hooks into him. What else can we do?"

"Not interfere?" suggested Luke.

Pagan spun round with a fierce look on her face. "Do you _want_ Meredith as your stepmother?"

"Well, no, but perhaps we should let Ned make his own..." Luke's voice trailed away in response to the look on Pagan's face.

"Let's see," Pagan held up her hand and started counting down her fingers. "She's pretty, she's rich, she's young _and_ she's clearly determined to get him back. Can you see Ned being able to resist her?"

Luke remembered how relieved he'd felt when he and Pagan had got back together after only a few days apart. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have the chance of rebuilding a relationship after a break of several years.

"He might still love her."

"Lust and love are different things," Pagan said sternly.

"Do you think he loves your mum?" Luke asked, suddenly wondering if Pagan's determination to spoil Meredith's scheme was less about Luke's relationship with Ned, and more about her hopes for Ned and Julia.

Pagan sighed. "I don't know," she confessed. "They get on really well, but they don't seem very _romantic_. You've seen them together, they act like they're just good friends."

For the rest of the evening, Luke and Pagan talked in circles about what to do. Pagan was adamant that Meredith's dinner would have to be interrupted and began to get angry with Luke when he failed to come up with any ideas. Luke was afraid that their newly-re-established relationship was heading for the rocks again. In the end, anxious to keep the peace, Luke agreed that he would set off the fire alarm, although he had deep misgivings about the scheme.

At nine o'clock, Luke left Pagan to return to Hawley Lodge. The sun had just set and the almost-full moon was visible over the hills behind the village. Luke set off at a gentle jog, trying to clear his mind of thoughts about Ned, Meredith and Julia. It was hard enough keeping his own relationship running smoothly, without having to worry about other people's. And now he'd agreed to set the fire alarm off, just to keep Pagan happy. I must be insane, he thought, putting his mind to work on possible ways of triggering the fire alarm without being caught and permanently kicked out of school.

*

Back inside the Randalls' house, Pagan was arguing with Julia about Ned's plans.

"Be reasonable, Pagan. Why shouldn't he go back to America with Meredith? It's obvious she means a lot to him."

"But what about Luke?"

"Luke's a big boy, Pagan. He can always go and visit Ned in America, can't he? I should think that would be quite exciting."

"And what about you? I thought you really liked Ned."

Julia sighed. "I do, Pagan. But I'm a few years older than Ned and I'm not interested in having any more babies. Meredith is young enough that she might well be thinking about starting a family and Ned deserves the chance to have children of his own."

"He's got Luke!"

"No, Pagan, he hasn't. Luke is the Brownlows' son and he came into Ned's life as a teenager. It's nothing like having a child from birth. At best, Ned has a sort of time-share holiday arrangement as Luke's dad. He's not even able to acknowledge that Luke _is_ his son when they're here together at the school, for goodness' sake. It would be much better for Ned to have his own family."

"Aaaaaargh!" exploded Pagan, running out of words in her exasperation. "I can't believe you and Luke are being so _reasonable_ about all of this. I thought you and Ned were going to..."

"Get married and live happily ever after?" asked Julia, with a sympathetic smile. "If only life were that simple, Pagan."

Pagan seized on to this apparent agreement. "You mean you would have liked to?"

Julia laughed. "I had no idea you were such an incurable romantic, Pagan. I like Ned. We've had a lot of fun together and who knows how it might have turned out. But Meredith came back into his life. Imagine how I'd feel if your dad could come back into mine. Of course I'd want to be with him. Just let it go, love."

"But they must have split up before. Perhaps there's something badly wrong with their relationship."

"Pagan, just stop it." Julia's voice was firm. "This isn't helping anyone. Accept the fact that things have changed and MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS."

Pagan jumped up from the sofa, turned away from her mother and stomped up the stairs, putting so much weight into each step that the whole house seemed to shake.

*

When he ran through the school gates Luke immediately saw that Meredith's car was still parked in front of Ned's cottage. But there was something strange about the windscreen, which seemed to be covered with white lines, glowing in the moonlight. As he came up to it, Luke saw that the glass was covered with foot-high letters, spelling out the words 'ROAD HOG' across the full width of the car. Luke chuckled to himself; the group of young Vikings Meredith had blasted with her horn on the road that afternoon had got their revenge. He went to have a closer look. The letters were raised, as though they had been piped from an icing bag by a crazed pastry chef. As Luke came up to the car the smell of mint was overpowering. Toothpaste. The ROAD HOG message had been repeated on the side windows, which were also embellished with decorative swirls and flourishes: to use up the toothpaste, Luke guessed.

Luke had to admire the Vikings' guts: the car was very close to the front of the headmaster's cottage and in full view of most of the windows on the west side of the school, including those of the staff room. Even if the setting sun had been dazzling people in the school, the toothpaste graffiti artists had run a great risk of being seen as they performed their act of protest.

It struck Luke that somebody ought to tell Meredith about the vandalism to her car. A subsequent thought suggested to him that this might be the perfect moment to break into Meredith's dinner party plans and remind Ned that he existed, without running the risks associated with the fire alarm idea. Before he could think about it too deeply, Luke took hold of the wrought-iron knocker on Ned's front door and rapped it sharply. A short wait, then the door swung sharply inwards, revealing Ned wearing jeans and a dark red shirt.

"Luke. What's the matter?"

"It's-," Luke realised that he had completely forgotten what Meredith's surname was, and calling her 'Meredith' was going to sound over-familiar. "It's your friend's car," he said, in a clear and carrying voice. "I'm afraid someone's had a go at it." He pointed towards the toothpaste-trimmed Mercedes.

Meredith must have heard him, because she appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. She was now wearing a tightly-fitting sleeveless black dress with a low neckline. "What's this about my car?" she demanded.

She pushed between Ned and Luke and took in the full glory of the dentist-approved decoration of her car. An expression of fury formed on her face and she grabbed Luke by the shoulders, her long red nails digging through his t-shirt and into the skin beneath.

"What have you done to my car you little-" she bit the end of the sentence off before whatever insult she had in mind escaped from her mouth and she released Luke's shoulders almost as quickly as she'd seized them.

"Steady on, Meredith," said Ned. "What do you know about this, Luke?"

"I was just on my way back to school from Pagan and Julia's," said Luke, thinking he might as well throw the Randalls' names into the conversation too. "And I saw the car had been covered in toothpaste. I thought it might be hard for your friend to drive it home like that." Luke put slightly more emphasis on the words 'drive it home' than was strictly necessary, hoping to encourage that idea in Ned's mind.

"How do you know it's toothpaste?" Meredith demanded, grasping onto this fact as proof of Luke's involvement. "Admit it: you did this to my car."

"I could smell it," Luke said, smug in the knowledge of his own innocence. "It's pretty strong when you get up close."

"Meredith, why on earth do you think that Luke had anything to do with this?" Ned sounded bemused.

Meredith hesitated, giving Luke the chance to supply the answer. One he hoped would put Meredith on the back foot.

"Your friend gave me a lift to the village this afternoon," Luke told Ned.

Now Ned's keen attention was wholly on Meredith. "Why did you do that?"

"I just happened to see him and thought it would be a chance to talk to him, that's all," said Meredith flapping her hand as though batting away an insect. "It's no big deal."

"D'you want me to clean it off?" Luke offered, deliberately portraying himself as The Most Helpful Boy in the School, just to annoy Meredith.

"No, it's fine," said Ned, distractedly, his eyes on Meredith. "I'll do it. You'd better get back to school."

