‘Mmmm.’ He wasn’t impressed. I know it’s only a simple photocopy job, no colours, no trendy graphics, but it states my name, number and business. He sighed and turned over the card, sighed again. I felt like I’d handed in the wrong homework.
‘You can ring Mrs Hobbs if you want to confirm my identity.’
I was getting rattled by his attitude.
‘It’s okay,’ he smiled. It wasn’t much of an improvement. ‘Just testing. Well, Martin’s not been in for a month or so. I asked the secretary to ring home after a couple of weeks. Family said he’d left. End of story.’
‘Did Martin ever say anything to you, give you any idea?’
He laughed. ‘Martin wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Chronically shy.’
‘Friends?’
He grimaced and sucked on his pipe. ‘Not really. Bit of an odd bod, really. Tended to get left with the other spare parts, you know. Could try Barry Dixon or Max Ainsworth. He usually had to sit next to one or the other of them in his classes.’
‘Where can I find ‘em?’
‘Barry’ll be in the library – back of main building, then ask. Bright as they come and twice as loopy. No social skills, you’ll see what I mean. Don’t know where you’ll find young Ainsworth. Hiding, no doubt. Still, that shouldn’t bother you, eh? Elementary, my dear.’ He gave a wheezy laugh. I smiled but I wasn’t amused.
‘Did Martin have any favourite subjects? Any other teachers he might have confided in?’
‘Nope. He scraped through a couple of his mocks, GCSEs. Didn’t shine at anything. Kept his head down. Could ask Julia over there,’ he waved his pipe. ‘The skinny one. Religious studies, encourages the wall flowers, stands up for the underdog. Bit of a social worker.’
Julia wasn’t much help. She confirmed Martin’s shyness, described him as a loner and rued the fact that he’d never confided in her in or out of the classroom.
I made my way back to the school library. It was pretty full. Exams, I suppose. I was directed to the small cubicles at the back of the room. There I discovered Barry Dixon. When he began to talk, I realised what Russ O’Brien had been getting at. The boy’s speech was spattered with asides, tangents, classical and philosophical references and quotations. He also spoke incredibly fast, like Patrick Moore on speed. He only ever broke eye-contact to blink and he broke all the rules about personal space, so I felt as though he was hemming me up against the wall of the tiny cubicle. I asked Barry if he knew where Martin had gone, if he knew why he was unhappy and if he’d ever talked of a place or people he’d like to visit. I drew three blanks in amongst the barrage of chatter.
