by Lena Jones
The professor frowns. ‘On the contrary, as long as you are her mentor, her antics have everything to do with you. An employee is only as good as his or her supervisor.’
I consider letting the professor continue – it makes a change to see Sofia getting it in the neck – but my fairness barometer kicks in. ‘She didn’t know,’ I say.
The professor holds up a hand. ‘That is enough. Now, you will both be quiet and listen to what I have to say. First of all, though, who is this?’ She points to Brianna as if she is an ugly bluebottle that has flown in through a window and is buzzing around annoyingly.
My friend sits up very straight and waits until she’s established eye contact with the professor, before saying, ‘I’m Brianna Pike.’
‘Are you indeed? And how did you come to stumble into my domain, I wonder?’
‘Agatha brought me, because she’s having an awful time about her mum,’ says Brianna. I appreciate her loyalty, but now is not the time.
‘Shut up!’ I hiss, but Brianna is not about to stop:
‘She’s been waiting for years to find out the truth, but now the file’s missing and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever know how her mum really died.’
There is a long silence.
The professor turns to me. ‘Well, Miss Oddlow, you certainly lost no time in sharing our secrets with an outsider.’
I blush. I’m sorry would sound feeble, so I say nothing.
‘You have only just qualified with us, yet you seem to hold little understanding of what it means to be a member of our organisation. Clearly, I have made a serious miscalculation in enlisting you.’
The room shrinks to my heartbeat. Ba-boom! Ba-boom! Ba-boom! ‘Little understanding’? ‘Serious miscalculation’?
‘Professor, wait, please!’ I beg. ‘I had to carry on with my investigation, but Sofia said I wasn’t allowed to choose my own case. I needed help – otherwise I would never have involved Brianna.’
‘Ms Solokov was right. New recruits do not have the authority to choose their own investigations.’
Sofia smiles and shoots me a gloating look.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Those who cannot follow Guild orders,’ says the professor, cutting me off, ‘have no place within our structure.’
I stare at her. The cold stone in my belly has swollen to the size of a rock. ‘But …’
She holds up her hand again. ‘We have made the rules clear all along, child. There’s no room for mavericks here. You, of all people, should understand why I need to know that every agent is fulfilling his or her duties, and not … branching off to further their own interests.’
My face grows hot.
‘But …’ I try again, ‘there were the ingredients to make thermite – inside the abandoned British Museum station! Someone has been using it for illegal activities.’
She shakes her head. ‘You silly girl. Thermite is a well-known product for the welding of train tracks. That imagination of yours will get you into terrible trouble, if you don’t rein it in. Not everything is a criminal plot!’
‘But what about the Guild tunnel that collapsed, causing the sinkhole in Bernie Spain Gardens?’
She taps her fist on the desk, like a judge banging her gavel for order in court.
‘Enough! You have been a Guild member for less than a day, yet you have already broken Guild protocol, trespassed in private areas, questioned my authority at every turn, and – what’s worse – initiated a civilian into our secrets. These are breaches which cannot be tolerated. You will hand me your key at once.’
I shrink away from her and close my hand round the key. ‘But it’s mine.’
‘That key is Guild property. You will kindly hand it over. Now.’
This can’t be happening! My hand is shaking as it clutches at one of the last precious items left to me by Mum. ‘No. It’s mine. You can’t take it – she left it to me.’
‘Your mother was a fully trained Guild agent, and therefore entitled to the free movement which comes with the job. You have earned no such entitlement. Now, hand it over, or I will have to call one of the guards to take it by force.’
I have tears in my eyes as I unfasten the silver chain and wordlessly pass her the object that connected me most closely with my mum. What do I have now that was hers, apart from Oliver and some shelves of books?
‘Ms Solokov, escort Miss Oddlow to Mr Jones’s office, and explain that she’s been suspended. Miss Pike and I need to have a little word. I will speak with you later about responsibilities.’
