by Sue Wallman
I bit my lip.
“I can’t be here with you any more,” said Lo. As she walked away she said, “You disgust me.”
CHAPTER 23
On Monday morning, I got dressed in school uniform, without rolling up my skirt, and Elsie Gran drove me back to Mount Norton. Lo hadn’t replied to any of my messages, and Bel hadn’t been in touch, so I guessed Lo had told her.
Elsie Gran selected an audiobook for the journey and we listened in horror as a character was pushed off a tower block. She switched it off mid-scream. I had a flashback to Clemmie’s body at the bottom of the cliff, twisted and lifeless, and quelled the nausea by opening the car window an inch and breathing in the outside air. “What was the story with your old house mistress? Why was she sacked?” Elsie Gran asked, after a few minutes. “Wibbzie, was that what you called her?”
“Wibbz. She showed some parents round Pankhurst while she was drunk. Everyone says there was an email about it. Did you get it?”
“Probably,” said Elsie Gran. “They send so many emails. I found her quite a nosy woman. I don’t suppose she’s any great loss.”
“I miss her,” I replied. “She was really nice compared to Calding, the new one.”
“Hmm. The new lady’s quite intense, don’t you think?” said Elsie-Gran.
“Totally,” I said. “At least she’s temporary.”
When we sat, an hour later, with Calding in her office, I saw Elsie Gran look round the room while Calding spoke at length about chances and expectations. It was still as bare and impersonal as it had been at the beginning of term.
“How temporary are you, Ms Calding?” asked Elsie Gran, and I boomeranged back into the conversation and cringed.
Calding blinked, and something crossed her face which made her look really young, though when she spoke it was in her stiff voice. “That’s still to be decided,” she said. “You’ll be informed when a replacement is found, and until then please be reassured that I’ll be keeping a close eye on your granddaughter.”
“This school thinks it’s better than it is,” said Elsie Gran and I lowered my head in embarrassment.
“I agree,” said Calding.
This was so unexpected that Elsie Gran paused before saying, “And the fees are obscenely high. It’s my son who pays. I’d never have sent Katelyn here if it had been down to me.”
“Please,” I said to Elsie Gran, putting my hand on her arm, “stop it.” I wanted this all to be over. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be back here. I was Kate Lynette Jordan-Ferreira, but Lo wasn’t speaking to me, possibly Bel too, and when a couple of third-formers had seen me earlier they’d looked away.
The meeting came to an end, and I said goodbye to Elsie Gran in the hall. There was nothing to suggest that a student had died a week ago. The floor was as polished and the flowers just as vibrant as usual. The rules which Calding had stuck on the wall had been removed, though, with no trace of the Blu-Tack she’d stuck them up with.
“Do your best,” said Elsie Gran. “Remember how much I love you.” She kissed me on the cheek, and I hugged her hard, inhaling her old-lady perfume, the one I’d only ever smelled on her, and it made me sad because I knew I’d forget the exact smell of it by the time she’d walk down the front steps.
The first person I saw after I said goodbye was Zeta. She came out of the junior common room with a magazine.
“Are you OK?” she asked. She looked different, more relaxed and sure of herself.
“Yes,” I said, angry with myself for the tears welling up in my eyes at Elsie Gran going. “You?”
“Good, thanks,” she said. “I’ve got an appointment with the orthodontist. Miss Calding is taking me in about five minutes. Are you sure you’re OK?”
I nodded. I picked up my bag, which I’d left in the hall during my meeting with Calding. “Have Veronica and Monro been found?”
Zeta shook her head. “School keeps asking if we’ve heard from them. Nobody has. There was a reported sighting of them in Birmingham on Twitter, but that was it.”
On the top floor the doors to our bedrooms were closed – which was how we always left them when we went to school – but they looked even more unwelcoming today. The cleaners had tidied my room. On my bed was the Hidden Treasures book. On top of it was a note from Lo telling me she’d appreciate it if I didn’t talk to her about Sasha. I put the note in my bin, then messaged her and Bel to say I was back.
