I kneel down next to her. ‘Is there anything else inside?’
She shrugs. ‘Not that I could see.’
‘But there might be something,’ I persist. ‘Like that diary that Patrick mentioned?’
‘I guess you’re right. Oh my God, all this time … I’m so sorry, Ivy.’
I don’t reply, but shift forward so that I can get a better look at the secret compartment. Now that the panel is off, we can see the old brick holding the school together. It’s chalky like the cliffs, and very crumbly. You can’t see how deep the hole is, so I stick my arm in to check.
‘Whoa, careful!’ Audrey yelps. ‘There could be spiders or … bugs in there?’ Just as my fingertips are as outstretched as I can get them, I feel something. I force my arm in just a bit more and pull it out.
‘What is it?’ Audrey gawps over my shoulder.
‘It is a diary,’ I say in a hushed voice. A diary written in an Illumen school workbook. I run my fingers over the school crest on the front cover, and the motto – Alis grave nil.
‘What does that mean?’ Audrey asks.
I’m about to roll my eyes at her ignorance, but I stop myself at the last moment. ‘The approximate translation is, “Nothing is heavy to those who have wings.”’
‘Wow. That’s beautiful.’
I open the first page and it’s filled with tiny little flower doodles surrounding a name: Lola.
‘I’m not sure we should read this.’ Audrey shuffles away, resting her head against the window sill. ‘The letter was one thing. But this feels more of an invasion of privacy. Maybe we should hand this to the cops? Or give it straight to Patrick?’
‘The police are still convinced this is a closed case. They’ll just lock this diary up in some evidence box. Let’s check the contents first.’
Without waiting for a reply, I turn the page and, when I look up again, Audrey has moved back next to me.
There’s a poem down the centre, and some scribbly drawings either side.
Do not take me for what you see of me
I am but a mirage
A figment
A fragment
A half-finished portrait
‘What does that mean?’ Audrey looks at me, wrinkling her nose.
‘I don’t know. I guess it’s stream-of-consciousness stuff.’ I turn to the next page, but it’s just some notes from what looks like science revision. I flick through a couple more pages. Some back-and-forth notes with Jessica about messages they’d received from guys. Then – finally – some diary entries.
Why does this happen to me? Always falling for the wrong guy. He’s ignoring me again. It’s been a week with no messages, no calls and no eye contact. It makes it so much harder seeing him here every day. He told me he’d leave her. Told me that it will always be me, and that the life that we’ll have together will be everything he’s always wanted. Yet here I am, still waiting like a fool and hanging on his every word as usual. Am I not good enough? Has he changed his mind?
I just want to know.
I can’t carry on like this.
‘Christ, I wonder who she’s talking about?’ I look at Audrey and the cogs start turning in my mind.
‘Could this be the mystery guy that Clover talks about in her podcast? Did she have a boyfriend last year at all? Some guy who was playing her and someone else at the same time? Sounds like a douche bag whoever he is!’
‘Sounds like Teddy,’ I mutter.
Audrey grabs my hand. ‘Could it be?’
I pause, then give myself a shake. ‘No. Jessica was clear in the podcast it was an older guy, and Teddy’s a month younger than Lola was.’ I think long and hard. ‘I don’t remember seeing Lola with anyone else. Not after Alex Winters. They had a big break-up at the beginning of last year. But he wasn’t going out with anyone else as far as I know, so he can’t be the guy in this entry. But listen – she was a popular girl. She was funny, beautiful and really smart – she always had someone interested in her.’
‘OK. Maybe a guy from another school?’
‘But she says she sees him every day, so he must have been an Illumen student! I guess he’s off at uni now.’
‘True. Well then, the mystery goes unsolved. Unless she’s written his name someplace in here …’ Audrey takes the diary, and we flick through page after page. More and more paragraphs about this mystery guy and how she feels about him, dates they’ve shared, texts he’s sent, their undying love, but still no name. She’s used ‘Goofo’ as a pet name throughout every journal entry, rant or rave.