Luke took one last look at Meredith and was delighted to see that she was looking highly put out. He hoped that Ned would use his interrogation skills on Meredith instead of him for a change. "Good night," he said, feeling that on this particular night he really meant it. He couldn't wait to text Pagan and let her know what had happened.

*

Ned went back into the cottage and retrieved a bucket from his hall cupboard. He filled it with hot water from the kitchen tap, which was not an easy task. The sink was full of dirty dishes, pans and cooking utensils. He had forgotten that Meredith's approach to preparing elaborate meals involved leaving all the detritus in the kitchen for the maid to clear up on the following day. Ned's own domestic assistance consisted of a once-weekly visit from Mrs Mould, one of the school cleaners. He could just imagine her reaction if he left all these dishes for her to clean.

Meredith had followed him indoors. "Can't you get someone else to do this?" she asked.

"Do you really want anyone else to see it?" asked Ned, digging a scrubbing brush out from the cupboard below the sink and banging his way back out to the front of the cottage. A few minutes' work cleared the worst of the toothpaste from the car's windows. Ned threw the remaining water over the front windscreen to rinse it, then returned the bucket and brush to their homes and washed his hands. Meredith followed him into the kitchen and leaned up against the door frame.

"Coffee?" asked Ned.

"Sure."

Ned busied himself with the coffee machine and started to stack the dishes and pans around the sink more tidily while coffee dripped into the glass flask.

Meredith surprised him by wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Are you mad at me?" she asked, her voice husky.

Ned turned the tap on. Water sprayed onto an upturned spoon in the sink and splashed up at them, wetting Meredith's arms and Ned's shirt. Meredith let out a cry of shock and backed away, wiping herself dry with a tea towel.

"Sorry," said Ned, not very apologetically. "No, I'm not mad. Just a bit confused about why you thought it necessary to talk to Luke."

"I just wanted to get to know him a little, that's all. Heck, if he's going to come stay with us, I want to know what he's like."

"And what did you talk to him about?"

Meredith was up close to him again, face to face this time, her hand on Ned's shoulder. "Oh, just that we were old friends and that I was cooking dinner for you tonight," she told him. "We did get a little too close to another car when I dropped him in the village," she admitted, "so that's why I think it must have been him who did that to mine. After all, I haven't driven anyone else anywhere."

Ned pulled away from her so that he could find some cups and think without being distracted by Meredith's face and the warmth of her body pressing against his.

"None of this makes any sense to me," he said. "And I wish you hadn't talked to Luke before I've had a chance to explain things to him."

"I'm sorry. But I figured you weren't about to introduce me to him, so I should make the first move. I guess he didn't like me very much, to want to interrupt our evening that way."

"It's not like Luke to do something like this," Ned said, pouring coffee. "Although the way you drive would certainly provide a reasonable motive."

"Hey!" said Meredith, pretending to be offended. "He could have bought the toothpaste in the village and we saw him right there next to the car. That's means, motive and opportunity." She counted them off on her fingers. "Case closed."

"Innocent until proven guilty, Meredith, you should know that." Ned passed her a cup. "I think there's more to this than meets the eye. I find it hard to imagine Luke deliberately defacing your car."

"Who else could it be? He's trying to wreck our lovely dinner, for some reason. Perhaps he's jealous of me taking up your attention. That's one seriously messed-up kid." She moved across to the doorway again and threw a suggestive smile over her shoulder. "Ours won't be like that."

Ned followed her through to the living room. Meredith settled herself down on his small sofa but he did not sit beside her on it, choosing to sit instead on the armchair at right angles to it.

"I've been thinking about what you said last week."

"I'm glad to hear it. Did you come to a decision?"

"Yes and no. I want you to know I'm deeply grateful that you came back to me with this chance to take up where we left off and I am seriously considering it. I do need more time to think about it, though, and I really should talk to Luke before I make any hasty decisions."

"I thought you might have mentioned it to him before now."

"We don't see each other very often during term time, I haven't had a chance."

"You were together when I first saw you last week!" Meredith could not suppress her natural lawyerly tendency to argue.

"That was unusual. Luke had been involved in a fight-"

"Oh this kid sounds just great," interrupted Meredith. "Not just a vandal, but violent, too! I bet you can't wait to get away from him."

"When do you fly home?"

"Friday the thirteenth," replied Meredith, making a face.

"Would you be able to come along to Speech Day here on the seventh as my guest?" Ned asked. "I think you'd enjoy it and I'll be able to give you my answer by then."

Meredith checked the appointments on her phone. "Yes, I'm free that day. You've got yourself a deal."

"Good." Ned rose to his feet. "I think you'd better leave now, Meredith. I don't want to start any gossip in the school."

### Chapter Fourteen

Mission accomplished. M's car covered with toothpaste. Dinner interrupted. Tell u about it tomorrow. xxx

"Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?" said Pagan when she read Luke's text. His news improved her mood dramatically. She went back down the stairs (rather more quietly than she'd gone up them) to make up with her mum.

Julia was curled up on the sofa, watching the TV, where Colin Firth was looking brooding as Mr Darcy in _Pride and Prejudice_. Pagan knew that this particular DVD was her mum's televisual equivalent of comfort food. Pagan couldn't tell her about the disruption to Ned's dinner date without revealing Luke's involvement in it, but she could try to make things better by apologising.

She sat down next to Julia and gave her a silent hug. Julia squeezed her in return, her eyes still on the screen. When the episode came to an end, Julia aimed the remote at the television and switched it off.

"Sorry about earlier," said Pagan.

"That's OK. You were upset. How d'you fancy a day out with me and Luke tomorrow, to cheer us all up?"

Pagan thought that keeping Luke out of Ned's way for the day might well be a good idea, given that he had covered Meredith's car with toothpaste and probably ruined his evening. "That would be great! Can we go to Milton Keynes?"

There was a big shopping mall there which Pagan's friends had been raving about all year.

"I've heard good things about the art gallery there," said Julia. She watched the enthusiasm fade from Pagan's face. "And I suppose you'd like to hang out with Luke in the shopping centre?"

Enthusiastic nodding from Pagan. "And with my birthday coming up soon..."

"You'd like to spend some of your birthday money in advance?" Julia smiled. "I think that might be acceptable. You text Luke and see if he can come." She stretched her arms above her head. "Well, I'm off to bed. Sleep tight, sweetheart."

*

The next morning Luke got up much earlier than usual, threw on some clothes and crept silently along the centre section of the top floor, past the housemasters' apartments, to the opposite wing where the Saxons' and Normans' dormitories were. Technically, this connecting corridor was out of bounds to students between 9pm and 9am, but he was unlikely to run into anyone at this time on a Sunday. The window next to the western staircase provided a good view of the grounds on that side of the school, including the headmaster's cottage and the gravelled path in front of it. The _empty_ gravelled path in front of it. Meredith's car was gone: it looked as though she hadn't stayed the night at Ned's.

Luke performed a small victory dance entirely for his own benefit then ambled back down the corridor towards the Romans' empire, his mobile phone already in his hand. He started to text the good news to Pagan and so absorbed in the task that he didn't notice that Mr Thomas's door had opened until he was almost up to it.

"What are you doing here, Brownlow?" Mr Thomas asked him.

Just my luck, thought Luke, his mind racing to find a reasonable explanation for being in the corridor when he shouldn't be. The phone in his hand provided a useful prompt.

"Sorry, sir," he said, obsequiously, holding up the phone. "I was just trying to get a better signal."

"Hm," said Mr Thomas, looking suspicious. But he must have decided not to pursue the matter, because he changed the subject. "How did you and Wharton get on yesterday?"

