The Magpie Society One for Sorrow

by Amy McCulloch

  ‘I would,’ Bonnie says. ‘Because whatever else you do at this school you don’t want to cross the magpies.’

  6

  Audrey

  After the creepy fountain incident, Bonnie takes me back to the entrance of Helios House. I feel wrung out from the effort of learning about this new school. It seems as if everyone is so entrenched in its traditions that it’s like a second language to them. I’m left floundering without a translator. We didn’t even get to the stupid SCR, so I’m still none the wiser about that either.

  When I finally get back to the room, Ivy’s there. She’s been working hard: her side has been completely transformed. There’s a new deep purple bedspread, so dark it’s almost black, draped over her mattress, and her desk is piled high with books and lit by a beaten-up old angled lamp. Everything is neatly ordered and a calendar hangs above her desk covered in little coloured stickers.

  She’s clearly hyper-organized, which I am most definitely not. I’m no slob, but I get the sense she’ll sneer at my occasional floor-drobe.

  Ivy is sitting in the window seat, her back to me. She doesn’t even look over when I come in. A cool blast of wind hits me from the open window, and there’s even a damp patch on the floor where the rain from earlier has blown into the room.

  ‘Can you close that?’ I ask, suppressing a shiver and running my hands up and down my arms.

  She doesn’t move. Curious, I peer round her and see that she has one arm out the window. There’s an empty plate at her feet, covered in crumbs. Finally, she speaks up. ‘I thought I saw a nest outside the window. I wanted to leave some food out for the birds. It pays to be nice to them around here.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ I mutter. ‘That’s nice of you,’ I say, a bit louder.

  ‘I’m a nice person,’ Ivy replies matter-of-factly. She pulls the window shut. The wind has shaken up her pin-straight bob and raindrops have settled on the dark brown strands like tiny beads.

  ‘So … this place is weird,’ I say, trying to start a new conversation.

  ‘What did you expect? Didn’t you get some kind of welcome pack?’

  ‘Yeah … I don’t read that crap if I can help it,’ I say. ‘I like to discover a place for myself, you know?’

  She looks at me like I’ve announced I’m from Mars. ‘No, I don’t know. If I was coming to a new school, I’d want to know everything about it. I’d hate being ignorant.’ She pulls back the bedcovers and settles in underneath her blanket. To my surprise, she speaks up again a moment later, face to the wall. ‘Lights out is at ten. There’ll probably be an inspection by the housemistress before then, in case you want to put stuff away.’

  ‘Thanks …?’ I reply, my voice drifting into a question. She doesn’t answer.

  I sigh. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired, or because I want to piss off my room-mate with the boxes for a bit longer, but I decide that it’s too late to unpack.

  I slump down on my bed, staring at Ivy’s back. A wave of irritation washes over me. I didn’t want it to be this way. I didn’t want to start off on a bad note with my room-mate on the first day. I’d kinda hoped we’d be close. Especially because I’ve left all my close friends behind …

  Good riddance, says a tiny voice inside my head and I know it’s right.

  This was supposed to be a fresh start. Dad kept telling me that Illumen Hall prided itself on its warm and friendly atmosphere, its moulding of the bright young citizens of the future. Bonnie and Araminta seem nice, but I just wish I knew what I’d done to get on Ivy’s bad side so quickly. Maybe we’ll grow on each other … like parasites.

  What a thought.

  I change out of my clothes, slip on my Victoria’s Secret spaghetti-strap tank and shorts, and creep into bed. Instantly, I shiver. I might have to invest in some thermal PJs for life in this place.

  I take my phone out, running a finger lightly over the cracks in its surface, my bottom lip poking out. The damage is only superficial, but it’s super annoying, and tomorrow I’ll have to email Dad and get him to send a replacement. Not exactly the ‘pack your daughter off to boarding school to learn to be more independent’ moment he was hoping I’d have here, but he’ll get over it. I take a moment to scroll through the DMs, WhatsApp messages, Instagram Stories and Snapchats that I’ve received over the course of the day. It’s the afternoon back home, and social media is a lot more active. It’s strange to think that from now on, when my days are over, theirs will only be getting started.