‘Mum’s bike is missing!’ I blurt out in desperation. ‘That can’t be a coincidence – not with her file disappearing too.’
The professor surveys me coolly. ‘Indeed? Then that will also need to be looked into. Now, please do as I say and go with Ms Solokov.’
Sofia grabs my elbow and pulls me far too hard out of the room.
‘Thank you, so very much,’ she says in an angry whisper, delivered straight into my right ear. ‘Things were going fantastically until you arrived and messed everything up. I told you not to go off on your own investigations. You think you know everything, don’t you? Now I’m in it up to my ears, and you get to waltz off.’
I shake off her hold on my elbow and turn to face her.
‘You think I want to waltz off?’ I snap. ‘I want to be part of this. I need to know what happened to my mum. And I also want to be an agent – more than almost anything.’ A woman passing with a clipboard raises an eyebrow at the scene we’re making, but she carries on walking. Sofia grabs my arm again and pulls me towards Wallace Jones’s office.
Outside his door, I shake her off again and straighten my clothes, smoothing my hair with my hands. She raps on his door.
‘Come!’
Sofia steps inside, grabbing me and dragging me after her. ‘Morning, Mr Jones. Professor D’Oliveira says Agatha Oddlow has to be suspended.’
He looks at me with evident curiosity. ‘Already? It took your mother a full five weeks.’
‘My mum was suspended?’
He smiles and gestures for me to take a seat. ‘At least twice, if I remember rightly. She too was quite … impetuous.’ He pauses for a moment, looking past me and Sofia, as if he is picturing Mum. ‘Her instincts did tend to be correct, mind you.’
I feel a tiny splinter of hope and sit forward in my chair. ‘So can you get me un-suspended?’
‘No,’ cuts in Sofia. ‘The professor made it quite clear that—’
He holds up a hand. ‘Thank you, Ms Solokov. I can take care of things from here.’
She looks furious, but nods and leaves, closing the door behind her (a little more forcefully than necessary).
He observes me in kindly silence for a moment. Then he leans towards me across his desk.
‘Would you take some well-intended advice from an old hand?’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t be quite so … blatant about your contempt for the rules. When you’re allowed back in to the fold, smile and nod and bow, and give the impression of having learnt your lesson. Can you do that?’
‘I guess …’
He smiles. ‘Good. You may go.’
I fish in my pocket for the pager and hold it out to him. ‘Don’t you want this back?’
‘No, you can keep that. I’m sure you will be needing it very soon, if your exploits so far are anything to go by.’
‘Thank you.’ I get up. His phone rings and he gestures for me to wait.
The call is a short one, consisting merely of him saying, ‘Right – I’ll tell her.’ He replaces the receiver.
‘You’re to meet your friend by the front door.’
‘Thank you,’ I say again. ‘Not just for …’ I’m still close to tears, and I don’t manage to complete the sentence.
‘I know, my dear. My pleasure.’
I find Brianna by the front door – minus her bag of tools.
‘Where’s your bag?’
‘Confiscated.’
‘No! I’m sorry.’
She shrugs. ‘Nothing irreplaceable.’
Unlike Mum’s key.
The door opens, without either of us touching it.
‘We’d better go,’ I say. I point to a camera above our heads. ‘I reckon they’re watching, to make sure we leave.’
Brianna sticks her tongue out at the camera.
‘Stop it!’ I say. ‘I’m still hoping to come back here, one day.’
‘They deserve it. Patronising gits.’
I can’t argue with her. Right now, I’m furious with the Guild, furious with Sofia Solokov, and extra furious with Professor D’Oliveira. They haven’t listened to a word I’ve said and now there’s no one investigating the massive quantity of thermite ingredients – nor the smugglers’ cove. And they’ve taken my key … If I’m honest, though, I’m also angry with myself. I have messed up an amazing opportunity.
We walk in silence through the tunnels. We come up near Marble Arch, and I hug her quickly.
