by James Dawson
They followed the path around the church to the seemingly endless rows of graves that waited around the back. ‘Where do we start?’ Caine asked.
‘I have no idea. I guess we look for a headstone with Worthington on it … ’
They split up to save time – yes, it was Horror Film 101, but there really were an awful lot of graves to inspect. There was no obvious order to the cemetery; even the pathways through the graveyard were winding and nonsensical. Looming oak trees were dotted amidst the graves, blocking out the light. Every few hundred metres there was a bench, but these were the only things that acted as landmarks.
As she walked through the tombstones, Bobbie could feel a sense of peace, of restfulness. Was it morbid to think that everyone dies and that’s okay? It was the people left behind that felt the death. That was why Bobbie couldn’t go just yet. Who’d look after her mum?
The heartfelt inscriptions on the headstones – just names to her – made Bobbie wonder if, once everything ends, you live on as a memory. Some of the graves had fresh tributes, but many had fallen to ruin, chipped and moss-eaten, with no one left to put a face to the name of the body that decayed below. Bobbie wondered if that’s how long you truly live for – until the last person who remembers you, until the final bouquet on your grave.
An angel wept over a family plot, holding a worn stone hand to her face. Bobbie read the names of those interred within. Whole generations in one grave. But not a single mention of Worthington. This was starting to feel like a needle in a haystack job.
A faint noise turned Bobbie’s head. A girl laughing. It carried on the wind, but the airy sound was faint, as if from a long way away or a long time ago. It was so delicate, so lacy, that Bobbie wondered if this time she really was imagining it.
She saw Caine make his way down the adjacent footpath. She met him at the junction, under a clump of grand, gnarled oaks. ‘Did you just hear that?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Well … I thought I heard a girl laughing.’
‘Laughing? Doesn’t sound a lot like Mary.’
Bobbie nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’
A frown drew Caine’s brows together. It was kinda cute. ‘This all feels a bit creepy though.’
‘What? A graveyard? Seriously?’
He grinned. ‘No, like major déjà vu.’
Any other week, Bobbie would have rolled her eyes, but in this case she believed him without question. ‘You think you’ve been here before?’
‘I have been here before – but this is different.’ He shrugged. ‘But I can’t say how.’
Frustrating. ‘That’s okay … any sign of a Worthington?’
‘Nope.’
‘Me neither.’ The heavens opened again, thick splatters of rain quickly turning into rods. ‘Ah! Let’s find shelter!’ Bobbie held her hands over her head. They sprinted for the nearest clump of trees, leaving the safety of the footpath.
There was a giddy strobe of lightning followed almost immediately by a rumble of thunder that sounded like the sky cracking. Bobbie remembered that if thunder instantly follows lightning, that meant the eye of the storm was close at hand. They dashed further into the woods, heading for denser cover. Under the browning autumn leaves, they were protected from the worst of it. Bobbie looked around the little forest and realised they weren’t exactly alone. They were still surrounded by graves.
Almost completely obscured by trees was an ivy-strangled mausoleum set some way off the main path. Rusty leaf litter was built up around the squat stone structure. Bobbie had never noticed it before, tucked away in the shadows, but once it would have been quite beautiful: low steps led to pillars that framed an ornate metal entrance, with finely moulded bars twisting and curling around a guardian angel deep in prayer. Sadly, now neglected, it was covered in graffiti – not fabulous street art, but nasty, squiggly ‘tags’ and lewd representations of the male anatomy. Coke bottles and faded crisp packets climbed the walls with the leaves.
It had been a long time since anyone had brought flowers to this monument, Bobbie thought. Its neighbours – flat memorial slabs in the ground – were covered with wild grasses, weeds and yet more litter. This whole corner of the graveyard had been forgotten.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Bobbie said, exasperated. Rain continued to tip-tap in the canopy. ‘Why is Bridget dreaming of this place?’
‘Why not? We all come here. Maybe girls used to come here in Mary’s day too?’
