‘Sound advice, young lady.’
He was standing one step below her and she had to look down to meet his eyes. Guilt seared through her.
I just lied to Carter for the first time.
Impulsively, she freed her hand from his and ran her fingers through his soft dark hair; instantly, his hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. She bent over to kiss him.
‘Curfew!’ Zelazny’s voice sliced through her confused emotions.
‘Bugger,’ Carter whispered against her lips.
The rush began almost instantly as crowds of raucous students hurried past them up the stairs towards the dorms. But Carter wouldn’t let her go. His hands roved up and down her back sending sparks through her nervous system.
‘I wish we could go somewhere. And be alone.’ He pulled her towards him until his lips were against her ear. ‘If you’re not tired, I could come to your room later?’
Allie swallowed hard. She’d just betrayed him. Could she pretend nothing had happened while making out with him?
‘People do,’ Eloise had said. ‘All the time.’
But Allie couldn’t.
‘Seriously, Carter,’ she said, ‘I’m so behind on my maths work. I’ve got to catch up or I’m so profoundly screwed.’ Lie number two. Which he bought completely, of course. Because he trusts me.
As she ran up to the girls’ dorm, her heart was so heavy in her chest it seemed to slow her down. Moving one foot after the other was difficult.
Lying to Carter. She’d never imagined she could do that. How had everything got so tangled?
In the relative safety of her room, she closed the door and leaned against it. Catching her reflection in the mirror next to the door, she frowned at herself.
What have you done?
She had to tell him the truth, of course. He’d figure it out soon enough after Isabelle met with him. And when he realised she’d lied …
A sudden chill made her shiver, and she walked over to close the window. Wind was making the shutter thump against the wall, and rain had blown in and dampened the desktop.
Two things happened at the same time: she remembered she hadn’t opened the window today and she saw the envelope on her desk.
It was of thick, heavy paper – the kind used for invitations. Her name was written on the back. In Christopher’s handwriting.
SIXTEEN
Allie scrambled away from the desk so rapidly her feet tangled and she nearly fell. Reaching out for the wall, she caught her balance, all the time staring at the envelope on her desk as if it might get up and chase her across the room.
He’s been in here, she thought with a mixture of horror and excitement. Christopher’s been in here.
Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear herself think, and she forced herself to calm down while she tried to decide what to do. Should she run straight to Isabelle? Try and find Carter or Rachel?
Or just open the envelope and see what’s inside?
With tentative steps she made her way back to the desk, approaching the envelope as one might a caged panther until, reaching out a shaking hand, she picked it up.
The creamy paper was unmarked aside from the word ‘Allie’, written in the familiar handwriting she hadn’t seen in more than a year. She ran her fingertip across the word as if it would give her some sense of what had happened to him – why he’d run away. Why he’d left her.
Slipping her finger under the lip of the envelope, she pulled it open. Inside, a single sheet of thick, ivory paper had been neatly folded. She held it to her nose wondering if it would smell of her brother. Of home as it had been before he left.
But it smelled of nothing.
Unfolding it, she found her name written at the top in Christopher’s distinctive left-slanting handwriting.
Dear Allie,
I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you after all this time. I’ve missed you so much! Staying away from you has been the hardest part of everything that has happened.
When I saw you that night last summer, I knew I had to get back in touch with you. You’ve changed so much I almost didn’t recognise you. You’re all grown up now.
I am so proud of you.
I know you don’t understand why I’m with Nathaniel. But I haven’t gone crazy or joined a cult, or whatever Mum and Isabelle told you. I just learned the truth about our family. And I made a choice.
I want you to have the same chance I did to make a choice based on the truth about who we are. We Meldrums.
So will you meet me so we can talk? I’ll be down by the stream, next to the chapel, Friday at midnight.
I know you’re probably angry with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t come. But I’ll be there. Please come. I can’t wait to see you again.
Christopher
Standing stock still, Allie gazed out of the window into the dark autumn evening.
Christopher was right here. Standing where I am now. Hot tears flooded her eyes. If he wanted to see me so badly, why didn’t he wait until I walked into the room? Why leave a note and sneak away?
With effort, she forced herself to read the letter again. This time she noted the way he’d underlined their grandmother’s name, writing over the letters twice until the word stood out on the page. He’d pressed his pen so hard against the paper it had nearly gone through.
As she stood holding the letter, one thought reverberated in her head: What am I going to do now?
Allie didn’t sleep that night. She read the letter over and over again until she didn’t need to read it any longer; she’d memorised it.
At about three in the morning, convinced that there was no hidden message in it and no part she might have missed, she lay back on the bed, her hands covering eyes, counting her breaths.
She had few options.
If she told anybody about the letter they would insist on telling Isabelle out of a desire to protect her. Then the matter would be taken out of Allie’s hands.
They’d never let me see him, and they might do something to him. Have him arrested. Or something else. Something worse.
But the other alternative was to lie to everybody she knew.
Thinking about that made her feel sick.
The way she’d felt lying to Carter tonight … How could I do that again and again?
And on and on her thoughts went until, at some point, just before dawn, she must have dozed, because the alarm woke her before seven.
