Say Her Name

by James Dawson

  There was one last thing she had to do before they could get him out, however. Bobbie reclined back on her bed with a sigh. ‘Is everything all right, Roberta?’

  ‘I feel awful … I’ve had really bad diarrhoea.’ Bobbie had learned at a very young age that no one questions diarrhoea – like who’s gonna check the toilet after you’ve been? It was the ultimate skiving sickness. ‘It must be something I ate.’

  Mrs Craddock had dealt with more than her share of vomit and diarrhoea and didn’t seem fazed. ‘Oh dear. Have you been more than once?’

  Bobbie knew how to play it. ‘Yeah. I went and then had to go again like right away.’

  ‘And have you been sick?’

  ‘No. But I feel sick.’ She was careful not to be too hammy.

  ‘Poor dear, must be a tummy bug. Drink plenty of water. Naya – keep an eye on her and come and fetch me if she gets worse.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’ The housemistress turned to leave. ‘Obviously if you need the toilet, go, but otherwise – stay inside from now on, please.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut, the wardrobe burst open and Caine tripped over his feet in his haste to get out. ‘Shh!’ Naya caught him.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Bobbie sprung off her bed.

  ‘I could see her. Right behind me in the wardrobe.’ His eyes were wild and beads of sweat gleamed on his dark skin.

  ‘It’s not real,’ Bobbie said, although she was far from convinced. ‘It’s only a reflection.’

  He looked to the floor, as if ashamed of his fear. ‘It looked real.’ Caine grabbed his hoodie, gripping it tighter than he should. His lips were pasty. ‘She’s coming for us.’

  They waited ten minutes or so to ensure that Mrs Craddock had finished her rounds before smuggling Caine out of their room. Bobbie walked him back to the secret passage while Naya kept a lookout. Luckily, it seemed either the warning from Price or the threat of an escaped axe-wielding psychopath had kept all the Piper’s Ladies securely in their rooms, and no one interrupted their stealthy prowl back to the hatch on the staircase.

  Caine pulled the passageway door open and turned back to her. ‘If this weren’t so messed up, it’d be pretty cool.’

  ‘What? The passages?’

  ‘Yeah. We ain’t got these at Radley!’

  Bobbie whispered. ‘There’s one in the theatre too – so the servants could carry drinks in and out when it used to be a ballroom. There’s meant to be priests’ holes too.’

  Caine frowned. ‘What’s a priest’s hole? Sounds kinky.’

  ‘Don’t they teach History at Radley?’ Bobbie smiled.

  ‘I’m a Geography kinda guy.’

  ‘Back in the day it was illegal to be Catholic. The original owners of the house were sympathisers so built little hidey-holes for priests on the run. Or so they say. I’ve yet to see evidence of this.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Man, your school is so much cooler than mine.’

  Creamy moonlight flooded the landing, catching Caine’s cheekbone and lips. All of a sudden, Bloody Mary was purged from Bobbie’s mind. ‘Okay.’ She pulled her dressing-gown belt tighter. ‘You sure you’ll find your way out?’

  ‘I wedged the kitchen door open with a rock.’

  ‘They teach you that in Croydon?’ Bobbie couldn’t resist and Caine beamed back.

  ‘Oi! Don’t be talking smack about the Croydon massiv’!’ he grinned. ‘Nah. It’s a dump. Better off out here in the sticks.’

  There was a long silence. It probably wasn’t that long, but it felt like an eternity. Bobbie knew that moments like these, goodbyes, needed filling. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say. If this were one of her stories, her main character – the off-kilter-hipster-girl-with-issues that guys wanted to rescue – would say something profound or deep or even just plain cute. Nope. She had nothing, which she guessed meant that the real Bobbie Rowe was neither pin-up sexy nor adorable-kooky-funny. Great. ‘I guess I’ll see you in the morning then,’ was the best she could do.

  ‘Yeah.’ Caine exhaled like he’d been stuck in suspended animation too. Or was that just the optimism node in her brain working overtime? ‘Sweet dreams, yeah?’

  ‘Oh that’s likely.’ Bobbie grimaced.

  Caine slipped into the hatch, using his phone to light the way. ‘Think happy thoughts. Or, you have my number now, just call me.’

