Survivor Read online

  It was that prize which was the second domino on the path to disaster.

  I had been given a free place on something called Ultimate Bushcraft. Previous winners had gone on other adventure holidays, mainly to places like the Lake District, or sometimes Spain, I think. But Ultimate Bushcraft was by far the most generous holiday ever to have been awarded. It was a free trip to the north of Australia to experience the outback and do all sorts of outdoor stuff. I can’t pretend I didn’t think that was incredible. I’d always liked that sort of thing.

  ‘That’s unbelievable!’ gasped my parents. Turkey was the furthest we’d ever been on holiday.

  I was really happy, but I did think at the time that it was a pity that there was only one place. I would have settled for any one of my friends going with me: Louis would have been the obvious choice, but going with Jess would have been great too (though my parents would have been suspicious and her parents, although they’re nice, would never have allowed it). But this was for one person only, for just over two weeks, in the summer holidays.

  Later, I was pleased the others didn’t come because it would have been even worse if anything had happened to them.

  I wish I could go back in time and refuse the offer.

  ‘This will be something you’ll never forget, young man,’ said the mayor.

  How right he was.

  [Here ends the second part of George’s statement]

  THE OTHER CHAPTER 2

  (SAID IN THE HOUR BEFORE):

  HIM

  LISTEN.

  LISTEN.

  LISTEN.

  Ultimate Bushcraft. Stupid name. Making something cool by putting the word Ultimate in front of it. And bushcraft makes me laugh. Bush! Get it?

  It was meant to be character building for me. Character building – what a JOKE!!! My character is like a machine in my chest. It’s a machine with wires that go through my body.

  The real joke was that the last straw was getting caught stealing from a shop the day after I had done someone in. What an absolutely hilarious coincidence.

  Not that I had intended to kill Jimmy. That one was just a joke that went a bit too far. I remember him just before he fell, about halfway down the cliff, just before the vertical bit, crapping himself with fear. Anyone would have thrown rocks given the situation.

  Stop staring. Staring makes me angry.

  AS I WAS SAYING, it was the stealing that was the last straw. The laugh-my-arse-off-funny thing is that it was a chicken that I got caught stealing. A chicken. ROFL. FROFL. It was still a mental thing to get caught with up my jumper.

  I’m pregnant – that’s what I said to the copper who shouldn’t have been in the shop anyway. I’m pregnant, and then pulled out this chilled chicken. It’s a girl, I said.

  You can laugh.

  You should laugh right now.

  He asked me how it got there. That must be the most stupid question.

  It must have flown up there by accident, I said.

  Go on – laugh.

  He made me put the chicken back in the fridge. ‘Put it back, son.’

  Son? How stupid.

  Then he took me home and that’s when my grandparents got involved. It was a billion to one chance that they were there.

  They wanted me to be part of Ultimate Bushcraft for character building. Some bloke at church had told them about it. Typical do-gooders.

  Mum didn’t care. She just wanted her medicine, as she calls it. ‘Whatever, whatever . . .’ That was her contribution.

  Dad thought it should be beaten out of me. ‘I can knock some sense into him – he’s not too old for that. Three days locked in the small room drinking piss will teach him.’

  But Nana and Granddad didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What he needs is character building,’ they said. ‘Something to bring out his good side. Something to focus on.’

  (And did I find something to focus on.)

  I should just have been left to get on with my life.

  But Bushcraft was the least bad thing. It was either that or leave home. And I didn’t like the thought of sleeping on the streets.

  But that’s enough about me.

  GEORGEY was there because of that fire crap. What a stupid thing to do – run into a building and rescue some dumb kid and his even dumber mother who should have been barbecued.

  But I never told anyone why I was really on Ultimate Bushcraft. I made up a stupid story. I just saw the opportunity, being quick when it comes to good opportunities. If I played along nicey-nicey, I could really show them who was BOSS.

  And I think you’ll agree that’s what I did.

  STATEMENT #2:

  JESSICA MONROE

  Hello, my name’s Jess, and I’m George’s girlfriend. I can’t believe what’s happened – the George I know wouldn’t do those things.