We got on surprisingly well, thought Luke, remembering the laughter he and Wharton had shared at Mr Wilmot's expense. But that wasn't what Mr Thomas meant. "We got a lot of the display done, sir," he replied. "Just the captions to do and then we can put it all together."

"I look forward to seeing it," said the housemaster. "Now scoot."

Luke scooted, congratulating himself on a lucky escape.

After breakfast, Luke headed straight down to the village to join the Randalls. Julia opened the door to him.

"Hi Julia," said Luke. "Did Pagan tell you about Meredith's car?"

Pagan was behind her mother and she shook her head emphatically, the expression on her face signalling 'Are you completely insane?'.

"No, what about it?" Julia asked.

"Someone wrote 'road hog' all over it with toothpaste," Luke told her, wondering why Pagan hadn't mentioned it. "I saw it when I got back from your house last night."

"Oh dear," said Julia. The corners of her lips tightened a little, as though she was supressing a smile. "Did you tell her about it?"

"Yes," said Luke, looking virtuous. "I thought someone ought to let her know."

Pagan hastily found a tissue and buried her face in it, pretending to blow her nose, so that her mother would not notice the huge smile caused by what seemed to be completely brazen lies from Luke.

"I imagine she was rather annoyed," prompted Julia, obviously keen to find out what had happened next.

"She thought I'd done it," said Luke, putting his hand up to his shoulder, feeling again the piercing grip of Meredith's nails. "But Ned didn't think so and he let me go."

"I wonder who did," mused Julia.

Luke was too grateful to the Vikings to drop them into trouble with Julia. "No idea!" he said cheerfully, but not quite convincingly. "Are we all ready to go?"

Once Julia had dropped them at the shopping centre, he and Pagan were free to discuss the events of the previous evening. Pagan made him repeat the conversation he'd had with Meredith and Ned, word for word, several times.

"He must have sent her packing," she said, gleefully. "Once he realised that she'd tried to talk to you before he'd a chance to, he must have been really annoyed with her." Pagan hugged Luke fiercely and gave him a smack of a kiss. "Well done! You're so clever. What made you think of the toothpaste idea?"

The honest thing to do at this point would have been to admit that the toothpaste prank hadn't been anything to do with him. But in the face of Pagan's admiring look of total hero-worship, Luke found he was not willing to share any of his glory with the real perpetrators. Instead, he reflected some of Pagan's praise back to her.

"It must have been the influence of my brilliant girlfriend."

"But Ned's bound to know it was you that did it," continued Pagan. "What's he going to do?"

"Oh, don't worry about Ned," said Luke, breezily. "I can handle him."

*

Julia dropped Luke back at school in time for the Sunday night meal. In his pre-dinner talk, Ned brought up the topic of the vandalism to Meredith's car, impressing on the assembled students the unacceptability of abusing the property of a visitor to the school. Luke kept his eyes firmly on his plate, although he was greatly tempted to glance across at the Vikings who must have carried out the minty misdemeanour.

Ned hadn't gone into specifics about the nature of the abuse to Meredith's car and as the school filed away from the hall after dinner, speculation was rife as to what had happened to it. Apparently not many students had come back into the grounds last night between the time the Vikings had committed their daring offence and Luke's own arrival on the scene. Luke told the other year ten Romans all about the toothpaste graffiti as they climbed the stairs to their wing and within ten minutes the details had spread throughout the Roman quarter of the school.

The following morning, Mr Wilmot called a house meeting for the Romans during the morning break. There was usually one of these each month, but this was a week earlier than usual and was being held in Mr Wilmot's classroom, rather than the usual venue of the Forum, with its more relaxed atmosphere.

"Something's up," predicted Fred, gloomily.

When the Romans were all assembled and seated at the desks in the classroom, Mr Wilmot threw open the drawer of his own desk and, with a dramatic flourish, pulled out a limp bouquet of empty toothpaste tubes. Heads around the room turned in Luke's direction to acknowledge that this evidence confirmed his story of the night before.

Thanks guys, thought Luke. Mr Wilmot's frown and narrowed eyes demonstrated that he'd noticed everyone looking at Luke and was busy coming up with his own negative interpretation of the facts. Luke's sense of gratitude towards the Vikings shrank considerably as he endured the housemaster's glare.

"Mrs Mould came to me this morning with these," began Mr Wilmot. "She found them in the bin in the Romans' bathroom."

A small sound escaped Luke's lips: somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Mrs Mould was the hard-hearted cleaner of the Roman's wing; a woman whose sympathies lay completely (and inexplicably) with Mr Wilmot. She must have heard about the toothpaste incident and, as usual, was incapable of resisting an opportunity to land the Romans in trouble with their housemaster.

"As the vandalism to Ms Morgan's car the other night involved toothpaste, perhaps you would like to explain what these were doing in your bathroom?"

Luke raised his hand, deciding to take the offensive.

"Brownlow." The tone of the housemaster's voice added an unspoken but clearly understood 'I knew you had something to do with this'.

"Anyone could have put those in our bathroom, sir," said Luke, trying to keep his voice reasonable rather than aggressive. "I saw the car after it had been vandalised on Saturday night but I had nothing to do with it and I don't think any other Romans did, either." There was a general murmur of agreement from everyone else in the room but Mr Wilmot looked unconvinced.

"I will be informing the headmaster of Mrs Mould's discovery," he said, importantly, waving the tubes of toothpaste in front of him. They clattered against each other like some sort of low-rent Newton's cradle and Luke had difficulty keeping a straight face. "You haven't heard the last of this. You may leave."

Mr Wilmot strode out of the room and the Romans relaxed, a few muffled snorts of laughter breaking the silence he left behind.

"Nice one, Brownlow," Oliver Samuels said as he left the room with the other year sevens. At this point it occurred to Luke that the other Romans assumed, like Pagan, that he'd been responsible for the toothpaste trick. The fight with Wharton seemed to have re-established his reputation as a troublemaker.

Luke's inevitable summons to the headmaster's office came at lunchtime, announced over the school's public-address system as the year tens left their English classroom. He had been expecting this call all morning. Obviously Ned was going to want to talk to him about the whole Meredith thing. Luke got a few friendly pats on the back from his classmates as he left them and climbed the western staircase to the floor above.

Ned's secretary was unsmiling, on this occasion, as she ushered Luke towards Ned's door. But Luke knew that she'd misread the situation once again. Ned just wanted a heart-to-heart; Luke wasn't in trouble this time, despite what the rest of the world seemed to think.

His confidence began to seep away once he entered Ned's office. For one thing, Ned was sitting behind his desk, wearing his black robe and looking just as unfriendly as his secretary. For another, the empty toothpaste tubes were lined up on the desk in front of him like six small daggers. Some memory of naval court martial protocol popped into Luke's mind: if an accused officer was found guilty, he would know instantly on entering the courtroom because his sword would be pointing towards him. The narrow ends of the toothpaste tubes were all aimed at Luke as he crossed the room to stand in front of the discouraging desk.

Ned did not waste time on greetings. "Did you deliberately set out to interrupt my meal with Ms Morgan on Saturday?"

Luke had been all ready to deny responsibility for the toothpasting of Meredith's car and this question completely sideswiped him. Interrupting Ned's date was exactly what he had been planning to do on Saturday night. The denial that was lined up in his mind fell to pieces and left him without a complete sentence to deliver.

"I-." Honesty and Ned's glare forced out the truth. "Yes."

For the first time, Luke began to question the wisdom of interfering in Ned and Meredith's relationship. Actions which had seemed perfectly logical in the twilight of Saturday night were exposed as selfish and excessive in the stark Monday light of Ned's office.