  Although she couldn’t be sure, Bobbie was pretty sure she experienced her first swoon. That is, if a swoon felt like a strawberry-milkshake tsunami starting at your feet and levelling everything in its path until it got to your head. She actually had to steady herself against the portal. ‘I’ll leave my phone on in case you get scared,’ she replied. Nice save, she thought. Caine chuckled and vanished down the servants’ stairs.

  She did think nice thoughts. She thought of the goodbye all the way back to her room, replaying the scene over and over, squeezing every last drop out of the memory – with time on her side she was able to think of about fifty funny-cute-sexy-witty goodbyes. Dammit.

  When she arrived back at their room, Bobbie found Naya nervously perching on her bed. As soon as she walked in, Naya sprang off the bed and grabbed her. ‘Oh God, what took you so long – don’t leave me alone!’

  ‘Sorry, I had to make sure Caine got out okay.’

  Naya pouted. ‘Oh I bet you did! Held his hand the whole way?’

  Bobbie suddenly found it hard to look her in the eye. ‘No … it’s not like … that.’

  ‘Look, normally I’d be up for an all-night boy summit, but, hello – ghost-mirror-woman!’

  Bobbie took a deep breath. ‘I know.’

  ‘Bob, can I come in with you tonight?’

  The fear burned bright in her eyes; Naya was fraying at the seams, about to fall apart. ‘Of course. And we’ll keep the lamp on. All night if you want.’

  A tear glistened in the corner of Naya’s eye. ‘Thank you.’

  They distracted each other for a while, bitching about Grace mostly, until Naya fell asleep first, her heavy breaths falling on Bobbie’s ear. Bobbie closed her eyes and imagined it was Caine lying beside her. The idea came out of nowhere, but she was surprised to find she liked it. A lot.

  But then thoughts of Sadie leaked into her head and she felt guilty for feeling happy. Bobbie wondered what her poor parents and sisters were going through right now. They must be going out of their minds with worry. She used thoughts of Caine to block thoughts of Sadie and that made her feel guiltier still.

  So lost in it was she that it took her a moment to realise that she was dreaming again. It felt so real, so vivid, that she could easily have been awake, and she hadn’t even been aware of falling asleep.

  The gag-inducing stench of disinfectant filled the ground-floor girls’ toilets. Bobbie sat on the seat of a toilet in a locked stall, her knees tucked under her chin. Once more she was in the old, starchy uniform. Itchy woollen socks were pulled all the way up her shins, ugly hobnail shoes finishing off her legs.

  Bobbie didn’t know why, but she was scared. She was hiding. She was hiding in a toilet cubicle.

  Then she knew why. There was an unmistakeable laugh: the ‘Mean Girl Laugh’. It was then as it was now. Cruel, harsh, mocking laughter – girls trying to outdo each other with cattiness. She wasn’t alone in the bathroom. ‘Have you ever heard her speak?’

  ‘I don’t think she knows how to! Perhaps she’s deaf and dumb.’

  ‘Don’t be so mean, she’s new,’ said a third, kinder voice.

  ‘Oh don’t be such a goody two-shoes, Judy. I mean, she’s positively backward.’

  Bobbie sat as still as she could on the toilet. She knew two things: they were talking about her, and she would rather die than be discovered.

  ‘You know, she has quite the reputation in Oxsley.’

  ‘How do you know?’ the third girl, Judy, asked.

  ‘It’s a small, inbred town! Everyone knows everyone!’ Bobbie pictured
them preening and pouting in front of the mirror the way Grace and Caitlin did today. ‘You do know she’s a bastard, don’t you?’ The offending word was whispered in awe and scandal.

  ‘You never!’ said the second girl, who sounded as airheaded as Caitlin.

  ‘It’s true. I’d be surprised if her whore of a mother even knew who her father was.’

  ‘Susan, that’s an appalling thing to say!’ Judy scolded.

  A soggy puddle spread across the hem of her skirt, Bobbie’s tears soaking into the charcoal-grey fabric. The words cut through her, dragging across her bones.

  ‘Don’t be so naive!’ Susan went on. ‘Everyone knows she’s here for free – her mother doesn’t pay a penny.’

  ‘Because she passed the entrance exam … ’ Judy argued in vain.

