don’t know.’
‘Do you have the letter that was sent to you about your first day here?’
He pulled out a letter from his bag and handed it over. It smelled a little like fresh sandwiches.
‘Ah, you’re in Mrs Shah’s class. That’s one of the temporary buildings. Go through there.’ He pointed to a set of double doors. ‘Continue down the steps, turn right at the opening, follow the building around, then keep going until you see the playing fields in front of you and the temporary buildings on the right. It’s the one straight ahead, right at the end, okay?’
‘Er, okay.’
‘Off you go, then.’ The teacher nodded.
He walked through the double doors, down the steps, and turned right. It had started raining. Plump drops lanced like ice spears against his cheeks. He had to close his eyes to avoid the pain. He would have to make a run for it. But by the time he turned the first corner around the building, he was already wheezing as if he were coming down with a full-on asthma attack.
He slowed to a trot, then a walk. The wax in his hair was melting down his forehead, and his soggy uniform drooped like the cheeks of a basset hound. His shirt was practically transparent.
The temporary building was full of students sitting at modern desks. Every face turned towards him as he stood panting just inside the door, fat droplets of rain dripping down the front of his face and off the end of his nose. A little laugh rippled around the class.
He surveyed the room for a spare seat. There was one at the very front next to one of the girls.
The girls.
He slid into the seat as unobtrusively as possible. His stomach tightened, and he swallowed hard. He avoided eye contact with his neighbours as he tried desperately to stifle the burning in his ears.
‘You’ll need one of these.’ Mrs Shah handed him a sheet of A4 paper with his schedule for the coming term. ‘We meet here once the bell goes at half past eight. Lessons start at nine o’clock. Do try to be on time.’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘Sorry,’ he replied.
‘And maybe bring an umbrella next time.’
He smiled sheepishly, feeling more dry already under the heat of twenty-five sets of eyes and his own burning face.
The morning was a blur of different rooms and subjects and teachers. The teachers seemed to assume that he knew things he didn’t, but nothing had stumped him yet. Then came Latin. What a useless subject—an ancient language from Roman times that no one had used for centuries.
Richard hadn’t really noticed the two girls sitting in front of him until one of them turned around.
‘Hi, I’m Felicity, but you can call me Fi.’
The other girl also swung around. ‘I’m Angelina.’
‘Hi, er, Fi.’ This was intimidating. He’d never really talked with girls before.
‘You’re James Turner’s brother, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, how did you—’
She smiled. ‘You look a lot like him. Did I overhear him calling you Hero earlier, at the gates? That can’t be your real name.’
A raging fire consumed his face. ‘Oh God, all I did was save my dad’s coffee.’
They blinked at him, confused.
‘He loves coffee. He knocked it off the table by accident this morning. I caught it and put it back, and he called me a hero.’
He could see their curiosity fading fast.
‘It was dumb.’
Fi shrugged apologetically. ‘Seems a bit over the top.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I think you’re going to have to get used to the name, though. It seems to have stuck. Anyway, Hero, has anyone taught you the facts of life?’
Surely she couldn’t mean—
The fire in his face raged even more fiercely. He had no idea what she was talking about. He studied the desk in front of him.
He was saved by the arrival of another new teacher, a tall grey-haired man wearing a dark suit. Hmm. Unusual for a teacher.
The teacher moved to the blackboard and cleared his throat. ‘Class . . .’
Fi gave Hero a final smile. ‘You’re cute.’ She looked at Angelina, giggled, then turned around to face the teacher.
‘Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to Latin class. We work hard here, so let’s not waste any time. We’ll start with some basics.’ The teacher began to write.
amo: I love
amas: you love
amat: he, she, or it loves
amamus: we love
amatis: you love (plural)
amant: they love
He turned and surveyed the students with a grim but not entirely unfriendly smile. ‘Okay, repeat after me . . .’
The lesson seemed to go on for an eternity. The longer it went on, the more the teacher reminded Richard of his uncle, whom he hadn’t seen for many years now. The smells of the countryside filtered through to him from beyond the wall of boredom. He could almost smell tangy pine mixing with the sweet scent of sodden grass underfoot. He could almost hear the stream trickling beneath the wind-filled trees. He smiled at the thoughts of the happier times at Mum’s cottage in Devon, where he felt at home. Free. He saw Dad and Uncle—what was his name again?—whispering to each other in a way that reminded him of how he and James used to plot in ways that annoyed Mum.
He shook himself from his daydream and checked the clock. Only two minutes had passed. Two minutes of glorious freedom. How did teachers do that, make forty minutes last forever?
Finally the bell rang.
Deo gratias.
He stood up and pulled out his schedule: music in the main music room. The Latin teacher was already cleaning the blackboard.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ he asked.
‘Mm?’
‘Can you tell me where the main music room is, please?’
A hand landed softly on his elbow. ‘Come with me,’ Fi said. ‘I’m going there now.’
‘Great, thanks.’ He hoped his expression looked more like a casual smile than a panicked rictus.
She led him down the stairs, out of one of the many doors along the side of the school, and across the playground.
‘That’s the music block.’ She pointed at the building directly in front of them.
They marched towards it under an awkward silence.
‘So you know my brother?’ he finally asked.
‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘He’s just, I don’t know . . . Funny? Handsome? He’s Turner.’
‘If you say so.’ One for James.
‘You definitely follow in his footsteps,’ she added.
‘You think so?’
‘Of course.’
Their eyes met briefly.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.
They arrived at the music rooms, which were on the top floor of a two-storey block separated from the main school. The teaching room desks were arranged in a semicircle like an amphitheatre; in the centre, a small