"Why?"

Words failed Luke again. But Ned seemed to have plenty.

" _Nothing_ gives you the right to disrupt anyone else's personal life in the way you disrupted mine the other evening. Do you understand?"

Luke nodded. The elation he had felt on Sunday morning when Meredith's car had gone had evaporated. It was replaced by a growing realisation that he had meddled unforgivably in Ned's private life.

"I defended you to Ms Morgan on Saturday night because I didn't think you were capable of pulling a stunt like that and then lying about it to my face. But I've since learnt what she told you on the way to the village and now Mr Wilmot has given me additional evidence that you were involved." Ned gestured to the shrivelled tubes in front of him. "And to cap it all, Mr Thomas tells me that you were in the central corridor of the school at an early hour yesterday. I presume you were checking to see whether your plan to scare Ms Morgan off had succeeded."

Once again, Luke found himself admiring Ned's capacity for detective work.

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"

Tell him the toothpaste wasn't you, one side of Luke's conscience was saying, while the other was sneering: You deserve this, you should have left them to sort it out themselves _and_ you lied to Pagan about the toothpaste being your idea. It serves you right. The conflicting voices prevented anything meaningful escaping from Luke's mouth.

"I'm sorry," was all Luke could manage. A lingering (though rapidly dwindling) sense of gratitude towards the Vikings prevented him from telling Ned about how Meredith had nearly run the true culprits over, and there was no way that he was going to mention that most of the interference had been Pagan's idea, not his. There were so many things in his brain's 'Do Not Mention' list that he had trouble coming up with anything he could say.

Luke searched Ned's face for some hint of the approachability he had shown on the previous Monday, but Ned stared stonily back at him, every inch the headmaster.

"You're gated for the rest of the week," Ned told him.

It was the last week before the half term break. This curfew meant he wouldn't be able to see Pagan for two weeks. Luke now regretting mentioning Pagan on Saturday night; Ned knew they were back together again and that gating Luke would be an effective way of punishing him.

But Ned wasn't finished yet. "And you will write a letter to Ms Morgan apologising for the vandalism to her car. Hand it in to Mr Wilmot tomorrow morning."

Luke flinched. Having to apologise to Meredith for something he hadn't even done was bad enough, but involving Mr Wilmot in the process was really rubbing Luke's nose in it. He swallowed down the objections which were piling up behind his teeth and forced himself to nod in acceptance of this ruling.

"And in future, mind your own business," Ned finished. "Go and get your lunch."

Luke escaped, resisting the temptation to run. He couldn't face the curiosity of his friends and wasn't hungry, anyway, so he went upstairs to the Romans' dormitory instead of downstairs to the hall. Here, he vented his frustration by punching his pillow, hard and often.

Once he'd beaten his pillow into submission, Luke felt an urgent need to talk to someone who did not think he was some sort of criminal. He needed some moral support if he was to face the afternoon of lessons with Mr Wilmot. He unlocked his bedside locker and liberated his phone. At times like this in a young person's life, there is only one possible course of action.

"Hello?"

"Mum? It's Luke."

"Are you OK?" Luke's normal time for phoning home was on a Sunday evening.

"No, not really," said Luke, feeling his voice go slightly wobbly.

"Hold on, I'll just put on a video for the girls and then you'll have my full attention."

There was a clunk on the other end of the line, followed by background noises of Elsie and Molly chattering excitedly before the opening bars of _The Jungle Book_ started up and then faded as Luke's mum left the living room for the peace of the kitchen. A wave of homesickness burst over Luke as he pictured the scene.

"Right, I'm listening. What's the matter?"

Now it came to it, Luke hardly knew where to begin. But his mum had known Ned for years; she might even already know who Meredith was.

"Did Ned ever tell you about Meredith?" he asked.

"His old girlfriend? Yes, we met her once, years ago, don't you remember? God, what a disaster that was."

"No, I don't remember. What happened?"

"I suppose you were very young, probably about the age the twins are now. Yes, that's right, it must have been just after the old man died, you know, Ned's dad. Ned came back to sort out the house and he brought Meredith with him. I didn't like her very much, to be honest, but you were at that age where you thought everyone must love you, even though it was fairly obvious to me that she didn't like children. She was wearing a beautiful cream-coloured summer dress and you climbed onto her lap, forgetting that you were carrying a cone of mint-choc-chip ice-cream."

Luke's mum broke off at this point to laugh at the memory. "She ended up with a huge glob of green ice-cream on her lovely dress, right between her breasts. Oh dear, she was furious. We never saw her again."

Luke was hugely cheered by this piece of family history and the knowledge that he had been responsible for another mint-related disaster in Meredith's past.

"She's not back on the scene, is she?" asked Luke's mum

"Yes," said Luke.

"Oh, I don't like the sound of that."

"Why not, Mum?"

"Because she couldn't stand you when you were three, and I somehow don't think she's going to suddenly find you adorable at fourteen. Keep out of her way, Luke. And stay out of trouble."

Thanks Mum, thought Luke. That advice is about a week too late. Out loud, he said, "OK Mum, thanks, I'd better go now. See you on Saturday."

Now that his spirits had been restored somewhat, Luke became aware that he was hungry. He was going to need some food inside him if he was going to survive the afternoon without decking Mr Wilmot. He quickly texted Pagan to tell her about being gated, then locked the phone away (there was no way he was going to risk losing that again) and went downstairs to grab a sandwich.

Everyone else had eaten already, meaning that the hall was almost empty when Luke entered it. By the time he had devoured the one remaining sandwich he was beginning to feel equal to the task of facing other people again. The bell rang and he steeled himself for an afternoon of being gloated over by a triumphant Mr Wilmot.

### Chapter Fifteen

Luke's spirits took a nosedive again as he sat down next to Jay in Mr Wilmot's classroom.

"You OK?" asked Jay, looking concerned.

Luke just nodded, not yet ready to tell his friend about his conversation with Ned. The maths lesson went on for what felt like three hours. He was probably just imagining it, but Mr Wilmot seemed to be even more smug and self-satisfied than normal.

When the bell rang for the afternoon break, Luke was first out of the room, making his way to the sanctuary of Julia's office. She was one of the few people Luke felt he could talk to openly about what had happened.

"I thought I might be seeing you." Julia smiled at Luke and his mood ratcheted up a notch or two. He shut the door and Julia motioned him toward one of the green chairs and sat down in the other one.

"Ned's not talking to me," Luke said, getting straight to the point which was troubling him.

"But I thought you went to see him at lunchtime?"

"Yeah, well he talked _at_ me, but he wasn't talking _to_ me," Luke said. He wasn't sure that he was making any sense, but Julia seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

"Oh dear."

"It's that Meredith woman," Luke said fiercely. "She's making me out to be some sort of delinquent and now Ned's treating me like one."

Julia stayed quiet, letting Luke direct the conversation.

"He's gated me for the rest of the week, so I won't be able to see Pagan. And I've got to write to Meredith and apologise for toothpasting her car."

"But I thought you didn't do that."

"I didn't," said Luke bitterly. "But everyone thinks I did. Even Pagan. And Ned thinks I did it just to mess up his date with Meredith."

"But why didn't you tell him that it wasn't you?"

"Because I did want to mess up his date with Meredith."

"Ah," said Julia.

"But I didn't think he'd stop talking to me," Luke continued. "I thought he'd at least want to talk about going back to America, explain their plans, that sort of thing." Luke put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. "He just treated me like a naughty kid."

