Debbie had been summoned into the living room, along with everyone else Jo could find.  The police were back.

“Shaun and the other man have both been taken into custody,” explained Sergeant Bowen, one of the officers, “What we need to…”

“Excuse me?” snapped Jo.  She was the only person in the room to be on her feet.  The others sat around, flanking her, like she was the queen and they were her court.  “Why has Shaun been arrested when he was the one being beaten up?”

“They’ve both been arrested,” repeated Sergeant Bowen, “In Shaun’s case, it was because we suspect him of harassing a group of Berrylands students.”  He looked around the room.  “I assume you all know which students we mean?”

“And they haven’t been harassing us?” demanded Jo, “Getting us banned from campus?  Telling my parents where to find me?”

Trying to guilt-trip us at the newsagents, thought Debbie.  Except, obviously, Jo didn’t bring that up, because Debbie hadn’t told her.

She’d asked around about Denny.  Bradley said that he complained a lot, never pulled his weight, and had a high opinion of himself.   “Typical rich kid, really,” he’d concluded, “I think maybe there was some other stuff, but you’d have to talk to Shaun about it.  Anyway, eventually he went crying to his rich folks and they took him back home.  No great loss, if you ask me.”

Jo had said something different.  According to her, Denny had disappeared one day and they’d all been really worried about him.  So either they’d kept the real story from Jo for some reason, or Bradley had just said what he’d assumed had happened.  Debbie would have believed either.

Sergeant Bowen pinched the bridge of his nose.  He wasn’t one of the ones who’d come round before- he was shorter and fatter, with a ginger beard.  (His partner, PC Warren, reminded Debbie a bit of Eddie Murphy.). “As we told you before, all your parents have been told is that you’re still alive…”

“Well, maybe I didn’t want them knowing that!”

“…and none of that explains what Shaun was doing on Nursery Road yesterday.”

“So he’s not allowed to go to Nursery Road now, is that it?” snapped Wade, from the side of the room.

PC Warren turned his head towards Wade.  “Nope.  Not without a good reason.”

There was a kind of angry mumble from Wade and the people around him, and Maya tightened her arms around Seth and Lydia’s shoulders.  “You’re scaring my children,” she told the officers, giving them a dirty look.

Debbie didn’t think Seth and Lydia looked all that frightened.  Apparently neither did Sergeant Bowen, because he carried on as if she hadn’t said anything.  “Look.  All I want to know is, did any of you know that Shaun was going to Russel and Tamsin Doggett’s place?”

“No,” said Jo, folding her arms.

“And that’s a no from the rest of you, too?  Fine.  Now, has Shaun made any remarks to you about Alex Rudd and his flatmates?”

“He said he was upset about Jo,” replied Wade, “That’s all.”

The police were looking more and more fed-up by the minute.  Hopefully that meant they’d decide this wasn’t worth it and head back to the station soon.  And thank God nobody had said anything about the graffiti or about Adrian Goldsmith.  As long as the police didn’t know about that, things would probably turn out ok.

*

Dear Isaac and Judith,

Always glad to help a fellow Berrylands alumnus!  We’ve got to keep the old traditions going, after all.

As a matter of fact, the railway bridge you heard about isn’t in Croydon- its about two miles from Merstham Station, near Reigate.  I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but 1994 was a long time ago!

Wishing you well,

Kimberley Peacock

*

“More drama at yours last night?” chirped Claire, as soon as Mariam got into work.  She decided not to reply.  At least this might make everyone shut up about the graffiti.

Anyway, “more drama” was putting it mildly.  The police had spent half the night at Pallas House, going over every interaction they’d ever had with Shaun and Russel.  At one point, one of the officers had theorised that Shaun might have fixated on them because they’d all been caught up in the bombing, and Mariam was pretty sure all five of them had simultaneously bitten their tongues.

At least Russel had forgotten his plans with the cricket bat.  Things could have been a whole lot worse if he hadn’t.

It was a slow morning, which was probably why Claire felt she could make smug remarks instead of doing her actual job.  At this point in the morning, most people were either in a lecture or still in bed.  Mariam only had a few minutes left to twiddle her thumbs by the till before it was her turn in the kitchen, but even then it would probably just be busywork for the first half-hour or so.  She’d probably end up putting the cutlery through the polishing machine for the fiftieth time in a row, just because she liked the noise it made.

