CHERUB: The Recruit (12 page)

‘Do you watch a lot of TV, James?’

‘I suppose,’ James said.

‘You just ran one kilometre and you’re exhausted. Do you play any sport?’

‘Not much,’ James said.

The doctor pinched a roll of fat on James’ stomach.

‘Look at that flab. You’re like a middle-aged man.’

The doctor untucked his shirt and slapped a six-pack stomach.

‘Like steel,’ he said. ‘And I’m sixty years old.’

James had never thought of himself as fat before. But now that he looked, he
was
a bit soggy around the middle.

‘When does your basic training start?’ the doctor asked.

‘Three weeks. If I learn to swim.’

‘You can’t swim either? Pathetic! No need to swim in front of the television, I suppose, James? I’ll send you down to the athletics department. Get you to do some running. No puddings, no chocolates. The good news is, apart from too much puppy fat, you seem fine. Now, injections.’

The nurse pulled a plastic tray with hundreds of syringes lined up on it out of a fridge.

‘What are all these?’ James asked, alarmed.

‘CHERUB can send you anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice. You have to be vaccinated. Influenza, Cholera, Typhoid, Hepatitis A, Hepatitis C, Rubella, Yellow Fever, Lassa Fever, Tetanus, Japanese Encephalitis, Tuberculosis, Meningitis.’

‘I’m having all those now?’ James asked.

‘No, that would overload your immune system and make you sick. Only seven injections today. Then five in two days’ time and another four in a week.’

‘I’ve got to have sixteen injections?’

‘Twenty-three actually. You’ll need some booster jabs in six months.’

Before James could comprehend the full horror of this, the nurse wiped his arm with a sterile swab. The doctor tore the packaging off a syringe and jabbed it into James’ arm. It didn’t hurt.

‘Influenza,’ the doctor said. ‘Thought I’d start you off with an easy one. This next one goes into the muscle and you may feel a teensy little pinch.’

The doctor pulled the cap off a five-centimetre needle.

‘OOOOOOOOO WWWWWWWWW.’

*

James was sitting in the changing room in his swimming shorts waiting for his afternoon lesson. Amy rushed in. She threw a bag of school books on the floor and started unlacing her boots.

‘Sorry I’m late, James. Got talking and lost track of time. How’s your day been?’

‘Awful,’ James said.

‘What’s wrong with your voice?’

‘Four fillings at the dentist. I still can’t feel my tongue.’

‘Does it hurt?’ Amy asked, stepping out of her trousers.

‘Not as bad as my arse where the doctor stuck two needles in it. Plus he says I’m fat and unfit. I’ve got to run fifteen laps five times a week and I’m not allowed to eat desserts.’

Amy smiled. ‘Not a good day, then.’

Fifteen laps of a 400-metre track is six kilometres. James had no time limit; he could walk it in about an hour but that was boring. He wanted to go fast. The first day he raced off and died after three laps. He staggered the rest of the way with his legs aching and it took nearly an hour and a quarter. Next morning James’ ankles were puffed up and even walking was agony.

Meryl Spencer showed James warm-up and cool-down stretches and told him only to run every third lap, then gradually to move up; running a lap and a half out of every three, then two out of three, and so on until he could run the six kilometres without a rest.

The third day it rained so hard James could hardly see through the wet hair stuck to his face. Meryl and the other athletics coach hid in the dry. James figured nobody was watching and after thirteen laps went into the changing room where the other drowned-rat kids were diving under the shower.

‘Was that fifteen laps?’ Meryl asked.

James knew he was busted just from her voice.

‘Come on, it’s belting down, Miss.’

‘You cheat, James, you start again. Fifteen laps. Get going.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me, James. One smart word and I’ll make it thirty laps.’

By the end, James’ lungs felt like they were going to explode. Kyle and Bruce thought it was superb when James told them what had happened. Amy said it was good to learn early that discipline at CHERUB was stricter than James was used to.

*

A fortnight later James was getting fitter. He could run two laps out of every three fast and jog the other one. It was Friday, lap fifteen. The pulse in his neck felt like it was about to burst. His body was begging him to quit, but James wanted to do his laps in under half an hour for the first time and he wasn’t giving in so close to the end.

James overtook a set of identical twins on the final bend and sprinted to the line. He glanced at his stopwatch: 29:47. Twenty seconds inside his previous best. As James looked at the watch he put a foot down awkwardly and overbalanced. The track slashed the skin off his knee, ripped his T-shirt and grazed his shoulder. The pain from the cuts wasn’t as bad as the pain in his lungs, but James didn’t care because he’d broken half an hour.

James clamped his hand over his knee. The twins stopped to help.

‘You OK?’ one of them asked.

‘Fine,’ James lied.

James hadn’t seen them before. He noticed they were wearing pale blue shirts.

‘You two starting basic training week after next?’

‘Yeah. We arrived last night. I’m Callum, this is Connor. You want us to help you back to the changing room?’

‘I’ll manage,’ James said.

*

‘It’s my birthday today,’ Amy said.

They were in the pool together. James’ cuts were stinging from the chlorine.

‘How old?’ James asked.

‘Sixteen.’

‘I would have got you a card or something,’ James said. ‘You never said.’

‘I’m having a little gathering. Just a few friends in my room this evening. Want to come?’

‘Sure,’ James said.

James was more excited about going to Amy’s party than he would admit. He liked her a lot. She was funny and beautiful. He was sure Amy liked him, but like a little brother not a mate.

‘You have to do something first though.’

‘How far?’ James asked.

‘From the steps in the middle of the pool on that side, to the opposite corner.’

‘That’s almost a length.’

‘Almost. You can do it, James. Your stroke is getting stronger. Basic training starts in nine days and if you don’t make it, it’s three months until the next course starts.’

