‘The what?’
Montrose pulled out a chair and sat next to Andy, pulling up his trousers at the knee to avoid unsightly creases. ‘I’m sorry. I interrupted before Andrew could tell you the whole story. Please, continue.’ He leaned back and smiled as though waiting for a particularly entertaining play or television programme to start.
Andy pinched the sides of his nose and shook his head as Donna looked from one man to the other desperate for an explanation. ‘Andy?’ she prompted.
Her brother sighed heavily. ‘I’ve borrowed a bit of money from Mr Montrose.’
Montrose snorted and shook his head.
‘Okay,’ Andy conceded. ‘I’ve borrowed a substantial amount of money from Mr Montrose. I have a plan in place to pay it back – it’s not like I don’t earn a decent salary – but he needs a guarantor for the loan. That’s you.’
‘What? I’m not agreeing to that!’
‘Donna, don’t,’ Andy said, flicking a worried glance at the man sitting next to him. ‘I need you to do this for me. If… when I pay the money back, that’s the end of it but, until then, Mr Montrose will have the right to ask you for money if I default.’
‘I know a teacher’s salary isn’t much,’ Montrose said with an apologetic smile. ‘But I’m sure your lovely house is worth a substantial sum.’
Donna opened her mouth to object and then realised the significance of what the man had said. He knew where she lived and knew what she did for a living – which meant that he probably knew where she worked as well.
‘I don’t own my house,’ Donna said.
Montrose shrugged and ran his eyes from her breasts to her face and back down again. ‘Not to worry. I’m sure there are other ways you could pay your brother’s debt, if it came to that.’ He stood up. ‘But I’m sure there’ll be no need for me to ever see you again. Right, Andrew?’
‘That’s right. You know I’m committed to paying you back.’
Donna had stared aghast at her brother’s obsequious manner. Who was Montrose? Donna had never heard of him, but she was certain of one thing. The man was dangerous.
3
Cleaver surveyed the pandemonium in the hall, wondering what the hell to do next. He had half of year nine and most of year seven crammed into a space that barely held a whole year group when they met for weekly assemblies. The students were noisily excited about missing period one and clearly speculating about the cause. Added to the mix were the sixth formers who had been allowed to leave the humanities building in small groups. Many of the girls were in tears, being consoled by the only slightly more stoical boys. The scene reminded Cam of the death of a pop star or the break-up of a boy band. None of the sixth formers appeared to have spoken to the lower-school students, instead choosing to keep to themselves in small knots and groups. A handful of staff moved amongst them trying to keep them relatively quiet and calm, but they were obviously as baffled as their students.
It was time to take charge. He strode to the front of the hall and stomped up the wooden steps onto the stage, hoping that the noise of his movements would alert the students to his presence and encourage them to quieten down.
‘Right, listen up!’ he shouted as the hum only slightly abated with the awareness of his presence. ‘I said quiet!’
This time more than a hundred faces turned towards him, some wary, some curious, others obviously worried that their routine had been disturbed for an, as yet, unknown reason.
‘I know this is unusual,’ Cam began, improvising. ‘But we have a problem with the humanities block, so those of you who are supposed to be in history or geography need to wait here until we work out the most sensible course of action.’
A low buzz as the students digested this latest information. Cam noticed movement at the back of the hall. One of the sixth-form boys had broken away from a small group and was trying to push through the crowd to get to the stage. One of his friends grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him back, whispering frantically and nodding towards the assembled crowd. The boy scowled but allowed himself to be led back to the rest of his friends.
Cam knew that he was dangerously close to losing control of the situation. The year sevens and nines were probably imagining an electrical fault or a problem with the water in the new block. If one of the older students mentioned that there were armed men on the site, he’d have no hope of controlling the panic that would almost certainly ensue.
‘Year nine, I want you to put out the chairs in neat rows. Year seven, move to the sides of the hall and wait until there’s space to sit down,’ he took a breath. ‘Sixth-form tutors and students, I want you to meet me in C12.’ He nodded towards the door that led to the small suite of dedicated computer rooms behind the hall.
‘Mr Wilson, Ms Hope, a word.’ He pointed to the canteen hatch off to one side and indicated that the two members of staff should meet him there.
It wasn’t enough. He couldn’t guarantee the safety of everybody on site, but it was all he could do for now. He instructed the two teachers to send a messenger to the staffroom to recruit any available staff who had a free period and ask them to come to the hall. If he could find another couple of adults, he might be able to contain the situation for a while longer.
Cam checked his watch. Had it really only been a few minutes since Penny had offered to call the police? He needed help, urgently. Heart pounding,
