A cameraman has got himself together enough to join his female colleague. As he balances the heavy equipment on his shoulder, I stare down the lens.
“My name is Esme Margaretta Henson. Allain and Marnie Black abducted me from state care a decade ago and have been illegally holding me ever since.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
SEB
One YearLater
I stare out the window as the economics teacher drones on about the relative square metreage of carpark versus shopping areas in malls. Friday afternoon is such a bad time to retain information, I don’t understand why they bother having class.
It’s hard to believe I have another six months of this before I’m finally free of the shackles of secondary school. Getting stood back a year might have been great for my sporting career, but it hasn’t budged my appetite for learning; small to start with and shrinking with every second.
Still, afternoons of boredom are a small price in exchange for everything Kingswood has provided.
When news of the mansion fire and physical assaults first hit the news, I felt certain I’d be kicked to the curb. Instead, the moment a journalist put the words, ‘a student of Kingswood College,’ after my name, the school had wrapped protective arms around me. After a minor jostle, they included Esme in the hug.
Not that she’s still trapped in these endless classes. She escaped to tertiary education earlier this year, attending on a mix of grants and loans that gave me palpitations at first, seeing that much debt, but which are now barely needed.
My income has skyrocketed in the past year. New sponsors and the branding deal that came along with making the permanent team.
Far more importantly, behind the scenes, strings were pulled in our favour.
The fire chief went first, dismissing the idea that we were firebugs with his report of how an overturned patio heater had accidentally ignited a nearby canister of lighter fuel, set aside for the outdoor barbeque.
A story I didn’t think would fly, but barely rated a second glance from anyone in authority.
The police backed off, the press kept selling our version of the story, and after five months in limbo, the verdict came in that there would be no charges laid against us.
Free and clear. This corruption lark is sure comfy when you’re on the right side of it.
The battered hosts and guests would have been harder to explain away. Thankfully, Allain did everyone the gigantic favour of taking an overdose his first night in hospital.
Once news of his death broke, Richard stepped forward as a witness, claiming Allain beat Maxwell senseless; a story that Marnie’s clamped lips have neither confirmed nor denied.
Since the man in question is pretty much a vegetable, he’s certainly never going to contradict the claim.
Esme ran with it. Although I’d still love to track down and slaughter every man who ever laid a finger on her, she’s been much more forgiving.
As long as they can never do it to anyone else, has become her unofficial motto. Not catchy, but I know as well as anyone how vengeance can tear you apart.
I shift in my seat again, wondering if the teacher will notice if I turn my phone on, trying to remember if I had the good sense to put it on silent before switching it off, then figuring I can last five minutes.
The moment time is up, I’m out of there, halfway down the corridor before the bell stops ringing. I angle across the quad, heading straight for the gym.
“Practice isn’t for an hour yet, Clarkson,” Coach Welter calls out from his office. “You don’t get extra points for being early.”
“It’s Friday night. Where else am I gonna go?” I stop in the doorway of his room, teasing, “Thought you might let me go a little early, since we’re only running drills.”
“Only. That’s the backbone of everything I teach you and you call it only.” He rolls his eyes, continuing to play with the board in front of him, moving magnets around to simulate the game we struggled with last weekend. “You heard back from Robson, yet?”
“Like you wouldn’t know the moment he did,” I scoff. A call from a Super Rugby selector is something very high-performing dreams are made of. “I’d be yelling. Besides, he’s far more likely to call your number than mine.”
I slip into the back to slowly warm up with some yoga poses. The difficult stretches aren’t pretty to look at but they’re good to ease my muscles into a workout.
A close call with a hamstring tear left me paranoid about injury. Becoming the most flexible version of myself I can be works to relieve that, even if it does mean I take longer to get ready—even for practice.
It’s weird to think how my game only improved because of my obsession with Esme. If it hadn’t been for the raging desire to follow her, to show her running away was pointless, I can’t imagine I would ever have devoted enough time to the sport.