  But it’s a trade-off. Leaving my old life behind means leaving my ghosts behind too, and that’s definitely a good thing.

  I hear a small cough, and turn to see Ivy sitting up in bed. I get the impression that she’s been watching me, although her eyes are intently trained on the book in her hand: The Handmaid’s Tale. Required reading for English class, I guess.

  There’s a very light knock on the door and a face peers round it. ‘Everything all right in here, girls?’

  ‘Fine, miss,’ Ivy pipes up.

  ‘Oh, Ivy – great to have you as house prefect this year, not that it was in any doubt! And in lower sixth too – I’m so proud of you.’

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Why does everyone around here seem to worship the ground that girl walks on?

  Then the teacher’s eyes turn to me. She’s smiling warmly, but a small frown appears between her eyebrows as her eyes flick between me and my bedsheets. I look down at my covers – they’re not controversial at all, just my beautiful butter-yellow sheet set I bought from Anthropologie, decorated in delicate appliqué flowers. There can’t be anything in the rulebook against adorable floral bedding, surely?

  ‘Have we met yet? I’m sorry, my mind is a blur in the first days,’ she says.

  I shake my head. After a moment of hesitation, I swing my legs out of the bed and pad over to greet the teacher properly. If this is the housemistress that Ivy mentioned, then I want to get on her good side. ‘I’m Audrey Wagner,’ I say to her.

  The frown falls from the woman’s face, and she beams back at me. ‘Our lovely new girl! Hello and welcome. I’m Mrs Parsons, the Helios housemistress this year. I think I have you for maths as well? You’re doing the IB programme, aren’t you?’

  I nod. It was easier for me to transfer to do the International Baccalaureate than it was the strange GCSE/A-level system. At Illumen Hall, they prepare students for either.

  ‘I am,’ I say. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Now, you have full orientation tomorrow so I’m not surprised that you don’t know our Illumen Hall rules yet.’

  Mrs Parsons sticks out her hand, palm up. I look down at it, feeling stupid. She waggles her fingers at me and, when I still don’t move, she sighs. ‘No phones in school from Monday to Friday.’

  ‘You can’t take my phone!’ I say, clutching it to my chest.

  ‘I promise you it’ll be perfectly safe – we keep them all locked up in a glass-fronted case so you can see them. In fact, come with me.’

  I look over at Ivy for – I don’t know – help? Support? But she’s studiously reading her book. Mrs Parsons is already several steps ahead of me, so I jog to catch up with her. She stops outside a door with a small plaque on it that reads HOUSEMISTRESS. Just outside it is that glass-fronted shelving unit with our names engraved beneath each small box. Now I see that what I thought were mailboxes is actually a little zoo for phones.

  ‘I know how you students treat these things like your own children! So here they are. It’s for your own good too. Student productivity has increased by almost thirty per cent since we started this initiative. Think of all the reading you can catch up on in the evenings, just like Miss Moore-Zhang.’ This time, when she holds out her hand, I place the phone in it reluctantly. Broken screen and all, it’s still my connection to the outside world.

  ‘We all have to do it,’ Mrs Parsons says, gesturing to the case. Sure enough, on top of Ivy’s name there’s a slim black smartphone. I swallow hard, watching the hou
semistress lock my cellphone in the little cubby above my name.

  ‘You’ll have it back for the weekend, but make sure it’s here, locked up in the case, by Monday. And, now that you know the rule, if I have to ask you more than once more, there’ll be demerit points. But I’m sure we won’t have that problem.’ She must clock the stricken look on my face, because she places a hand on my shoulder. ‘Life at Illumen Hall isn’t like anywhere else. It takes some adjusting to, but you’ll get used to it. And, if you have any problems at all, you know where I am.’

  I turn on my heels and walk back towards my room. I feel like I’m in a daze.

  ‘You could have warned me,’ I say to Ivy, once I’m back in the room.

  ‘I did warn you. Not my fault you chose not to listen.’ She makes a deliberate show of putting her earbuds in.