"Oh, Luke," said Julia, shifting herself closer to him so that she could put a reassuring arm over Luke's shoulders. She couldn't think of any soothing words, but sometimes a simple hug is the best form of comfort. They sat in silence for a time, while Luke regained control of his emotions.

"What should I do?" Luke asked, eventually.

"I think you've got to just give it time, Luke. Keep a low profile this week, let Ned calm down a bit over half term and then try to talk to him when you get back."

Luke nodded. "OK." Then he remembered his mother's story about the mint-choc-chip ice-cream and he related it to Julia.

"Well there you go!" said Julia. "Maybe this is all some sort of karmic retribution for upsetting Meredith when you were three. Once you've written that letter of apology, everything will sort itself out."

Luke admired Julia's optimism, but did not share it. Then the bell rang again. He thanked her for listening and hauled himself out of the chair to face another hour in Mr Wilmot's company.

Julia held up her hand to stop him. "Hold on a second."

Luke paused, his hand on the door handle, and looked back at her.

"Did my daughter have anything to do with this idea of messing up Ned's date?"

There was a brief pause. "No, no, of course not."

"You are going to have to work on perfecting your ability to lie, Luke Brownlow," said Julia, giving him a hard stare over the top of her reading glasses. "You really are rubbish at it."

Luke adopted a pleading expression of which any puppy would have been proud.

"It's alright," said Julia irritably, waving him away. "I won't say anything to her."

At the end of their IT lesson, Luke was just allowing himself to relax when Wharton reminded him that they were supposed to be making the captions for their display.

"Oh yeah," said Luke. "I completely forgot about that."

He moved over to the computer beside Wharton, quite pleased to have something to do which took his mind away from his troubles. They worked their way through their pile of photocopies, coming up with captions for each one. When Luke got to the two stories about Mr Wilmot and the village pond he held them up to show Wharton.

"Mr Thomas is going to vet our display before we get to show it," he said. "There's no way he'll let us use this."

Wharton shrugged. "OK, we'll leave it out." He took the copies from Luke and put them to one side. They continued to work for a while until Wharton broke into Luke's thoughts with an observation.

"I know you didn't do that toothpaste stunt."

Luke looked across at him in surprise. "So?"

"So, why did you take the rap for it?"

"What makes you think I did?"

"Wilmot told Mr Thomas all about it over lunch," supplied Wharton. "Half the seniors could hear him. He's still hoping to get you kicked out, if you ask me, so why d'you say you did it?"

"Out of the goodness of my heart," said Luke, sourly. "I know who did do it, though, and you can tell them from me that if they try anything else against the Romans this year, I'll grass them up first and beat them up later."

The ferocity in his own voice surprised him, but he thought that if he could put a stop to the stupid inter-house vendetta, at least something good might have come out of the Meredith mess.

"You didn't get detention, then?" Wharton probed. If Luke had, he'd be there now.

"No. Gated," Luke replied, shortly. "And I've got to write a letter of apology to the woman whose car it was and hand it in to Wilmot tomorrow." It felt weird, telling Wharton all this when he hadn't even told his Roman friends yet.

Wharton whistled in sympathy. "Harsh. And I thought Kelly liked you."

"Well, turns out you were wrong," said Luke, succinctly summing up his own misery with that one short sentence.

When they had finished doing the captions, Luke stayed in the room to compose his letter to Meredith. It is extremely difficult to say sorry to a person that you dislike for something that you haven't done, but he managed to word the letter in a way that seemed to work as an apology, without actually claiming direct responsibility:

Hawley Lodge

19 May 2008

Dear Ms Morgan

I am writing to apologise for the damage that was done to your car on Saturday night. This was a thoughtless prank and I regret any distress it caused to you.

Yours sincerely

Luke Brownlow

Luke printed the letter off and read it through. Then he deleted the words 'to you' and printed it off again. He didn't care about Meredith's distress at all, but he sincerely regretted hurting Ned's feelings and, as a consequence, his own. The letter seemed very short, but he couldn't think of anything else to write, so he folded it up and went in search of Mr Wilmot to get it off his hands.

Luke knocked on the door of Mr Wilmot's apartment on the top floor. After keeping him waiting for a full thirty seconds, the housemaster opened it to him. Luke held out his letter without saying a word.

Mr Wilmot read it through. "Well you won't win any prizes for letter-writing, Brownlow. But I suppose it will do." He folded it back up. "I'll pass it on to the headmaster."

Luke spun silently on his heel, keen to get away.

"Hold on!"

Wilmot wasn't going to let him escape that easily. Luke stopped and turned slowly back to the door, his fingers closing tightly across his thumbs as he tried to keep his temper. It had been a long and stressful day with far too much of Mr Wilmot in it for his taste.

To his surprise, Mr Wilmot took a step back from him and a look of fear flickered briefly across his features. Luke was now taller than the housemaster and considerably fitter. The scar on his left cheek and his clenched fists added to an overall air of menace of which Luke was totally unaware.

"You watch it, Brownlow," said Mr Wilmot, stabbing a pointed finger towards Luke. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

So what's new? thought Luke, confused by the housemaster's reaction. "Yes, sir. Can I go now?"

In reply, Mr Wilmot waved him away and slammed the door in his face. Luke rolled his eyes in a manner which would undoubtedly have earned him a detention if Mr Wilmot had possessed X-ray vision. Fortunately for Luke, he did not, and the teenager made it to the Forum without attracting any further trouble.

Jay was outwardly sympathetic when Luke told him that he'd been gated for the week. But as the week went on, Luke got the impression that Jay was quite enjoying having his roommate back to himself. Luke began to feel guilty about not spending as much time with Jay in year ten as he could have and he resolved to divide his free time more evenly between Jay and Pagan in the future.

It was still a relief when the end of the half term finally came. Luke's family arrived on Saturday morning to take him home for the week. At Julia's suggestion, the Brownlows stopped off for a cup of coffee at the Randalls' house, so that Luke could say goodbye to Pagan.

Luke was in a good mood after his week of confinement and his twin sisters were in an advanced state of excitement at being reunited with their brother. Pagan had never spent much time with them before but became instantly popular when she braided Molly's hair into a French plait. Elsie insisted on having her hair done, too. Luke's parents had only seen Pagan when she and Luke had been in hospital the previous year and had never had a chance to talk to her properly.

Luke watched his mum and dad's reactions to Pagan with pleasure. By charming the twins, Pagan had made immediate progress with charming Andrew and Suzanne Brownlow. Few parents can dislike a person who pays positive attention to their child. The adults were getting on well, too, by the looks of things: reminiscing about their shared experience at the hospital the previous year and going on to chat about the twins and about the inconveniences of living in two-hundred-year-old houses. For the first time in a week, Luke felt truly happy.

*

On the first Wednesday of the next half term Mr Pettit put the year tens into the cricket nets to practise. Luke was surprised to see that Wharton, usually such a show-off at the game, was having a really bad day. When he was batting he played defensively, blocking the ball, rather than hitting it away and when it was his turn to bowl he seemed to be hardly trying.

Luke wasn't the only one to notice Wharton's lack of effort. When the lesson was over and they were heading back to the changing rooms, Mr Pettit intercepted the Viking. As Wharton usually performed well in hockey, orienteering and cricket, he was something of a favourite with the sports teacher. Where he would have just shouted at any other student he suspected of slacking, he was more forbearing with Wharton and gave him the opportunity to explain himself.

"You're not playing at your usual standard today, Wharton. Why's that?"

Wharton looked sulky and avoided Mr Pettit's eyes. "Didn't feel like it."

