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

‘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, I think. I’m a Finch.

Nothing happens for several seconds then the iron gates slowly swing open.

‘OK?’ Mum says, gently touching the back of my hand. I’m holding my book so tightly my knuckles are white. I try to give her a reassuring smile but my heart is beating so violently I feel sick. What am I doing? If I just kept my head down and stayed invisible this wouldn’t be happening. I’d be in my room, listening to music and chatting to Isla, Chapman and Sadie. I talked to them all last night and told them what was happening. With the exception of Sadie, they all thought I was mental. Isla wasn’t convinced by my story about Zed and Charlie. She said she thought they were probably both on drugs. Chapman thought I was out of my depth. You’re sixteen years old, he said. You should have gone to the police with Zed.

Nice idea, if it weren’t for the fact that the police rang Mum last night and said they wouldn’t need a statement from me because they were treating what happened to Dr Cobey as a tragic accident. Several members of the public had reported seeing her stepping into the road when the traffic lights were green and there was no way the driver could have stopped. I couldn’t believe it. The lights were red, I told Mum. And the driver deliberately put his foot down and accelerated. She’d been murdered and the police were covering it up.

‘No one’s covering anything up,’ Mum said. ‘I know how traumatic it must have been for you, seeing something like that, but you need to put it out of your mind. Now please, go upstairs and pack.’

‘Drew?’ Mum says now. ‘Come on, we’re here. We need to get out.’

I touch a hand to my face, surprised to find a tear rolling down my cheeks. I wipe it away briskly and hand Mum my book. ‘Can you return this to the school library, please?’

She takes it then touches me on the shoulder, her face drawn, her eyes clouded with concern. ‘It will be OK, Drew.’

‘Will it?’

‘Of course it will. Just behave yourself, please, and I’ll be here to pick you up in eight week’s time.’

Pick me up? Or pick up the brainwashed, zombie daughter you no longer recognize? I don’t say that to her. Instead, I open the door and step out onto the huge, gravelled driveway of Norton House.

Chapter Twelve

As we yank my suitcase out of the boot of the taxi a tall, slim woman with blonde bobbed hair, wide, thin lips and a long, beaky nose appears from behind the huge wooden front door. She walks down the stone steps and heads for Mum, her hand outstretched.

‘You must be Mrs Coleman, so pleased to meet you.’

Mum shakes her hand. ‘Jane, please.’

‘I’m the housemistress, Evelyn Hatch, but everyone calls me Mrs H.’ Her murky green eyes turn to me. ‘You must be Drew.’

I stiffen, waiting for the inevitable handshake. Instead, all the breath leaves my body as Mrs H. throws her arms around my shoulders and gives me one of the tightest, most suffocating hugs of my life.

‘So lovely to have you here,’ she says. She pulls away, keeping her hands on my shoulders as she looks me up and down. ‘I know you’re feeling nervous and apprehensive, Drew, but I think you’ll have a wonderful time here at Norton House.

We’re one big, happy family and you’ll be very well looked after.’

Mum, standing behind her, gives me a smile that isn’t reflected in her eyes. Two of her kids have been sent to a reform school for bad behaviour. She must feel so ashamed.

‘Is it … um … Would it be possible to see Mason?’ Mum asks Mrs H.

Mrs H.’s thin lips tighten momentarily then she forces a smile. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she says in a sing-song voice that doesn’t match the coldness in her eyes. ‘We don’t want to undo all the marvellous progress Mason has made since he got here, do we?’

‘So he’s doing well then?’

‘Oh yes, absolutely.’ Mrs H. clasps a hand to Mum’s shoulder (she’s one touchy-feely woman). ‘He’s doing brilliantly. We’re very proud of the progress he’s made. He only needs to spend another week in pre-treatment and then he’ll be ready to start the final part of his therapy.’

She holds her arms wide and ushers us up the steps, through the large wooden door and into a large, cavernous entrance hall. There are several closed wooden doors to my left and right and a large sweeping staircase at the far end of the room.

‘Will I get to see my brother?’ I ask.

‘I’m afraid not, my dear. You’ll be beginning your acclimatization phase which takes place in the West Wing.’ She gestures to a door on the left. ‘Pre-treatment takes part in the East Wing.’ She flicks her hand to the right.

I grip the handle of my suitcase. ‘What about the actual treatment?’

