by Mia James
‘Sometimes it’s hard to say what we really mean in life.’
For some reason, April suddenly thought of her afternoon in Highgate Cemetery, all those gravestones with their heartfelt words. Did all those people under the earth know how their loved ones felt about them? Probably not. Maybe it had always been this way; only the poets really said what they meant. Then she thought of Gabriel. Well, I’m not going to make that mistake again, she thought fiercely. I’m not going to waste my time on something that isn’t true. It was time to dry her tears and do what she had to: find out who had killed her father - and why.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was cold. Bitterly cold. The wind was rushing down from the north, being channelled into frigid, biting gusts by the winding streets, then cutting straight through April’s coat. It had never been this cold in Edinburgh, or perhaps she had never felt it so keenly. Certainly there had never before been so little warmth to cling to. Which was why she was walking down West Hill towards Ravenwood on this wet Monday morning. No one had told her to go back - who would when something so terrible had happened? - but where else could she go? They had moved back to Pond Square over the weekend and April had no wish to stay in the house with its over-cheerful yellow front door and the sinister hunting scene above it. April had known that her mother needed to return, so she had gone back for her sake, but walking through that door had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. There was no outward sign of the terrible struggle as they had shuffled into the deserted hallway - April had offered up a silent word of thanks to the police cleaners - but the atmosphere was still claustrophobic and oppressive; it was as if the rooms and corridors were filled with a solid mist that they had to push their way through.
The only way to cope was to pretend life was going on as normal, but every now and then April would catch sight of something: her dad’s coat hanging on a peg, his favourite coffee mug on the draining board, and she would remember that her dad was gone. And if that terrible revelation wasn’t enough, she would instantly be gripped by anxiety, by the full knowledge that the killer had been inside this house. Had he got inside first and hidden, lain in wait, picking his moment to strike? Or had he pushed his way in, attacked her father in the hallway? The living room and study had been ransacked as if the intruder was looking for something, but no one knew what. Had he searched the rest of the house? Had he been into the kitchen? The bathroom? Her bedroom? There was nowhere inside those four walls April could feel safe; even her own room seemed smaller and darker. Perhaps it was fear, or perhaps that April could no longer fool herself that her father was coming back, that his laughter would fill this gloomy space ever again. The coroner had called late on Friday to inform her mother that they were finally releasing the body, so Silvia had thrown herself into the preparations for the funeral. April hadn’t been surprised to learn that her dad was to be interred in the Hamilton family vault in Highgate Cemetery, but she had to admit it had upset her at first. To April, a funeral should be like the ones you saw on TV, on a green hillside under a tall oak with lots of people standing around in overcoats as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. But the more she thought about it the more glad she felt that her dad wasn’t going to be buried under a ton of earth, but would be laid gently to rest on a shelf. At least this way if he woke up he could bang on the door or something. He had loved exploring the great unexplained in his lifetime; now he could wander about unravelling the mysteries of Highgate in death. And at least he would have company. April quite liked that idea. But there was no way she was going to hang around the house talking to her mother about it. The only place she could think to go was Ravenwood. At least in lessons no one would be able to talk to her and poring over books and problems might take her mind off things.
Ravenwood’s facade looked even more forbidding than usual as she approached, and she turned up her collar. I hope this wasn’t a terrible mistake, she thought to herself as she walked through the gates. April had timed her arrival so she would be among the last going into the school; she was trying to avoid the staring eyes and pitying looks, so she joined the final stragglers running in through the entrance and turned towards her English class.
‘Oh hell,’ she whispered, because right in front of her, chatting to that tramp Sara from the party, was Gabriel. April kept her eyes fixed to the floor and tried to walk past, but he had spotted her.
‘April,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were back.’
‘Yes,’ said April, still trying to step around him. ‘But I’m late, so—’
‘I was so sorry to hear about your dad,’ said Sara, without an ounce of sincerity in her voice. Gabriel flashed her a look and she moved away. ‘Well, must get to class,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ said April, making to push past, but Gabriel put up a hand.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘How are you? I’ve been worried.’
‘Have you?’ said April, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because—hey, what’s going on?’ asked Gabriel, a hurt and confused look on his face.
‘Oh, just that I thought you had other things on your mind,’ she said, nodding towards Sara’s back.
Gabriel shook his head. ‘Sara? Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t think—’
‘Can’t I?’ April turned and pushed past him, but he caught her arm.
‘April? What’s the matter? Tell me!’
‘Why do you care all of a sudden?’ she asked.
He looked at her directly. ‘I thought I made it clear how I felt the other night.’
‘The only thing you made clear was that you were going to call me. It’s been, what, a week and a half? That’s ten days when I really could have used a kind word, Gabriel, but obviously you’ve been too busy.’