Mr Pettit's tolerance would only stretch so far. "Well then, perhaps two laps of the field will put you into a more co-operative mood. Off you go."

The Viking groaned and turned away from the rest of the year tens to jog around the sports field. Luke and the others showered, changed back into their school clothes and headed back to the main school building.

H alf-way there, Luke realised he'd left his blazer in the changing rooms. He went back to collect it and found Wharton there, getting dressed. He was standing with his back to the door, pulling on his shirt, as Luke entered. Something about the way he was moving caught Luke's attention. When he looked at the Viking more closely, he saw a collection of blue, purple and yellowing bruises splashed over the ribs underneath his right arm. They looked intensely painful: no wonder he hadn't been able to bat and bowl properly.

"What happened to you?" Luke asked, forgetting that it was Wharton he was talking to.

Wharton jumped and then scowled as he hastily covered the bruising with his shirt. He ignored Luke's question.

"Why didn't you tell Mr Pettit you were hurt?" persisted Luke. "Who did that to you? Was it your dad?"

"My brother," muttered Wharton. He rounded on Luke. "Don't you dare tell anyone."

"You should get Matron to look at it. You might have a broken rib." Luke didn't know why he was bothering, but somehow he felt compelled to interfere. "What happened?"

Wharton sighed. "If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?"

"Sure."

"If you do..." Wharton glared menacingly at Luke, but didn't seem to be able to think of anything threatening enough to complete the sentence.

"I won't," said Luke. "Of course I won't."

Wharton lowered himself onto the bench and started to do up his tie. "My brother's got a bit of a temper when he's drunk or high. I broke the screen on his new phone and he went nuts. Knocked me over and started kicking me."

"Did you tell your parents?"

"What good would that do? He was alright about it the next day. Gave me fifty quid to keep quiet. Spud's OK when he's not off his head. It hurt like hell at first, but it's getting better all the time." Wharton got back to his feet and swung an imaginary cricket bat, with a grimace of pain. "Just not quite fit enough for cricket, yet." He stopped at the top of his swing, registering that Luke was staring at him with a stunned expression on his face. "What?" he asked, irritably.

Luke sat down on the bench opposite Wharton. Spud? Could it be the same person? "Does your brother carry a big curved knife?" Luke sketched out the size and shape of Spud's knife with his hands.

Wharton slowly lowered his arms. "Ye-e-es. How did you know that?"

Luke raised his fingers to the left side of his face. "He stole my phone and cut my face open."

"You're having me on."

"No, I'm not. The bloke who mugged me was called Spud and carried a knife. He had a friend with him – a short bloke with black hair and a straggly beard."

"Jonesey," supplied Wharton.

"I'll have to tell the cops," said Luke.

"Don't you dare!" shouted Wharton. "If he finds out I've got anything to do with this, he'll kill me."

"He's a criminal!" Luke argued back. "Why should he get away with it?"

"You don't know what he's like," said Wharton.

"I think I do," replied Luke. "He's a bully and a thief. Training you up to join the family business, is he?"

The ugly look on Wharton's face suggested that their temporary truce was at an end. Luke surged to his feet to defend himself, even though he knew Wharton's injuries meant that he was in no condition to fight.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to the Viking. His belligerent attitude changed. His shoulders slumped and he looked at Luke pleadingly. "Please don't," he said. "Don't shop Spud. I'm begging you, Brownlow."

Luke pressed home his advantage. "Only if you stop encouraging this stupid feud between the Vikings and the Romans."

"Alright, it's a deal," Wharton agreed.

"Shake on it," Luke insisted, holding out his hand.

Wharton took Luke's hand, an expression of distaste on his face. Luke felt the bones of his hand grind against each other in the force of Wharton's grip, but he remained unflinching, returning the force of the handshake as well as he could.

"Think you'll be fit for next week's match?" asked Luke. One of the activities lined up for Speech Day was a cricket match between the staff and students.

"Yeah, I think so. Remember, you can't tell _anyone_."

### Chapter Sixteen

Speech Day was a chance for the Hawley Lodge students to show their families what they had been doing over the course of their year. They put together displays of artwork, demonstrations of various sports, musical performances and the like. This year, to allow more people to come, the event was being held on a Saturday for the first time. Proud parents came to see what their money had been paying for, accompanied by younger family members and sometimes grandparents. People had dressed up for the occasion and Luke felt as though he was taking part in some country house garden party.

The formal part of the day began at eleven in the morning. Julia had brought Pagan along to see the school and they joined up with the Brownlow family in the school's main hall.

Here, they listened to a welcoming address from Ned and a speech from one of the year thirteen students who would be leaving the school that year. Prizes were awarded for various sporting and academic achievements, with a few more light-hearted ones for accomplishments such as Student with Most Varied Hairstyles or Student with Most Pairs of Shoes.

Luke was enjoying the event until he noticed Meredith sitting in one of the front rows. She must have come along as Ned's guest. Luke nudged Pagan and pointed out Meredith to her. She wasn't hard to spot, as she was wearing a red hat and looked as though she was dressed for a day at the Ascot races. Pagan's eyes narrowed as she sized up the woman she had heard so much about.

After the formal proceedings, a buffet lunch was served in a large marquee in the grounds behind the school. Luke ate his quickly, as he was competing in the cricket match in the afternoon and had to get changed and ready for it. He left his family with Julia and Pagan and went off to the pavilion. They had been lucky with the weather: the day was sunny and warm, with a light breeze.

Most of the other members of the students' team were from the Upper School, but Luke and Wharton, as the best of the year tens, had been included, too. The staff side had a much smaller pool of potential players to choose from, but Mr Pettit had been training them up in the weeks leading up to Speech Day. Luke had watched them surreptitiously after the previous Friday's gardening club session and knew that some of them were pretty good, particularly Mr Davey, the groundsman, and Miss Richmond, the French teacher, who was a mean spin bowler.

The staff team was batting first and Luke was positioned on the boundary, near the scoreboard, which was being managed by Taj and Fred.

"Who normally wins this match?" he asked Taj as they watched Mr Pettit and Mr Davey, the opening batsmen, walk out on to the field.

"It's usually pretty close," Taj replied. "The staff won last year, but the students beat them the year before."

The openers put on a good display for the spectators, before losing Mr Pettit to an excellent ball from Wharton which demolished the sports teacher's wicket. Luke surprised himself by cheering and whooping with the rest of the team. Wharton's injuries had clearly healed up.

The next batsman to take the crease was Ned. He hadn't been one of the team that was practising on Friday night and Luke watched his performance with interest. He was still feeling hurt by the way Ned had treated him in their last meeting, but couldn't help hoping that he would bat well. It wasn't long before Luke recognised his own batting style in the way Ned was playing. Clearly, genetics had a lot to do with the way people wielded a cricket bat.

Mr Davey's was the next wicket to fall (caught and bowled by Wharton). The remaining staff did not add much to the score before they were all out, too. Mr Wilmot, the last man in, made a complete mess of the first delivery he faced, swinging randomly at the ball and managing to hit it into the stumps himself.

"What a donkey," Luke heard Taj say, as he recorded the loss of the wicket on the scoreboard. Luke wondered if it was compulsory for the housemasters to take part in the game: he could see no other reason for Mr Wilmot's inclusion in the staff team.

Ned had scored a respectable 35 runs, but the total for the staff team was only 101. Luke was confident that the students would be able to do better than that.