I stood by the window. The sea was dark grey today, cold looking. It hit me, the enormity of what I’d done to Sasha, denying her her rightful place here. Even if she recovered, her injuries were likely to be too severe to ever come back, even if she wanted to. I’d ruined so much for her, including her sporting ambitions, and very probably her chance to go to a top university and have a high-flying career.
I understood now how desperate Clemmie had been to win that scholarship, and for people not to know how dramatically her home circumstances had changed. She’d known way before I did that we hadn’t been so dissimilar, me and her. Pankhurst felt disturbingly incomplete with her and Sasha gone.
Calding had told me I had to go to afternoon lessons, but I wouldn’t. Not today – not art class. I wasn’t willingly going to be in the same room as Bernard. I lay on the bed and flipped through the book. There were several pages with turned-over corners, including the map I’d seen. One of them was a page on art galleries in the Birmingham area. The other six pages were in different parts of the country. I could trace Monro and Veroncia’s probable route up to Scotland by the turned-over pages. They might have hidden the car by now, knowing the police would be looking for it.
I opened the window and went on to the fire escape, leaning against the railings to look into Churchill’s grounds. Monro should be there on the bench, beckoning me down for a talk, or a trip to throw pebbles into the sea, or a kiss. I turned so that I was leaning against the railings the other way, and I took my phone from my skirt pocket. I’d send him a message.
Hope you’re ok. I have your Hidden Treasures book and think you’re in Scotland. I won’t say anything, don’t worry.
After I’d sent it, everything felt normal, as if Monro might text me back. That feeling only lasted a few minutes.
Turned out, I couldn’t avoid art. The Ghost glided up to the top floor and said she was going to accompany me to the main school. She tried to make conversation as we walked, telling me Squirrel had organized two themed dinners the previous week to keep people’s spirits up in what she called “this unsettled period”. The themes had been American diner and Indian banquet. She proceeded to list the foods she’d liked, and then those she hadn’t. Silence would have been preferable.
“There’s going to be a school concert in memory of Clemmie,” said the Ghost. “Miss Wibberton is going to come. That’ll be nice, won’t it?”
I nodded. We were nearly at the art room. Panic seized me round the throat and my legs were rubbery. I had an overwhelming desire to sink to the floor and tuck myself into a ball.
The Ghost opened the door and in I went. “Ah, a latecomer,” said Mr Hayes. “Very good to see you, Ms Jordan-Ferreira. Your hands sculpture is coming along well. Make sure you get it in the kiln this week.”
All eyes were on me. I was an object of curiosity: someone teetering on the edge of a fall from grace. Anybody who hadn’t been invited to the party or who resented me in any way would be especially interested in how things would go over the next few weeks.
I sensed Bernard rather than saw him, and headed for the art cupboard to fetch my sculpture, which meant I could keep my back to him. I carried it to my table holding tight to the wooden board it was on, taking care not to look in his direction.
He made me jump when he appeared at my side, and I immediately reached for my ceramics scalpel. It was so sharp it sliced through fresh clay like butter. As I held it, I thought of my father, and other surgeons, cutting through human flesh.
“I think we should clear the air about the party,” sai
d Bernard. He gave no indication he was concerned about me wielding the scalpel. “I realize I came on too strong,” he said.
You frightened me.
“But we’d made out at the last party and I thought you were up for it.”
You knew I wasn’t.
“Your friends pissed me right off, if I’m honest, making out that I was some sort of … animal. That was really unfair.”
Something worse would have happened if Bel hadn’t come in.
“I hope we can put this behind us and carry on being friends, yeah?”
I hate you.
“Kate?”
I leaned down to trim the clay hands with the scalpel, despite my own hands shaking ever so slightly.
“God, you’re not worth it. I should have let you carry on making a fool of yourself with the Mad Dog. Oh, and where is he now? Run away with the lovely Veronica. What have they got to hide, hmm?”