‘In a separate building.’

‘Where is that?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough. Right!’ She claps her hands together. ‘Let’s take you to see Dr Rothwell. He’s the headmaster and head psychologist.’ She sets off again, trotting across the entrance hall.

She stops outside a wooden door and knocks twice. There’s a brass plaque on it that says, Dr P. Rothwell BSc (Hons): MSc: DClinPsy; CPsychol’. Mum raises her eyebrows as she reads it. She’s easily impressed by random strings of letters.

‘Come!’ bellows a male voice.

Mrs H. turns the handle then pops her head round the door, effectively blocking me and Mum from looking inside.

‘Oh, sorry, Phil. You’ve got company. Don’t let me interrupt you. I was just going to introduce you to a new student. We’ll come –’

‘I’m sorry to bother you –’ Mum taps her on the arm ‘– but the taxi’s waiting outside and I need to leave soon. Could I ask you a couple of questions before I go?’

‘Of course.’ Her hand drops from the door handle. ‘Let’s talk as we walk. I’ll give you a quick glimpse at the rec room and then you can say goodbye to Drew.’

Mum nods gratefully. ‘Thank you so much.’

As Mrs H. shepherds Mum back across the entrance hall, I sneak a quick look inside Dr Rothwell’s study. Through the gap in the door I can see two men, both dressed in suits, standing beside a large wooden desk. The man in the black suit with gold-rimmed glasses is Mr OFSTED from the train. The other man, taller, with a bald head and a neat, black goatie beard, must be Dr Rothwell. As I watch, they shake hands.

‘Before we have lunch,’ Dr Rothwell says, ‘I mustn’t forget to give you this.’

He turns round to his desk and reaches for an unsealed envelope lying next to a black telephone. He laughs nervously as he picks it up. ‘To cover your expenses.’

‘At least four years’ worth I should hope,’ Mr OFSTED says jovially, as he reaches for it. As his fingers graze a corner the telephone rings. The shrill sound makes both men jump and the envelope jerks up and into the air. As it falls, dozens of fifty pounds notes spill from the opening and flutter to the floor.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Mum!’ I speed after her and Mrs H., dragging my suitcase behind me, as they disappear through a door to the left of the entrance hall. ‘Mum, there’s something –’

‘Sssh.’ She gives me a sharp look as I draw up alongside her. ‘I’m talking, Drew. Don’t be so rude.’

Mrs H. raises a pencilled eyebrow. ‘There will be plenty of time for goodbyes in a moment, Drew. I was just telling your mother about –’

‘But Mum!’ I pull on the sleeve of her grey woollen coat.

‘This is important. I just sa–’

‘Drew!’ Mum grabs me by the shoulders and spins me away from Mrs H. ‘Stop. Being. So. Rude.’

‘I need to talk to you. Alone.’

She shakes her head, her cheeks reddening under Mrs H.’s judgemental stare. ‘Just do what you’re told. Please! This is a difficult enough day as it is without you making it harder.’

‘Mum, the OFSTED inspector is in Dr Rothwell’s office and he just paid him off. I saw the money. Thousands and thousands of pounds.’

My heart thuds in my chest as I wait for Mum to react. This is it. The proof that something dodgy is going on. If Mum rings the police they’ll have to shut the school down.

‘Mum?’ I say as she stares silently at me, her eyes searching my face. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’

She swallows, presses her lips tightly together and then, to my utter horror, her eyes fill with tears. ‘You don’t have to do this, Drew. It’s OK to be scared. You’re hundreds of miles away from home in a place you don’t know, but nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise. Tony wouldn’t have suggested sending you here if he thought you’d be in any kind of danger. I know you don’t believe it but he loves you and Mason.’

I laugh. ‘Seriously? Mum, we both know that’s not true, but this isn’t about –’

‘So sorry to interrupt.’ Mrs H. takes a step towards us. ‘But you did say you needed to get off, Mrs Coleman, and it’s nearly 5 p.m.’

Mum glances at her watch. ‘Oh God, I’ve got to go! I’m sorry, Drew. I wanted to see your dorm and make sure you were settled in but I can’t miss this train.’

‘No!’ I grab hold of her arm. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ Mum’s eyes fill with tears again as she twists her arm away.

