Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Obviously, I was going to ignore his wishes. Who gets a letter like that and just says, "Oh, OK then, it sounds like you might be really nice and you clearly think I am, which is frankly amazing by itself, but I'll just leave it"?

I had a free first thing on Tuesday, so I was straight in the library. The plan: I'd write a new message in Wildflowers, show him that he might be saying goodbye, but I certainly wasn't. And if he really meant any of the stuff he'd said in that letter, then surely he wouldn't be able to resist one more look in the book itself? I couldn't guarantee it, of course, but I reckoned it was a good bet.

But Wildflowers of Great Britain wasn't there.

Gone.

My chest tightened. It was always, always there. I checked the books either side, and either side of that – maybe one of us had shoved it back in the wrong place in a hurry – but no. Checked the shelves either side, above, below … round the corner … nothing.

He'd taken it.

If the book didn't exist, nor did we.

He was erasing us.

I wanted to kick something. What the hell do I do now?

Nothing. There was nothing I could do.

"Jamie, you're giving up too easily," Electra said, appearing from behind one of the shelves. "Perhaps you need a different strategy? Wave Warriors is all about strategy* – you could learn a lot from me."

I stared at her. Don't keep me dangling, then!

"You know someone else took the book out before you because it was stamped," she continued. "If it was stamped, there must be a record on the computer. It wouldn't be definitive evidence of anything, of course, but it would be a very strong lead – especially if the name matches up with one of your chief suspects." Then, just like that, she vanished.

"Holy fuck, Electra," I muttered. "Of course!"

Cut to: me, Jamie Hampton, standing in front of Mrs C's desk, doing his very best nonchalant acting, as though none of this was an issue and he wasn't remotely bubbling over with excitement.

JAMIE:Mrs C? Hi. Would it be possible to have a look at the lending records in order to find out who took the book you recommended out before I did? It might be someone I can fall in love with, you see?

MRS C:Of course, Jamie! No problem.

[She merrily taps away at the computer keyboard and squints at the screen.]

MRS C:Ah, yes! Here's a name you might recognize, it's—

Cut to: actual reality.

"Let me stop you there, Jamie," Mrs C said. "I can't."

My eyes widened.

"A fundamental principle of librarianship is a reader's right to privacy," she continued.

"OK, but—"

"Some people might not want other people to know they're into wildflowers. Some people might be unsure and might just have wanted to read about them to test the water. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"OK, but what if they left notes saying they were interested in wildflowers and wanted to know if anyone else was?"

A smile spread across Mrs C's face. "Oh god, did they?!"

And a smile spread across mine. We both knew what we were talking about, and she was fine with it. More than fine – she seemed excited.

"Well, Jamie, I think that's wonderful news. I think it's brilliant."

Those words meant more than she would ever know.

"But still, the answer's no."

My smile dropped. I glanced at the computer again. So close, and yet so far.

"The person you're looking for might not be on the system, anyway. Some people scan it out like every other book because that feels safest to them, especially if it's in a stack of other books, but I deliberately turn a blind eye to students who take the book but don't, for obvious reasons, want to officially check it out."

Electra was immediately by my side. "Hang on. You checked it out."

"Some students just quietly take it, you see."

"But not you," Electra said. "In fact, Mrs C checked the book out for you."

"There's no magnetic strip in Wildflowers, so it doesn't set off the alarm," she continued.

"Ask her!" Electra insisted.

"But I checked the book out!" I bleated.

Mrs C opened her mouth, but then froze.

"I know you did, Jamie Hampton," said a voice behind me. "That's exactly why I've come to find you."

I spun around.

Mrs Prenton was staring at me.

"How fortuitous I should find you so quickly," she said, giving me a smile laced with poison. "My office. Now."

I met Mrs C's eyes. They were wide. Worried.

"Oh, kiddo," Electra said. "Oh dear. This is bad, bad, bad."

I turned back to Mrs Prenton who was gesturing for me to walk.

Cut to: me, Jamie Hampton, not a hero, but a shackled convict in orange overalls, handcuffed, being led to his fate down an austere, clinical, institutional corridor. He passes cell doors, the sounds of banging from within and shouts of "QUEER!" and "BENDER!" Head bowed, he walks on, his jailer saying nothing.

Fantasy or reality? It was hard to say. Electra scurried up behind me, juggling court papers, law books and a briefcase. "Something about you do not have to say anything, but anything you do say can definitely screw you over, so probably best to shut up?"

Shutting up was one option. Denying everything was another.

Minutes later, I was standing in front of Mrs Prenton's desk while she glanced me up and down. "Tell me about Wildflowers of Great Britain, Jamie," she said.

She fixed me with an emotionless stare while I froze.

Questions: how did she know? How much did she know? Why did she know? Why did it matter? Who told her? She wouldn't just know about it, someone must have said something.

Answers: shit shit shit.

I swallowed.

Her stare didn't waver.

She was enjoying this.

And every second of hesitation was another step away from being able to plausibly deny everything and plead innocence.

"I … don't really know. I … took it out but never had time to read it."

That was, I kid you not, the first time I'd ever lied to a teacher.

Mrs Prenton nodded thoughtfully. "Quite a niche subject area, isn't it? Wildflowers?"

"I … suppose?"

"And you're doing English, history and economics, so it's not relevant to any of your A levels…"

I met her eyes then quickly looked away.

If I hadn't read it, I hadn't read it. She couldn't prove I had.

"No matter," she said. "I checked the lending records first thing this morning and it seems you weren't the only young man to check the book out recently…"

Why did you check the lending records?

"Hopefully we'll get to the bottom of this inexplicable interest in wildflowers amongst a certain cohort of sixth-form boys," she continued. "We'll see if your co-conspirator can shed any light on all this."

I stared at her. Then I looked around. Well … where was he, then? Who was he? Was this … him? Was I about to meet him?

The phone on her desk rang. "Yes?" she said down the handset.

I watched her, straining to hear the voice on the other end.

"Excellent. You can send him in."

She replaced the handset and gave me another poisoned smile. "Here he is now, Jamie."

So, this is it, folks. The big reveal. Did you manage to guess? Did you spot the clues, ignore the red herrings and work it out? You know a good way of hiding who someone is from a reader is to make sure you don't give them much screen time, right? Bit of a cheat that, I always think. Oh well.

The prickle of fear in my stomach was replaced by the fizz of anticipation.

The wait felt like a million years.

Eventually, I heard the squeak of the doorknob being turned.

This was it.

The moment.

This was Mystery Boy.

The door swung open.

And in he walked.

*Not really true – it was mainly about hitting one another with giant inflatable … um, oars?