I breathed in sharply. Tears fell on my out-breath, but I wasn’t going to let Bernard see them. I made myself walk slowly to the sink for a paper towel from the dispenser above it, and I went into the cupboard where I could get my breathing under control.
I leaned against a section of empty shelving and blew my nose. Outside I heard Bernard say, “It’s OK, sir. She’s emotional because it’s the first day back after her suspension. It’s suddenly hit her, you know, what happened at the party.”
CHAPTER 24
I left the art room as soon as I could and waited for Lo and Meribel outside school in our usual place by the bush that was clipped into a spiral shape.
Meribel came out of the main entrance with a group of Churchill boys from our year, and waved me over. We hugged, but Meribel was half-hearted about it. I wanted to tell her what Bernard had said, but the boys were eager to hear how much trouble I was in for having the party, and if I had any news about Monro. They were disappointed with my answers of I’m not sure, and no. When I didn’t start walking down the drive with them, Meribel grabbed my arm. “Come on, Kate.”
“What about Lo?” I said.
Meribel shook her head. “Nope. We’re not waiting.” She moved closer to me, and said, “Lo’s taken the Sasha thing hard. Give her some space.” She was looking behind me.
I followed her gaze, and saw Lo emerging from a side entrance. She was with one of the scholarship girls from another house. She saw me, stopped dead and turned away quickly.
Meribel still had a hold of my arm, and she pulled me towards the boys, who were laughing about something that had happened in a previous lesson. “Don’t. Just don’t.” She spoke in a low voice so the boys didn’t overhear. “You have no idea how upset she was when she came back from that hospital.” She appraised my face. “Your plastic surgeon was good.”
Instinctively, I covered a hand over my nose and chin.
“I can’t imagine my parents letting me have plastic surgery before I was eighteen,” said Meribel.
She didn’t understand how asymmetrical my face had been – or what my parents were like. I let my hand slide down my nose. I felt the contour of my perfect nose against my fingers, the nose I both loved and hated. “My father arranged it in the States. It was done by a friend of his.”
Meribel carried on staring. “You’re literally not the person I thought you were.” She glanced ahead at the boys. “Lo told Sneller about you giving Clemmie a false alibi. You’ll get called in to see her.”
My stomach dropped. I knew I’d be called in, but I hadn’t wanted to think about the implications. What would happen now I’d been exposed as a liar? Would the police want to re-interview me once they knew I’d held back information? Had I made myself a suspect?
“I’m curious about something,” said Meribel, and I braced myself for what was coming. “Did you want Sasha to leave? Were you jealous Lo was so into her?”
“Of course not,” I said, but there’s heat at the back of my neck. It was true; there was something about Sasha that I didn’t like. She could be distant, laugh at our dances or roll her eyes at some of our conversations, and say we weren’t living in the real world. I was worried she’d suck Lo away. For the first time in my life it had felt as if I was somebody, and I had friends, and I didn’t want to lose them.
We caught up with the boys, and I made appropriate faces at the punchlines to their jokes. It seemed they had bets going of when Monro and Veronica would be found, and quite a lot of money had been lost so far.
As we walked into Pankhurst, everyone stared at me. I was Kate Lynette Jordan-Ferreira, but my reputation had changed. The Pankhurst party had gone badly wrong on my watch. I didn’t want tea, cake or conversation, and even though I went straight up to my room, I was still stopped on the stairs by a couple of second-formers coming down. One asked me if Clemmie had been high when she’d fallen off the cliff, and her friend had commented dryly that of course she’d been high: the cliffs were at least thirty metres. I said, “No comment,” and darted round them.
I sat on my bed and listened to a playlist of songs by a seventeen-year-old singer from Argentina who Lo, Bel and I had been briefly obsessed with in between our love of everything Korean – and sketched hands in a notebook. I couldn’t stop drawing them. Hands revealed a lot about a person. They could give away how that person was thinking, and how old they were. People didn’t often think about getting plastic surgery on their hands unless there was a medical reason.
When there was a knock at my door a little while later, I called out, “Come in,” expecting it to be Lo or Bel; it was Zeta.
