‘Armed police are coming.’
‘There’s been shots inside Old School.’
‘Are any children hurt?’
‘A few minutes ago.’
‘Has anyone been hurt?’
‘I thought he was in the woods, by the gatehouse.’
‘Must be more of them.’
‘He’s in the corridor.’
Beth, a slender five foot two, not a pusher or shover, is at the front, elbows outwards, facing a police officer. ‘I have to get to the school. My son’s in there.’ A right of entry, because who can argue with that? The police officer looks at her like everyone else here has said the same thing.
‘We’re asking relatives to go to The Pines Leisure Centre, outside Minehead. Do you know how to get there?’
But how can she possibly leave him?
‘A police officer at the leisure centre will update parents with information.’
She’s torn between not wanting to leave the place where he is and wanting to be told he’s okay; that he’s safe. She walks back to her car, the icy ground slippery under her shoes, other parents also returning to their cars.
She hadn’t noticed the snow falling, covering her hair and shoulders, but as she drives away, the snow melts, dripping down her neck inside her collar, off her sensibly cut hair and on to her hands, and she feels like she’s abandoning him.
The trees and roads and hedges are being covered in snow, making the familiar landscape unrecognizable.
A text buzzes from Zac.
Hey Beth, J-me went 2 CDT room 2 get cauldron
He’s not safe in the theatre with Zac and his friends. Not safe.
* * *
In the library, Frank is in the alcove furthest from the door, crouched under a Victorian table that’s bolted to the floor, one hand pressing his mobile against his left ear as he talks to his mum. He has his mobile and laptop with him, even though they’re not allowed in the library, jittery if he’s away from his technology. His other hand is over his right ear to try to block out the sound of the footsteps. They make him feel breathless, like they are hands squeezing his throat. His twin sister, Luisa, is in the theatre, safe.
Feeling a coward, treacherous, he pretends to his mum that he’s almost out of charge and ends the call, because at some point it stopped being her comforting him and turned into him comforting her and he just couldn’t do that any more. He hands his phone to Esme, crouched next to him.
There are thirteen of them in here and to start with it had been almost fun in a weird kind of way, it was all Code red!! Lockdown!! like they were starring in a Netflix series, but now Mr Marr’s been shot and footsteps are walking up and down and it’s something that makes you terrified and small and huddled into yourself.
He looks up at the shuttered windows, too narrow for a person to get through and too high up. Even if they could fit, it wouldn’t do any good. There were gunshots earlier near the gatehouse – back when it was all dramatic and exciting and not frightening, before it really began – so there’s another gunman out there, maybe more than one, and no cover on the lawn. Frank thinks of deer running and a sniper picking them off, and hunches down, as if he can make himself even smaller, as if that will help.
Hannah is with Ed and David; they’re helping Mr Marr and talking to the ambulance people and piling up books against the door. He hates himself for not being brave like them. A nerd, he says to himself, a computer nerd, what do you expect? Furious with himself. Hannah is splattered in blood and just wearing a bra and he’s never seen anyone so impressive in his life before. He’s had a crush on her since Year 7, something delicate and gentle and secret. Other boys wouldn’t understand, they don’t think she’s pretty. Rafi does though; Rafi thinks she’s gorgeous. Lucky Rafi.
Hannah checks Mr Marr’s head wound. It’s not bleeding as much but he’s getting paler.
The footsteps have stopped for almost a minute, he’s just standing still in the corridor. What is he waiting for?
On her phone David is saying ‘but how soon?’ and ‘he needs help right away’, like he doesn’t trust them to get an ambulance here as fast as they can.
She hardly has any charge left and all the time David talks to the 999 people the percentage left for Dad and Rafi ticks down, which sounds a bit ‘last dance on the Titanic’ but on this ordinary school morning is true; she’d called goodbye up the stairs to Dad, didn’t kiss him, didn’t even see him.
In the corridor, he’s started moving again, coming closer towards them: click-click click-click. Why couldn’t he have worn trainers and been stealthy? She’d choose stealthy over this, like some deadly kind of tinnitus. He must’ve bought boots with metal in the heels specially. Must’ve known it would make people feel like she does. Arsehole.
David hands her back her phone. ‘Sorry,’ he says because there’s no charge left. ‘They didn’t say when the ambulance will get here.’
There’s a mobile being handed round at the back of the library and maybe they should take it but surely the ambulance will get to them as quickly as possible, surely you don’t need to chase up an ambulance when your headmaster’s been shot; and people also really need to talk to their parents.
She doesn’t notice Frank coming over until he’s crouching down next to them. He has a laptop with him; she’d never had him down as a law-breaker.
‘There might be something on the news that’ll tell us what’s happening,’ he says. ‘Maybe about help coming.’
‘Brilliant,’ she says to him.
Tap-tap go Frank’s fingers, confident once he’s at a keyboard, a different person. He must have 4G on his laptop because there’s no Wi-Fi in here, part of Mr Marr’s drive to get them all to read books in the library.
He brings up BBC News 24 with the sound muted, as if the gunman in the corridor might forget about them if they make no noise. Hannah can see from the screen that all the news is about their school. Even the bit at the bottom, running like a tickertape, which normally has other news, is just about them.
… shots in the school grounds … 47 secondary school children and 7 members of staff known to be still in the school … 140 junior school children and their teachers are unaccounted for … unconfirmed reports of an explosion at 8.20 this morning … police not giving more information …
‘Junior school’s okay though, right?’ Ed says.
‘They’re a mile away from the road,’ Frank says. ‘And surrounded by woods. So the gunmen probably don’t even know they’re there.’
Frank seems newly bold to Hannah, crouching close to her and Mr Marr.
‘Anything about a rescue?’ David asks. ‘An ambulance?’
‘No,’ Frank says. Hannah thinks he sees her disappointment. ‘But I was being stupid before. I mean, the police aren’t going to say on telly, are they? They’ll keep it secret.’
‘What about the man in our corridor?’ Ed asks.
‘Not yet. But it’ll be the same thing; they won’t say.’
An aerial picture of their school comes up on the screen.
‘Must have a drone with a camera,’ Ed says. ‘A local journalist maybe. Or someone’s sent it to them.’