‘Well, she’s one consistent woman …’ Audrey is nearing the end of the diary now.
‘Yeah, she really didn’t want anyone knowing who he was.’
Although her diary is filled with very normal seventeen-year-old musings and mayhem, it’s clear that Lola was a highly sensitive person. Among pages of love, bewilderment, infatuation and ecstasy are seemingly darker poems about abandonment, heartbreak, depression and loneliness. A side of her I hadn’t ever encountered. Many of the poems she’d written herself, but some by her favourite poets litter the pages too. The diary isn’t completely full, some pages are untouched, yet I notice a slightly thicker page at the very back. I nudge Audrey to open the diary there and she almost drops it like a ball of fire. Printed out and stuck in is a poem. The final two lines read:
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
‘Oh. HELL, NO. Fuck this, Ivy. I’m out!’ Audrey gets up and runs her hands through her hair, pacing. ‘It’s a poem about being dead! This is not OK!’ I see tears in her eyes and panic on her face.
‘Audrey, calm down. It’s a well-known poem. Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Lola didn’t write these words herself.’
‘It’s still pretty dark. Maybe she did end her own life after all?’
I feel sick, tears welling up in my eyes. The podcast, and then our investigations, really had led me to believe that foul play had been involved in Lola’s death. But maybe we were wrong the whole time. ‘You might be right; this definitely proves that Lola wasn’t in the best mindset. We should show Clover.’ The diary feels very heavy all of a sudden.
‘Or Patrick?’ Audrey suggests.
Just then, I notice that the corner of the poem is coming loose. It looks as though something is sandwiched between the page and the poem. Using the knife again, I slowly try to peel the edge back.
‘Ivy, stop! What are you doing? You literally just said we should show someone and now you’re destroying it?’
I ignore her and carry on peeling until the entire poem has come away. A photograph drops to the floor. Audrey picks it up, her hands visibly trembling. The photo is a black-and-white picture of a couple, and it looks like it’s been taken on a crap mobile phone, or possibly a shaky disposable camera and scanned in low resolution. You can just about make out that it’s Lola. She has her back to the camera, her hair curling against her shoulders. She’s holding hands with the guy sitting next to her. We can only see a bit of his profile as he gazes at her.
‘Oh my God.’ Audrey’s hand flies to her mouth. ‘That’s Mr Willis.’
44
Ivy
‘OK, I guess it does look like him.’ I squint and study the photo a bit harder. ‘But it’s so pixelated. And it’s only part of his face! I wish there was another photo in here. Something clearer so we can know for sure.’ I shake the book as hard as I can, half expecting something else to fall out. But there’s nothing. A part of me doesn’t want it to be true … but what if it is? It would certainly answer a lot of our questions.
‘Now we have to go to the cops,’ Audrey says, standing up.
‘No!’ I cry out. Audrey frowns at me, and I swallow. ‘Let’s find Clover. See if it matches with what she’s found out already. The more evidence we have, the stronger our case will be, and the more likely that DC Copeland will take us seriously.’
Audrey’s blue eyes search my face
for a few moments, then she nods. ‘OK, let’s go.’
We head out of the room, past bedrooms full of giggling students getting ready for the Samhain party. I wish we could feel so carefree and excited. Instead, I’m just a ball of stress.
‘I’m not gonna lie, Ivy, I feel like my brain is about to implode with this information overload.’ Audrey rubs her temples as we head down the stairs, dodging people carrying armloads of autumnal-themed decorations. A thought pings in my mind that Araminta is going to be fuming I’ve missed out on the preparations that I promised to help with, but I bat it away. This is much more important.
‘This looks really bad for Mr Willis,’ Audrey says.
‘We don’t know that it’s him one hundred per cent,’ I reply.
