Page 79 of A Class Act

Joel went on glaring at me but, as I continued to hold his eye, he eventually dropped his own. And then the penny dropped. What had Mason said about this kid not always being as accommodating as he had been when he’d jumped in as my minder that very first morning at St Mede’s?

‘Where d’you meet him, Joel?’ I asked softly. ‘Where did you first meet Peter?’ I still had to find out where Sorrel had come across him, but assumed it was at one of her previous ballet-class sessions. Had he persuaded her she was too good for that class and needed to have private sessions with him? ‘At a dance class?’

‘Never been to any dance class, miss.’ Joel shook his head in my direction. ‘Mum couldn’t afford it and Dad said I were a pansy even asking to go.’

‘So, here, then?’ I asked gently.

‘Here?’ Mason frowned. ‘Oh, right! You were delivering, Joel? And I assume not something to eat?’

Joel shrugged and glared at the pair of us. ‘Look, I need to get the dosh off him or… you know.’

‘Joel, we can help you, support you,’ Mason said, glancing up as Sorrel appeared at the top of the stairs, make-up removed, jeans and hoody back on instead of the ridiculous Eva Peron dress Collinson must have laid out for her.

‘No, you can’t,’ Joel said grimly and in some exasperation. ‘Of course you effing well can’t.’

‘’Lo, Joel.’ Sorrel made her way down towards him and I saw a look of recognition pass between the pair of them.

‘What happens if you don’t get the money for the dust from him, Joel?’ Mason was now asking, this boss of mine obviously au fait with the street lingo for cocaine.

‘What d’youthink?’ Joel scowled.

‘You’d better go and get it, then.’ Mason nodded and I immediately tried to intervene.

‘You can’t let him?—’

‘Ican, Robyn.’ Mason sighed. ‘Joel’s got the drugs on him. Whoever he’s working for won’t let him off what’s owing them.’ He turned to Sorrel. ‘Just go home with Robyn, Sorrel. Listen to what your sisters are telling you. They know about these things.’

‘Hang on, before you do that, Joel.’ I dashed upstairs to the kitchen where a white-faced Peter Collinson was pouring himself a glass of wine with a trembling hand.

‘This, Peter, is from my twelve-year-old self,’ I said calmly, aiming a kick at his balls. With no rusty razor to hand, a kick was as good a substitute as any.

‘What the fuck…?’ he began, bent double with pain. ‘I’ll have the police on you for assault.’

‘No, you won’t,’ I snapped right in his face, pulling at his hair and forcing him to look into my eyes. ‘It’s Robyn, Peter. Robyn Allen. All grown up, and a West End dancer to boot. You go to the police, but you’ll find I’ve already been there before you. I suggest you move on again before the police come knocking on your door…’

Collinson’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of some sort of recognition there, but I knew he didn’t really remember me. I was probably just one of many kids he’d groomed.

Back downstairs, I was expecting Sorrel to stick her heels in, to refuse to come back with me, but to my surprise she followed me. But not before glaring at Mason and then, to my surprise, leaning into Joel to kiss him.

‘How did you meet him?’ I asked, once we were in the car and heading back to Beddingfield.

‘At school.’

‘Atschool?’ I turned to Sorrel in absolute fury: the pervert had been hanging round school, taking his pick from the girls there?

‘Yeah, school. Duh. He does go to school.’

I stared. ‘Oh, Joel?’

‘Who d’you think I meant?’

‘Collinson.’

‘Why would Peter Collinson be at Beddingfield High?’ She gave me the look only a fifteen-year-old could give.

‘Joel Sinclair was at Beddingfield High?’

‘Yes. Course. That awful head, Ms Liversedge, kicked him out almost as soon as she arrived last Easter. Main reason I said I’d go to St Mede’s was because I knew Joel had ended up there.’

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