Excerpt: The Do Gooders

The afternoon light, filtered through a gap in the curtain, shone wanly on them as they watched TV.

The room was dark, but the light was quite bright enough for Gabriel, especially in addition to the light from the TV.

The doors of the alcove beneath the Hi-Fi and disco lights have been opened, and the modestly sized TV had been pulled out and fired up. The sofa had been turned out and moved closer towards the TV. Anne had opened a bottle of wine, and Peter had sparked up a joint. Gabriel lay between their arms as they watched the news broadcast.

"And now, more news is coming in about the mass panic in Hutchieson Grammar in Glasgow."

It was a live broadcast from BBC News. Or at least live, when it was recorded four days ago. While Anne watched over Gabriel in Alexandria Parade, Peter quickly popped back, and set the hard drive recorder to record as many news programmes off Freeview as it could manage. The recorder could record two channel at once, so he could tune it to one of the 24 hour channels whilst it was recording news off a terrestrial channel, and when there were no terrestrial new broadcasts, he could record both BBC News and Sky News. Even better, the recordings could be edited into chapters for burning onto DVD. Chapters could be edited and even deleted. In other words: basic video editing.

By the time Gabriel had woken up, Peter had edited all the news coverage down, and chucked out all the irrelevant crap. News feature jump cut to news feature, and a narrative slowly began to emerge.

The BBC version had solidified by the time of the Six O'Clock News broadcast on BBC1. It wasn't the top item. There was plenty of economic gloom, terrorism, miltary juntas and the like, with Brown and Obama occasionally making an appearance and issuing a statement ahead of it.

But it was there in the main rundown, at item four: “Mass panic in Glasgow school.” said the newsreader over shots of the kids from St Charles, lying down in line. “Grammar school pupils see visions and experience hysteria.” More shots of the pupils, this time milling around in panic. Music sting. Cut to newsreader, ready with lead story.

And then a jump cut, courtesy of Peter's new found editing skills, to the fourth item down. This time it was the second string newsreader reading the intro.

“One of Glasgow's top schools has been shaken by an episode of what experts are calling mass hysteria.” Cut from the newsreader to a map of the British Isles, quickly zooming into the location, accompanied by a caption and an arrow. “Almost half of the pupils of Hutchieson Grammar, a publicly owned grammar school, have been affected. Our reporter, Carolyn Grant, was on the scene.”

Something occurred to Gabriel. “Half of their pupils?”

“Shhh...” said Peter pointing to the screen. The report had begun.

“This is the moment.” began Carolyn. “that one of Glasgow's top schools was shaken to the core.”

Gabriel gasped. Accompanying her words was wobbly, grainy footage, probably from a mobile phone. Railings raced past the central vision of hundreds of schoolkids lying down in lines. “Jane Rawlings, a parent, came to collect her son from school, and instead found something that nothing could prepare her for. She took this footage on her mobile phone.”

Jane's voice came over the footage. This time, it was closer, with no railings, as if she was walking through the lines of St Charles pupils. “I couldn't believe it. They were just lying there....” They were starting to slowly awake. Then it cut to her, a slightly sloaney woman, clearly shaken by the experience. “It was like a dream. I was just walking amongst these kids. There were hundred of them. All laid out on the football fields, and there were just slowly awaken, as if they had been dreaming...”

“Oh my god.” said Gabriel. “This was when they started to awake? She didn't see us? Did she? Peter, did she?”

Peter waved his concerns away. “No. She didn't see us.” he said. “At least,” he added, ominously, “ if she saw us, she didn't say so to the cameras.”

Gabriel looked at the footage of the slowly awakening pupils, whilst Carolyn continued. “No-one knows why pupils of an exclusive Glasgow school laid down in a line...” and realised something was wrong.

“But they're not Hutchie pupils. Look,” he said pointing to the screen. “They're wearing St Charles uniforms. Look at the ties! Can they not see that?”

“The pupils” continued Carolyn “have their own explanations.”

Cut to a pupil. “There was a tornado over our school, and we were rescued.”

And another. “It was this tornado.”

And another. “A tornado, the biggest tornado, over there.” he said, pointing in a direction, presumably northwards.

Yet another. “This tornado ripped up our school.”

None of them seemed hysterical in the least to Gabriel. A bit flustered maybe, a bit concerned obviously, but not hysterical.

“However” continued Carolyn. “the pupils do not mean Hutchieson Grammar.”

Cut to a pupil. Caroyln's voice could heard asking what school. “St Charles”

Cut to another. “St Charles”

Four more pupils: St Charles.

“The ties say St Charles.” said Gabriel.

Another: “St Charles on Alexandria Parade.”

Cut to the main grassy hill on the slope of the hill in Alexandria Park.

“This” according to Carolyn “Is the site of the St Charles school described by the pupils. Although education officials have confirmed that every one of the pupils has always been a pupil at Hutchieson...”

“WHAT?” squawked Gabriel.

“... they claim to have been rescued from a tornado that destroyed a school on this site earlier this afternoon.”

“That's not even the site.” said Gabriel.

“They can't see the site.” pointed out Anne. “When it was destroyed, it was removed from their sight.”

“But the pupils still remember it?” ask Gabriel, disbelievingly.

Carolyn was now being shown asking pupils about St Charles.

What do you remember about your day? Finishing my work and getting ready to pack up. In Hutchieson? No, in St Charles. But you're a pupil in Hutchieson surely? No, I'm from St Charles. But St Charles doesn't exist, does it? Oh yes, it does because I'm a pupil there. So what do you say to the people who say you're a Hutchie pupil? Well, obviously they're wrong, aren't they?

The tone of the pupils was unmistakable: incredulity at being asked these questions, and being treated as if what was obvious to them couldn't possibly be true.

“No, I'm from St Charles, what do you think this is then?” said one, indicating his St Charles tie.

Gabriel felt Peter squeeze his arm as Carolyn was heard to reply: “Er, that's a Hutchison Grammar tie.”

Gabriel gasped. “They can't see it! They really can't see it!”

This pupil's attitude seemed not too dissimilar. “No. It's St Charles. Look. Can't you see it?”

This line of enquiry was obviously of not too much interest, as it cut back to Carolyn, talking to camera, in summing up mode. Hutchie and the football fields stood behind her, bathed in the warm glow of sunset, as Carolyn summed up.

“No one can explain how a couple of hundred pupils left the main building and lay down on these fields. Neither can they explain why the pupils don't know either. Certainly the pupils themselves are either unable or unwilling to provide any explanations. Many experts are already suggesting that this is a classic case of mass hysteria, of the likes that has not been seen in Britain for a long time.

“However, one thing is clear. One of Scotland's top schools has been shaken to the core, and it may take a long time for it to recover.”

“Oh s**t.” said Gabriel. “What have we done?”

“We've saved their lives, Gabriel.” said Peter instantly. “You're not going to trust the news are you? They always put the most negative spin on everything.” he said, waving his accusing finger at the telly. “Even” he added “when they actually know what the f**k they're talking about.”