‘I know you like him …’
‘He’s a good teacher!’ Even I hate how defensive I sound. But we need to find Clover to be sure. We make our way to the entrance of Polaris House and slip in as students are heading out. Clover shares a room with two other girls, and I take the stairs three at a time in my haste to get there.
I give a cursory knock on the door, but open it straight away. ‘Clover?’
Audrey steps in behind me. ‘Doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.’ The room’s a pigsty, with shoes and clothes tossed all over the floor. Only on the night of a big party would it be allowed to become such a tip.
‘They must be helping with the preparations. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised – I’ll leave her a note.’ I walk over to her desk, grab a piece of paper and start scribbling.
‘Um, Ivy?’
‘What?’ I look back at Audrey, who’s staring down at a brown box on Clover’s bed. ‘What is it?’
‘You need to look at this.’
I drop the pen and make my way to Audrey’s side. The package is unopened, the Sellotape still intact. She points at an elaborate logo of PR on the front. PRONTO ESTATES. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘That’s Patrick Radcliffe’s company. He gave me his business card when I met him.’
‘What’s she doing with that?’
‘I have no idea …’
‘Well, we have to open it.’
‘What?’ Audrey looks at me in alarm.
I pick up the box and inspect it from all sides. ‘There’s no name on it, so we’re not breaking the law. What if it’s something dangerous? Another threat?’ I tear open the tape with the edge of my fingernail, and Audrey doesn’t stop me.
Inside is a brand-new pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a note. Audrey picks the note up and reads out loud.
Clover,
Thank you for your last podcast over half-term. Really intriguing. The payment we agreed should have cleared your account by now, but I wanted to send you something extra as a special token of my appreciation. Your perseverance is paying off and keeping Lola’s story in people’s minds. Nice touch keeping the threat alive. Who could have predicted the podcast would have taken off the way it did when we talked about this back in July? The more listeners we have, the better chance we have of finding out what really happened.
Do whatever you have to, to keep the podcast going.
Patrick
‘Oh my God, Patrick’s the one who told Clover to start this podcast.’ My jaw drops. I’m shocked – and more than a little hurt. I thought Clover told me everything. Turns out there were even more secrets than I could have imagined.
‘And paying her to keep doing it. And “do whatever you have to” … Is she making stuff up, just to keep listeners entertained?’ Audrey asks.
‘Sounds that way. It’s all for money,’ I say, but my mouth is dry.
‘Do you think she even cares about the case at all?’ asks Audrey.
‘I don’t know.’
‘So what was her long-term plan? To just accuse someone and see how they reacted? I mean, that could ruin someone’s life! Why would she do that?’ Audrey exclaims.
‘For money and a giant platform? Getting a bit of fame and notoriety before she’s even left school? Who knows?’ I shrug. I don’t want to believe it, yet my loyalty to Clover feels shattered into pieces. ‘But now her podcast – as well as her – is completely discredited. There’s no way I’m showing her Lola’s journal and the photograph.’
‘So we go to the cops now?’ asks Audrey.
‘No. If this is all we have, it won’t be enough.’ I ball up the half-written note to Clover and toss it in the bin. ‘Let’s go straight to the source.’
As we storm out of Polaris House towards the staffroom, I only have one thought. Don’t worry, Lola. We’ll set the record straight about what happened to you.
45
Audrey
The teachers’ lounge is down in the basement of the main building, and it smells kinda damp. It’s definitely in worse shape than our common room. Well, I guess it is the students’ parents who pay the exorbitant fees.
Ivy has the damning photograph clutched so tightly I’m worried it might disintegrate. I can feel the anger rising in her, a hurricane about to hit the shore. My emotions are a whirlwind too – from the revelations in Lola’s journal to finding out the podcast was a sham.
She doesn’t knock and wait politely to go in. She just bursts into the room, with me following close behind. I scan the lounge, but the only person in it is Mr Willis. He’s standing over by the fireplace, trying to coax the embers back to life. The flames cast an eerie reddish glow on his face, and when he sees us his eyes turn from surprise – to fear.