  What was he like? He was just . . . George. He was always the same. Always looking out for me, helping me with stuff. Always really calm.

  He was really nice with everything. You know what some boys are like, jealous, or trying to get you to do stuff before you’re ready, but not George. He’s different. He wasn’t a wimp, but he didn’t try to be all macho.

  [Jessica Monroe became upset at this point and there was a pause in the delivery of the statement.]

  You’ve asked me to talk about what he was like before he went on the trip to Australia, and whether he was behaving strangely at all, or whether he mentioned anything to me. He did say that he didn’t want to go on his own – I think he probably would have been quite happy not to go at all – but he was positive about it being a really good experience.

  The worst thing he ever did? Well, he could be a bit lazy when it came to homework, I suppose, but that’s partly because he was really clever, and he sometimes forgot to do stuff. But there was never anything like what you’re saying he’s done.

  I know that he couldn’t have had all of that hidden away in his brain. I knew him as well as anyone, probably better than Louis, and I didn’t notice anything. He’s one of a kind. I’m sure of that. Really, I’m sure. I’m totally sticking by him, and I’d still trust him with my life.

  CHAPTER 3

  (NINE DAYS BEFORE):

  THE THIRD PART OF GEORGE’S STATEMENT

  Ultimate Bushcraft was a small company but seemed really well organized. Everyone on the trip was from England, but it was ‘crewed’ (everything had a special lingo) by Australians – the ‘Ozbods’, as we were encouraged to call them.

  It was an all-boys group: Ultimate Bushcraft ran girls’ trips alongside ours, and we’d been promised two or three meetings with the girls, but the ‘teams’ hiked and did most things separately. The distance from home didn’t bother me at all – Southend is only a telephone call away, after all. I was excited, but a bit worried about fitting in (or was I? Maybe that’s something I’ve made up after looking back?).

  I was last to arrive at Heathrow. I felt awkward as I walked over – I even wonder whether everything started badly because there was a broken-down lorry on the motorway that made us late. Conversation suddenly stopped and seven boys clambered to their feet. A few of them casually said things like ‘Hi’ or ‘Wassup’ or ‘G’day’, and two tanned men in their early twenties grinned.

  ‘Mate,’ said one. ‘I’m Jason.’ In board shorts, flip-flops and a loud T-shirt, he was like a pantomime Aussie. He wiped his brow and ran his hand through ginger hair. ‘Strewth, this is hotter than back home. Meet the rest of the crew.’ He waved theatrically at the seven other boys.

  Toby seemed to be the senior partner, the reliable one. I sensed Mum and Dad relax as they sized him up. ‘G’day,’ he said.

  ‘Have a great time, and text us when you have signal,’ Mum said.

  ‘And watch out for the Sheilas,’ Dad said, winking.

  ‘Now, say bye-bye to Mum and Dad, George,’ Jason said.

  I gave them both a hug, clumsily, as everyone was watching, and noticed that they held on for slightly longer
than usual. They walked away, turning and waving every few paces until the automatic doors to the terminal closed behind them, and they were gone.

  ‘Bye, Mummy; bye, Daddy,’ was chimed seven-fold from behind Jason, mockingly. This was clearly the final performance of a custom.

  No sooner had they left than my phone rang. It was Jess.

  ‘So you’re missing me already,’ I whispered, turning away from the group. She said some soppy stuff (which I liked, of course). I mumbled about missing her and looking forward to getting back.

  The other guys seemed a bit restless so after about a minute I turned and mouthed SORRY!

  One second after I’d finished the call, Jason clapped his hands. ‘Right, team,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to Oz!’

  But my phone was ringing again (Louis, this time) – I again turned away, distracted. I’m pretty sure someone groaned and tutted, but I was distracted by Louis’s massively over-the-top spiel about how empty his life was going to be with me away in Australia.

  Most of the guys had moved off, but behind me one remaining person spoke. A friendly voice? ‘Hey, don’t forget your bag.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ve got it,’ I mumbled, not thinking about who I was talking to, in between ending the call with Louis. Then I grabbed my hand-luggage – a rucksack – and dragged my case (weighed that morning to be exactly the airline’s load limit) haphazardly behind me.

