Ribblestrop by Andy Mulligan
Sam was still prying wet cloth from his thighs, so he didn’t look up. The dividing door closed as Ruskin barged excitedly forward, and Sam’s thin body was crushed in the steel frame. An angry-looking businessman leaned from his seat. “Don’t play with the doors! Sit down!”
“I can’t really. I’m—”
“You boys are a blessed nuisance. Up and down, up and down!”
Sam shoved the door back as hard as he could and staggered out of the carriage. A train conductor was heaving his way through, looking haggard. Sam’s “Excuse me” was lost as the big man wrenched open the door. Then there was a clatter of points and Sam was thrown forward, catching his forehead on the luggage shelves. His friend was way down the far end of the next carriage, so Sam hobbled after him, realizing that had this happened a few hours ago, he would have undoubtedly started to cry. Perhaps he was growing up already, he wondered, just as his father had promised. Perhaps he was a man and was responding to burns and blows the way a man would do. Double vision was the price you paid.
When he caught up with Ruskin, the boy seemed at a loss: he was staring at a passenger, in a trancelike state. At length, he managed two words: “I say . . .”
Sam saw a blurred version of what Ruskin was looking at. Sitting in a seat was another child, in the identical black-and-gold stripes of their own uniforms. But this child was slumped low, with its feet on the empty seat opposite, and was listening to music through headphones. It was unaware it had an audience; it was gazing at the scrubland of outer London. This was just as well: Ruskin’s scrutiny had gone on now for a full minute. The child’s head nodded to the beat of the music; its mouth was chewing. Ruskin seemed dazed.
“Oh my word,” he finally said.
“What?” said Sam. “What’s the matter?”
“Look at this.”
The child in the seat turned at last. A frown spread instantly across its features.
“What?” it said. Aggressive. Confident.
“Hello,” said Ruskin.
The child clicked off its music and yanked the earphones out of its ears.
“Why are you staring at me? What do you want?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Ruskin. Apologies seemed to tumble out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to stare, it’s just we saw your . . . blazer. We thought—I thought—I’m so sorry, I thought you were Ribblestrop.”
The child’s frown turned to confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Same colors, everything. From the other end, you see, you looked like you were on your way to Ribblestrop Towers, my school, but—”
“I am,” said the child. “I think. Don’t say you’re there as well.”
“I’m a second year,” whispered Ruskin.
“I’m new,” said Sam, over Ruskin’s shoulder.
The child’s eyes flickered back and forth as if it were watching fast tennis.
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” said Ruskin. “I don’t mean to be rude at all. But . . . you’re a girl, aren’t you?”
The child’s face scrunched into a wizened glare. Her hair, brushed hard back from her forehead and ears, was drawn into a short plait. She’d put on a little lipstick. There was just a hint of glittery eye shadow as well, on her eyelids. A jewel gleamed in the left earlobe and there was a ring on one finger. Ruskin was looking at her legs, half hidden by the table but still stretched up onto the opposite seat. They were covered to the knee by shorts, and this was confusing.
“I mean, you are a girl. You’re a girl, and Ribblestrop’s a boys’ school,” he said. “Well, it was,” he added, weakly.
“Are you seriously telling me you go to it?”
“It’s a boys’ school,” said Ruskin, faintly. The girl had a rather gravelly voice. Her cheeks were ghostly pale and striking because of sharp cheekbones. “But it can’t be. I suppose it isn’t. What I mean is, it used to be a boys’ school. Can we sit down?”
“Here? Why?”
Ruskin started to slide into the seat, forcing the girl to remove her feet.
“We were on our way to the baggage car.”
“Oh no.” The girl was sitting forward. “Your friend’s wet himself.” She was pointing rudely at Sam’s soaking shorts.
“No,” said Sam. “There was an accident.”
“What do you mean, it’s a boys’ school? No one said to me it was a boys’ school, I was told it was for girls. Look, you—if you untuck your shirt, no one will see. Look at the state of you! Seriously, what is that?”
“Tea,” said Sam.
“Mainly hot water,” said Ruskin. “Look, shall I go down to the baggage car and get the spares?”
“You’ll have to take them off,” said the girl. “You can’t sit in soaking-wet shorts, you’ll get shrivelled. No one’ll see, we’ll dry them out of the window.”
“I can’t really do that,” said Sam.
“I had to do this once with a scarf when someone was sick—I had to wash it in the loo and then we tied it to the door handle between Bristol and Tiverton. It’s a warm day, you’ll be fine.”
Ruskin nodded and smiled: “You know, that’s not a bad plan, Sam. Because I’m not sure they’ll let us in the baggage car and even if they do, my shorts won’t fit you. This is all my fault, you know.”
“Then you can dry them,” said the girl. “What’s your name? Sam?”
“Yes.”
“Take them off and give them to your friend. Come on, nobody can see.” The girl was standing up, taking control. Her hand was thrust out and the train was slowing.
