“Ideally, wet sphagnum bogs, rainforest leaf litter, seasonally wet sandy soils, and moist mountain soils are the best environments. You can cultivate the plant in a greenhouse, however. The compost would have to be acidic, and of low fertility. Only rainwater should be used when feeding. Plastic pots are suitable, but as many carnivorous plants have sparse root systems, shallow pans are often preferable to standard pots. Full sun is best, but artificial light from fluorescent tubes will do.”
Vanessa clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, I must say, you gentlemen have marvellous imaginations. Fancy coming up with something like this. It would make a wonderful book.”
Gardener rose from his chair. “Wouldn’t it just.”
Chapter Sixty-two
It was a little after six o’clock when Gardener drove through the school gates. He locked the car and jogged towards the building. Once he’d collected Chris and dropped him back home, he would have to go straight back to work. Gardener flipped his mobile and called Jeff Harrison to ask about the price and availability of a seat for the Bonneville.
The reply was a shock. “That much?”
“Depends what you’re looking for, but the King & Queen seat really is the business,” replied Jeff. “Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll drop the brochure off at the station for you. Have a look and get back to me.”
Gardener put the mobile in his pocket. Two hundred and fifty pounds was a bit steep. Still, he could always dream. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them as a cold wind encircled him. The huge glass building enlightened a darkened sky, reviving memories of his own schooldays.
As he entered the reception, he noticed the hushed atmosphere. He passed two teachers in the corridors leading to the sports area. The nearer his approach to the gym, the more he could hear voices. As he reached the changing rooms, Chris’s friend Tommo came charging out, kit bag slung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower.
“Tommo! How are you?”
The boy’s expression was one of surprise. “Mister Gardener!”
Gardener detected something odd about the youth. He was normally bright and cheerful.
Today, he seemed defensive. Alarm bells started to ring in Gardener’s head. “Tommo, where’s Chris?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you mean you don’t know where he is at the moment? Or you don’t know where he is at all?”
“At all, Mister Gardener.”
Ice water surged around Gardener’s veins. He knew Tommo well enough to know the lad appreciated a joke, but he was sensible enough to realize where to draw the line. Tommo’s expression had transformed into genuine concern.
“When did you last see him?”
“Dinnertime. He said he was going to get some chips.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”
“No. But we were in different parts of the school this afternoon. I said I’d see him at football.”
Gardener felt nauseous. There was probably a logical explanation. Maybe Chris had changed his mind, gone straight home. His son should be here, though. Chris loved football. He wanted to play today. Images of Warthead burned into his brain, unbidden.
“Where’s the sports master?”
“In the gym.” Tommo nodded his head toward it.
“I’ll catch you later, Tommo.” Gardener ran down the hall. He found Raglan and a couple of pupils cleaning up. Raglan was short but broad, with a ruddy complexion. He had powerful arms and legs, and retained a military posture. Gardener had always felt that the man couldn’t accept the fact he was no longer in the Army and refused to allow his authority to be flouted. He’d often heard reports of Raglan barking at the boys for little or no reason.
Raglan spotted Gardener on his determined approach. “Gardener! What brings you here?” That was another thing Gardener didn’t like. Raglan never used a title, only a surname.
“My son,” he replied.
“Haven’t seen him.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Can’t remember. Saw him around the school this morning. Reminded him about the football. If he can’t be bothered to show up for the game, I don’t see why I should waste my time chasing him. Good spell in the army wouldn’t do that lad any harm.”