The police had promised to keep tabs on Nursery Road for the next few weeks.  It was probably too much to hope that the Oakmen would be scared off for good, but at least they weren’t being forgotten about.

Mariam was watching their one singular customer sip his beer as if he was trying to make it last all day, when there was a loud clattering crash from behind her.

The kitchen, thought Mariam, and rushed towards the door.  At the last moment, she found enough presence of mind to stand in the doorway instead of going straight  in, so that she could keep an eye on the till and the customer.  But even so, she saw everything.

Adrian had been thrown back against the sink, with enough force to knock all the pans and dishes that had been piled up onto the floor.  He lay slumped against the unit, one arm bent upwards as if he’d tried to catch the counter as he fell.  It took Mariam a moment to notice the microwave on the counter opposite, sitting there with its back off and its circuits exposed.

Mariam felt sick.  It was obvious what had happened here- there had been a problem with the microwave, and Adrian had decided to try and fix it himself instead of calling in a technician like any sensible person.  It was just pure bad luck that none of them had been there to stop him before it was too late.

Mariam blinked, and suddenly Claire was at the plug socket and Wayne was bent over Adrian, or as far over him as he reasonably could without risking getting electrocuted himself.  “He’s unconscious,” Wayne proclaimed as he straightened up, “Mariam, can you call an ambulance?”

 Mariam nodded, and went to the phone.  They should have been in there.  So what if that one customer had stolen all the cash from the till?  He wouldn’t exactly have been stealing food from the mouths of orphans if he had.

She punched in 999, took a deep breath, and tried to collect herself.

*

Rosalyn must have been talking to Alex, because she’d decided to lend Denny a book.  It was a fantasy one called Small Gods, which had been one of her favourites when she was at school.  “My stepmum would have smuggled this book away and burnt it, if I’d let her,” Rosalyn told him, by way of recommendation.

“Why?”

“Well, she’d have said that it was because it was blasphemous to have a god being turned into a tortoise and having to rely on a human,” said Rosalyn, “but really it would be because she didn’t like the part where the monk stands up to the inquisition and tries to get the church to be kinder to people.”

When they’d decided to sit out in the garden, they hadn’t anticipated it getting this breezy.  At the edge of the garden, the trees were swaying from side to side as the wind picked up.  When Denny had been a little kid, he’d been frightened when he’d seen the trees moving like that- no matter how often he’d had it explained to him, he’d been sure that they were moving on their own, probably preparing to attack.  It was amazing, the way little kids could see threats everywhere.  Something about not yet knowing how the world worked, combined with knowing all too well how vulnerable they were.

And that made Denny think of Amy’s son.

Rosalyn was small and gentle and she liked people, and here she was, out in the open, alone with someone like him.  As if it was safe.

Denny got up so quickly he knocked the chair over and nearly tripped, but he steadied himself in time and made it across the patio to the back door.  He knew Rosalyn was following him, but he put enough distance between himself and her to get indoors and up the stairs and into his bedroom, with the door safely locked behind him.  He climbed onto his bed, pressed his ear into the pillow, and listened to the mattress army.

He probably should have known that Rosalyn would try knocking on his door, instead of leaving the house or running off to get Jonathan.  Denny heard the knock over the mattress army, and then he heard her voice.  “Can I come in?”

“No.”  Even his voice sounded too loud, as if it could deafen everyone in earshot if he wasn’t careful.

There was a little pause.  “Then… is it alright if I just sit by the door for a bit?”

No harm in that, Denny supposed.  He couldn’t break down the door from all the way over here.  “Alright.”

Time went by.  Denny listened to the mattress army, marching along.  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but whenever he got close to nodding off, the thought of Rosalyn sitting against the door made him feel strange and put him off.

Eventually he got up and went to sit by his side of the door.  “Jon and Octavia have got you acting like an unpaid nurse,” he said, once he was sure he was close enough for her to hear.

“Nah,” said Rosalyn, more cheerful than anyone who’d been waiting against a door for their friend to stop having a nervous breakdown really should have been, “I’m more like a companion.  Like in Rebecca.”

Books again.  But Denny didn’t mind.  “I haven’t read Rebecca.”