‘Oh – are you going to the fireworks tomorrow night?’ she asks. ‘Liam and I are going, if you fancy it? Might be a nice diversion, after all this.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I’d be very good company.’
She squeezes my arm. ‘OK, I understand. Let us know if you change your mind.’
There’s a small stab of pain somewhere in my chest, like a tiny pinprick. This is what I’ll miss, if we move to Cornwall. How long would it take to get new friends like Brianna and Liam? I already know the answer – there are no friends quite like them.
I watch her as she heads off home to Cadogan Place. I don’t feel like going back to Groundskeeper’s Cottage. After a moment’s reflection, I realise I want to be near Mum.
I climb aboard a number 74 bus and watch London pass by as dejection sets in. I just got accepted as the youngest Gatekeeper ever – and now I’m nothing. It’s worse than before I learnt about the Guild – because now I know what I’m missing out on. I’ve had a glimpse of a place where I could have fitted in – a place where having a talent for puzzles and code-breaking was actually considered a good thing.
I switch on my phone and discover I’ve had three texts from Liam.
R u free?
U out there?
HEY, A! WHY THE SILENT TREATMENT??
I text back.
Been suspended
He texts back immediately.
On a Saturday???
I realise he thinks I mean suspended from school. I can sense his panic through the ether.
From Guild
Ohhhh What happened?
Don’t want to talk about it at mo. Off to see Mum
You want company?
Nah. Thx though
Here if you need me
I put my phone away and once again contemplate my life to come if we move to Cornwall for Dad’s job. No Brianna. No Liam. No London. No Gatekeepers’ Guild. But I’ve already lost the Gatekeepers’ Guild, haven’t I? I think about what Wallace Jones said, about how Mum also got suspended. She obviously got reinstated. How did she do it? Could I be reinstated too?
The bus takes about half an hour to reach the gates of Brompton Cemetery. I wander along the familiar path to Mum’s grave. When I get there, I wipe some moss from her stone. It’s a horizontal stone, like a small bed. The book I left last time has gone. I hope someone’s enjoying it. I sit down on her stone and begin to tell her about the past couple of days, including Dad’s job offer.
‘… So you see, I don’t want to go, Mum. But it would be amazing for Dad – and I’m just being selfish, wanting to stay here. Anyway, now I’ve been suspended from the Guild …’ I sigh. ‘And it’s tiring, having to worry about all this other stuff – you know, who’s plotting what – instead of just making friends and getting my homework done.’ I pause. I can’t remember when I last did any homework. Great – another thing to get into trouble for.
I lie back on the stone. It’s warm from the sun and I close my eyes. Mum becomes much clearer when I shut my eyes. I can picture her, in her tortoiseshell glasses and tweed skirt, which ought to make her look like she’s never seen a mirror – but she carries it all off, so she looks quirky and interesting instead.
I can feel her stroking my hair, the way she used to, when she sat by my bed at night.
‘It’s OK, my love,’ she tells me. ‘You don’t have to be responsible for everybody else. You can just give up, if that’s what you want.’ She is quiet for a moment or two, and then she says, ‘But make sure it’s what you want. I’m not sure my Agatha could ever be happy just being like everybody else.’
When I open my eyes, I can still feel her warmth for a few minutes. The stone in my belly has shrunk to a pebble, and I understand. Mum’s given me her approval to give up detecting – at least for now – and just be me. But she’s right: I will always need to find answers, in the same way as we all need oxygen to breathe.
I take the bus back to Marble Arch and walk across the park to the cottage. It’s getting dark, but Dad is still out in the grounds and I run myself a bubble bath and lie back, with my copy of Poirot Investigates. The Belgian detective always makes me feel better.
I don’t switch on my phone until I’m back in my room, pulling on my pyjamas. There’s a text from Liam.
R u coming 2 fireworks 2moro?
I text back.
Not sure I feel up to it
Might cheer you up? Take your mind off things?
