I’m cut off from reminiscing by the sound of the door opening. I sit up straight in my chair and the crowd around me disperses. I hope that class life will lead to something a bit more like normality.
It’s not the teacher who walks in though, but Ivy. So she is in this class. Her face is flushed, her skin slick with sweat. Her hair is immaculate though, and I swear she’s wearing a little make-up – a touch of eyeliner flicked up at the corner. How does she get away with it? I feel like I need to watch her a little more carefully to learn the tricks to life at the school.
She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, but slips into a desk right in the front row.
Striding in behind her is the teacher, Mr Willis. Now he catches my attention. He’s got a fluffy mess of hair, little round glasses and broad shoulders that fill out his faded plaid tweed blazer nicely. He barely looks older than us – he must be in his late twenties at most. I’m surprised – all the teachers I had in the US were so much older. Under the blazer, he’s wearing a cream shirt and brown pants; if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought he was an actor playing the role of a teacher. Maybe this is gonna be the first time that I pay real attention in a history class.
‘All right, Illumenites,’ he says, dropping his books on the desk with a clatter. ‘Are we ready to get straight down to some history? We don’t need any orientation lark, do we?’
Some of the other students are buzzing, as if something more interesting has happened than just the teacher walking in and asking a simple question. A dozen hands go up around me. Have I missed something? I stare down at my laptop, the cursor blinking at me furiously.
Bonnie’s hand is one of the ones straining towards the ceiling, and Mr Willis nods in her direction. ‘Yes, Miss Lewis?’
‘Sir, are you the teacher on the podcast?’ she pipes up. I watch as Ivy’s head whips round and she gives Bonnie such a vicious glare that even my skin feels like it’s burning with the heat of it. Bonnie doesn’t notice though, her eyes trained solely on Mr Willis. Ivy seems to collect herself and spins back to face the front, her reaction smoothed over so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
Mr Willis leans against the whiteboard, his hands drumming along the metal edge where the pens sit. ‘Good ear. Yes, I suppose there’s no point hiding it – it is me.’
Another dozen hands go up, but he waves them all away. ‘I’m not going to answer anything else about it – I don’t know any more than you do. All I can say is that, when a student passes away, it affects the teachers who knew them as much as the students. We’re people too, you know,’ he adds. His eyes have a far-off look to them, and they turn a little glassy, as if he might actually cry. Then he blinks hard. ‘On the other hand, if you’re all so interested in the podcast, may I suggest that delving into the school’s history is a truly fascinating endeavour. It would be worth heading to the library, which has some incredible original editions and some primary-source material. If anyone would like to write me an essay on some of the history of Illumen Hall, I could bribe you with chocolate. Anyone? Anyone?’
Those words are enough to quieten everyone down. He claps his hands together, and his eyes pass over me for the first time. But then his attention flickers back. He looks down at a piece of paper on top of a book. ‘Miss Wagner?’
I nod, jumping in surprise.
Even more surprising, he walks down the aisle and shakes my hand. ‘Mr Willis. Pleasure. You’re from the States?’
‘Georgia,’ I reply.
‘Some great history in that part of the world – yes. Not all of it pleasant, but still fascinating. Maybe you can write me a report about it?’
‘I, uh …’
‘I’m only teasing. It’s just my sense of humour. You’ll get used to it. Right, class?’
There’s a titter of laughter.
‘You’ll do fine,’ he says. ‘Although you might have to catch up on your eighteenth-century English history knowledge. I’m afraid we don’t have a catchy hip-hop musical to help us remember. Do you think you’ll need some extra attention, Miss Wagner?’
‘From you? Sure,’ I say with an exaggerated wink – and the class erupts into laughter. Mr Willis’s face flushes pink – he clearly ain’t used to American sass.
‘All right, all right, settle down,’ he says as he strides towards the front of the class.
I stare at the back of Ivy’s head. She was the only one who didn’t laugh as I made my quip. She didn’t even turn round. She looks up at Mr Willis as he passes, and I swear that she bats her eyelashes at him. He pauses for a microsecond and they lock eyes.