“Well, have you read Jane Eyre?  It’s a bit like that.”

“Don’t know that one, either.  They barely ever let us read full-length novels at my school.  It was mostly short stories and poetry.”

“Yeah…  I remember my Year Seven teacher set us a poem that went, I remember, I remember the house where I was born every lesson for about three weeks.”  There was a shuffling sound behind the door- Rosalyn moving so she could sit more comfortably.  “I actually liked it at first, but by the tenth time, I never wanted to hear it again.”

Denny liked Rosalyn’s laugh.  It was lower and more growly than you’d expect.

“My friend Jodie said in her analysis of it that it sounded like it was written by someone who never got over finding out that there wasn’t a Santa Claus.  The teacher wasn’t pleased, but, like she said, he was the one who asked for our opinions…”

Denny laughed.  Then he stood up and unlocked the door.

He was worried that seeing Rosalyn on the other side would set him off again, but it didn’t.  She didn’t look quite so small and fragile anymore.  That feeling he’d had had passed.  “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit.  But I think we should stay indoors for a while.” 

She glanced out of the window.  “We can do that.  Too cold out there anyway.”

*

It was only four in the afternoon when Mariam got in, but it felt as if she’d been out all night.

“Apparently he’s in stable condition,” she told Alex, the only other person who was in at the time, “The Student Union’s going to be closed tomorrow while they check that there isn’t a bigger problem with the electric, but if you ask me, that’s just a formality.  We all know what happened- Adrian tried to fix the microwave.”  She put her arm over her eyes.  Silly, really- all she was blocking out was the sight of her own ceiling.  She’d fallen backwards onto her bed, her knees bent and her feet still on the carpet, and she was too tired to move.

Alex had probably sat down at her desk, judging by the direction of his voice.  “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Thanks.”  She was more worried about Adrian than she’d ever have thought she would be.  That morning, at the hospital, they’d thought every footstep was someone coming over to tell them he’d died.  It had felt like somebody was twisting their stomachs from side to side every time.  “Robin’s gone into full conspiracy-theory mode.  He says the equipment was probably faulty, and that if Adrian’s got any permanent injuries, his family should sue the university for everything it’s got.”

“Hm.  How much has it got?”

Mariam let out an approximation of a laugh.

“In any case, if there was a fault with the equipment, I’m still glad you weren’t the one who got hurt.”

Mariam was pretty sure that hadn’t been it- human error, that was all it was- but she smiled anyway.  “Thanks.  For what it’s worth, I promise not to try and take the backs off microwaves without professional advice.”

She lay there for a while, knees still bent, wrist still over her eyes, while Alex got his laptop out and made clattering noises on the keyboard.  Mariam herself wasn’t planning to even look at a laptop screen this evening.  If there was ever a time to give herself a night off, it was now.

But then Alex said, “We’ve got an email.”

Mariam sat up.  “‘We’?”

“It’s copied to both of our addresses.  Somebody called SciFiChick?”  He glanced at Mariam, who shrugged.  “She says she’s a former Oakman.  Doesn’t give her actual name, but…”

Mariam moved over so that she could read over his shoulder.  Her feet were starting to ache- she should really have taken her shoes off when she got in, but she’d been too tired.

“I hope you don’t mind me contacting you,” Alex read aloud, “but I heard about the thing with your neighbours, and I’m worried that Pinder’s planning something worse.”

“She calls him ‘Pinder’?” asked Mariam, “Not ‘Shaun’?”

Alex nodded.  “I’m actually going to be in town tomorrow- on the high street.  Would you be free to meet up sometime in the afternoon?”  He looked up and met Mariam’s eyes.

She thought about it.  “I guess it’s a public place…”

“Mm.  She doesn’t give her name, though.  I’m wondering…”  He leaned on his elbow.  “I know she said ‘Pinder,’ but the fact that she’s in the area…  And the email address isn’t one of the ones on our list…”  He looked at the screen again.  “I think this might be a current Oakman.  Maybe one who’s being cagey in case Pinder finds out what she’s up to.”

Mariam frowned.  “What do you think?  Do we trust her?”

Alex thought for a moment.  “Well, you said yourself, it’s a public place…  Yes.”  He nodded along with himself.  “The risk is small enough.  I think we should go.”