‘Ivy? Audrey? What are you girls doing in here? Did you find Clover?’
‘Stop talking,’ growls Ivy. ‘How do you explain this?’ She holds the photograph right up in front of his face. He takes it from her, studies it for a moment, then covers his face with his other hand. Ivy snatches the photo back.
‘Where did you get that?’ he asks.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Look, girls –’ he splutters, desperation in his voice.
‘No,’ I say, stepping forward so I’m beside Ivy, shoulder to shoulder. ‘We don’t wanna hear any excuses or explanations. We’ve seen Lola’s diaries too. We know who you were to her, Goofo.’
Mr Willis’s face pales as I say the nickname, as if we hadn’t seen enough admission of guilt in his body language. He slumps down into an armchair.
‘Did you …’ Ivy’s voice chokes up; she can’t finish the sentence.
‘Did you kill her?’ I do it for her. I watch Mr Willis like a hawk, alert to his reaction.
‘What? No! Of course not! No, no, no,’ he repeats, shaking his head. ‘You don’t understand … this isn’t what it looks like.’
‘Let’s get real for a minute, sir,’ scoffs Ivy.
‘It’s not! Look … I’ll admit – Lola had made it known that she had feelings for me. I’d tried everything I could think of to put her off, to turn her down, but she was obsessed! And so, so persistent. I was at my wits’ end. I thought the summer holidays starting would mean the end of it, but she wanted to meet one last time.’
‘When? The night of the party!’
He hesitates. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh my God,’ says Ivy.
‘But I didn’t show up! I couldn’t! I knew it was a terrible idea. I sent her a text saying it couldn’t happen. Of course then I heard the awful news …’
‘How can we believe you? Maybe you let things get too far with Lola, and you needed a way to cover it up!’
‘No! And I can prove it.’ He scrambles in his back pocket for his phone. He opens it to his photos app, then scrolls backwards until he finds the night of the party. ‘Look.’ He turns the phone round so we can see. ‘I decided I couldn’t meet Lola. That would be ridiculous. So I called Carly and we jumped on the Eurostar – a surprise trip to kick off the summer holidays. I was in Paris on the night Lola died.’ He sounds almost triumphant as he shows off his proof.
‘Did you tell the police about your relationship with Lola?’ Ivy asks him as I check the date stamp
on the photo.
He frowns. ‘No, of course not … my reputation … and there was no relationship. Like I said, she was obsessed with me.’
‘That’s not what it sounds like in her diary,’ I say.
‘Oh, you know how teenage girls exaggerate …’
I scoff in disgust, and the colour drains even further from his face as he remembers he’s talking to two teenage girls. ‘That’s not what I meant. Lola was different. She was …’
‘Don’t talk about her any more,’ Ivy snaps. She’s staring down at the black-and-white photograph of the two of them together.
‘We’re going to show this to the cops and then you can explain your alibi. It’s not over until they’ve investigated it,’ I say.
‘No, please, you can’t ask me to do that …’ He looks from Ivy to me, his hands clasped together, begging, pleading with us not to go to the authorities. But Ivy and I are gonna stand strong on this, because we need justice. Justice for –
‘Then leave. Leave now,’ says Ivy, her voice cold.
‘What?’ he splutters.
‘If you agree to pack up your things, leave the school, go and start a new life with Carly somewhere else and never teach at a school again, then we won’t go to the authorities. We won’t tell anyone about this.’
‘What?!’ I cry. Ivy squeezes my hand, but I don’t understand.
‘But –’ He flaps his hands, as if trying to pull an argument out of the air.
‘I don’t think you’re really in a position to argue,’ she says, her voice hard.
‘No, you’re right.’ He slumps in the chair and takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, there’s resignation in his tone. ‘OK. OK. I’ll leave.’
The Magpie Society One for Sorrow Page 21