  ‘I heard it’s because they didn’t know what to do with her at Radley Grammar,’ said the airhead girl.

  ‘I think you two are absolutely beastly.’

  ‘Heavens, Judy. If you like her so much why don’t you be her best friend?’ Susan chided.

  There was a pause. ‘No thank you,’ Judy said finally. ‘She’s so queer. She scares me.’

  All three girls laughed. The Mean Girl Laugh.

  Bobbie awoke, back in her bed. The heating hadn’t come on yet so the bedroom was bitter, her breath clouding. Dawn was still hours away. Her pillow was damp with tears.

  DAY THREE

  Chapter 12

  Asylum

  The sadness of the dream lingered long after she’d woken. It was like a heavy, leaden shawl around her shoulders. She burrowed further under her duvet, blocking out daylight. God, she hated Tuesdays. Mondays held so much promise for the week ahead, Bobbie always thought, but by Tuesday the novelty had worn off and you were still miles away from the weekend. She had a feeling this Tuesday would be even more of an uphill struggle than most.

  Bobbie closed her eyes, her heart still feeling a little broken. If that sort of bullying was what Mary experienced at Piper’s, perhaps it went some way towards explaining why her spirit hadn’t moved on. As Bobbie understood it, a lot of people thought that ghosts were spirits of the dead with unfinished business: ethereal fingers desperately digging nails into the fabric of this world without passing on to the next.

  Of course, that opened a whole RE can of worms that Bobbie definitely didn’t have time for.

  Bobbie remembered Sadie’s original tale about how Mary had committed suicide in the bathroom. The cruel laughter of the girls made her skin crawl. If that had chip-chip-chipped away at Mary over the years, it was no wonder she hadn’t wanted to live. Bobbie felt wretched and hopeless, and they weren’t even her memories. Assuming Mary had killed herself, what unfinished business could she have left? Were they meant to complete the business on her behalf? Bobbie sighed. If someone kills themself, the burst bubble of potential leaves nothing but unfinished business.

  The glimpses of Mary’s past she saw were telling, but went no way to explaining Sadie’s fate, or what was going to happen to them on Thursday. Time was galloping away.

  It was almost time to meet Caine. Eight thirty-five. Bobbie kicked the duvet off. Mrs Craddock had already been in and given her permission to stay in bed. Bobbie had gone through the necessary martyr act: ‘No, I’ll be fine, I just need a shower and maybe a bite to eat,’ before Craddock announced she was much too weak to attend lessons.

  Depending on whether Craddock came back to check on her, she was off the hook. That said, there was still the hardest task to accomplish: getting out of Piper’s Hall without being seen.

  She dressed quickly. The disguise, she had to admit, was genius. She’d swept her hair into a messy topknot, found some riding boots and borrowed Naya’s Barbour jacket. The massive insectile sunglasses and McQueen scarf were the cherry on the cake. She looked every inch the horsey mummy dropping off a Lower at the school gates. The Piper’s Hall student body was made up of about twenty per cent day pupils. In the hierarchy they were the lowest of the low and mostly stuck together for company. The theory was that only those hard core enough to give up their parents and home cooking were truly worthy of calling themselves Piper’s Ladies.

  The bell for registration would sound at eight fifty-five. This was the only time of day where people came and went with any regularity. It was now or never.

  A few girls were milling about Brontë, getting the last bits they needed for class or changing into uniform after breakfast. Walking through the school in disguise was too big a risk. Bobbie weighed it up, and the fire escape was a better option than the secret passage, as that would bring her out by the kitchen just as the staff were clearing up from breakfast. Only one problem: it was alarmed. Idiot girls were always crashing into the ‘push to open’ bars, however, with such regularity that teachers and Craddock hardly ever seemed to investigate. The alarms turned off as soon as the door was shut again. At least, that’s what Bobbie hoped.

  Without her real glasses her vision was a fuzzy mess, but the corridor looked deserted, so she tiptoed to the exit. She gritted her teeth. Timing was key; she’d have to clear three flights of noisy, rickety metal stairs before someone attended to the alarm and caught her in the act. Come on, Bobbie. Quick and clean. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the fire escape.