They put up a fair fight, but Mr Pettit and Miss Richmond ripped their way steadily through the student batsmen's wickets until the score stood at 98 runs for 8 wickets. Wharton was at the crease with Connor Reid who was widely agreed to be the school's best batsman. Luke was in the pavilion, padded up ready to take his turn as soon as another wicket fell and selfishly hoping that Wharton or Reid would be out before their score ticked over to 102.

Mr Pettit's next ball bounced up towards Reid's head. Reid stepped back and brought his bat up, hooking the ball toward the boundary. Luke watched the course of the ball, terribly torn as to the outcome of the shot. If it landed the other side of the boundary rope it would score six runs and the game would be over: the students would have won. If it rolled across the rope, it would be four runs and the game would still be over. But if Ned, fielding on the boundary at deep square leg, had a chance of catching the ball, then Luke would be able to bat.

Ned took the catch cleanly and Luke's heart rejoiced. He headed off towards the centre of the pitch, bumping fists with Reid as they passed each other.

Luke settled himself at the crease and watched Mr Pettit running up from the opposite side with the last ball of the over. He was used to the teacher's style of delivery and he timed his shot well, watching the ball, stepping towards it and driving it between the fielders at mid-off and cover. He and Wharton took two runs, bringing the score to 100.

Now Wharton was facing Miss Richmond's bowling. He hit her first ball for a single run, leaving Luke in the firing line, needing only one run to win the match. He tried to clear his mind of anything but the flight of the ball. It bounced and turned sharply towards him; Luke got his bat to it but the ball curved up, heading straight towards Mr Wilmot at mid-on.

"Run!" yelled Wharton at the other end of the wicket.

Luke was certain that he was going to be caught, and that running was a waste of time, but his legs obeyed the Viking's shout and he dashed towards him, his eyes fixed on Mr Wilmot. He was half way down the wicket, passing Wharton , when the housemaster got his hand to the ball (I'm done for, thought Luke) but a second later Mr Wilmot cried out in pain, clasping his right hand with his left, and the ball fell to the floor. Miss Richmond went running back to retrieve the ball but it was too late: Luke and Wharton had safely reached the opposite ends of the wicket and the game was won.

The Roman and Viking ran back down the wicket to each other, raising their gloves in a triumphant high-five. Mr Thomas, who had been keeping wicket, removed his helmet and came to congratulate them ("Excellent sportsmanship boys, well done.") while the other members of the student team came running from the pavilion, cheering. Polite applause echoed from the spectators sitting around the boundary.

The two teams shook hands with each other. Well, everyone except Mr Wilmot, who had sprained the index finger of his right hand in trying to catch Luke's last shot. He went off with Matron to get his hand seen to.

Luke and Ned found themselves next to each other. This was the closest Luke had been to Ned since the time in his office before the half-term holiday. They shook hands.

"Well played, Brownlow," Ned said.

Ned usually did address Luke by his surname when they were in school situations, but Luke found it somehow jarring in the informal surroundings of the cricket field, as if Ned was determined to keep a distance between them by using the name given to Luke by his other father.

Ned turned away to shake hands with Wharton. "Well played," he said to the Viking.

Luke walked back to the pavilion with Wharton, coming to terms with the fact that he was getting precisely the level playing field he'd asked Ned for. The headmaster was simply treating him exactly the same as every other student. Luke supposed he should be pleased, but he found he had lost some of his pleasure at winning the match.

Luke re-joined the Randalls and Brownlows and was surprised to find that Meredith was with them. It seemed that Julia had taken the American under her wing when she had been abandoned by Ned for the cricket match. Luke respected Julia's generous-heartedness, but wished that she could turn it off sometimes. The atmosphere in the small group was not as relaxed as it had been at lunchtime and Luke noticed that Meredith had positioned herself as far away from Elsie and Molly as it was possible to be. Pagan had found a length of twine from somewhere and was showing the twins how to do cat's cradle.

Ned arrived shortly after Luke did. He shook hands with the Brownlows and made polite conversation about the cricket match with them, before whisking Meredith off to supervise tea in the marquee. He paid no attention to Luke at all.

Luke's mum walked beside him as the party wandered back towards the marquee.

"What did you make of Meredith?" Luke asked her.

"She hasn't changed much, as far as I can see. Still thinks she's a cut above the rest of us, still wearing incredibly expensive clothes, still doesn't like small children."

Luke looked behind them, where Pagan, Luke's dad and Julia were walking in line abreast, holding hands with Elsie and Molly in between the three of them, counting "One, two...three!" and swinging the girls up off the ground on the 'three' so that their feet dangled in the air and they squealed with delight.

"Did she talk about going back to the States?"

"Yes, I think she's going back next week," replied Suzanne.

"I mean with Ned," said Luke.

"What?" Suzanne, stopping dead and then hurriedly stepping sideways so that the twin-swing behind them could carry on ahead. "Ned's not going back to the States, is he?"

Luke shrugged. "That's what Meredith told me," he said. "But Ned hasn't said anything to me about it." Mostly because he isn't talking to me at all, he added to himself.

Over tea, Julia told the Brownlows about the display on the school's history which Luke and Wharton had put together. Pagan volunteered to take the twins for a walk in the grounds while the others went to admire Luke's work. Luke hadn't given it any thought since he and Wharton had shown the finished display to Mr Thomas the day before. He stood beside it as his parents read the captions and looked at the news stories and photographs. There seemed to be some sort of disturbance going on outside the front of the school. Students and their parents were beginning to gather at the windows and point.

"Isn't that Mr Wilmot?" Julia said. She was looking at the 1998 part of the display.

Luke pulled his attention back to the panels and saw that the newspaper cutting and _Paper Dart_ story had been added to the boards since Mr Thomas had approved them the day before. Someone had already inked a goatee beard onto Mr Wilmot's teenaged face. Julia was giggling at the story and Luke could only feel grateful that Mr Wilmot's sprained finger meant that he was unlikely to see what Wharton had done.

In the meantime, Pagan, Elsie and Molly had been doing a tour of the outside of the main school building. As they rounded the back of the school they ran into Wharton and two older men. One was smoking and complaining loudly about having to be at the Speech Day.

"We're here to support your brother. We'll go soon enough," said the other man. Pagan felt a shock of recognition and fear as she realised that the smoking man was the acne-scarred mugger who had attacked Luke in Regent's Park the previous summer. She shook her hair over her face so that he wouldn't see her and quickly walked past him towards the marquee. There, she made straight for Ned, who was laughing with Meredith over a cup of tea.

"Ned, I need your help," said Pagan, taking hold of Ned's elbow as she came up to him.

"I think you mean 'Mr Kelly'," interrupted Meredith, looking haughty. Pagan paused long enough to give Meredith a scathing glance, before turning back to the headmaster.

"Ned, the mugger's here. The one who attacked Luke. You've got to call the police."

Ned put his tea down. "Meredith, you watch the twins. Keep them in the marquee. Come with me, Pagan."

As they walked away, Pagan explained the situation to Ned, with one glance back at Meredith, whose mouth had opened into a perfect O of outrage. Ned dialled the local police, telling them to meet them in his office.

"They're on their way," said Ned, ending the call. He looked across at Meredith, who was evidently struggling to keep control of Elsie and Molly and was already resorting to offering them cake. "You meet them at the front of the school and direct them to my office," Ned told Pagan. "It's up the main staircase, on the first floor. I'll go and round up the Whartons and take them up there by one of the side stairs."

Luke was distracted from the history display by an increase in noise levels in the hall. He looked around to see Pagan escorting two uniformed men through the door and pointing them up the stairs. Silence fell again as the officers marched purposefully up the stairs, their progress followed by every pair of eyes in the room. Luke recognised them as the same two stab-vested men who had visited the school after the fire alarm incident in December.

