CHERUB: Knight

3: Shock

When George woke up, the first thing he noticed was the thumping headache, followed closely by his raw throat. It seemed to be a combination of throwing up and feeling dehydrated, on top of whatever they'd injected him with. Just thinking about the injection and his odd breakdown made him embarrassed, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut to block out the memories. Thankfully, more practical matters took over, and he rolled out of bed to search for a toilet.

The room was unfamiliar, but the first door he tried led to an en suite with a grotty toilet. A little repulsed by the black mould growing on every wall, George sighed with relief before shaking off and examining himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. He looked pale and his eyes were tinged with red, but that was pretty reasonable for someone who had spent the night being sick in a hospital. The fact that his mum was dead weighed on his stomach and he felt for a moment like he was going to be sick again, but the nausea passed and he headed back into the room, eyes aching from the headache.

"George?" a voice asked. It belonged to a skinny man with bad acne on his shaved scalp who looked into the room. "Oh, you're up. How're you doing?"

The tone was friendly but George got the impression that the man was only interested in going back to whatever he'd been doing before.

"I'm okay," he replied, shrugging.

"Fancy some breakfast?"

"Not really." His stomach was still playing up and George was sure he wouldn't be able to keep toast down.

It was obvious that the man had expected George to come with him for some breakfast, because he looked like he had run out of things to say.

"I'm supposed to give you a tour after breakfast, if you want."

George wished he knew what time it was, but he'd never worn a watch and there was no clock in the room. "I'll try some orange juice or squash or something."

"I'm Ian, I work here part-time," the man said, sounding awkward as he walked too-close to George through the narrow corridor.

"Where am I?" George asked, rubbing one of his eyes and wishing his throat didn't hurt so much when he spoke.

Ian looked over for a moment with an odd expression, but he seemed to let it go. "This is Scarborough House, it's a children's home."

George had guessed as much. "Do I live here now?"

"I suppose so. You'll have to get a new room and stuff, but you'll settle in okay." Ian didn't seem to be very experienced, but he did know where the kitchen was. He led George through a cramper preparation area and into a mini-cafeteria with brightly coloured plastic chairs and two tables covered with plastic tablecloths. "I'll get you orange juice, since you're new."

Actually, George would have preferred to get his own orange juice so he didn't have to sit like a lemon at the table while he waited. Mercifully there were no other kids around, and the mound of unwashed crockery by the sink suggested they'd missed the breakfast rush.

Ian returned with the juice and set it down on the table in front of George, along with a mug of hot water and a sachet of instant coffee for himself. "So, welcome to Scarborough."

The place was a dump and the slight smile on Ian's face suggested as much, but George was in a new place and out of his depth, so he acted polite. "Thanks. How many kids live here?"

Ian tapped his chin. "I think there are fifteen currently. Do you know how living in care works?"

George had seen two episodes of Tracy Beaker and thought he could make a guess, but he let Ian explain anyway.