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

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СКАЧАТЬ better pack your bags then,’ she said as she hovered at my bedroom door. ‘You’re going tomorrow. Tony’s been on the phone to the RRA. They’ve found you a bed.’

      I barely slept last night. I stayed up until 1 a.m. reading my psychology books and studying the printout I printed off the Internet. My hands shook as I turned the pages. I had – have – no idea what I’m letting myself in for. What if I’m locked up the second I get there and I’m shackled to a bed and wheeled into some kind of treatment room? What if it’s not some kind of psychological brainwashing at all? What if electroshock treatment is involved, or an operation? Charlie certainly acted like he’d had some part of his brain removed. I tried to push the thought out of my head and think logically. This isn’t A Clockwork Orange or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. It’s real life. A real school. An academy for God’s sake. There is no way they can get away with performing operations on kids without the parents’ consent. If they are brainwashing kids they have to be doing it legally. But how? After I put down my book and turned out my bedside light, I felt a fresh flicker of fear. Who did I think I was – charging in there expecting to be able to save my brother? I wasn’t a trained psychologist or an SAS soldier. I was a sixteen-year-old girl. And I was all alone.

      ‘You know you can’t bring that in with you, don’t you?’ Mum says now, gesturing at the book in my hands. ‘No books, no mobile phones, no games consoles, no music players. Just toiletries and the items of clothing on the printout I gave you.’

      ‘I know.’ I close the book. I need to tell Mum how scared I am. This might be my last chance.

      ‘Mum.’ I reach across the table but my hand doesn’t quite touch hers. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about Norton House. Don’t shout at me, but the other day I met up with a girl whose boyfriend went –’

      ‘Is this seat free?’ A short man in a black suit with greying hair and gold-rimmed glasses gestures at the seat next to me. There’s a queue of people standing behind him, filling the aisle. Beyond the window is a platform and a sign saying ‘York’. I didn’t even realize we’d stopped.

      ‘Yes of course.’ Mum gestures for me to move my stuff.

      I gather my things onto my lap and give the man a tight smile. I hope he’s not one of those spreaders who try to knock your elbow off the armrest.

      ‘Afternoon.’ He nods at Mum as he sits down. His eyes flicker towards the third finger of her left hand. There’s a flash of disappointment on his face when he sees that she’s married. Mum’s an attractive woman. She’s only forty but everyone thinks she’s ten years younger. It’s partly her height. Unlike me, tallish at five foot seven, Mum’s only five foot tall. I get my height from my dad. He’s six foot one. My dark hair and hazel eyes come from him too. If I hadn’t seen photos of Mum in a hospital bed with baby me in her arms I wouldn’t believe that we’re related, we’re that different.

      ‘Going somewhere nice?’ Suit guy asks Mum as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth.

      Mum smiles politely. ‘I’m taking my daughter to school.’

      ‘Ah’. He casts a cursory glance at me. ‘Tough luck!’

      I pretend to laugh and reopen my book. I wish he’d found somewhere else to sit. There’s no way I can talk to Mum about anything private now and we’re only about an hour away from Newcastle.

      ‘Which school?’ he asks Mum.

      ‘Well, it’s … um …’ I glance up, hearing the indecision in her voice. She doesn’t want the whole carriage to know that her daughter is being sent to a Residential Reform Academy. ‘Er … it’s quite a new school. I doubt you’ll have heard of it.’

      ‘I don’t know about that!’ Suit man laughs. ‘I’m an OFSTED inspector.’

      Mum raises her eyebrows. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or appalled. ‘Are you inspecting a school this afternoon?’

      ‘Well, I shouldn’t really tell you but …’ He taps the side of his nose and gestures for Mum to lean towards him. ‘I’m going somewhere quite groundbreaking by all accounts.’

      ‘Is it the Residential Reform Academy in Northumberland?’ I ask.

      Suit man looks at me, surprised. ‘You know about Norton House?’

      ‘Yes.’ I smile sweetly, ignoring Mum who’s flashing me an anguished ‘don’t you tell him!’ look. ‘My stepdad’s the National Head of Academies. He often tells us about his work.’

      ‘Well, well, well.’ Suitman sits back in his seat. ‘Tony Coleman’s stepdaughter, eh? So you must be …’ He looks at Mum.

      ‘Jane, his wife.’

      ‘Ah right, of course. Well, I don’t imagine I’ll be breaking the Official Secrets Act if I disclose to you that that’s exactly where I’m off to.’

      ‘Gosh,’ Mum says, looking at me. ‘Isn’t that interesting, Drew?’

      I smile tightly. I’ve got no idea why she’d think I’d find that interesting but I still reply, ‘Fascinating!’

      ‘Right, well.’ Suit Man puts a podgy hand on the armrest and levers himself up and onto his feet. ‘I’m going to pay a quick visit to the refreshment trolley. Could I get either of you anything?’

      Mum shakes her head. ‘We’re fine, thank you.’

      She watches as OFSTED man sways and bumps his way down the juddering carriage then she taps me on the hand.

      ‘You see? You’ve got nothing to worry about, Drew. There’s no brainwashing going on at Norton House. It’s a normal school. If there was anything remotely dodgy going on, OFSTED would be down on them like a ton of bricks.’

      I look at the OFSTED inspector’s seat and raise my eyebrows. He’s left his bag and wallet behind.

      ‘Hmm,’ I say.

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, СКАЧАТЬ