Pagan rushed towards Luke and Julia.

"You'll never guess!" she began, excitedly. "The mugger's here, the one who cut Luke's face!"

Oh no, thought Luke, Wharton's going to kill me.

Luke's mum cut across Pagan's excitement, saving Luke from having to come up with an appropriate response. "Where are Elsie and Molly?"

"Meredith's looking after them," Pagan reassured her. "They're safe in the marquee."

Suzanne looked distinctly unreassured.

"We'd better go and rescue Meredith from the twins," said Andrew. "Or vice versa. You wait here, Luke, we'll be back in a minute."

More and more people were congregating in the hall, pretending to look at the displays, but really wanting to find out what the police were doing there. Their curiosity was soon satisfied; Ned and Wharton's father accompanied the two officers as they marched Wharton's brother down the main staircase between them. His hands were cuffed in front of him and one of the men was carrying a clear plastic evidence bag containing the curved knife which Luke and Pagan remembered all too well. They went out to the police car at the front of the school, leaving a rising tide of conversation and speculation in their wake.

Luke was distracted by a jab to his shoulder. He turned to see Mr Wilmot behind him. The index finger of the housemaster's right hand was bound with gauze to the next finger and he looked as though he was about to explode with rage. Word about the history display had clearly found its way back to his ears.

But before he could say a word in his defence, there was a shout from the staircase behind him.

"Brownlow, you BASTARD!"

Luke turned his back on Mr Wilmot to see Wharton running down the stairs. The Viking pushed through the groups of people who had been watching his brother's arrest. He reached Luke, pulled back his fist and, with all his weight behind it, threw it as though it was a cricket ball, straight at Luke's chin.

Luke instinctively ducked sideways and Wharton's hand connected instead with Mr Wilmot's nose. The already-injured housemaster collapsed in a crumpled heap on the floor while several spectators let out frightened screams. Julia jumped into the space between Luke and Wharton, grabbed hold of Wharton's upper arms and said, in a quiet but forceful voice: "Benjamin, _behave yourself!_ "

"You called the cops, you bastard," Wharton's voice was more of a sob than a shout now. Julia put her arm around the Viking and pulled him to one side. Oliver Samuels was standing behind her.

"Oliver, go and get Matron for Mr Wilmot," she said, as she led Wharton away to her office, just behind them. Oliver went running off and Mr Wilmot staggered unsteadily to his feet in front of Luke, the eyes of everyone in the hall upon him.

At that moment, Ned walked back indoors, having sent the police car off. Seeing Mr Wilmot with his bloody nose, standing right next to Luke, he leapt to an understandable but inaccurate conclusion. He strode through the gaping crowd towards them.

"What have you done NOW?" he roared at Luke.

At Ned's shout, Luke felt as though Wharton's fist had successfully made contact with his own face instead of Mr Wilmot's. He had to get away. He ran out through the western door and into Julia's garden. All his happiness at winning the cricket match had faded away. Ned thought so little of him that he believed he was capable of punching Mr Wilmot, and now it looked like he was back where he had started with Wharton. Luke dropped onto the bench at the back of the garden and wondered if he still had any sort of future at the school.

Back in the hall, Pagan tackled Ned.

"It was Wharton," she yelled at him. "He went to punch Luke but hit the other guy instead. Why do you always think everything's Luke's fault?"

Ned looked around for Wharton and Pagan pulled him over to Julia's office. Wharton was sitting in one of the chairs, looking devastated and nursing his right hand.

"Right," said Ned, trying to regain control of the situation. "Wharton, go and wait for me in my office."

Wharton uncurled himself from the chair and slouched out of the room.

Ned turned back to Pagan. "Pagan, can you see if you can find Luke? He just took off..."

"I think it's you who needs to find Luke, Ned," interrupted Julia. "He's been desperately unhappy ever since Meredith told him that you're going back to America with her."

"She told him _what_?"

Pagan and Julia exchanged a puzzled look.

"Meredith told Luke that you and she are planning to start a family and that you'll be moving back to the States," Julia explained. "It was the day she drove him to the village."

"And none of you thought to check with me that this was true?"

"We had no reason to believe that it wasn't," Julia replied, defensively. "I thought you would tell Luke and us in your own time. I didn't want to interfere."

"I did," put in Pagan. "I bullied Luke into interrupting your date with Meredith that night. He didn't want to, but I didn't want you to go back to America."

By now Ned was frowning so ferociously that Pagan shrank away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

"Don't be," said Ned, patting her shoulder. "I just wish you'd talked to me sooner. Julia, can you keep an eye on Wharton for ten minutes? I need to find Luke."

"Look in the vegetable garden," Julia suggested. "He likes going there for some peace and quiet."

Ned soon tracked Luke down. Luke ignored him as he approached.

"Can I join you?" Ned asked.

Luke raised one shoulder in a hint of a shrug.

Ned sat next to him. "I'm sorry about just then," he began. "I honestly thought you'd just punched Mr Wilmot in the face and that I was going to have to expel you."

Luke lifted his head at this and followed the logic through. "You're not going to expel Wharton are you?"

Ned blinked. "I thought you hated him."

"He's not that bad," said Luke. "And he didn't mean to hit Mr Wilmot: he was aiming at me and I ducked."

"I gathered that after Pagan screamed it in my face," said Ned.

He cleared his throat. "I've had a talk with Julia and Pagan and they've set me right on a number of things. I've been assuming that it was you who was acting atrociously recently, while it seems that in fact it was mostly Meredith."

Luke nodded.

"I'm not going back to America with her, Luke. I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with three more years of me here at Hawley Lodge."

A few minutes later, Luke and Ned went back into the school. The first person to meet them was Meredith. Her delicate hat had been knocked sideways on her head and there was clear evidence of her ten minutes of enforced childcare in the form of cake crumbs and jam on her previously immaculate white dress. She did not look happy.

"Meredith, I do apologise for all the excitement," Ned began. "Speech Day isn't usually quite this eventful."

"I cannot _believe_ you left me in charge of those, those _brats_ ," spat Meredith.

"Well at least they didn't jam an ice cream into your cleavage," commented Luke.

He enjoyed watching Meredith's face as the connection between the tall teenager and the annoying child of Ned's neighbours became clear to her.

Ned laughed out loud. "I'd forgotten that you two had met before!"

Meredith did not smile. "I'm sorry, Graham," she said. "But I'm afraid I'm not willing to take on your new family. It was good to see you again."

And with that she turned her back on Ned and Luke and left the building.

"Direct and to the point, as usual," murmured Ned.

Before they had a chance to digest Meredith's abrupt departure, Mr Wilmot pushed his way through the milling groups of relatives. He now had a dressing on his nose as well as the one on his hand. In his good hand he was holding the offending items from the exhibition, which he now waved in Ned and Luke's faces.

"Headmaster! Have you seen what this boy put on this display board? It's outrageous. He's a threat to school morale and discipline. He's-"

Ned held up his left hand to stop Mr Wilmot's tirade and put his right arm over Luke's shoulders.

"I'd be careful what you say next, John. That's my son you're talking about."

Ned raised an eyebrow in Luke's direction.

Luke responded with another shrug.

And a smile so wide it could barely fit on his face.

The End

###

### Acknowledgements

The knife on the cover was adapted from an image shared on the web with a Creative Commons licence: http://www.flickr.com/photos/brenda-starr/3488040778/. Grateful thanks to Brenda, for making it available.

You can read more about Hawley Lodge at <http://hawleylodge.com/>.

