When they got near to the viewing level, it got much harder for Tom to pretend his legs weren’t burning and his lungs weren’t about to jump out of his chest.

  “Last few steps, everyone.” Miss Riley called cheerful. She was annoyingly not out of breath. “Hands on the rail, stay with your pairs.”

  Up the last spiral, twenty-four tiny bodies clattered and shuffled, their shoes rhythmically squeaking on the metal stairs. The stairwell’s walls were cool and closed, and the air was filled with the high-pitched sounds of children grumbling.

  “My legs hurt.”

  “How many more?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  With one hand skimming the rail and the other counting heads as they came out onto the platform one by one, Tom stayed at the back. Although he wasn’t officially a teacher yet—‘trainee’ sounded better than ‘student’—he was acutely aware that this was his first real trip with children and not just a line in another handbook on teaching techniques.

  One by one, like marbles from a box, they spilled out into the clock room.

  “Ohh,” someone breathed audibly.

  It was definitely worth it. Four massive clock faces, one on each side, surrounded them like pale, glowing shields. The light filtered through the glass turning the room into a soft white hue, with the shadows of the hands and numbers faintly visible on the walls. Old beams crisscrossed overhead, and beneath the safety barriers, one could see cables, girders, and pieces of machinery humming and ticking on a rhythm older than any of them.

  “All right,” said Miss Riley as she moved to the middle of the room. She wore a sensible coat with sensible boots, and hair scrapped back into a tight bun that was now coming loose. She was in her late thirties, and interestingly she never had to shout to be heard. “Everyone find a spot. Don’t bend over the rails and don’t push. Hands to yourselves, please.”

  Like muscle memory, phones sprang into action right away, taking more photos of one another than of the historic place they were visiting. A blonde girl complained to her friend after she saw the photo taken of her, “Hold on, do it again, my hair looks weird.”

  Owen, the chubby guy in the class with round cheeks and glasses too small for his face, had already lowered himself onto the floor near a wall, like it was the most perfect seating. With the silent concentration of someone who had been hungry since breakfast, he rummaged inside his backpack and took out a foil-wrapped sandwich big as his head.

  A loud snort cut through the room.

  “Of course,” said Jamie, one of the boys who always had his tie loose on purpose, like rules were optional if you looked bored enough. He nudged his mate with his elbow and pointed his finger directly at Owen. “Piggy got snacks.”

  “What is that your second lunch? Maybe third?” Callum leaned in with a grin.

  Owen froze. The foil cracked in his hand. He made an effort to continue as if he hadn’t heard it, but his ears turned vivid red exposing him.

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  Jamie pitched his voice louder; he was now performing for the others. “Bet he’s got a whole picnic in there.”

  A couple of kids laughed, one even mimed chewing exaggeratedly. Owen stared at his sandwich blinking hard behind his glasses.

  Tom felt his jaw tighten. He’d been hovering near the back, watching the edges of the group like Miss Riley had told him to do. Now, he stepped forward.

  “Enough.” He told them in a steady voice that even surprised himself. It was the same voice he used on his little brother when he was still small. Now, that they were both older, it scarcely worked anymore.

  “Yes, sir. What can I do for you sir?” As if a switch had flipped, the smirk he wore on his face just seconds ago, quickly smoothed into something polite and entirely fake. Then, like an afterthought, he tiled his head. “Mr…?”

  “Mr. Harris.” Tom didn’t blink. “Drop the act, Jamie. You know exactly what you were doing. It’s rude. Apologize to him.”

  For a second Jamie just stared, as if the trainee teacher wasn’t even a real person. Then he scoffed. “We were only joking.”

  “It’s not a joke if he is the only one who is not laughing.” Tom said then repeated in the same steady tone. “Apologize. Now.”

  Callum’s grin slid of his face first. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Jamie hesitated at first, his cheeks coloring. “Sorry,” he said finally, like the word tasted bad.

  Owen didn’t say anything. He just took another stubborn bite, and kept his head down.

  After a moment Tom moved past Jamie and Callum as if they were unimportant. He lowered his voice and knelt next to Owen.

  “Are you okay?”

  Owen chewed, swallowed, and shrugged slightly without looking up. Up close, Tom could see the damp sheen clinging to Owen’s lashes.

  Regardless Tom felt a pang of guilt, because intervening hadn’t made things better. Not very much. Owen didn’t seem to be feeling any lighter. It had, if anything, brought him into the spotlight and made him the reason the whole room had gone quiet.

  “I’m fine,” Owen mumbled, but he didn’t sound like anything was fine. He continued to eat stubbornly, like that was the only way to survive it.

  Slowly, as the noise started to creep back into the room, Tom straightened keeping himself between Owen and the others. Jamie, relieved to be off the hook, was already laughing at something else. Callum gave Tom one quick glace before turning his head away.

  With a slow exhale Tom moved back to his position. Miss Riley looked at him from across the room and gave him a brief, positive glance. She then turned back toward her class and began discussing the clocktower’s past.

  “Who can tell me what is this tower actually called?”

  Emily’s hand went up in a second, neat as a ruler.

  “Big Ben.” someone shouted from the back of the group.

  “It’s the Elisabeth Tower,” Emily said, when Miss Riley nodded to her. “Big Ben is the bell.”

  “Exactly, very good Emily. Big Ben is actually the nickname for the Great Bell inside.”

  Callum glanced at Emily impressed despite himself. For a brief moment, his expression softened as if had forgotten to maintain his not caring composure.

  “Smart,” he muttered under his breath.

  Jamie noticed. His eyes darted from Callum to Emily, jaw tightening as if he didn’t like the feeling.

  “So,” Miss Riley looked over her class searching for the next candidate who could answer her question. “Who, was this Elisabeth?”

  “The Queen,” a boy in the front said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Someone started laughing, but Emily kept her hand raised patiently, waiting for her turn.

  “Which queen?”

  “The Queen of England,” another kid added confidently, earning even more laughter.

  “Emily?” Miss Riley finally turned toward her.

  “Queen Elisabeth the Second,” she said. “They renamed the tower for her after she had been on the throne for sixty years.”

  “You are right, Emily. Yes, it was her Diamond Jubilee.”

  Emily lowered her hand, satisfied. Like it was enough of the spotlight for now, letting others answer the next questions, Emily moved a little closer to a clockface looking up. Callum’s eyes followed her without him even thinking about it. Jamie saw that, then he pushed Callum like ha was mad for no reason “Oi,” he said, but it sounded flat.

  “What?” Callum asked annoyed.

  “Nothing.” Jamie shrugged like it was really nothing and looked at the other direction.

  Without a warning the floor punched upward. It felt like a huge fist had struck the bottom of the tower. The whole room shook. The rail jumped under Tom’s hand. Kids screamed as the tower swayed, the noise sharp and sudden, like a box of frightened birds taking off.