All that day, she moved in a fog of exhaustion and panic; her classes passed in a blur. When Rachel commented on the dark circles under her eyes, Allie lied again. ‘I think I’m coming down with something.’
Lying was getting easier, but when Rachel tutted like a mother hen and insisted on getting her tea with honey she felt like a monster.
All day – every minute of the day – she worried about what she was going to do.
At dinner, she stirred the food on her plate, not touching it, avoiding Rachel’s sharp gaze. She was meeting Sylvain later for her interview and everything was so complicated now she had no idea what to do, what to say.
She was too tired to spin some sort of elaborate lie. But if she told him the truth …
Suddenly she did feel ill, and she pushed her plate away. What am I going to do?
*
Just after eight o’clock, Allie stood at the foot of the stairs, her arms crossed tightly, helping to hold her upright. Her head was so cloudy – sleeplessness and stress were taking their toll. Nothing felt real.
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ As he ran up to her, short of breath, Sylvain smiled disarmingly. ‘I had a last-minute meeting with Jerry that went on so long, I thought perhaps I would be there for the rest of my life.’ Running his fingers through his ruffled hair, he nodded towards the classroom wing. ‘I have an idea of where we can go, if you want to try it?’
He took the stairs two at a time; she followed him silently. (Sixty-six steps.) The second-floor hallway was dark as t
hey walked through the shadows (sixteen steps) past empty classrooms. Their footsteps echoed hollowly.
‘In here.’ Opening a door near the end of the hall, he flipped the light switch and the fluorescent lights flickered on. The room was small (ten desks arranged in five rows of two, four windows …). Sylvain turned two desks so they faced each other then, directing her to one, slid into the other, giving a slight groan as he stretched his long legs out into the aisle.
‘This has been a long day,’ he said, reaching into his bag. ‘Jerry was really on my case today. He’s been in a terrible mood lately.’
Allie found it hard to imagine Jerry, the kindly science teacher, on anyone’s case. He’d always been patient with her.
Sylvain set a notebook in the middle of the desk in front of him and produced a slim, silver pen.
‘Listen,’ he began, a serious line dividing his azure eyes, ‘I must tell you again that I’m sorry they chose me for this.’ He stopped, studying her face for the first time. ‘Are you OK? You look terrible.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, but her words came out a whisper. Clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘Just … coming down with something, maybe.’
‘I want to say first that you can trust me.’
Colour rose in her cheeks, and she looked away.
Two breaths in, one breath out …
‘I mean …’ He was studying her closely and she got the feeling he’d observed her reaction. ‘I know you may never trust me, and I don’t blame you for that. But you can trust me not to tell anybody what you tell me today. I will only write it down and hand it in. OK?’
She had to force herself to meet his eyes, and she knew her cheeks were burning with the heat of all the unspoken words between them – how angry she’d been after the summer ball, and the confusion that had dominated her feelings towards him ever since; how he made her feel both safe and threatened.
‘OK,’ she said, her voice steady. ‘This wasn’t your idea, any more than it was mine. And I’m fine with it. I really am. I’d rather it were you than … well, a lot of people. So let’s just do this.’
I’m glad it’s you, she thought, and then wondered where the thought came from.
‘Good.’ With a relieved smile, he opened his notebook. ‘Let’s do it.’
His first few questions were the same ones she’d asked Carter. When he asked her grandparents’ names, she quickly reeled off the names of her father’s deceased parents. Then she paused.
He glanced up at her enquiringly. ‘And your mother’s parents?’
‘I … I’m afraid I don’t actually know my grandfather’s name on that side of the family,’ she said finally. ‘I’ve never been told.’
A puzzled frown crossed his face but he said nothing, making a note in his notebook. ‘And your grandmother?’
Rain pattered against the window in a staccato rhythm. It sounded like small pebbles being pelted against the glass.
‘My grandmother’s name is Lucinda Meldrum.’ Her voice was calm.
He’d started writing as soon as she began talking but now his pen froze, and he looked up at her. ‘Your grandmother has the same name as the chancellor?’
‘Lucinda Meldrum, the former chancellor, is my grandmother.’
Setting down his pen, he frowned in confusion. ‘Is this a joke, Allie? Because I don’t understand …’
‘No joke, Sylvain,’ she said. Now that she was talking about it, saying the words felt liberating. Another person was now in on the secret. Each person she told made it seem more real. ‘It’s completely true. I am Lucinda Meldrum’s granddaughter.’ She pointed at his notepad. ‘Write it down.’
‘I don’t understand.’ He still hadn’t picked up his pen. ‘If this is true, why doesn’t anyone know about it? I thought you weren’t a legacy student at all, but first generation.’
‘Yeah, I know that everyone has always wondered what that nobody Allie Sheridan is doing at super-amazing Cimmeria, the billionaire’s academy. Well, Sylvain, now you know.’ When he started to speak, she held up her hand. ‘Seriously. Just write down her name. And ask me the next question.’
After a long pause, he picked up his pen and wrote three words: ‘Grandmother: Lucinda Meldrum’.
The incident seemed to throw him off his game, and he referred to his notes distractedly.