‘I was going to call, I picked up the phone dozens of times—’
‘I know, I know,’ April silenced him.‘But you couldn’t think what to say? Or perhaps you thought it might get complicated and messy? It might all be too difficult? Listen, Gabriel, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s better we keep away from each other. I know that works for me.’
She walked away down the corridor, leaving him standing there. April knew she should have felt empowered and full of self-confidence having taken control and told him where to get off. But she didn’t. She just felt sad.
Mr Andrews, the English teacher, nodded to April as she rushed in and sat down next to Caro, but didn’t make any other comment. April could feel the looks of the other people in the room.
‘How are you, honey?’ whispered Caro. ‘Didn’t think you were coming in.’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, feeling that the complete opposite was the truth, especially after her confrontation with Gabriel. ‘Just want to forget it all.’
Caro nodded and gave her knee a squeeze under the table.
April felt bad. She did have some good friends, but she had almost completely withdrawn from them since her father’s death. Various people from Davina to Simon had been ringing and sending texts, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, not even Caro or Fiona. What was the point? There was nothing to say beyond, ‘Oh, it’s all so terrible, I can’t imagine how you must feel.’ And that was the point: no one could understand what she was going through. Obviously, some people would have lost friends and relatives, but how many had died right in front of them? She knew they all just wanted to offer their support and a kind word, but to April, it was something she had to deal with on her own.
‘The biggest problem with Hamlet is that he is always thinking too much,’ said Mr Andrews. ‘Now, that makes for some excellent drama and, in fact, some of the greatest soliloquies Shakespeare ever wrote, but it does have the potential to make Hamlet a tragic and sometimes quite annoying character.’
There was polite laughter.
‘If you all turn to Act Three, Scene Two, right after Polonius has left, we can see Hamlet at his most angry. He’s begun to suspect his mother’s role in his
father’s death, plus Polonius has wound him up so much with his windbag sycophancy that Hamlet’s almost spitting fire. Jacob, can you read the passage for us?’
A tall boy with sandy hair and freckles stood up and began to read in a strong clear voice. “”Tis now the very witching time of night ...”’
‘Drama club,’ Caro hissed in April’s ear. ‘Thinks he’s Kenneth Branagh or Mel Gibson or something.’
They listened while Jacob read the rest of the well-known lines:‘“...when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the bitter day
Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.
O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:
I will speak daggers to her, but use none;
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites;
How in my words soever she be shent,
To give them seals never, my soul, consent!”’
As he finished, there was a ripple of applause.
‘Very good, Jacob,’ said Mr Andrews with a smile, ‘although usually actors shout the line “drink hot blood”! But still, very well read. Now, can anyone tell me what Hamlet is talking about?’
‘He’s going to murder his mother, of course,’ said a girl with a blue Alice band.
‘Well, yes and no,’ said the teacher. ‘He does say “my soul and tongue in this be hypocrites” - he wants to kill her, but he knows he has to be clever and keep his mouth shut to find out what actually happened. But of course, it’s just another excuse for inaction. A couple of scenes on we see Hamlet stumbling across his uncle confessing to the murder, then kneeling down to pray - the perfect opportunity to act out his revenge, but even then he manages to talk himself out of it.’
‘But doesn’t he kill Polonius straight afterwards?’ asked a spotty boy at the front.
‘Yes—it’s as if he’s so angry with himself for not killing his uncle and mother that he finally loses control. The point is, he wants to find out who killed his father and avenge the ghost, but he just doesn’t know how.’
Amen to that, thought April. She was walking in Hamlet’s shoes. She didn’t know what to do right now, but she was determined to find out what had happened to her dad and then she could act. It was just a question of finding the proof. Evidently Mr Andrews was thinking the same thing, as he glanced nervously in April’s direction and then abruptly changed the focus of the discussion, focusing on the safer ground of Hamlet’s relationship with his mother instead.
If you only knew, thought April with a small smile. If you only knew.
As it turned out, April needn’t have worried about the Ravenwood students’ reaction to her as, to her surprise, they pretty much ignored her. As she and Caro walked along the corridors towards the refectory it was noticeable that people were deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her.
‘What’s going on?’ said April as they sat down at an empty table. ‘I thought everyone would be staring, but instead they’re avoiding me. I suppose they don’t know what to say.’
Caro raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat. ‘It’s not that so much, babe,’ she said.
April frowned. ‘So what is it?’
Caro sighed. ‘You’ve been a bit out of the loop over the past week or so, so you won’t have heard, but there’s been a development.’
‘What? Come on, tell me.’
Caro raised her eyebrows. ‘Milo Asprey is in hospital and our dear old friend Layla is weeping at his bedside.’
