Lone Wolf - Robert Muchamore Page 0,21

head with contempt as Ryan stepped up to the kitchen sink and opened the slats of a Venetian blind. There was a tiny paved back garden, followed by a view downhill of several more low-rise blocks set around a courtyard.

At the centre of the courtyard was a concrete play area and a large, corrugated metal building with a giant blue and red logo along the side which read The Hangout – Youth Centre.

12. FLOOD

James cooked up bacon and mushroom omelettes for breakfast. Ryan wolfed it down in his underwear, before heading back to his room to put on the black and yellow tie and green blazer of St Thomas’ Boys school.

‘Remember what we talked about in the briefing,’ James said. ‘To get in with the drug dealers you’ve got to create the impression of being tough and rebellious. But not so crazy that people think you’re unstable.’

‘I know,’ Ryan said.

‘And the photographs?’ James asked.

James had been through all this the day before on campus and Ryan sounded mildly irritated. ‘God, James! I’ve studied the pictures we got from Kentish Town Police, so I know which kids to try hanging out with.’

This part of north London wasn’t known for great schools and St Thomas’ was the worst of a bad bunch. The main building was an old Victorian schoolhouse, the air in the lobby fouled by a putrid aroma coming out of the boys’ toilets.

The woman on reception directed Ryan to an office on the second floor. The head of Year Ten was a lanky IT teacher called Mr Kite.

‘Welcome to St Thomas’,’ he said, as he firmly shook Ryan’s hand. ‘Now, how about we get off on the right foot by tucking that shirt in?’

Ryan grudgingly tucked his shirt in, before sitting through a boring lecture on the difficulties he’d face catching up with the GCSE programme, and how the school had a family ethos and didn’t tolerate bullying or racism.

Once the spiel was out of the way, the bell for first lesson was long gone and Ryan managed to arrive at his science class twenty minutes late. He charged into the room noisily and went straight for a seat near the back.

‘Young man, what are you doing?’ a bearded teacher asked.

Ryan looked down between his legs. ‘Sitting on a stool,’ he said sarcastically, making a couple of other kids laugh.

‘Well, you don’t roll into my lesson twenty minutes late and sit down. Especially when I have no clue who you are.’

Everyone in the class watched Ryan as he strolled to the front of the room and showed the teacher a timetable. There were two kids he recognised from surveillance photos in the room.

The teacher pointed out a name on Ryan’s timetable. ‘Science, Miss Dingwall. Do I look like Miss Dingwall to you?’

Ryan grinned. ‘I don’t know, I’ve never met Miss Dingwall.’

The teacher stroked his beard.

‘Some women are pretty hairy,’ Ryan said, which made the classroom erupt with laughter.

The teacher chose to ignore the quip and pointed to the right. ‘Two classrooms down.’

‘All right,’ Ryan said sourly, as he headed for the exit. ‘No need to get snotty.’

‘I don’t like your attitude,’ the teacher shouted. ‘You’re lucky I don’t report you to your head of year.’

Ryan sauntered out, walked down a hallway and then crashed noisily into Miss Dingwall’s classroom.

‘Oh right, you must be the new student,’ she said, in a posh accent. ‘You’re a little late and we’re just about to start an experiment, OK? So if you can quickly copy the diagram on the board, I’ll come over and help you set up, yaah?’

‘Yaah!’ Ryan said.

Ryan immediately recognised three kids from surveillance pictures, but only one had an empty bench next to him. He was a chubby half-Somali, half-English kid called Abdi.

‘Miss, I haven’t got a workbook,’ Ryan said.

But Miss Dingwall had been expecting a new student and was already coming across the room with a workbook, a textbook and several printed worksheets.

As she worked with Ryan, helping him set up the equipment for an experiment, the rest of the class grew so rowdy that she was forced to return to the front and yell at everyone to settle down.

Ryan looked across at Abdi. ‘I’m Ryan,’ he said.

Abdi scowled and looked Ryan in the eyes. ‘And why should I give a shit?’ he asked.

*

Fay and Ning chatted through the night, from little stuff like what films and music they liked to big things like what they planned to do when they got out of Idris.

‘Everyone says I’m just