Page 3 of Everything That Kills Me
Over the summer, they’d moved house and Jack hadn’t been happy about that either. He’d liked where they’d been living for the last year, right on the edge of the Yorkshire moors, but as Thomas pointed out, the new place was close to the sea, had useful outbuildings, and the old house was still there for when it was needed. As were the other places where they’d lived, including houses in France and Switzerland. Thomas owned several properties and Jack suspected he didn’t know about all of them.
He hadn’t got off to the best of starts that morning. Thomas had lifted the knife from the inside pocket of Jack’s blazer andtsked.
“No weapons in school.”
“But—”
“Not in school. You’ll be suspended if they find it. Possibly expelled. After all we did to get you in? Not going to happen.”
“One of your rules is always be ready. The knife makes me feel ready.”
“Ready to make a fire, build a shelter, prepare food. Not needed at school. You have more suitable means of defending yourself, though I’m hoping you won’t need to. If you do, be careful not to go too far. No broken legs, dislocated arms or worse.”
Jack nodded. But what was he supposed to be learning that he couldn’t learn from Thomas, who kneweverything? Jack rarely asked a question Thomas couldn’t answer and if Thomas didn’t know how to do something, he employed experts who did.
Consequently, Jack was fluent in six languages: English, Russian, Arabic, French, Spanish and Farsi. He was good in three others. He’d read widely, fiction and non-fiction, and discussed every book he read with Thomas. They’d dissected poetry, been to the cinema, the theatre, the opera. He’d read a few of Shakespeare’s plays. Jack liked history, maths, geography and science. He didn’t particularly love chemistry but he knew what was safe and what wasn’t, understood how to make an explosive device from every day substances and how to defuse bombs.
What he’d learned over the last ten years had often been physically demanding, occasionally painful, and was ongoing. Thomas said neither of them would ever stop learning. Jack respected that. He knew how to fight, how to escape from handcuffs, when and where to hide, how to climb cliffs and scale buildings, he’d trained to hold his breath underwater for a long time, learned ways to open things most people couldn’t open. The list was endless and all of it with one purpose. To do his job and survive.
But Jack had never shown any interest in going to school. Nor had Thomas ever told him that one day that was where he’d go. But protesting it was a waste of time had got him nowhere. At least Thomas had let him choose the subjects he was to study.
“There’s always more to learn if you want to stay alive,” Thomas said.
Jack appreciated that, but still didn’t know what there was to help him at Fishbourne Academy.
Three
Zeph was almost at the bathroom when a sharp elbow dug into his side.
“Sorry. Desperate!” Alice called through the closing door.
So am I!As he stood rubbing his ribs, he saw Georgia coming towards him with that no-way-are-you-going-in-before-me look on her face, and he surrendered to the inevitable. Tomorrow, he’d get up earlier. He’d not had this problem for the last couple of months because he’d been the first up every day, but now the summer holidays were over, his stepsisters could no longer lounge in bed until midday.
After Zeph used the downstairs toilet, he headed for the kitchen. He slipped a slice of bread into the toaster and emptied the dishwasher. He was mostly looking forward to school, well…to the lessons, not the rest, but maybe things would be different this term.
The toast popped up and he dropped it onto a plate. His mouth watered as he spread a little too much butter and a thin smear of marmalade, exactly as he liked it. He was about to take a bite when his father, who’d appeared out of nowhere like a magician with immaculate timing, plucked it from his fingers and bit into it himself.
“Morning, Zeph. Don’t worry. I’ll put another slice in.”
Did that make it all right? No, but what was the point complaining? It wouldn’t change what had happened, nor would it stop it happening again. Zeph picked his battles carefully.
“All ready for school?”
“I might change out of my pyjamas.”
His dad laughed. “Probably a good idea. Hey, I want you to sign up for an afterschool sport this term, okay? Drop cross-country running and do football. You need to play in a team.”
No, I don’t.
“You should keep yourself in good shape. In case… Well…”
Shut up!
“Kids need something that makes them feel good about themselves.”
Why should his father choose thatsomethingfor him? Zeph was good at maths. Wasn’t that enough? “I’m useless at football.”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be in the first team.”