‘I love you, Drew,’ she shouts as she sprints towards the front door, which Dr Rothwell is holding it open. Beside him is the OFSTED inspector, with the brown envelope tucked under his arm.

‘Mum!’ I start to go after her but Mrs H. shoots out a hand, lightning fast, and grabs me by the arm and sinks her nails into the thin skin of my wrist. I cry out in pain and Mum glances back but, before I can say anything, the OFSTED inspector sidesteps her, blocking her view.

‘How nice to see you again,’ he says in a loud pompous voice. ‘Dr Rothwell and I are going for lunch in Newcastle. Perhaps we could share your cab?’

‘Mum!’ I shout. ‘Mum, don’t go! Mum!’

Chapter Fourteen

As the front door slams shut, Mrs H. releases her grip on my wrist. Four crescent-shaped nail marks are etched into my skin like dirty pink tattoos.

‘Oh dear,’ she says, peering down at them. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I really should get my nails cut. Do you need a hug?’

Do I need a hug? What kind of sick psychopath is she? I move away from her, my hands raised in case she tries to hug or scratch me again. I’ve got three options:

Run for the door and hope Mum’s taxi hasn’t left yet

Smack Mrs H. round her stupid ‘do you need a hug?’ face and tell her that she’s not fooling anyone with her ‘we’re all family’ line

Act dumb, play along and go back to plan A – help Mason escape

‘Drew?’ she says again. ‘Do you need a hug?’

I nod my head. (Three, it is then.)

I try very hard not to cringe as Mrs H. puts her arms around me and gives me a squeeze. Her perfume, a vile floral scent, catches in the back of my throat.

‘It’s tough, I know,’ she murmurs into my hair before she swiftly lets go.

‘Grab your suitcase, please, Drew.’

She holds the white card at the end of her lanyard against a small black box to the right of the door. It swings open and she ushers me inside.

‘Your homesickness will pass quickly, Drew,’ Mrs H. says as she follows me into the room. The walls are lined with bookshelves and hundreds of faded hardback books. It smells vaguely musty, like a second-hand bookshop. A man and two women are standing at a large picture window on the other side of the room. They’re wearing identical royal blue sweatshirts with a Norton House logo, dark jeans and white trainers. And they all have lanyards dangling from their necks.

‘Drew,’ Mrs H. says as they walk towards us. ‘Let me introduce you to Abi, Stuart and Destiny.’

‘Hi,’ they chime, flashing ridiculously white smiles.

‘Great to meet you, Drew!’ Abi steps forward and hugs me. She’s early twenties with blonde hair in a ponytail and ridiculously clear skin. She looks, and sounds, like she should work on the Disney Channel.

Stuart steps closer as Abi lets me go and I brace myself. What’s with all the bloody hugging? But he doesn’t embrace me like I’m some long lost relative. Instead, he nudges my shoulder with a closed fist and says, ‘Drew eh? Cool name,’ in a thick Scottish accent.

‘Nice to meet you, Drew,’ says Destiny. She’s got a neck tattoo, a septum piercing and long black dreads that are curled into a bun on the top of her head. She shoves her hands into her pockets as she speaks. Finally, someone who doesn’t invade my personal space.

‘Abi, Stuart and Destiny work here,’ says Mrs H. ‘Officially they’re known as support assistants but everyone here refers to them as “the friends”. They’re responsible for your mental, physical and emotional health and well-being whilst you’re in the acclimatization phase of your stay at Norton House.’

‘Anything you want –’ Abi beams at me ‘– just ask us.’

‘Can I have an iPad and the Wi-Fi password, please?’

She laughs as though it’s the funniest joke in the whole world but Mrs H. isn’t amused. ‘You won’t have any contact with the outside world for the duration of your stay, Drew. There are a number of other rules you’ll need to abide by but we won’t worry about that now. You’ll find a welcome pack on your bed when I show you to your dorm.’

Dorm? I have to share with other people?

‘You’ll get on great with your roomies,’ Stuart says. ‘Some of the kids make lasting friendships.’

Yeah, right. Not if you’re Charlie. Zed told me he wouldn’t talk about who he met or what happened at Norton House. Instead, he’d trot out the same stock answer: ‘I will forever be grateful to the staff at Norton House for pointing me in the right direction when I didn’t even know I was lost.’

