The Remarkables (The Remarkable Owen Johnson, part 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

centre had little concern for Owen’s state of wellbeing, focusing all of her alarm on the state he was making on the carpet. After a few sharp words from Mrs Argyle, helped no doubt by the realisation that the puddle of teenage blood was getting larger by the second, she lamented and agreed to allow the use of her meagre selection of bandages and sticking plasters.
    Huddled in the disabled toilet, Mrs Argyle deftly (but by no means gently) mopped the blood from Owen ’s head. Looking in the mirror, Owen saw that the wound to his forehead was neither as deep nor as wide as he had feared, but did extend from his hairline to just above his left eyebrow.
    Mrs Argyle removed all of the hair that had accumulated in it and opposed the edges of the wound very neatly using a strip of sticking plaster she had cut up (the contents of Mrs Argyle’s handbag apparently included a Swiss Army knife).
    “Good as new ,” she proclaimed.
    Owen’s asse ssment was not quite as glowing, based on his newly acquired talent at impersonating Frankenstein’s monster, and the state of his once white but now raspberry-ripple patterned shirt. She had done a much better job than he could have achieved though. Perhaps she was a nurse before she retired?
    Before he could question his neighbour on her lifelong career decisions, she was ushering him out of the toilet cubicle.
    “Okey dokey, off to your exam then, no reason to dilly dally ,” she said cheerfully.
    They walked out of the leisure centre and stood outside of its entrance, where Mrs Argyle wished him a brief “good luck” before walking off purposefully back towards their street.
    Owen stood alone, feeling rather abandoned. One look behind him at the receptionist (who by now was apoplectic with rage having realised that Owen’s trail of blood extended from the entrance carpet to the toilet cubicles) convinced him to make a hasty escape. He returned his rucksack to his back and made a dash for school.
     
    ~ ρ ~
     
    As everyone was by now in lessons, he did not meet any fellow students on his way to the assembly hall where his exam was taking place. The noise of him opening the door at the back of the hall was met with the sound of just shy of a hundred students turning in their seats to see who was late.
    The sight of a bloodied Owen Johnson did not elicit the commotion that a more popular student would have been honoured with, as only a handful of students bothered to stare at him for more than a few moments.
    One of the students who did look concerned by his present state was of course Katie, who was seated by the central aisle in the exam hall, about half way up. She mouthed a concerned “what the..?” followed by an uncharacteristic use of expletives.
    Before Owen had the chance to mime a reply, the head of English, Ms (never to be addressed as 'Miss', or worse, 'Mrs') Campbell had accosted him.
    “You’re bleeding ,” she observed with an air of annoyance and complete lack of concern.
    “Yes ,” Owen replied. From Ms Campbell’s pinched look he realised an explanation was required also. “Oh, I fell. The nurse patched me up.” This explanation seemed to offer far fewer opportunities for extended questioning than the truth. “I feel fine though.” Ms Campbell leant forward, apparently wanting something extra. “Sorry I’m late,” he added.
    This seemed to do the trick. “Well so long as you don’t bleed all over the floor, take a seat.” People’s concern for the welfare of flooring over his own was starting to dent at Owen’s already low self-esteem.
    Owen studied the seating plan for the exam, and then made his way to his allotted seat, aware that for once he was mildly interesting to his peers, however few they numbered. He sat down and looked at his watch. Twenty minutes late.
    He glanced around at Katie. Her head was down again, writing line after line effortlessly in her elegant hand. She was wearing a plain blue t-shirt and jeans, which would have seemed