  We stood in line while Toby negotiated with a woman in a smart uniform. She then read our names off his list, asking us to present passports and luggage in turn. Eventually, she said, ‘Matthew Lough.’

  ‘Matt,’ said the boy I was standing with, glancing at me. ‘It’s Matt. And it’s Luff, not Lock.’

  ‘I’m George,’ I said. We hadn’t exchanged names, although we’d been chatting.

  Matt nodded, as if committing mine to memory while he manoeuvred his case forward. He told me he was on the trip for similar reasons to me: he’d saved a boy who had been trapped on a cliff by climbing up to him, calming him down and calling the police, who’d brought the fire brigade. Matt seemed pretty regular – a normal kid who’d somehow got caught up in something extraordinary without really realizing it. Just like me.

  Next it was my turn.

  ‘Can I see your passport, love?’ and, ‘Did you pack your own bag?’ and, ‘Can you plonk that on the machine?’ all passed in a blur.

  ‘Don’t strain yourself,’ muttered a boy with a deep voice a few feet behind as I heaved the case on to the conveyor belt.

  Toby frowned at him. ‘Thank you, Nick. George doesn’t need your input.’ He gave me a smile that suggested we were on the same side.

  Nick breathed out deeply and stared ahead, his narrow eyes unblinking. He was tall with wiry brown hair and wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans.

  I was chatting to Matt again as we arrived at Security. Toby gave the lot of us a pretty firm talk about being sensible and doing exactly what we were told.

  To avoid trouble, I placed everything that could possibly set off the scanner into the tray. Everything from my pockets, as well as my belt, shoes, even a bit of tissue from my back pocket that had apparently been through the washing machine. But I still glanced at the archway as I went through to check that the light was green.

  Almost immediately the X-ray machine next to me flashed red and two or three extra security people stepped forward.

  ‘Is the blue rucksack yours?’ a woman said to Matt, holding the offending bag at arm’s length like a rotting fish. I knew it wasn’t. Matt’s was plastered in Arsenal red. ‘Blue with a Southend United badge?’

  ‘It’s mine,’ I stammered, feeling my face redden as Toby dashed back to see what the problem was.

  ‘Please step to one side,’ said the woman tome. She then turned aggressively to Toby. ‘Are you the boy’s father?’ It was a daft thing to say. Toby didn’t look remotely old enough to be my father. ‘Brother?’ she snapped.

  ‘I’m responsible for the boy on a residential trip,’ Toby said calmly.

  The woman’s finger (I remember there being a long blue fingernail on the end of it) beckoned Toby to the side of the machine where the X-ray display was, and then tapped the screen.

  ‘What have I done?’ I asked, blood draining from my face.

  ‘Why don’t you come and see what we can see?’ said the woman, guiding me by the arm round to the screen. People muttered in the lengthening queue behind me.

  There was no doubt what was in my bag. I could see the barrel and trigger and . . . A perfect gun shape. ‘It’s wrapped in something,’ she said.

  ‘But there can’t be a gun in my bag,’ I spluttered.

  ‘Young man, that’s obviously not just a bottle of water, is it?’ said a man’s voice. He had SUPERVISOR written on a badge on his chest.

  ‘But – I don’t even own a gun.’

  ‘Then who does this belong to?’ the woman asked, plucking out a plastic toy gun that was wrapped up inside a piece of paper. The woman straightened out the paper on the desk. It was a ripped-out magazine page with a picture of a woman, probably from a lad’s mag. (I was actually relieved it wasn’t something worse from the internet.) In other circumstances I would have laughed. But my hands went to my mouth and I shook my head and turned away. ‘I promise you that this has got nothing to do with me . . .’

  [Here ends the third part of George’s statement]

  THE OTHER CHAPTER 3

  (SAID IN THE HOUR BEFORE):

  HIM

  You kept us waiting. Did you walk in late on purpose to make an entrance? Of course you did.

  I knew from that first moment that Georgey would be SOFT. Full of wind and puff, mushy like a slug. Blond hair like a girl’s.