  ‘Bitch,’ I mumble under my breath.

  Then I frown. What’s Ivy listening to music on? I glance over and see that she’s sitting up in bed, texting.

  On a phone. A brand-new iPhone.

  ‘Where’d you get that?’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Hey!’ I say again, when she ignores me.

  ‘What?’ She finally looks up, removing her earpods, her mouth twitching with irritation. Whatever. I need answers.

  ‘Where’d you get that phone?’

  Ivy frowns. ‘My phone? I bought it in a shop.’

  ‘Yeah, OK, but how come you have it? I saw your phone in that zoo thing outside Mrs Parsons’ office.’

  Ivy looks at me for the first time with what seems like pity. ‘Oh, mate. No one hands in their real phone. Now please stop interrupting me. I have to listen to this.’

  For a second, I almost call Mrs Parsons right then and turn Ivy in – but I know I won’t do that. And Ivy knows it too. It’s just another one of those rules that I’m gonna have to learn about this place.

  Maybe Theodore was right. My seven months of bad luck might have just begun.

  7

  Ivy

  Audrey finally gives up the chat and rolls over with her back to me, pulling her twee yellow duvet up to her chin. I can’t even imagine what that must have cost. I look down at my duvet and pick at a hem that’s coming loose.

  I sigh. Already life in the lower sixth isn’t what I’d worked so hard for. Yes, I have the prefect badge and I’m really proud about that, but this was supposed to be MY year. The year I excelled in every subject, really put my head down and focused. A-levels are the stepping stone to the life and career I dream of. Being made to share is really shit. Kind of like my attitude right now. It’s impossible to forget that Lola spent her final days in this very room.

  I know that it must hold the echoes of her laughter, and I’m scared that one night I’ll close my eyes and hear them. I try and think of something else. Nothing comes. My phone buzzes. I reach under my pillow and pull it out. It’s Teddy.

  Hey, creeper. Just wanted to send

  you a little message. I know

  you’re probably lying awake

  right now overthinking. If you

  need me, you know I’m here.

  Let’s do lunch by the pool

  tomorrow? I feel like we haven’t

  spent proper time together in

  weeks and I miss you. It was

  nice seeing you in assembly

  earlier. Stop overthinking and go

  to sleep now. X

  It’s frustrating how well he knows me. I go to send a reply – but notice he’s typing again. Then he stops.

  I wait a bit longer and stare blankly at the empty message box and the cursor blinking away. I lie back and stare up at the ceiling, the moon casting shadows on it through the gap in the curtains. Frustrated, I quit the message. Then I spot a corner of the dayglo-pink flyer I’d stuffed in my phone case. I unfold it, frowning. A message pops up from Teddy, his timing uncanny.

  PS Have you looked at the website yet?

  I start typing.

  Just about to.

  I take a deep breath, open up my web browser and type in the URL. It’s a plain webpage, with just that creepy title – ‘I KNOW WHO KILLED LOLA’ – and a link beneath.

  I shiver. I click on the link and it directs me to my podcast app. Taking Teddy’s advice not to overthink, I hit ‘subscribe’ and click to listen to episode one.

  THE WKL? PODCAST TRANSCRIPT

  EPISODE ONE

  [Intro] Quiet, low beats, like a heartbeat.

  VOICE UNKNOWN

  Welcome, curious ones, to the first episode of WHO KILLED LOLA? I’m your host, VOICE UNKNOWN, Vee for short, and I’ll be spending the next few weeks with you, delving into the mystery of the death of Dolores Radcliffe, beloved student of renowned and mysterious boarding school Illumen Hall. Known as Lola to all her friends, her death was officially ruled ‘by misadventure’ by Kent police. But I have good reason to believe it was something far more sinister. And I also believe that whoever did it isn’t finished yet.

  Subscribe and tune in as I hunt down clue after clue, working tirelessly to piece together this twisted jigsaw: the unsolved mystery of WHO KILLED LOLA?

  [Interlude] Musical jingle plays for thirty seconds.