Wow. Is there something between this Mr Willis and Ivy? Or is she just a favourite student?
I can’t help thinking there’s a bit more to it than just a shared love of history. Who knew such a small school could hold so much drama?
12
Ivy
As Mr Willis lays out what we’ll cover in history curriculum this term, I close my eyes for the faintest second. The image of what I saw this morning remains seared into my eyeballs.
Lola’s portrait is hanging at the entrance to Helios House, looming over us every time we go back to our rooms. The oil painting is eerily lifelike, her eyes piercing through the canvas. She was painted in her school uniform, before the drastic haircut – so her shoulder-length blond hair curls neatly at her shoulders, her lips slightly parted as if she’s about to speak. She’s walking away from the canvas, her head turned back to us, her fingers stretching out and slightly curled, as if she’s trying to lead us into the portrait with her.
But Lola won’t lead anyone anywhere now. She’s immortalized as an Illumen Hall student. Whatever she might have gone on to accomplish or achieve … she’s now frozen in time. Just another part of the school’s long history.
It took forever to convince my feet to move again. I’d only had time to change, do the barest eyeliner flick and then rush to class.
‘You OK?’ Harriet leans over to whisper to me.
‘Yeah. Lost track of time while I was practising.’
She grins. ‘No surprise there.’
Mr Willis pauses in his lecture to look at us, and we fall quiet. I guess the one good thing about history this year is having him as my teacher. When he started at our school last year, there’d been a rush of students signing up for extra history tutoring with him. He’d once presented a BBC history show as a grad student and written a book about some obscure Scottish lord – he was basically the closest thing we had to famous. He was hot too – helped along by his kind of disoriented and slightly flustered air, as if he’s constantly distracted. Hot and a bit geeky. You wouldn’t find one student – male or female – who didn’t agree with that statement. He seemed curiously unaware of the effect he had on us too, though he made a big announcement when he got engaged to his girlfriend last Christmas, even down to showing us the vintage ring he’d found. It was kind of tacky, to be honest. But I guess he felt the need to show he was taken.
I once watched him play rugby against some of the senior boys, a teachers versus students charity event. His rugby kit showed off a surprisingly muscular frame – normally hidden under some truly hideous suit jackets. It’s a shame he hides away – what’s the point in working out so hard if you’re going to bury it under a mountain of tweed?
I played the piano in the school musical of Billy Elliot last year and Mr Willis was in charge of rehearsals on a Wednesday evening. We got on really well, often joking about the same things and discussing the crazy antics his flatmates had been getting up to. On those evenings, with him in jeans and tight grey T-shirts that hugged his toned torso, I saw him in a different light.
Now, standing before me at the front of the class, all stern and assertive, but still a bit bumbly, he’s definitely a lot more professional. One bit of his fringe keeps flopping on to his forehead, and he sweeps it back up every couple of minutes. In that moment, I find myself daydreaming about running my hand through his hair … I’ve been so e
ngrossed in my thoughts that, for a few moments, I’ve managed to forget about Lola and the podcast drama. But now my thoughts turn back to her.
Lola smiling as she takes her iced latte.
Lola carrying out her prefect duties with endless patience.
Lola dead on the beach, a strange magpie tattoo visible on the pale skin of her back –
No!
My pen flies from my hand, spinning across the room. Inside, I groan. First lesson back and I’m already messing up. I can’t get control of my thoughts. Then there’s Mrs Abbott to worry about. What could she possibly want from me? We’ve only been back a day. My mind feels like it’s in overdrive, spinning faster and faster.
Just then, my racing train of thought is interrupted by a piercing scream. I spin round and see Audrey standing by the window, pointing at something outside. When she shrieks again, I feel like I’m back on that beach, a terrible wailing in my ears:
‘THERE’S A BODY IN THE WATER!’