  Glutinous George. Gummy George. Gooey George.

  All that answering of telephones and poncy talk with some girl – I felt hatred stir right THEN.

  Pompous and proud – one hundred per cent full of himself.

  Full of shite as well. So far up his own arse that he could do the ultimate disappearing act and climb right up there.

  There are so many things that are more worthwhile than you: gerbils, gnats, a plectrum.

  Did you like that? HA! And if you don’t bloody well laugh I’ll hit you again. YOU REALLY AREN’T LEARNING, ARE YOU? I’ve told you before. Don’t. Make. Me. Tell. You. Again.

  And earwax. I meant to say earwax.

  The others had character, but you’re just fluff, Georgey. Bum fluff.

  Did you like that? Bum fluff. HA!

  True, true, there is one thing I can say. I could see PRINCIPLES. All hail Georgey and his bloody big principles. Big enough to soak up sick. Which is what they made me. You understand what I’m saying? Georgey is an arsehole.

  Now, you might be thinking that I’m not your average guy.

  Don’t shake your head – I know that’s what you’re thinking.

  But it’s MUCH more complicated than that. You see, and let’s get this straight right now, I’m HONEST. That’s the difference between YOU and ME.

  Now stay with me on this. I’ll speak very quietly and very slowly so that you can un-DERRRR-stand.

  And stop bleeding while I talk to you.

  Where was I?

  Yes.

  HONEST. I’m honest.

  One – when I hate someone, I just admit right away that I hate them. I don’t pretend it’s a medieval crusade and justify it for some other made-up reason. Some people just get on my tits. I’m happy admitting that. Usually, I’d like to kill them. Or at least make them go away and suffer.

  Two – I do what I enjoy. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. You’re too thick to understand. It means you should just do whatever the hell you like. Most people do. I just take it to – listen to these words – a logical extreme. You take everything to its logical extreme, a teacher once said. I certainly took things to a logical extreme with her. The evil cow.

  And three. Listen to this one. You’ll love it. It’s the most ba
ll-breakingly HONEST thing you’ll ever have heard. I sometimes get jealous.

  I bet you’ve never ever admitted that.

  And that brings me to Georgey. Strutting in, hair smelling of some fancy shampoo, straight from the gym, stuffed full of vitamins, all dressed in cotton. Blue-eyed boy. People would think Georgey was perfect.

  That made him a LIAR.

  I’m the one who is perfectly honest. I’m the perfect decision-maker. Look into my eyes and tell me that I’m not a KING.

  Anyway, I need to finish my part of the story.

  So, you kept us all waiting. Everyone had been talking to me, and we were getting on very nicely. I was doing my funny accent and making everyone laugh.

  And then they all turned to Georgey. I hated them for that, and had an idea of revenge even then. You warbled on in that ridiculously posh voice.

  There was no doubt whose bag I would put the toy gun in.

  ‘Don’t forget your bag,’ I said, immediately after I slipped the thing into the outer pocket. Remember? It was a joke, but everyone was too thick to see it. Totally hilarious.

  I amaze myself. I’m the KING of the world with power over life and death.

  (Oh yeah – the disgusting picture I wrapped the toy gun in? Clever, eh?)

  STATEMENT #3

  NATHANIEL BAILEY

  My name is Mr Nathaniel Bailey, and I was George Fleet’s form tutor at St William’s High School in Southend. I’ve known George for three years.

  He was conscientious and did very well in his GCSEs, and had made a good start to his A levels; he probably would have gone on to a decent university, though he was even better known as a sportsman: his swimming was brilliant and he represented St William’s for football and athletics.

  George appeared helpful. If you had asked me a couple of weeks ago, I would have said he was a model pupil. But with so many students to look after, it is difficult to know any one child as well as one might hope.

  George had a broad group of friends. I now wonder if they were rather reliant on him. Perhaps, thinking about it, he might have been too much a leader of the group rather than a member of it. Louis, who I think you’ve spoken to, worshipped George, and did sometimes get into trouble. It could be that George was behind that. I don’t know.