Free Ribblestrop by Andy Mulligan

for one thing. Who sleeps here, apart from you?”
    â€œLook at him, man,” said Sanchez. “He’s yellow.” Sam’s eyes were wide open. He was staring at the ceiling, licking his lips. “Sam? Are you awake?”
    â€œWhere am I?” whispered Sam.
    â€œYou’re at school, okay?” said Sanchez. “You had an accident. Hey, Millie: he’s hot. We need water or something. Do you want to go downstairs and get the captain?”
    Millie sat down heavily on the nearest bed. She had a cigarette between her lips, but the lighter had disappeared. “I’m not a nurse,” she said. “The cook said he’d be fine—I’d leave him alone if I were you.” She put her feet up on the bed and found what she was looking for. From her breast pocket she extracted a thick silverlighter and lit up expertly. Lying back on the pillow, she inhaled and blew a smoke ring.
    â€œEverything’s . . . watery,” whispered Sam. “I can’t see properly, I don’t . . .”
    â€œ Millie! ” said Sanchez. He was torn between his patient and the strange, dangerous girl. He wiped Sam’s forehead under the bandage, but his attention was caught by another plume of smoke. Then he saw the cigarette lighter. Millie had put it on the little chest of drawers next to the bed. “That’s my father’s,” he said.
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œThat lighter.”
    â€œYes, he gave it to me.”
    â€œHe gave it to you? That’s the one my mother had made for him.”
    â€œDo you want a cigarette?”
    â€œNo, I don’t. And I told you, we don’t do this here.”
    Millie blew a smoke ring. “You don’t do much, do you, Sanchez?”
    â€œWhen did he give you his cigarette lighter? How come I didn’t see?”
    â€œSome time at the wine bar. You must have been kissing good-bye to your bodyguards.”
    â€œI don’t believe you. You’re very insulting, and I don’t think—”
    â€œYou’re calling me a liar?”
    Sanchez stood up and moved toward Millie. Sam moaned again, but he ignored it. “I’m asking you if you stole my father’s lighter. My mother gave him that; I think it’s unlikely he gave it to you.”
    â€œI think Sam needs you, Sanchez.”
    â€œYes or no, did you steal it?”
    â€œLook at him—he’s trying to get his bandage off.”
    Sanchez turned and saw that it was true. Sam was sitting up now, in panic. His hands were fluttering around the dressing on his head. “Where’s Mum?” he said. His eyes were focusing now and he looked in terror from Sanchez to Millie.
    â€œNot here,” said Millie. “You’re all alone.”
    â€œWhere am I?” said Sam. “I want my dad!”
    â€œMemory loss,” said Millie. “He should be in a hospital; he’s going to die on us.”
    â€œWe need help ,” said Sanchez. “Go and get the headmaster.”
    Millie came forward and leaned over the injured boy. “You got hit,” she said, slowly and loudly. “You got your skull cracked, all on your first day.”
    Sam yelped, his right hand clutching his head.
    Millie put the cigarette between her lips and forced him down. “Don’t touch your bandages, you twit!”
    â€œHey, be gentle! You’re breathing smoke on him, Millie, leave him alone!”
    Sanchez could stand it no more. He moved in swiftly and snatched Millie’s wrists, yanking them away from Sam. Then he swung her away from the bed, toward the door. “Go and get the headmaster,” he said.
    â€œSanchez, I told you not to touch me—get your hands off!”
    â€œWe need help, and you need to leave him alone . . .”
    â€œGet off me, Sanchez, I’m warning you!”
    Her hands were behind her back, her arms twisted. She could feel Sanchez’s strength,