Sorry – another time
I turn off my phone and lie on my bed, staring up through the skylight – where I once received a clue. Was it only two nights ago? Two nights ago, when I was still dreaming of being a Gatekeeper, of finding out what happened to Mum.
Dad comes home, but he seems distracted, and I don’t feel much like talking either. We eat in front of the TV, and I retreat to my room to lie on my bed with my thoughts.
I fall asleep pondering what might have been if I’d remained a Gatekeeper, if Mum’s file hadn’t been stolen, if I hadn’t blown everything.
I’m feeling miserable when I wake up on Sunday morning. My clock says eight o’clock, so I’ve had more than thirteen hours’ sleep. I switch on my phone. It beeps with a text from Brianna, but I’ll read it later. I still don’t feel in the mood to go to the fireworks. I sit up and slide my feet into my slippers.
‘Meow!’ Oliver stands up on my bedside chair. I hadn’t even realised he was in here.
‘Hey, boy. Shall we go down and see what we can rustle up to eat? Dead mouse? Or your favourite – mangled bird?’
When he was younger, Oliver was always catching little birds and rodents, and bringing them home as gifts for Mum. She tried everything to discourage these gestures of love, but nothing worked. Nowadays, he’s a more mature cat and less bloodthirsty. I can’t say I miss his offerings.
I pull on my dressing gown, and we head down to the kitchen. I can see Dad through the window, in our private garden. He’s weeding the borders and tying flowering plants to supports. When he’s done that, he’ll move on to pruning the hedges and mowing the lawn. Dad has trouble sitting still for any length of time.
After I’ve fed Oliver, while I’m stirring batter for pancakes, my phone beeps with another text. I lean over to check the screen: it’s from Liam.
Will miss u tonight at fireworks. U want me to come over instead?
I can’t believe he’d be willing to miss the big display for me. I text back.
No – you go and tell me about them. I want to live vicariously
His response comes immediately, making me laugh.
What do vicars have to do with fireworks???
No one can make me laugh like Liam. I text back.
It means to enjoy life through someone else’s experiences
Ahhh! K. Will take pix
Thank you!
I return to my breakfast preparations. I have two frying pans on the go at once, and soon I’ve used up all the batter and I have a stack of
pancakes on a plate. I pour myself a glass of milk, grab the maple syrup and take it all through to the living room. Time for a binge of my latest favourite show on Netflix. It’s the perfect antidote to my malaise – a drama series featuring an improbable chain of events, none of which can be explained rationally.
When the series ends, I move on to a show about zombies. Good thing Dad’s still outside – I don’t think he’d approve of my choices.
He appears around 2pm. He pokes his head in through the living-room doorway.
‘What are you doing inside on such a lovely day?’
‘Just a bit tired,’ I tell him.
‘You OK?’
‘Fine.’ I manage a smile. ‘Just chilling with Oliver.’
‘Well, make sure you get some air later, OK?’
‘OK.’
I remain slumped on the sofa, with Oliver purring on my lap. I tell him who the different characters are, and explain why they’re arguing or fighting. The cat is in ecstasy at all this company and attention. At least one of us is happy.
Around five o’clock, Dad comes back inside. I hear him stamping mud off his boots on the doorstep, and then the sound of the door shutting behind him. He shouts my name.
‘Here!’ I respond, but the living-room door is closed and I’m not sure if he hears.
I hear him filling the kettle and opening cupboards in the kitchen. At last, he appears in the living room doorway, carrying a mug of steaming tea and a packet of digestive biscuits. He stops at the sight of me, huddled under a throw, with the cat on top.
‘Agatha – you haven’t moved. What’s wrong?’
I shrug. He comes to sit beside me on the sofa and pulls me in for a hug. He smells like earth with an undertone of sweat. It’s strangely comforting – such a familiar Dad-odour.
‘What’s going on? Did you not hear the phone?’
‘The phone?’
‘The landline. I’ve just checked the voicemail. It’s full of messages from Liam and Brianna, asking you to call them. Have you fallen out with them?’