  VEE

  Where should I begin? I think it’s fair to say that all of us – students and staff – at Illumen Hall were devastated at the beginning of the summer, when Lola’s body washed up on the beach at the end-of-term party.

  By now, most of you will have heard the story, but if you were living under a rock (or you were one of those poor students who had to head home before the infamous party), or if you’re tuning in from outside the Illumen bubble, let me give you a bit of background.

  Lola Radcliffe was one of Illumen Hall’s shining stars. Seventeen, popular, beautiful, smart, with a head-student badge all primed and polished, ready for her final year. She had everything going for her. And surely someone who casts such a glow always leaves jealous eyes in the shadows …

  The Illumen Hall end-of-term party is the highlight of the year, and kicks off the summer. No doubt Lola was planning to be there. We know that she left her house, dressed in a vintage Lanvin cocktail dress. We know that she got in her car, and that CCTV and traffic cameras picked her up as far as Winferne Bay, only a few miles from the party beach.

  She’d sent texts that confirm she was planning to meet her friends by the fire pit, since no phones were allowed at the party.

  But instead, at 11.47 p.m. exactly, it was just her body that ended up on the beach.

  The police were called, everyone on the beach was interviewed, her friends and family questioned … and in the end the coroners ruled Lola’s death as being by misadventure. They believe she fell from the cliffs, on that unstable ground that would have led fatefully to the sea. But how are they so certain? It makes no sense to those who knew her that she would risk a walk along the cliffs by herself in the dead of night. It’s drilled into every student at IH how dangerous it can be. And Lola was far from stupid.

  They often say that it’s the boyfriend. But Lola was a social butterfly without one man to tie her down – and she was always attracting the eyes of men – even those who had no business loving her.

  And friendships are sometimes even more dangerous than relationships. What about the public falling out that saw Lola crying in the sixth-form bathroom? Did jealousy push someone over the edge?

  Or was Lola simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Did you know that several suspicious persons were reported to have been near the cliffs that night? What do you think the police have to say about that?

  I know that something doesn’t add up. I’m not happy. I’m not satisfied. And I’m not going to let it rest.

  [Interlude] Dramatic music plays.

  We’ll be talking to the detectives on the case.

  A MAN’S VOICE

  We left no stone unturned in our investigation. Now excuse me, I have serious work to do.

  VEE

  We’ll be talking to Lola’s family.


  A YOUNG MAN’S VOICE

  She had no history of mental illness. She was always so happy, like sunshine in a bottle. We can’t understand it.

  VEE

  Her teachers.

  ANOTHER MAN’S VOICE

  She’d confided in me that she knew her parents wanted her to go to university, but she wanted to pursue her dream of acting, and I encouraged it. She had a lot of potential.

  VEE

  Her friends.

  A YOUNG WOMAN’S VOICE

  I just don’t get it. She had plans. Dreams. She wouldn’t have done this; I know it.

  VEE

  But do you think someone would want her dead?

  THE SAME YOUNG WOMAN

  [long pause]

  Of course not. But she was so wild and carefree, you know? She was a light. A beacon. But lights attract bad things as well as good. And she loved danger.

  [Interlude] Quiet music plays.

  VEE

  Sometimes the police settle for the easy answer. But those of us who knew Lola can’t just stand by. There are too many unanswered questions. Too much that doesn’t make sense.

  And, of course, there’s the question of that mysterious magpie tattoo … What if her death had nothing to do with Lola at all, but with the very school she loved? Every student at Illumen Hall is warned about the dangers of ‘crossing the magpies’, but it’s treated like a fun tradition, part of the school’s charm.

  What if … it means something more?

  And what if … instead of a suicide, Lola’s death was a murder?

  [Interlude] Dramatic music plays.

  VEE

  Thank you for joining me for this introductory episode of the WKL? podcast, where we will get to the bottom of what happened to Lola Radcliffe – together.

  Next week, I’ll be airing my interview with the lead detective on the case, and sharing what I’ve learned about that magpie tattoo. Not everything is as it seems. Don’t you want to know who’s really been controlling these corridors? I can tell you it’s not Mrs Abbott and her band of prefects …