‘Uh … OK, so my next question is … Who in your family attended Cimmeria?’ His expression quizzical, he glanced up at her. ‘But I’m not sure I need to ask …’
‘My mother attended Cimmeria.’ Allie’s cool words overrode his. ‘And my grandmother.’
As he made notes, it occurred to her that she was getting used to saying the word ‘grandmother’. It no longer felt so odd. But she found she said it in a commanding way, as if she were saying ‘the Queen’. Just talking about Lucinda conveyed power.
She was still feeling the thrill of that when Sylvain asked his next question.
‘So what led you to come to Cimmeria? I believe you were brought here as punishment.’
The thrill of power practically made a sizzling noise as it died.
Sliding down in her chair, Allie launched into the story of her brother’s disappearance and all that happened after: Her parents losing interest in her. Her arrest for breaking into the school and spray-painting obscenities on the walls. How this arrest had followed two other arrests for vandalism and petty theft. How Mark and Harry had stepped into her brother’s place in her emotions – only instead of helping with her homework they taught her the fine art of rebellion.
As she talked, Sylvain took notes in his neat, precise handwriting, occasionally looking up at her with a bemused expression but never interrupting. She wanted to gloss some of it over to make herself sound better, the way she did when telling Jo or Rachel about it, but found she couldn’t. She told him everything. And the more she talked the better she felt, as if the story were leaving her. With every word the weight on her chest seemed to lighten.
When she’d finished, he studied her with overt curiosity. The silver pen glittered in his long fingers. ‘This Allie you describe, she doesn’t sound like the Allie sitting in front of me. I don’t recognise that girl.’
‘Yeah, well.’ She shrugged. ‘When your life falls apart sometimes you fall apart with it. Hasn’t that ever happened to you?’
‘No – not like that. I just …’ He paused as if trying to think of the right words. ‘I admire your strength, Allie. It’s not possible for me to say what I would have done if I were in your feet, but I think I would not have handled it as well.’
‘Shoes,’ she corrected him automatically. ‘If you were in my shoes.’
But even as she spoke, a rush of unexpected emotion flooded through her. She didn’t know what it was – maybe it was just dredging up all that stuff again – but for some reason his words touched her heart.
‘By the way, have you heard from your brother?’ As his words sliced through her reverie, her eyes shot up to meet his. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘since the fire?’
Reflexively, her hand slid into her skirt pocket, touching the now familiar thick paper of Christopher’s letter. She tried to speak, but no words came out.
Three breaths in, two breaths out …
‘Allie?’ Frowning, Sylvain cocked his head to one side. ‘What’s the matter? Have you heard from him?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘Never. Not until … last night.’
SEVENTEEN
‘You have to go to Isabelle and Raj.’ Sylvain handed the letter back to Allie, who folded it carefully and put it back into her pocket.
‘No.’
‘Allie …’
But the warning in his eyes only made her more determined.
‘What will happen if I tell Isabelle?’ she asked.
‘She will have Raj’s people intercept him,’ he said.
‘And do what with him?’
His shrug told her he didn’t know. Maybe didn’t care either.
/> ‘Don’t you dare tell Isabelle. I won’t let them kidnap my brother and use him as some sort of bargaining chip in their crazy war.’ Rising panic made it hard for her to breathe. ‘I’ll go by myself, Sylvain, I swear to God. I’ll warn him. I’ll run away with him,’ she threatened wildly. ‘Nobody is kidnapping him.’
‘Allie, no!’ Her reaction had clearly taken him by surprise and his words tumbled out in a rush. ‘Don’t – you could be hurt.’
‘Christopher wouldn’t hurt me.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Christopher nearly burned this school down with seventy-five people inside. Including you.’
‘You can’t …’ All of a sudden, her lungs felt compressed, as if the air had disappeared. It was hard to speak. The room swayed sickeningly. ‘… tell.’
She could see the puzzled alarm in his eyes. ‘Allie? Are you OK?’
The walls moved closer; her breath came in short gasps. A clammy sweat coated her skin. She struggled to get air.
It’s happening again.
‘I can’t …’ For a long minute she struggled to breathe, her heart thudding so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear what Sylvain was saying to her. Then, leaping to her feet, she fled from the room. Without looking back, she clattered down the stairs to the back door (thirty-seven steps), and out into the cold rain.
Then she just ran.
The icy air was like a slap in the face as she hurtled through the darkness as fast as her feet would move, with rain lashing at her skin, fighting off the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her.
As she ran, the cold and the movement seemed to make her lungs work again and she could feel the tension in her chest loosen. But still she didn’t stop. Her wet hair stuck to her scalp and face. Rain blinded her. Mud splashed up her bare ankles to her knees.
She was nearly to the treeline when hands grabbed her shoulders, yanking her back.
Flailing, she spun around, punching blindly. Her fist connected with Sylvain’s flesh and she was glad. For a moment she slithered free, her wet skin sliding through unwanted fingers, but she hadn’t gone three steps when she was wrapped in arms as strong as bands of iron. Only when she realised she couldn’t run any more did a sob finally shake her body.
Night School: Legacy Page 16