13
Audrey
I rush out the door, only one objective in mind. To get to the girl I saw outside, the girl face down in the pond, her long white dress billowing across the surface of the water. I hear footsteps as the rest of the class dash out behind me. It’s like my legs are moving even though my mind is shutting down and thinking, No, no, no, not this, not again …
Bonnie catches up with me, and she repeats the words, ‘Holy shit!’ over and over like some kind of mantra. I want to take her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up, but I’m unable to summon the words.
The sun on our faces is incongruously warm as we race to the pond. Mr Willis overtakes me with his phone out, ready to call an ambulance. Can we save this girl?
‘Oh, thank God,’ I hear Mr Willis say once he’s reached the pond. He leans down, his hands on his knees, out of breath.
I can’t even bear to look, but I gather from everyone’s collective sigh of relief that there isn’t actually a dead body there. Bonnie and I hug, my body trembling.
Ivy stands up on the stone wall that surrounds the pond. ‘It’s OK, people,’ she says, her voice ringing out. ‘It was just a sheet that had blown into the water. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Ivy’s right,’ said Mr Willis. His right arm is soaking wet – he must have pulled the sheet out of the pond and on to the ground. The crowd clears enough for me to see the crumpled mess. Did I really think that was a girl? But did you even look that closely? Or did your mind just jump to the worst possible conclusion? I shudder.
For me to instantly freak out like that? Not a good sign.
Mr Willis looks down at his watch. ‘Come on, back to the classroom. We’ve all had a bit of a scare, but it’s OK.’
Bonnie grips my arm. ‘I really thought there’d been another drowning.’
I don’t reply. Darkness creeps at the edge of my vision. When I close my eyes, I see a girl, face down in water, but when I open them … it doesn’t go away.
‘Are you OK, Audrey?’ Bonnie’s looking at me, concern in her brown eyes. She tries to catch my eye, but I can’t hold her gaze. I pull away from her.
‘I can’t stay here. I can’t take this.’
‘Oh my God, you’re shaking.’
‘I gotta go.’
‘No, don’t – no one blames you.’
‘I’m going to my room.’ I turn away from Bonnie, from the crowds, from the pond.
‘No, you can’t!’ I hear Bonnie call after me. ‘They don’t let us into the dorm rooms during school hours. Audrey, wait!’
I don’t care. I don’t care about their stupid school rules. All I know is that I have to leave immediately. I feel bile rising in the back of my throat. I have to keep telling myself to breathe, as if my body doesn’t remember its basic functions.
Somehow I manage to find my way back to my room, and even Mrs Parsons forgives my rule-breaking when she sees the state of me. I collapse on to my bed and dive under the covers. Something unexpectedly sharp digs into my stomach.
Reluctantly, I sit up, drawing the comforter around me like I’m wrapping myself up in a burrito. Tucked underneath my sheets is a small rectangular box, tied with a green ribbon. Did something arrive from one of my friends? I can’t think who would be sending me gifts. And why would Mrs Parsons hide it like that? I’m nervous now that it’s some sort of practical joke. I wouldn’t put it past Ivy.
I sit down on the bed, toying with the ribbon, running the silk through my fingers. It’s such a small box – it can’t be anything horrible. And I need the distraction after the pond incident. I slide the lid off the box. Inside is a phone.
I frown and lift it out, spotting the note underneath.
I told you this might come in handy. Theodore
I breathe a deep sigh of relief, my anxiety easing, and the note brings a welcome smile to my face. I turn on the phone, happy that Theodore had the forethought to remove the Pokémon case. I clutch it to my chest as it boots up. How ridiculous to have such overwhelming feelings of love for an electronic device! I’ll have to be careful to hide it from the prying eyes of Mrs Parsons.
As soon as the phone turns on, a message pops up.
I preloaded my number, just in
case you wanted to say thanks.
I chuckle at Theodore’s boldness. Maybe the polite British guy is actually just a Hollywood stereotype.
Well, in that case, thank you very much.