‘I’ll have three months to learn to swim. That’s not bad.’

They’ll put you in a red T-shirt,’ Amy said.

‘I’m twelve. Red is for little kids.’

‘No, James. Red shirts are for kids who are not qualified for training. Mostly that’s because they’re too young. But in your case it will be because you can’t swim.’

‘I’ll be two years older than anyone else in a red shirt. I’ll be slaughtered.’

‘James, I’m not trying to pressure you, but if you have to spend three months in a red shirt, your life won’t be a lot of fun.’

‘You
are
trying to pressure me,’ James said.

‘On the bright side, James, red shirt kids are allowed to keep a gerbil or a hamster in their rooms.’

‘Well funny, Amy.’ James laughed, but he knew this was serious. Kyle, Bruce and everyone else would wet themselves laughing if they put him in a red T-shirt. James started walking through the water towards the steps, determined to swim further than before.

He managed. Amy gave him a hug.

‘You’ll be OK, James.’

James wasn’t so confident.

*

Amy’s door was wedged open and you could hear her stereo as you stepped out of the lift. The room was crammed with people and more lined the corridor outside. Everyone was dressed in normal clothes. After two weeks on campus seeing people in olive trousers and boots, James had almost forgotten skirts existed.

Amy had on bright pink lipstick that matched her mini skirt. James felt self-conscious because everyone was older and he didn’t know anyone. Amy spun around when she saw James. She had a cigarette in one hand and a can of beer in the other. She gave James a kiss on the cheek, leaving a blur of lipstick.

‘Hey James,’ Amy said. ‘I don’t think I’ll be in any state for a swimming lesson tomorrow morning.’

‘Is this the kid who can’t swim?’ a guy sitting on the floor asked loudly.

Everyone heard. James thought people were looking at him thinking he was a wimp.

‘You want a beer, kid?’ a guy sitting by Amy’s fridge asked.

James didn’t know what to say. If he said yes everyone might laugh because they thought he was too young. If he said no he’d look soft. James picked yes. Nobody laughed at him. James caught the can and pulled the tab. Amy grabbed it out of his hand.

‘Don’t give him beer, Charles. He’s only twelve.’

‘Come on, Amy,’ Charles said. ‘Let’s get the little kid drunk. It’s always a laugh.’

Amy smiled and handed James the can.

‘One can, James,’ Amy said. ‘No more. And don’t tell anyone we let you have it.’

*

Once James had sneaked two of Uncle Ron’s beers and got a bit drunk, but this was way beyond that. Amy’s girlfriends all loved James. They kept giving him more beer. James blushed when one of them kissed him. So they all kissed him until his face was a mass of lipstick smears. As they got drunker one of the girls decided it would be funny to give him a love bite. They tickled James until he gave in. He knew he wasn’t much more than their drunken pet, but it was fun being the centre of attention.

Some of the kids on Amy’s floor complained about the racket, so the party had to move outside. It was midnight now and pitch dark. James followed the noise from Amy’s portable CD player.

‘Wait for me,’ James shouted. ‘Busting to piss.’

James wandered into a bunch of trees. Suddenly there wasn’t any ground under his trainers. His heart shot into his mouth as he lost his balance. He slid two metres down an embankment and crashed into a muddy ditch.

James dragged himself up, spitting nasty tasting water out of his mouth. His sweatshirt was ripped. He shouted for help, but the others couldn’t hear over Amy’s music. By the time James scrambled back up the embankment there was no sign of anyone.

Campus was bigger than James realised. He got totally lost trying to find the main building. He felt sick from all the beer and started to panic. When he finally sighted the changing room at the edge of the athletics track he was thrilled.

James peered in the window. The lights were off. He tried the door, it wasn’t locked. James crept in. The heating was off but it was still warmer than outside. James rubbed his hands together to try and get some feeling back. He found a bank of switches and flipped on the light in the boys’ changing room. He left the others off. Any light shining through the frosted windows might have caught someone’s attention.

James looked at himself now he could see and was gutted. He’d put his best clothes on for the party. An almost new pair of Nike Air trainers and some Diesel jeans. The bottom of the jeans had mud soaked through them and the trainers were a wet mess, coated with mud. James knew the route back to his room from here, but there could be awkward questions if he got seen like this. He had to tidy himself up.

James kicked his trainers off to avoid marking the floor. He went into the boys’ changing room. Fear of getting caught had sobered him up a bit. The changing room was a mess. There was sweat in the air and quite a few bits of clothing tossed about. James found a grey CHERUB T-shirt scrunched up under a bench. It smelled nasty, but it was less suspicious than walking into the main building in a torn sweatshirt. James pulled it on. There were no clean tracksuit bottoms to replace the muddy jeans, so James pushed his jeans down his waist and turned the bottoms up so the muddiest area looked smaller. All he needed now was some trainers that wouldn’t spread mud everywhere. There were a few running spikes laying around, but they’d be no good indoors.

James stepped across the hallway into the girls’ changing room. He hadn’t been in here before, of course. The difference from the boys’ room was amazing. It smelled fresh. There was a counter stocked up with toiletries and perfumes. Best of all, there were two pairs of trainers on top of the lockers. One pair was James’ size but pink. The other pair was smaller, but James could easily hobble a couple of hundred metres through the main building in them. He squeezed them on.

He caught himself in the mirror and realised his face was filthy. He wished Kyle could see all the lipstick marks. James damped a towel, scrubbed his face and hands, gave the smelly T-shirt a blast with deodorant and gargled mouthwash to mask the smell of beer.

He did a final inspection: not bad. If anyone asked why he was out so late, James decided to say he couldn’t sleep, went for a walk and got lost. The only thing that might be tricky was explaining why he was wearing the wrong colour T-shirt.