Bobbie scrunched her nose. ‘It’s not fair. We’re trying our hardest, we’re following all the clues, but we’re getting nowhere. We’ve learned nothing today that can help us at all.’
‘Hey.’ Caine moved closer and took her hand. His skin was hot to the touch, warming her cold, damp fingers. ‘We’re getting there. We’re doing everything we can. Maybe … maybe we need to rest on it.’
‘We haven’t got time.’
‘We still have two days. It’s gonna be fine.’ He gave her hand a squeeze and she almost believed him. Their bodies were close now, too close, closer than you ever would be to a friend. She tilted her head up a fraction, until her eyes met his. There were gems of rain on her lenses, but she could still see the way he looked at her. He wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to want to kiss her. She’d always wondered what her first kiss would be like, but she’d never dreamed it would be in a rain-soaked graveyard.
Their lips were only centimetres apart, but even that was too much distance. He leaned in, seizing the moment. The second his lips touched hers, an alien, balmy breeze blew in, a summer wave. Dry, humid July air with a hint of mown grass, wild garlic and lavender. And perfume … she could definitely smell perfume. Brown, amber, yellow leaves whipped up around them in a graceful tornado: twirling, dipping and diving like a waltz. The strange dance was accompanied, undeniably this time, by a coy, girlish laugh.
Chapter 16
Friendly Advice
Bobbie pulled back at once, their lips having scarcely touched. ‘You can hear that, right?’
‘Er, yeah.’ The colour fell out of Caine’s cheeks. ‘Who is that?’
The spell broken, the spiralling leaves settled to the ground, rustling like scrunched paper. ‘I’ll give you precisely one guess.’
Caine released her hand. Bobbie sensed that they were causing this; they were stirring up the past. Or was there something in the air that had made Caine act like that? She really, really hoped that wasn’t the case. Caine scanned the clearing. ‘I think we should get out of here. Like now.’
What Bobbie wanted to say was, No, kiss me again, right now, but instead she nodded. She started down the path towards the church, not daring to look back. First survive, then kiss.
Somehow, the issue of getting back into school hadn’t really crossed her mind. The only saving grace was, as she’d been signed off sick, no one would question why she wasn’t in uniform. That, however, wouldn’t save her skin if she was caught off the premises. Bobbie thought back to their sighting of Elodie on the bus. ‘Grassing’ was a mortal sin at Piper’s Hall, but that only applied to teachers. All Elodie had to do was tell one person, and that person would pass it on, and then on, ad infinitum.
Bobbie arrived back at school during period five having already said goodbye to Caine in Oxsley. As they’d needed to get different buses there hadn’t been a repeat of the kiss. They hadn’t spoken of it either, so her doubt about what had happened in the graveyard was added to her mental pile of worries.
Sadie’s original tale played on loop in Bobbie’s mind. Mary had supposedly been hooking up with a local boy. A local boy just like Caine. This giddy feeling she felt every time she saw him – was it real or was it some sort of enchantment? Were they just playing out the past? Bobbie had never felt this way for a boy before so there was no way of telling. The way it felt like his name was written on her heart now, it might as well be supernatural. It was certainly alien.
Waiting until a group of gym-kitted girl
s trudged from the changing rooms to the hockey pitch, Bobbie slipped in through the back entrance without attracting attention to herself. Essentially, now that she was on-site, there was only so much trouble she could be in. Still, avoiding as many people as she could, Bobbie tiptoed through the secret passage back to her room.
Brontë House was deserted, naturally, while everyone was in lessons. As soon as Bobbie’s rear hit her mattress, she knew she was exhausted. The day had kicked the crap out of her and it wasn’t even three in the afternoon. She’d been scared witless, cut and kissed in the space of a morning. A major adrenaline crash felt imminent. She let herself lie down. A power nap in comforting broad daylight was infinitely more inviting than sleeping at night, and her eyes were drowsy the second her head hit her faux-fur cushion. Guilt nagged in her head, but she really did feel like they’d run out of avenues to explore. The only lead they’d got from Bridget was the graveyard, and except for the kiss-that-never-was, the trip was redundant.