Sam feared disaster was on its way. After all, he’d lost a cap, he’d been bruised and scalded. The day had more bad luck in store, that was for certain. But he was one of those boys who found it hard to resist strong-minded people for fear of being thought rude. He struggled out of his shorts, pulling his shirttails down to his knees.
“Give us your tie as well. Then we can tie the shorts to the door just in case fat boy lets them go—a little safety device.”
This husky-voiced confident girl: Sam just couldn’t disobey. He took off his tie, feeling as if the world was conspiring to steal his whole uniform. At least he had the blazer—and that was the item his parents had saved for hardest. There was only one store in London where you could get them, and they’d only had an unclaimed special order in stock—a blazer, it seemed, that had been made for a small bear. “He’ll grow into it,” said the bored salesman, who’d realized straightaway that the Tack family was virtually penniless. The other option had been buying a small dinner jacket and stitching gold ribbons onto it. Sam’s mother was keen but her son had managed, politely, to make his opinion known, and they’d come home with the overcoat model. It was quite useful now, to wrap himself up in. He curled into the seat and watched the approach of Reading.
“Your friend is very strange,” said the girl.
Ruskin had disappeared into the toilet. He was intending to give the shorts a scrub and then devise the clothes drier.
“I was warned this was a freaky school,” said the girl. “I guess I should be glad if he’s the least freaky. What’s his name?”
“Jacob Ruskin.”
“My name’s Millie Roads. This is going to be my fifth school. Dad phoned the headmaster and told him the government would put a year’s fees up front if they’d take me straightaway.”
“Oh.”
“How old are you? You look like a gnome.”
“I’m twelve.”
“You’ve got a black eye coming—are you a fighter? I had this friend called Katie who could beat up anyone. I was trying to persuade her to come to this Ribblestrop place, because she got kicked out of the last school, same as me. She did aikido and flattened our housemaster. Then we trashed the place. I think you’ve got the skinniest legs I’ve ever seen.”
“I know.”
“I’m thirteen, by the way, so we won’t be in the same class. Katie was amazing! She could make bombs from soap powder. We put lighter fuel on
“Slung out of what?”
Millie snarled with impatience. “Your last school! The school before Ribbledee-whatever it is. Why did you leave, if it isn’t top secret?”
“I haven’t been expelled from anywhere.”
Millie stared a moment, then shrugged. “I thought this dump only took kids who’d been slung out—there’s this government scheme, isn’t there? My dad was told it had bars on the windows, that’s why he was sending me. Twenty-four-hour round-the-clock patrols and all that.”
“Ruskin said it was a normal school.”
“What’s he going to know about normal? You think he’s normal? Look—do you smoke, Sammy-boy? Silly question. I’m dying . . .”
The train was slowing to a stop. There was a clattering of doors and a few travelers made their way down the corridor.
“Reading,” said Millie. “Can you imagine living here?” She peered into the gray gloom beyond the station buildings.
“My uncle used to live in Swindon—”
“Set fire to the place, that’s what I’d do. A lot of very grateful people. Katie went to jail, by the way. I was the accessory, which just means the best friend—I held the pillow, closed the door. Can I ask you something, Sam? Who cuts your hair?”
“My hair?”
“Is English your first language?”
Sam blinked. “My mother cuts my hair.”
“Yes, you look a bit like a boy in one of those very old films. Tell you what, when we get to school I’ll get my razor and do you a real haircut. Have you visited this school? Have you seen it?”
“No,” said Sam. “I’ve seen pictures, but I haven’t been there. Look.”
Sam felt around in the folds of his jacket. The school prospectus was in a deep pocket, bent in half. He set it on the table and smoothed it out. It was a comforting sight after all the snippets of information from Ruskin, let alone the dark hints from this terrifying new girl. Sam was reassured to see the same honey-colored buildings that had impressed his parents so much. And the crest, with a lion and a lamb. The photographer must have been lying in the gravel: the main building loomed up like a cliff, with a fabulous tower climbing up to blue sky. On the next page, in an inset photo, a blond boy sat curled on the lawn reading a book. You could almost hear the birdsong. The headmaster was smiling in another corner, looking totally normal and completely in charge: not a man to let someone down, or dream up an elaborate hoax. A man in a gown, with a wise smile.
“They never sent us one of them,” said Millie. “The government pays for me, something about investing in me now so they won’t go bankrupt later on—that was my father’s joke anyway, and everyone laughed a lot. Hey, fat boy—you’re back . . .”
Ruskin was back. He wore a forlorn look, but the nickname Millie had invented stung him. He swiveled his head toward her.
“Would you be kind enough not to call me that? I’m not going to call you skinny girl or anything, so I think we could agree basic manners.”
“Basic manners? I’m just trying to be friendly.”
“Sam, there’s been an accident.”
Ruskin looked exhausted. He wormed into the chair opposite Millie. “It’s back to Plan B.”
“What Plan B?” said Millie. “What happened to Plan A?”