  The alarm, a nasty, low buzz like an angry bee, sounded throughout Brontë House, but Bobbie didn’t look back. Taking the stairs two at a time, she almost glided down the damp iron railings, letting gravity pull her along. She didn’t stop to think about how many eyes might be seeing her through the windows she darted past. With any luck, she’d be nothing more than a blur.

  The ringing stopped. Bobbie pressed her back against the wall. If she looked up she could see through the holes in the corrugated metal. No one stepped onto the fire escape. Perfect. Just as she’d hoped, someone else on her corridor (probably the poor soul who had the room next to the fire escape) must have come out and simply closed the door. Bobbie breathed a shaky sigh of relief. She continued down the steps. When she reached solid ground, she got her bearings: she was on a functionless patch of grass just to the front of the staff car park. Hopefully all the teachers would be in by now. Sticking close to the walls, but avoiding the windows, Bobbie prowled the school perimeter to the front entrance.

  Perhaps those ‘boarding school for spies’ novels weren’t such a waste of time after all.

  At the front of the school, there was a doughnut-shaped driveway with a fountain in the middle designed for the purpose of dropping off pupils at the main entrance. Pupils entered through a nondescript door at the end of the old wing, while only visitors were allowed to use the grand double doors flanked by grumpy, weather-worn stone lions.

  Most parents or nannies acted as chauffeurs, slowing the BMW or Mercedes for only the briefest of moments to offload their offspring, but some walked their kids to school too. Bobbie knew this would look a lot more convincing if she had a dog of some sort, as many parents chose to combine the journey to school with walking the family pet.

  As casually as she could, she fell into step alongside a trio of mums emerging through the visitors’ entrance. They’d probably been in to pay a library fine or to get tickets for a piano recital or something equally lame. Either way, it was perfect timing; they were even dressed similarly. As they approached the end of the drive, Bobbie pulled ahead of them – the foreboding building behind her getting smaller and smaller with every step. By the time she stepped through the curling wrought-iron gates at the end of the drive, Bobbie realised she was light-headed from holding her breath.

  She’d done it. She was actually free.

  Far below, the waves crashed onto the rocks – a roar and then a shiver as the tide rolled back over the shingle. A battered-looking Fiat with one door a different shade of red to the chassis waited by the turnstile to the coastal pathway. That had to be Caine’s car. She darted across the road and saw two people in the front seats – Caine and Mark. What was he doing here?

>   Bobbie tapped on the window, and Caine twisted around to open the back door for her. ‘Nice outfit,’ he said, eyeing her up and down. ‘You know Hallowe’en was last week, right?’

  ‘Very funny. It’s a disguise, and one that apparently worked. Hi, Mark. No offence, but why are you here?’

  The stockier boy rolled his eyes. Caine answered. ‘Mum needed the car today. Mark said he’d drop us off cos he has a free.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘Yup, today I’m a taxi service. I must be mad – going to a freaking loony bin in my free. I should be in bed, man.’ Checking over his shoulder, Mark pulled out into the road and started on the journey towards Oxsley. At this time of the day, the traffic was awful – this could take forever.

  ‘Anyway.’ Caine sat sideways on so he could talk to both of them. Today he was wearing a cute jumper that looked like vintage skate gear. The deep maroon totally worked against his dark skin. ‘You gotta see this.’

  ‘Gotta see what?’

  ‘Dude, where’s your phone?’ he asked Mark.

  ‘In my pocket. Just watch where you’re putting your hand.’

  ‘Dream on, mate.’ Caine gingerly fished the iPhone out of his pocket with pincer fingers while Mark drove. ‘It’s the video Mark made while we were doing the dare.’

  ‘You told him?’ Bobbie’s skin suddenly felt hot. She didn’t like the idea of dragging more people into this, and if she was really honest, she sort of liked having Caine to herself.

  ‘I didn’t need to. Look.’ He handed her the phone all ready to go – she just had to press play.

  She really didn’t want to see this, but knew she had to. Pressing play, she waited for the show to start. It was surreal seeing it all happen to them. In her head, it had all seemed more epic, but the video showed the three of them standing in a poky bathroom with terrible lighting. The flickering candlelight illuminated them, but that was all she could make out. There was only a suggestion that even they were reflected in the mirror. The noise was better though. She could hear their giggles – the first time they’d lost their bottle.