I flick through the rest of the phone, download the apps that I need and sign in, sending my friends back home a message about my new number.
Lydia replies almost straight away with a posed selfie in giant sunglasses and holding a giant Panera iced tea.
GLAD TO HAVE YOU BACK, BABE.
BEEN WORRIED ABOUT YOU.
I send her a photo of the greying English skies as a response. Back home, the heat must still be searing. Here? Not so much.
But there’s something else I should do now that I have a working phone, and my heart rate has returned to normal.
I guess I have to listen to that damn podcast.
14
Ivy
Two of the boys are flicking the sheet at one another and Mr Willis is telling them off. The panicked atmosphere has most definitely gone. With the tweed blazer off and one sleeve of his cream shirt rolled up to frame his bicep, his hot level just rose by a solid thirty per cent.
‘Stop perving, Ivy!’ Harriet slaps me on the arm playfully, pulling me out of my trance.
‘If everyone could start making their way back inside, please?’ Mr Willis bellows. I notice everyone starting to walk back except … Where’s Audrey? The prefect and room-mate in me knows I should ask Mr Willis if I can go and check she’s OK, but there’s also the fact that I really don’t want to. So I don’t.
Harriet and I link arms as we follow the rest of the class. ‘What’s happening with you and Teddy these days?’ She squeezes my arm with excitement at the thought of new gossip.
‘Honestly … not a lot. I sort of … ended it.’
She gives me ‘the look’ – lowering her chin and raising an eyebrow. ‘Classic Ivy. Gets too serious and you run a mile. Teddy’s gorgeous – even this particularly fussy lesbian can see that!’ She laughs.
‘This is not classic Ivy. It wasn’t getting serious. I just want to focus on school for these next two years and he’s such a distraction.’ She gives me ‘the look’ again and I roll my eyes as we make our way back into the classroom and take our seats. We only have ten minutes left, so Mr Willis just puts on a YouTube video as everyone is so distracted and fidgety.
As the bell chimes and I zip up my bag, I notice that Mr Willis is looking at me. I wait until everyone else has left the classroom, waving Harriet off as she makes an obscenely suggestive gesture, then approach his desk.
‘Hi, sir.’
‘Ivy, nice to see you again this year! How’s that piano coming along?’ He smiles up at me politely and then gazes down at his phone.
‘Same old.’ I p
ause. ‘That was a bit wild today, wasn’t it? I feel like everything’s so unsettled at the moment. Things just don’t feel right for our first day back.’
He puts his mobile back in a drawer and gives me his full attention. ‘I think you’re right. We can already see the effect that podcast has had on a lot of the students. Poor Audrey thinking the sheet was a body! Everyone must be so on edge. How are you coping?’ He places his hand on my arm and I look at it for a little longer than acceptable.
‘It’s hard, but every day gets a little easier.’ I place my hand on top of his and I feel myself blushing.
The first Year Eight student in his next class comes bounding in and Mr Willis pulls his hand from my arm so quickly I almost get friction burn.
‘Well, you keep your head up and try to stay focused. You’re a bright student, Ivy! Lola would have wanted you to do well.’ Back in teacher mode, he welcomes his next class.
‘Thanks.’ I plaster a smile on my face and leave. I sigh. Maybe I imagined the connection Mr Willis and I had last year.
Now there’s another task I can’t put off any longer. I turn in the direction of the headteacher’s office.
Mrs Abbott’s office is like a giant fish tank just off the centre of the main building. The far wall is made of one-way glass, so she can always see out, but you can’t see in, unless she adjusts the opacity herself. It looks so modern encased within the old walls that it sticks out like a sore thumb, though there is something quite magnificent about the contrast. I wait outside on her plush sofa until the light shines green. I push open the heavy glass door to see she’s sitting at her desk with her glasses round her neck and a pen in her mouth.
‘Ivy! Hello. A lower-sixth prefect now, huh?’ She smiles, and I notice a spot of red lipstick on her teeth.
The Magpie Society One for Sorrow Page 7