Читать книгу The Treatment: the gripping twist-filled YA thriller from the million copy Sunday Times bestselling author of The Escape - C.L. Taylor, C.L. Taylor, C. L. Taylor - Страница 18

Chapter Eleven

I gasp as the taxi turns the corner and I get my first glimpse of Norton House. After travelling for hours through the countryside, dotted with the occasional sheep, cow or farmhouse, it’s a surprise to see such a massive building looming out of the landscape. I saw photos of it online but I had no idea how imposing it would be up close. The centre of the red-brick building is arched like a church with a huge clock tower to one side. The main body of the school stretches several hundred metres to each side. Tall, narrow windows dot the front, six on the first floor, six on the ground floor. The windows at the top peak into triangles, like red brick witches’ hats. The roof is black slate, dotted with red-brick chimneys. It’s the kind of building you see in horror movies, where a woman in a white nightshirt is running down a deserted corridor, chased by a dark, shadowy figure. I shiver as the taxi driver pulls up at the iron gates.

‘What did you say your name was?’ he asks, looking back at Mum.

‘Coleman.’

The taxi driver opens his window and presses a button on a silver intercom system on a post. ‘I’ve got two Colemans here for you,’ he says in a thick Geordie accent.

One, I think. I’m a Finch.

Nothing happens for several seconds then the iron gates slowly swing open.

‘OK?’ Mum says, gently touching the back of my hand. I’m holding my book so tightly my knuckles are white. I try to give her a reassuring smile but my heart is beating so violently I feel sick. What am I doing? If I just kept my head down and stayed invisible this wouldn’t be happening. I’d be in my room, listening to music and chatting to Isla, Chapman and Sadie. I talked to them all last night and told them what was happening. With the exception of Sadie, they all thought I was mental. Isla wasn’t convinced by my story about Zed and Charlie. She said she thought they were probably both on drugs. Chapman thought I was out of my depth. You’re sixteen years old, he said. You should have gone to the police with Zed.

Nice idea, if it weren’t for the fact that the police rang Mum last night and said they wouldn’t need a statement from me because they were treating what happened to Dr Cobey as a tragic accident. Several members of the public had reported seeing her stepping into the road when the traffic lights were green and there was no way the driver could have stopped. I couldn’t believe it. The lights were red, I told Mum. And the driver deliberately put his foot down and accelerated. She’d been murdered and the police were covering it up.

‘No one’s covering anything up,’ Mum said. ‘I know how traumatic it must have been for you, seeing something like that, but you need to put it out of your mind. Now please, go upstairs and pack.’

‘Drew?’ Mum says now. ‘Come on, we’re here. We need to get out.’

I touch a hand to my face, surprised to find a tear rolling down my cheeks. I wipe it away briskly and hand Mum my book. ‘Can you return this to the school library, please?’

She takes it then touches me on the shoulder, her face drawn, her eyes clouded with concern. ‘It will be OK, Drew.’

‘Will it?’

‘Of course it will. Just behave yourself, please, and I’ll be here to pick you up in eight week’s time.’

Pick me up? Or pick up the brainwashed, zombie daughter you no longer recognize? I don’t say that to her. Instead, I open the door and step out onto the huge, gravelled driveway of Norton House.