Caine had decided to blow off the rest of the day, but had gone home to make sure the school office hadn’t left a message on his mum’s answering machine. There was no way she was going to smuggle him into Piper’s anyway – she’d flirted with all kinds of trouble already today.
Kicking her shoes off, Bobbie closed her weary eyes. In her head, she played the almost-kiss on repeat. Imagination-wise, the moment had taken on cinematic proportions: sweeping violins; her dissolving into Caine’s arms; her back gracefully arching like a dancer with him pouring over her. It would have been so perfect if it hadn’t been for the ghostly interruption. No. She wouldn’t let Mary ruin her movie moment. Her first kiss (kind of). Her heart felt full of blossom and her head soon caught up with the sentiment. She drifted away.
The serenity continued into her dream. She was downstairs in what was now the Lowers’ Common Room but seemed to be a library then. Bobbie sat in the bay window seat, mostly obscured from the rest of the world by the thick, green velvet curtain. Warm spring sunshine doused the room and she bathed in it, feeling the rays on her face. There was a book on her lap, but she ignored it. Instead, she looked out of the window at the other girls in the playground. They laughed, shrieked and joked, tagging each other in some sort of chasing game.
Bobbie had never felt so removed from anything in her life. This must be what goldfish feel like.
Everything about them was different to her. The way they wore their hair rolled up at the neck and the way hers hung in its plait, the perfectly tweezed, stencilled brows. Suddenly she became aware that a girl with gorgeous ginger ringlets on the other side of the window was staring and pointing at her – she’d been seen. Somehow she knew it was Susan Fletcher. ‘Did you see her? She looked right at me.’ The cruel words were audible even through the glass.
‘Just staring at us! How queer!’ another girl laughed along.
Bobbie closed the book, ready to find another hiding place. She swung her legs off the reading seat and gasped, the book falling to the floor and bouncing. She wasn’t alone. A handsome man, a teacher she guessed, stood watching her, his arms full of books. ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you knew I was here.’
If Mary replied all those years ago, Bobbie didn’t now. She’d never known shyness like it, heavier than chainmail. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. The teacher wore a simple grey suit with a tie the colour of red wine, although the cut of both seemed unfashionable to Bobbie’s eye. His auburn hair was slicked back neatly, parted like a feather at the side of his head. He had a kind smile, dimpled chin and strong jaw. He was far more attractive than any of the current crop, even Mr Granger.
‘It’s Mary, isn’t it? The new girl?’
Bobbie nodded.
‘What are you doing inside all by yourself? It’s such a beautiful day out.’
Bobbie was tongue-tied, but the conversation moved on without her.
‘Ah, I see. Let me guess. Some of the Ladies have been less than welcoming?’
Time moved on. She was only seeing his half of events, like Mary couldn’t take her eyes off him. ‘What are you reading? Oh, Moby-Dick is one of my absolute favourites … “Call me Ishmael”– such a wonderful first line, don’t you think? Yes … and Ahab’s obsession … yes, I agree … very much so … ’
By the time they had finished discussing the white whale, Bobbie – no, Mary – was in love.
The lightness in her heart was still there when she awoke, and she was initially disappointed that it had been a dream – only to remember Caine, and feel somewhat like she’d betrayed him with the gorgeous teacher. The dream was the most potent yet, like having a crush on a film star but with ten times more kick. Sadie’s ghost story had omitted one vital detail: it wasn’t a local boy, it was a local man.
Naya shook her awake. ‘Gerroff,’ she murmured, still dozing.
‘Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Almost supper. How did it go at the asylum?’
Bobbie sat up straight and rubbed her eyes. ‘It was a total waste of time. Bridget didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know and I ended up covered in cuts. Look.’ Bobbie pushed up her sleeves and Naya inhaled in shock, examining the scars.
‘Oh my God. How did you get these?’
‘No idea. They just appeared.’ Bobbie unbuttoned her blouse to get a better look. The grazes went all the way up to her shoulders.
‘Do they hurt?’ Naya traced her skin, her lips curled back.