‘But why? Why would she ... oh God.’
Suddenly the penny dropped and April was overcome by a rush of conflicting emotions - hope, relief and despair. That confrontation she’d had with Layla in the library, when she had ordered April to ‘stay away from my man’, Layla hadn’t been referring to Gabriel at all; she’d been talking about Milo. Which was good and bad. Good that Gabriel wasn’t a two-timing ratbag, but bad that Milo had basically used her behind Layla’s back. Thinking about it, April could hardly blame Layla for trying to warn her off if she had suspected what Milo was like, but even so it was still unfair - it was Milo who had hit on April when she was vulnerable, not the other way around! But none of that mattered now, what mattered was Gabriel and the very thought of his name made April feel as if her heart had dropped through a trapdoor. The way she had just spoken to Gabriel ... he hadn’t been two-timing her at all and she had driven him away. She put both hands over her mouth and moaned. What have I done?
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I think I just finished with Gabriel,’ she said.
Caro’s mouth dropped open. ‘Because of the Layla thing?’
April nodded. Caro saw the look on April’s face.
‘And am I to take it that you gave it to him with both barrels?’
‘Point-blank,’ said April. ‘Pretty harsh considering he isn’t a two-timing back-stabber.’
They both looked at each other.
‘What’s wrong with him anyway?’ said April eventually. ‘Milo, I mean.’
‘That’s the strangest thing - no one knows,’ said Caro. ‘He’s got some horrible skin condition, like it’s blistering and falling off him. Apparently he’s strapped to the bed because he’s having fits too. Some people are saying he’s in danger of organ failure, but that could just be another rumour.’
‘That’s horrible.’
‘What’s horrible?’
April looked up and there was Layla, standing with her hands on her hips, her chin jutting out. Behind her were Chessy and Ling Po, who seemed to have been accepted into the Faces.
‘Milo being ill,’ said April. ‘I’ve just heard, Layla, I’m so sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry? You didn’t care about him before.’
April looked at Caro nervously. ‘No, well, he seemed nice, but it’s bad he’s in hospital.’
‘Bad?’ She laughed. ‘Is that all you can say about it? My boyfriend is in intensive care and you think it’s “bad”?’ she mocked. Her friends all laughed.
‘Listen, Layla,’ began Caro, ‘leave her alone, she hasn’t done anything.’
‘Stay out of it, Jackson,’ said Layla, a nasty edge to her voice. ‘We’re just talking, aren’t we, April? Just two friends talking about boys.’
April managed a weak smile.
‘Of course, you haven’t got much to talk about, have you, April?’ sneered Layla. ‘Not many boyfriends we can see, even though the guys are all over you. Maybe you prefer the company of girls.’
The Faces crowd cackled.
‘Is that why you’re so pally with each other?’
‘Hey!’ shouted Caro. ‘What’s she ever done to you?’
‘Nothing.’ Layla laughed. ‘We’re not all into that sort of thing, are we, girls?’
‘Listen, I know you’re feeling pretty bad about Milo, but—’ began April, trying to calm the situation.
‘Don’t you dare tell me how I feel,’ hissed Layla, jabbing her finger at April. ‘What would you know about it? Oh, I suppose you think that just because your daddy’s dead you feel my pain. Well, let me tell you - you have no idea.’
God, she’s actually going to hit me, thought April, seconds before Layla made a lunge for her. April moved fast, but not quite fast enough. Layla clattered into her and they both tumbled onto the table, sending a pile of books flying.
‘Get off me!’ cried April, but Layla had grabbed a handful of her hair and was pulling her head down towards the tabletop.
‘Shut up, bitch,’ spat Layla. ‘I’m going to rip your throat out, just like your dad.’
‘What?’ Suddenly April was overcome with a white-hot fury. ‘Don’t you dare talk about him!’ she screamed, turning on Layla like a tiger. All April could think of was the injustice. It wasn’t her fault Milo had a girlfriend and still hit on her.
It wasn’t her fault he was sick. And it certainly wasn’t fair that she was getting the blame. But most of all it wasn’t fair that her dad had been taken away. All the frustration and guilt that had been building up since her father’s death spewed out and she screamed, pulling herself free of Layla’s grip. She felt strangely strong as she did so, as if she had been shot through with electricity. Layla stumbled backwards, slipping on some spilled drink and tumbling onto her backside, and April was on her in a moment, pushing her down, grabbing her hair and banging her head against the floor.
‘Stay away from me!’ she yelled. ‘Come near me again and I’ll kill you!’
Strong hands grabbed her and pulled her away.
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Miss Dunne,’ said a voice. She turned around and her heart dropped. It was Detective Inspector Reece.