Inspector Stone Mysteries

2

“Come on, it’s time to go kayaking.”

Graham Banks lifted his eyes from the book he was reading and looked over to the doorway, where his best friend, Miles Winston, was standing. “I’m not going.”

“Why not?” Miles asked, stepping into the room and out of the path of the people hurrying along the passage on their way to the lake.

“You know water sports aren’t my thing, or sports of any kind,” Graham said. “I’m going to finish my chapter, then go for a walk. There’s supposed to be deer, hawks, and falcons around here. I want to see if I can get some pictures.”

Miles crossed to the bed and reached down to grab his friend’s arm to haul him to his feet, at which point he had to look up to meet Graham’s eyes.

They were friends, but aside from both being male and fifteen they were as different as two people could be.

Graham was tall for his age at five feet eleven, well built with a physique made for sports, and popular with everyone, especially girls. Despite his athleticism and popularity, he was bookish and much happier in his own company or in the company of his few close friends, and he preferred nature to the sports field.

Miles, on the other hand, was short for his age at barely five feet four, and so skinny that people thought him undernourished, which was not the case for he ate constantly and without concern for what he had. Despite his underwhelming physique, topped off by a face that could easily be a before in a commercial for acne cream, he enjoyed playing every sport he could, even if he was rarely more than average at them.

“Don’t be such a wuss. Come on down to the water and join in, you’ll enjoy it. Hell, you’ll probably be the best one there.” Miles was not prone to jealousy, but if he had been he would have been jealous of his best friend, for though he was indifferent to sport, Graham had a knack for them, and he excelled at every physical activity he could be talked into trying. He, on the other hand, had to work hard to be even half as good.

“No,” Graham said with a firm shake of his head. “I might go for a swim later, but I’m going for a walk once I’ve finished this chapter. Why don’t you go have fun. I know you’re dying to get down there with the girls so you can chat them all up.” He scowled at Miles until he left.

The moment he was on his own, he threw down his book and bent so he could grope under the bed. Pulling out his bag, he opened it and began rummaging through the contents until he found what he was after.

He took out the blister pack he had hidden in his socks and popped a couple of tablets out, swallowing them without pause. He then washed them down with a swig of the vodka he had stolen from the cabinet where his dad kept his booze, before slipping the bottle into his pocket.

Straightening up, he tucked his St Christopher back inside his t-shirt, annoyed as always that it fell out whenever he bent over, and sat down so he could pull on his boots.

The passage was empty as he left the room and made his way out of the dormitory style lodge at Open Spaces Activity Centre, which was a relief because he didn’t want to talk to or be seen by anyone.

The moment he stepped outside he saw everyone: the other pupils from Branchester Secondary School who were there with him, the activities director of the centre and his assistants, and the two teachers and two parents from Branchester who were there to chaperone the kids and make sure they behaved. Thankfully, none of them were looking his way.

Graham saw Coach Irish, the gym teacher and the man in charge of the trip to Open Spaces, looking around, almost certainly for him, and hurriedly darted for the boathouse, which would hide him from view. He kept the building between himself and the others, especially Coach Irish, until he reached the far corner.

Once there, he paused so he could peer out to check the coast was clear. He hurriedly ducked back when he saw that Coach Irish, with his uncanny knack for always seeming to know where to find him, was looking towards the boathouse.

Graham stayed where he was for more than a minute, afraid he had been seen, but when there was no sign of his least favourite teacher, not even a call for him to show himself, he risked another look around the corner of the building.

He was relieved to both see and hear that Coach Irish was too busy dealing with another student to worry about where he was or what he was doing. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Neil Benson, the student on the receiving end of Coach Irish’s temper, having felt it himself on numerous occasions, but was glad it wasn’t directed at him that time.

The memory of the last verbal assault he had received made him reach into his pocket for the bottle of vodka. He gasped as the spirit burned its way down his throat but felt a little better as he put the bottle away.

Since he was not being observed, he felt safe to leave the shelter of the boathouse and head for the woods that surrounded Open Spaces Activity Centre. He moved at a fast walk, afraid that moving more rapidly would draw attention, and slipped between a pair of beeches when he reached the trees and out of sight of anyone who might be looking in that direction.

The moment he entered the woods Graham felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had always found it relaxing to be surrounded by nature, and just then was no exception. The further into the woods he walked, the better he felt, as though all his cares were being washed away by the birdsong and the whispering of the breeze through leaves and bushes.

If it had been possible, he would have stayed there forever, living a simple life without anything to worry about or anyone to bother him.