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firm . .
.’
    The rest of the letter degenerated into obscenities, so he pushed it to one side, wincing. Beneath it was an altogether more charming communication from the new sports teacher at Ribblestrop
High. Since the sacking of Gary Cuthbertson – brother to the infamous ex-police inspector, Percy Cuthbertson – a closer tie with local schools seemed possible. The new coach there was a
Mr Johnny Jay, and he seemed positively friendly. He was reminding the headmaster about a match they’d confirmed, saying how much he was looking forward to it. The headmaster wrote the date
in his diary and wondered where the football had been stored.
    The phone rang again and he ignored it.
    He turned back to his song lyrics and was seized by inspiration.
    ‘
Ribblestrop, Ribblestrop, what a lovely day!
    This is where we come to work, and where we come to play.
’
    It was promising. He could imagine the orphans in particular singing it with gusto. He had missed them so much, for a school without children was a forlorn place. The least he could do was have
everything ready for their return, so he stood up with his notes and prepared to try the words out loud. At that moment, the phone rang again, and he swung round, hunting for a missile to throw at
the parrots. This time, however, he noticed that the receiver was visibly vibrating in its cradle. He snatched it up and put on his most responsible voice.
    ‘Ribblestrop Towers,’ he said. ‘Headmaster speaking.’
    ‘Oh, Giles. Thank goodness.’
    It was Professor Worthington, and the relief in her voice was palpable. She sounded close to tears.
    ‘Hello, Clarissa. Where are you?’
    There was a silence.
    ‘Giles,’ said the Professor, at last. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last two hours.’
    ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it was a real call. How are you getting on? By the way, I had a thought about supper. Why don’t we just order a huge load of fish and
chips—’
    ‘Giles?’
    ‘And I had a call from Sanchez’s father. Mrs Tack as well, and it all seems fine. They’re on the road at the moment.’
    ‘Giles, I’ve got something to tell you. Can you listen to me, please?’
    ‘Yes, of course. You’ve met up with the orphans, I assume?’
    ‘Are you sitting down?’
    ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘We’ve lost our school.’
    The headmaster was silent for a moment. ‘Who has?’ he said.
    ‘We have. Doonan, Routon and I. We had everyone together, but various accidents have occurred, and—’
    ‘Are you still at Heathrow?’
    ‘No! No, we left Heathrow ages ago. We had them all in the bus. And we . . . met up with Sam and Oli and Ruskin. And then we ran into problems.’
    ‘Where are you, Clarissa?’
    ‘I’m in a police station, Giles. We’ve all been arrested, pending a full-scale investigation of traffic violations – and that includes air traffic. But the children
aren’t with us. They’re gone.’
    ‘What? How?’
    ‘We’ve been arrested for endangering the lives of . . . well, just about everyone, I think. And we’ve caused about a billion pounds’ worth of damage. The thing is, Giles,
the children slipped away and nobody’s looking for them. They just disappeared into the river and the helicopter wouldn’t go after them, so . . . we’ve lost our school!’
    There was a silence.
    ‘Where?’ said the headmaster, at last.
    ‘On the edge of Ribblemoor. In a river. How soon can you get here?’
    The roofless bus had slipped into the river and sunk like a stone. Water filled the vehicle in about five seconds and the bus was soon sucked out into the deepest channel.
Doonan had managed to shout, ‘Swim for it! Everybody – ahh!’ before the deluge had swept him under the seats, filling his lungs in an instant. Captain Routon was a strong swimmer
and grabbed the young man by his belt. He was soon up and out, kicking against the vortex that was swirling around them. They broke the surface together and a