“Sam, I’m going to get some shorts for you from the baggage car, but I won’t be able to until we get to our station. Apparently, they don’t allow access to the freight during transit, or something like that. But I can run down to the baggage car and pretend—”
“What happened to Plan A?” said Millie, again.
Sam said: “Where are my shorts?”
“I was holding them out of the window.” Ruskin looked pained. “I had attached the tie. I think my mistake was choosing the very small window—I was using the one in the toilet, which doesn’t allow you the space you really need.”
“Oh my . . .” said Millie.
“Did you drop them?” said Sam, quietly.
“Yes, and unfortunately it wasn’t the platform side, or one could have just nipped out and picked them up. I chose the other side so as not to draw unwanted attention.”
“So your little friend’s shorts are down on the tracks?” said Millie.
“They are down on the tracks,” confirmed Ruskin.
“So jump down and get them.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You drop the boy’s shorts out of a window and you’re not going to jump down and get them? What sort of a friend are you?”
“You misunderstand me—the doors on that side of the train are locked.”
“Jump out the window. You can’t leave his shorts on the track.”
“I think they went on the electric rail. I really wouldn’t like to try to retrieve them—and in any case, there’s a hefty fine if you trespass on the railway.”
“This boy has his first day at a new school and he’s arriving half naked! Come on, Sam, let’s sort this out.”
Sam had sunk into his blazer. He felt the blood draining from his face, neck, and even his chest. He felt thin and weightless but surprisingly calm, as if all this had been foretold in a half-remembered dream. “Sam, get up!”
Millie’s hand yanked him to his feet and Ruskin rose to stand out of their way, protesting. “We’re about to leave the station, Sam—I feel awful about this, but is there anything we can do, really?”
“Yes, there is!”
As Millie spoke, the train humped forward: that movement that says: Sorry, everybody—your last chance to get off has just gone . . . She hauled Sam into the corridor and wrestled with the window, then leaned out and twisted at the door handle. Rails and sleepers were now rumbling past and, as Sam stared, the station was giving way to a large car park.
“It’s all right, Millie—”
“The door’s locked. Stop the damn train, it’s an emergency!”
“I think Plan B is quite workable, you know,” said Ruskin. “It’s foolproof, really.”
But Millie had one of those brains that gets fixed obsessively on the one idea. No doctor so far had been able to help. She marched back into the carriage and had the presence of mind to pick up her coat and bag. Then she reached up and pulled the emergency lever, holding firmly to the handrail as the train went into an instant spasm of emergency braking. Twenty-five miles an hour, if that—they hadn’t been going so very fast, but there was still plenty of dramatic lurching and screeching. Interestingly, the elderly thin woman with the awkward luggage was on her feet at that moment, rooting around in the overhead rack. She was still jabbering into a cell phone, which her chin crushed to her shoulder. But her agitation was increasing, and she was trying to drag the briefcase down from above while keeping the handbag open on her seat. She was already off balance, so the abrupt halt of the train sent her crashing to the floor, jarring her shoulder as she fell. This injury meant she didn’t report the disappearance of her purse, with its collection of credit cards, for a full two hours. She was forced to visit Reading General Hospital, and was separated from her luggage. All this meant substantial delay to the train and was how the new deputy headmistress of Ribblestrop Towers was prevented from taking up her new post for a further six days.
Of course, Millie, Ruskin, and Sam were unaware of this. They stood at the door and, as the locks sprung open, Millie heaved it open. The ground was a long way down, but she leaped nimbly onto the rails and stood staring up at a bewildered Sam.
“Hurry up!” she shouted. So Sam leaped too.
“Is this wis
They reached it not a moment too soon.
They hadn’t heard the train zooming in from the other direction and they certainly hadn’t seen it. The delayed 10:21, a through train from Bristol to London Paddington, was on the very track they’d stepped across, and the driver only saw three blurs of black and gold. The train missed the skinniest by ten centimeters. And the passengers in the now-to-be-seriously-delayed stationary train—the 11:14 to Penzance—were so horrified by the accident they thought they’d witnessed, there were several screams. For a full hour most people assumed the three children had been atomized. Because of this misunderstanding, nobody gave chase.
Chapter Three
“Follow me,” said Millie.
“My shorts are back there,” said Sam.
“I don’t think we can wait around. I think we need a new plan, a Plan C.”
“I think we need—” said Ruskin.
“And I am in charge of Plan C, Mr. Ruskin—is that your name?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Leave this one to me. We’ve got shopping to do and I want it done fast. You have not done well, Mr. Ruskin. It is only fair to let others have a chance.”
Millie was several paces ahead, her head rotating this way and that as she tried to get her bearings. They stepped over more rails up onto a sloping platform. In a moment they were out onto the main street, close to the station entrance. Millie hailed a taxi and the driver was so surprised he stopped. The children climbed in and the driver was still so surprised he drove on, ignoring the protests from those waiting at the taxi rank some fifty meters on.