‘No. Well, they’re sore. Like everything this week, it doesn’t make any sense, does it?’
‘Sure you’re okay?’ Naya grimaced and Bobbie nodded, passing up another opportunity to freak out. ‘Now … you missed a whole ton of stuff while you were “sick”.’ She made little bunny ears with her fingers. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
Bobbie fastened her shirt up. ‘Oh God, what now? The good news, I suppose.’
Naya folded her legs underneath her body. ‘Well. Because Sadie’s been gone for almost forty-eight hours, it’s about to become an official missing persons inquiry, or at least that’s what Jennie Pham said and her dad’s a cop. Anyway, at lunch, Dr Price came into the canteen and was like, “We’re extending Exeat to Thursday.” Everyone’s leaving Wednesday evening.’
‘Oh wow. I wonder why.’
‘We think it’s probably so they can do like forensics and stuff.’
‘Or because they think we’re not safe.’ Bobbie ran a hand through her hair, trying to get her thoughts in order. ‘What about us?’ Exeat was the first weekend of every month – Friday and Monday’s lessons were suspended and most girls went home, leaving a skeleton staff behind to look after the international students, like Naya, and those who couldn’t go home, like her.
‘We’re staying.’
‘But that’s when … ’
‘Time runs out. I know.’
The glow of her afternoon with Caine now seemed like a dim and distant memory. After lessons tomorrow, they’d be left in a near-deserted school with a ghost edging ever closer. ‘Oh God. How is that good news? What are we going to do?’
‘At least there’ll be police all over the joint.’
Bobbie snorted. ‘I’d like to see what they’re going to do against a dead girl in a mirror.’
‘On the bright side, if we don’t die, it’s a day off lessons.’
Bobbie raised a smile for her friend. ‘And what’s the bad news? Will I need a sedative before I hear this?’
‘Dr Price wants to see you in her office.’
The mattress suddenly felt like a waterbed. Or maybe it was just her head swimming. ‘Brilliant.’
Perched on the sofa between the Infirmary and Isolation Room, Bobbie wrapped her arms around herself like a straightjacket, waiting to be called into Price’s office. For whatever reason, the old wing was always ten times colder than the rest of the school. In the distance Bobbie could hear the chatter of gi
rls filing into the dining hall for supper. There was a Christmas-like hum about the place now that they’d been given the gift of a day outside of school. Those, like her, who weren’t going anywhere said nothing at all, not wanting to rain on anyone else’s parade.
‘Roberta, would you like to come in now?’ The door opened and Dr Price beckoned her in. ‘Sorry I kept you waiting, I was on an important phone call.’
‘That’s okay.’ Head down, Bobbie entered the office. She’d only been in the room a handful of times over the years. With prospectus claims that Piper’s Hall favoured reward over punishment, only girls in serious trouble usually saw the inside of these walls.
Dr Price sat behind her grand desk, the wood gleaming like a freshly polished conker, and motioned for Bobbie to sit opposite. She found her feet rooted to the leaf pattern on the rug, however. She’d forgotten all about the mirror.
The defining feature of the Head’s office was the ostentatious mirror that filled the wall behind the desk. It was clearly an antique, although Bobbie wouldn’t care to say from when in the past it came. It had an intricate, almost vulgar, gold frame – like something straight out of the Palace of Versailles. If memory served her correctly, the mirror had been a gift to the school on its grand opening. Of course, what troubled Bobbie wasn’t the flashiness of the ornament, but the reflection. The entire room was held within it, and Bobbie knew, if she looked hard enough, she’d be waiting too. ‘Are you all right, dear?’
Bobbie dragged herself into the present, eyes avoiding the mirror. ‘Erm, yeah, still a bit off.’ She sank into the plush padded seat.
‘Yes, I heard you were sick. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve noticed you’ve not been quite yourself these last few days.’
The fact that Price even knew what she was like on a normal day was cause for surprise. Their paths had hardly crossed in five years. ‘I think I was coming down with something.’ She couldn’t meet her gaze.