After a nervous hello, she said, “I thought you should know, there’s a printout of you on Veronica’s artwork, with the word ‘fake’ across it.”
My head thumped with humiliation. News travelled fast. Zeta gazed at me. “I wanted to warn you – so you could act like you didn’t care.”
I nodded. It was hard to stomach her sympathy. “You’ve started hanging out at Davison, then?” I said.
“Yes. It’s easier without Clemmie,” she said.
“How d’you mean?” I asked. I sensed she was trying to tell me something.
Zeta looked at her feet. “She knew about my mum. Clemmie said unless I bought things for her she’d tell everyone about her.”
I wanted to know about her mum now, but I knew it wasn’t fair to ask. “What things?”
“Make-up, skincare, perfumes, clothes…”
You’re a scholarship kid.
“I couldn’t say no.” Zeta was clearly hoping I’d understand, and I did. “I couldn’t tell my dad. He’s so proud of me getting a scholarship here.” She gave a tiny shrug of I-had-no-choice.
“How did you afford all those things?” I asked.
“I used my allowance. I stole a few things. I worked in the holidays.” Her shoulders dropped. “It’s over now.”
“Have you told anyone else?” I asked.
“Ms Calding,” said Zeta. “I told her today when she took me to the orthodontist. She was really nice about it, but I don’t want everyone to know.”
“I’m glad you told me too,” I said.
The vibration of my phone made me jump.
“I’ll go now,” said Zeta, making a clumsy exit before I had a chance to say anything else.
I picked up my phone and saw I had a text message from a number that wasn’t saved to my contacts.
Hi Kate. It’s Monro. On a pay as you go. What news about Clemmie?
Monro! My thumbs manically tapped back a message about nobody knowing what really happened yet.
I waited, my thumbs poised over the keyboard:
You think she fell or was pushed? came back the reply.
I don’t know. It’s horrible whatever. So are you where I thought you were?
??
Did you get my text?
No. We ditched our phones. Where do you think we are?
I typed the S of Scotland, and then stopped. I had an uncomfortable feeling. What if it wasn’t Monro? What if someone was hoping I’d give his lo
cation away? I deleted the S and typed:
Tell me the name of the boat at Thornley harbour first.
I don’t understand?
He wouldn’t have forgotten Tiger Lily. This didn’t feel right. I turned off my phone and placed it under my pillow, curling up next to it. I felt cold, as if it had turned autumnal in the last ten minutes. I pictured my parents in the relentless sunshine of Dubai, and not for the first time wondered how much – or how little – they thought about me when I wasn’t there.
I could hear Meribel on her phone through the wall. Her voice was loud and animated, as if the reception at the other end wasn’t very good. Within seconds of the call ending she was at my door, and I sat up.
“Hey, Kate!” she said. “The modelling job in Japan’s got the go-ahead. Six days and loads of money. And, oh my God, isn’t it lucky I love sushi?”
She bounced on to my bed, and I knew my voice lacked the required enthusiasm as I said, “When do you go?”
“The day after tomorrow. And if anyone here says I can’t go, that’s tough because I’m going anyway. The only people who can stop me are the police, and I’ve told them everything I know, which is diddly squat.”
“That’s so soon,” I mumbled, because I was mostly saying it in my head.
“To tell the truth, I’m happy about that. The vibe is terrible round here.” Meribel got off the bed and went into my bathroom to gaze at herself in the mirror. “This thing right here better not be a super-sized spot brewing,” she muttered and came back out, rubbing her cheek.
“I don’t want you to go,” I said.
Meribel stared at me. “Talk to Lo.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
I understood the way she nodded after I said this. She knew how bad this was, that Lo might never speak to me again.
“There’s a printout of me on Veronica’s artwork with the word ‘fake’ on it. Did you know?”
“Nope.” I saw she was surprised. “That’s mean. Nothing to do with me. Lo wouldn’t have done that either. Paige?”
“How many people have you told?”