Free Bad Company by Cathy MacPhail Page A

street was alive with people, brushing past me, rushing to catch buses, but suddenly, I felt very alone. ‘I’m so glad I met you. You can pass a message on to your dad. Tell him to give me a call, will you? Let me know how he’s getting on.’
    Doesn’t he realise I know they’ve been phoning each other? I didn’t say that, of course. I didn’t say anything .
    He asked how things were with me, but I only shrugged my shoulders. And then he said something that shocked me .
    ‘They’d be better if you were going to that Adler Academy though, wouldn’t they?’
    Does he know everything? Of course, he must. J.B. probably tells him .
    Though, when I got home, he pretended to be surprised when I told him. No, more than surprised, horrified. Good actor, J.B .
    ‘You met Magnus Pierce!’ he said and he grabbed me by the shoulders, looking all concerned. As I said, good actor .
    ‘Yes. And he insisted I tell you.’
    And he had. As he stepped back into the Mercedes he had said softly, ‘You take care going home now. These days you can’t be too careful.’ Then he smiled his bright white scary smile. ‘You make sure you tell your dad I was speaking to you.’
    ‘Don’t ever talk to him again,’ J.B. snapped at me .
    Who is he trying to fool? Does he think I haven’t noticed his suspicious behaviour?
    ‘Please, Lissa, Magnus Pierce is dangerous. I’m doing my best to protect you. If only you knew …’ He sounded so sincere I almost believed him, except that as soon as I was in the kitchen pouring myself some milk there he was back on the phone, his voice a whisper .
    I had passed the message on. ‘Get in touch, J.B.,’ Magnus Pierce had said. And he had .
    After that day, everything seems to have moved so fast. Like a rocket spiralling out of control. I remember the next day so well.
    I had never seen Murdo so smug. He strode up and down the class, saying nothing. Humming some tuneless Highland lilt. You always know when Murdo is angry. He bellows, he throws chalk around the room, he slams down his desk, spittle bursts through his clenched teeth. And his hair goes wild.
    And you always know when he’s happy. Because he hums tunelessly, just as he did that day. As we all trooped into his classroom he beamed at every one of us, even Diane and I. It was all very fishy. The whole class knew that something was in the wind but he waited until we were all seated before he decided to put us out of our misery.
    He rubbed his hands together, gleefully. ‘I have wonderful news. Wonderful news,’ he said in mounting excitement. And when Murdo got excited he could spit for Britain. ‘Our school has received a great honour. We should be very proud. The Council has chosen one of our number to design its new Millennium Logo. One of ournumber. Someone in this class. I wonder if any of you can guess who it is?’
    But we didn’t have to guess for long, because Murdo’s smile focused on only one person. Ralph Aird.
    ‘Come here, Ralph, and stand beside me.’ He opened his arms to welcome him and Ralph stood up sheepishly. He had a look on his face that was a cross between smugness and embarrassment.
    ‘Come here, Ralph,’ Murdo said, ‘and bask in some glory.’
    Ralph shuffled towards him.
    Murdo continued. ‘Our Ralph has been commissioned. Commissioned, mind you.’ He pointed a stubby finger at Harry Ball. ‘Tell me what commissioned means, boy!’
    Harry spluttered trying to think of an answer. ‘Is it something to do with a prison sentence, sir?’
    The class fell about laughing. Even Ralph Aird giggled.
    Murdo raised his eyes hopelessly. ‘You may be a whizz kid at maths, Harry, but your command of the English language is deplorable. Commissioned!’ he explained to us, with some extra spit, ‘in this case means he’s getting paid for his work!’ There was a gasp from the class.
    Ralph stood up straighter, pride written all over him. Murdo slapped him on the back. ‘Yes. We have a professional artist in