Faintly over the engine sound he heard the twin notes of a police siren.
Can’t be me, he thought. I’m inside the limit.
In the mirror he saw the blue flashing light. Do what any law-abiding motorist does, he told himself. Pull over and let them pass.
He eased his foot off the pedal. Hardly anything else was on the road and they could easily get by, but he did the decent thing.
Instead of overtaking, they closed in behind him and flashed their headlights. What now?
He pulled over, braked, lowered the window and switched off.
Bluff this out, he thought. They can’t possibly know this quickly that the car is stolen. It’s got to be some minor infringement like a faulty rear lamp.
He grabbed the bag of gizmos and pushed it out of sight under the passenger seat.
They were taking their time, probably checking over their radio that the car wasn’t on their list.
Finally a figure appeared at the window. Heavy black moustache. ‘Evening, sir. Are you the owner of this car?’
‘I am.’
‘Step outside, please.’
What was this? The breathalyser? He hadn’t finished his pint of real ale. He’d be well under the limit. ‘Is something up?’
There was a second officer, a policewoman.
The male cop said, ‘Place both hands flat against the car roof and stand with your legs apart. I’m going to search you.’
‘What for? I’ve done nothing wrong.’ As he said the words, he thought of all the banknotes stuffed inside his pockets.
He did as he was ordered and felt the hands travel down his body. What the fuck was he going to say?
‘What’s your name, sir?’
‘Daniel Stapleton.’
‘Date of birth, please.’
‘Ninth of October, nineteen seventy.’
‘Mind if I call you Daniel?’
‘Danny will do.’
‘What’s this in your pockets, Danny? Keep your hands exactly where they are.’
‘Some cash.’
‘Quite a lot of it, apparently. What’s all this money doing in your pockets?’
‘I, em, did some business. Cash transaction.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘In Littlehampton. I sold a boat.’
‘Is that where you came from — Littlehampton?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where are you travelling to?’
‘Only Chichester. Bit of a night out.’
‘Spending all this money?’
‘Not all of it.’
‘You said you own the car. It’s been reported as stolen. That’s why we stopped you.’
‘This car? Stolen?’ He was able to say the words with genuine disbelief. The young guy had disappeared across the footbridge. He’d been on his way somewhere. He couldn’t have returned so soon and got on to the police.
‘Do you have any proof of identity? Your licence?’
‘That’s at home.’
The search had been progressing down his body. ‘Do you normally keep banknotes in your socks?’
The cop didn’t seem to expect an answer, so Danny didn’t attempt one.
A large amount of cash might be suspicious, but it wasn’t necessarily illegal. They hadn’t found drugs or a weapon. They were probably disappointed. Danny was wondering if the comment about the stolen car had been a bluff.
The cop said to his female colleague, ‘Let’s have a look in the boot, shall we?’
Danny heard her open it.
She said, ‘God help us.’
2
Priory Park School, Chichester, September 2014
‘You won’t believe this,’ Jem said.
‘Try me,’ Ella said.
‘The Gibbon has gone.’
Shrieks of amazement and delight from the group. Miss Gibbon was the most disliked teacher on the staff. Her idea of teaching art was endless exercises in perspective.
‘Gone where?’ Ella said. Always primed for excitement, she was the perfect foil to Jem, the information gatherer.
‘I don’t give a toss where. Up her own vanishing point, for all I care. She didn’t tell anyone in the staffroom she was going at the end of last term. I expect the head knew, but none of the others did, so there wasn’t, like, a leaving present or a farewell drink or anything.’
‘Who cares? At last they found out she was a crap teacher. I still haven’t got the faintest idea what she meant by the golden mean and she never stopped talking about it.’
‘Golden section.’
‘Golden balls. Was she kicked out?’
‘A scandal? Touching up the year sevens?’
‘Not the Gibbon. She was sexless. More like pinching the art funds to go on those cultural cruises she was always on about,’ Jem said, and her opinion always triumphed. ‘The thing is, what happens to us in our final A level year? They’ll have to bring in someone new.’
‘That’s all we need, some new teacher straight out of college.’
‘Could be a bloke.’
More shrieks. Jem, shorter than anyone, had a big personality. She was like a conductor controlling the highs and lows of excited chatter.
‘You wish!’
‘Jem, you’re joking... aren’t you?’
Clearly she had more to tell. She waited for the noise to stop. ‘When I came in I happened to notice a sweet little vintage MG in the staff parking. And then I copped the back view of this tall young guy going into the head’s office.’
‘Get away! What’s he like?’
‘Like an artist. Dark, wavy hair to his shoulders, leather jacket and black chinos, Cuban heels—’
‘Stop — I’m getting the hots.’
‘You’re getting the hots? Think about the head. He was in with her for twenty minutes.’
Everyone was rendered helpless. Even the coy Naseem got a fit of the giggles.
‘Did he stagger out all shaky at the knees?’ Ella said.
‘I waited and waited, but I’d have been late for French conversation.’
‘Wouldn’t it be bang tidy if he was our new art teacher?’
‘Please God!’
‘Dream on.’
‘We’ve only got to wait till third lesson to find out.’
Mel, a pale, watchful girl who didn’t often trust herself to speak, went to the window and looked out.
Jem saw her move and joined her. ‘Em, sorry about this, people.’
‘What? What have you seen?’
‘The MG isn’t there anymore. Dreamboat has gone.’
‘Aw, shoot!’
‘The head must have put him off.’
‘She’d put anyone off.’
‘Or...’
‘Or what?’
‘Or he was only a computer salesman and she was like, “While you’re here, young man, how about checking my software,” and he panicked and legged it fast?’
A ripple of amusement, tempered by sighs all round.
‘Back to normal, then,’ Mel said, but she wasn’t heard.
The mood was even more subdued in the art room at eleven, when no teacher appeared. Genuine anxiety surfaced about their exam prospects. Some hoped Jem had got it wrong for once and the boring Miss Gibbon would shortly put her head around the door. She at least knew the syllabus and was capable of getting most of them a grade of some sort.
Naseem said, ‘We ought to tell someone. We’re way down on where we ought to be at this time of the year.’
As usual, it was Jem who took the decision. ‘That’s it, then. Why don’t you go to the staffroom, Ella, and say we’re in urgent need of an art teacher?’
‘I knew you’d ask me. Why don’t you go yourself?’
‘’Cause you’re always on about your future and that.’
‘I was hoping, like, someone else would do it.’
‘I don’t mind going,’ Mel said. She stood, refastened her hair, and left the room.