I zone out as Stuart continues to waffle on about friendship and sharing and trust. Beyond the two large picture windows on the other side of the room is a large stretch of lawn. Beyond that, about five hundred metres away, a row of conifers bend and sway in the wind. My stomach clenches as I spot the twenty-foot iron fence that runs around the perimeter of the school. The plans I printed out are over thirty-five years old. If the basement of Norton House has been renovated along with the rest of the building, I’m going to have to find a way to get over that fence instead.

‘Right then,’ Mrs H. says, tapping her foot impatiently. ‘We’ll just do a quick suitcase search and then I’ll show you the rec room.’

*

As I follow Mrs H. across the library, I’m flanked by Abi and Destiny. Stuart walks behind us, dragging my suitcase. Abi went through it and confiscated my e-book reader, two packets of gum, three bars of chocolate and some nail scissors. I wanted to grab everything she’d taken back off her but I didn’t move a muscle. I was too busy praying she wouldn’t ask me to take off my boots so she could search them too.

Mrs H. slows to a stop as she approaches the wall of books on the far side of the room and reaches for the card on the end of her lanyard. There’s another small black box to the right of the door, tucked in between two books on one of the shelves. Three red lights flash at the base.

‘You’re going to like this,’ Abi says as Mrs H. holds her card up to the black box.

There’s a click, a clunking sound and a door-shaped section of the bookshelf swings open.

‘Holy f–’ I press a hand to my mouth, not because the bookshelf contained a hidden door but because I’m hit by a wall of noise as it swings open. Beyond the door is an enormous room, cathedral-big, and it’s teaming with kids. There’s a sea of blue on the floor – a carpet the same shade as Abi’s sweatshirt – broken up by huge circular rugs in red, yellow and green.

Across the other side of the room, there’s a huddle of kids my age, sitting on red beanbags on a red rug. They’re wearing headphones, gripping games controllers and staring at half a dozen flat-screen TVs mounted on the wall. To my left, there’s a yellow rug where a bunch of kids are lounging around on sofas shoving popcorn into their mouths, headphones clamped over their ears, as they watch TV. Beyond them, the rug is green and there’s a pool table, air hockey table, table football game and a huge electronic basketball game. Everywhere I look kids are laughing, chatting, squealing, playing and screaming. It’s like an enormous teenaged crèche.

‘Wonderful isn’t it?’ Mrs H. says, completely misreading the expression on my face. ‘We’re very proud of our recreation room. We deliberately don’t have photos of it on our website because, if we did, every kid in the UK would want to come here.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, but I’m not really listening. I’m staring at the boys playing PlayStation in the red zone. A spotty blond-haired guy is sitting in the same beanbag Mason slouched against in the video they sent Mum. Logically I know he’s not here. Mrs H. has already told me he’s in the pre-treatment unit, but that doesn’t stop me scanning the faces of all the boys in the room.

‘What do you think?’ Stuart asks from behind me. ‘See anything that appeals to you?’

‘It looks like my worst nightmare,’ I say truthfully. ‘Where do you go if you want to be alone?’

Destiny laughs softly.

‘We don’t encourage our students to isolate themselves,’ Abi says. ‘But if this is all a bit too noisy for you there are other options.’ She points at a line of doors on the wall directly opposite. ‘Through there you’ll find a café, a bowling alley, a cinema, a gym and a swimming pool.’

‘A swimming pool?’ I stare at her in astonishment. ‘You’re kidding me?’

She smiles. ‘We’re not joking when we say we want your stay to be as enjoyable as possible, Drew.’

‘But … where are the classrooms?’

‘There are classrooms at the rear of the building. You’ll only have three hours of lessons a day and one hour of individual therapy every couple of days. The rest of the time is your own.’

‘What about the kids in pre-treatment?’ I ask. ‘Have they got something like this?’

Stuart shakes his head. ‘No, the pre-treatment wing is quieter. Students are encouraged to use their time there for quiet reflection.’

‘Can I go there now?’ I ask and everyone laughs.

‘Your time will come, Drew,’ Mrs H. says. She indicates to Stuart to pull the door to the library closed, shutting us in the rec room, and then points to her left. ‘I’ll show you to your dorm now.’

Chapter Fifteen

We leave Abi, Stuart and Destiny in the rec room and head towards the large glass double doors on the left of the room. The wheels of my suitcase squeak as I drag it along behind me and several of the boys playing pool stop and stare as we pass.

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