"Really? That's odd — I love it now. It's one of my favourites. I recommend it to my pupils all the time."

Shaking my head wryly, I laid the book down and went to view the kitchen. It was small, but professionally organized. There was a lovely smell of fresh dough. "Donna taught you well," I remarked. Debbie's mum used to be a chef.

"She wouldn't let me leave home until I could run a good kitchen," Debbie smiled. "Graduating university was easier than passing the tests she set."

"You've been to university?" I asked.

"I'd hardly be teaching if I hadn't."

Laying a tray of unbaked scones into a petite oven, she switched off the light and motioned me back to the living room. As I flopped into one of the soft chairs she went to the CD stand and looked for something to play. "Any preferences?"

"Not really."

"I don't have much in the way of pop or rock. Jazz or classical?"

"I don't mind."

Choosing a CD, she took it out of its case, inserted it in the player and turned it on. She stood by the player a couple of minutes while flowing, lifting music filled the air. "Like it?" she asked.

"Not bad. What is it?"

"The Titan. Do you know who it's by?"

"Mahler?" I guessed.

"Right. I thought I'd play it for you, so you're familiar with it — Mr. Chivers gets very upset if his students don't recognize Mahler." Taking the chair next to mine, Debbie studied my face in silence. I felt uncomfortable, but didn't turn away. "So," she sighed. "Want to tell me about it?"

I'd discussed what I should tell her with Mr. Crepsley and Harkat, and quickly launched into the story we'd settled upon. I said I was the victim of an ageing disease, which meant I aged slower than normal people. I reminded her of the snake-boy, Evra Von, whom she'd met, and said the two of us were patients at a special clinic.

"You aren't brothers?" she asked.

"No. And the man we were with wasn't our father — he was a nurse at the hospital. That's why I never let you meet him — it was fun, having you think I was an ordinary person, and I didn't want him giving the game away."

"So how old are you?" she enquired.

"Not much older than you," I said. "The disease didn't set in until I was twelve. I wasn't very different to other children until then."

She considered that in her careful, thoughtful manner. "If that's true," she said, "what are you doing in school now? And why pick mine?"

"I didn't know you were working at Mahler's," I said. "That's a freak occurrence. I've returned to school because… It's hard to explain. I didn't get a proper education when I was growing up. I was rebellious and spent a lot of time off fishing or playing football when I should have been learning. Lately I've been feeling like I missed out. A few weeks ago I met a man who forges papers — passports, birth certificates, stuff like that. I asked him to set me up with a fake ID, so I could pretend I was fifteen."

"Whatever for?" Debbie asked. "Why didn't you go to an adult night school?"

"Because, looks-wise, I'm not an adult." I pulled a sad face. "You don't know how miserable it gets, growing so slowly, explaining myself to strangers, knowing they're talking about me. I don't mingle much. I live alone and stay indoors most of the time. I felt this was an opportunity to pretend I was normal. I thought I could fit in with the people I most resemble — fifteen year olds. I hoped, if I dressed and talked like them, and went to school with them, maybe they'd accept me and I wouldn't feel so lonely." Lowering my gaze; I added mournfully, "I guess the pretence stops now."

There was a silent beat. Another. Then Debbie said, "Why should it?"

"Because you know about me. You'll tell Mr. Chivers. I'll have to leave."

Debbie reached across and took my left hand in hers. "I think you're crazy," she said. "Practically everyone I know couldn't wait to leave school, and here you are, desperate to return. But I admire you for this. I think it's great that you want to learn. I think you're very brave, and I won't say anything about it."

"Really?"

"I think you'll be found out eventually — an act like this is impossible to sustain — but I won't blow the whistle on you."

"Thanks, Debbie. I…" Clearing my throat, I looked at our joined hands. "I'd like to kiss you — to thank you — but I don't know if you want me to."

Debbie frowned, and I could see what she was thinking — was it acceptable for a teacher to let one of her pupils kiss her? Then she chuckled and said, "OK — but just on my cheek."

Lifting my head, I leant over and brushed her cheek with my lips. I would have liked to kiss her properly, but knew I couldn't. Although we were of similar ages, in her eyes I was still a teenager. There was a line between us we couldn't step over — much as the adult within me hungered to cross it.

We talked for hours. I learnt all about Debbie's life, how she'd gone to university after school, studied English and sociology, graduated and went on to become a teacher. After a few part-time appointments elsewhere, she'd applied for a number of permanent positions here — she'd seen out her schooldays in this city, and felt it was the nearest place she had to a home. She ended up at Mahler's. She'd been there two years and loved it. There'd been men in her life — she'd been engaged at one stage! — but none at the moment. And she said — very pointedly — that she wasn't looking for any either!

She asked me about that night thirteen years ago and what had happened to her and her parents. I lied and said there'd been something wrong with the wine. "You all fell asleep at the table. I rang for the nurse who was looking after Evra and me. He came, checked, said you were OK and would be fine when you woke. We put the three of you to bed and I slipped away. I've never been good at saying farewell."

I told Debbie I was living alone. If she checked with Mr. Blaws, she'd know that was a lie, but I didn't think ordinary teachers mixed much with inspectors.

"It's going to be bizarre having you in my class," she murmured. We were sitting on the couch. "We'll have to be careful. If anyone suspects there was ever anything between us, we must tell the truth. It'd mean my career if we didn't."

"Maybe it's a problem we won't have to worry about much longer," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think I'm cut out for school. I'm behind in all the subjects. In some — maths and science — I'm not even within sighting distance of everyone else. I think I'll have to drop out."

"That's quitting talk," she growled, "and I won't stand for it." She popped one of the scones — they were chestnut brown, smeared with butter and jam — into my mouth and made me munch on it. "Finish what you start or you'll regret it."

"Buh I cahn't duh iht," I mumbled, mouth full of scone.

"Of course you can," she insisted. "It won't be easy. You'll have to study hard, maybe get some private tuition…" She stopped and her face lit up. "That's it!"

"What?" I asked.

"You can come to me for lessons."

"What sort of lessons?"

She punched my arm. "School lessons, you ninny! You can come round for an hour or two after school every day. I'll help you with your homework and fill you in on stuff you've missed."

"You wouldn't mind?" I asked.

"Of course not," she smiled. "It will be a pleasure."

Enjoyable as the night was, it had to end eventually. I'd forgotten about the possible threat of the vampaneze, but when Debbie excused herself and went to the bathroom, I fell to thinking about them, and wondered if Mr. Crepsley or Harkat had sighted any — I didn't want to come to Debbie's for lessons if it meant getting her mixed up in our dangerous affairs.

If I waited for her to return, I might forget about the threat again, so I composed a quick note — 'Have to go. Wonderful to see you. Meet you at school in the morning. Hope you won't mind if I don't do my homework! — left it on the bare plate which had contained the scones, and ducked out as quietly as possible.