Influence

by Stuart Johnstone

  Lizzie still felt like she was trespassing as she pulled open the front doors of Queen’s. Even though, by the rules Pallister himself set out, she was permitted to be there. The school halls buzzed with the usual chatter and nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at Lizzie’s presence, much like when she had visited Vic in his dorm. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, returning to the scene of the crime, but she was glad of the non event she had found. She made her way unmolested to the exam hall and found her place.

  The exam finished just as scheduled classes were breaking. Student lockers were lined along both sides of the wide main corridor of the school. Lizzie found hers and unlocked it, she hadn’t yet emptied it, she had refused to out of principle, but there was no reason not to now. This, after all, would probably be the last time she would set foot in the school. Her last exam was over and she was surprised, no stunned, that she felt subdued at the thought of walking out of there for the last time. It was natural to feel nostalgic in such circumstances wasn’t it? But after all that had happened this year she had imagined she’d be running for the exit, middle finger extended over her shoulder in farewell. Instead she found herself taking every inch of the building in, it really was a magnificent old house irrespective of its occupants.

  ‘Looking for something?’ Lizzie’s daydream had masked Vic’s approach and he had caught her scanning around in reverential wonder. Lizzie swung her locker door open.

  ‘Hey Vic, sorry I didn’t see you there. Didn’t realise you were in today.’

  ‘I was sat a few desks behind you in the exam Liz.’

  ‘Really? Sorry a lot on my mind.’ Lizzie instantly regretted her words, her troubles paltry compared to his. ‘But shit, look who I’m talking to, sorry Vic.’

  ‘It’s fine. About that though, what did the police say?’ said Vic lowering his voice and peering up to ensure they could talk privately.

  ‘They weren’t interested. Not even a little.’

  ‘To be honest Liz, I’m not that surprised. I think we’re overreaching with this. The last cop I spoke to said they thought it was a random act, or a robbery gone wrong or something.’

  ‘I’m sorry for digging around all this Vic, and you might well be right but it just doesn’t sit well with me.’ Lizzie did regret that her curiosity must be making it extremely difficult for Vic to put things behind him.

  ‘Stop apologising, It’s fine, do what you need to do Liz, I’ll help if I can.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not really sure there is anything else to do. I had thought about getting someone to try and translate all the stuff in his room, but as you’ve already said it’s almost entirely irrelevant and we could be at it for years to make a dent in it all. So,’ breathed Lizzie changing the subject, ‘I guess this is kind of it for me here Vic, how on earth are you ever going to cope without me?’ Lizzie smiled at him and he beamed back.

  ‘Do you think you’ve done well enough for Oxford? How did it go today?

  ‘As well as could be expected,’ she answered shrugging. ‘I was actually fairly pleased if I’m being honest. How about you? You knock it out the park? There was a slight pause before Vic replied, his attention drawn elsewhere.

  ‘Um, yeah, it was ok I suppose,’ Lizzie followed Vic’s gaze to a small gathering further down the hall on the opposite side where more lockers were housed. Bitch Tits and his entourage appeared to have cornered prey. A large girl Lizzie had never seen before was busy trying to ignore the small collective while they no doubt berated her.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Lizzie enquired standing on toes to get a better look.

  ‘Hilary Dunphy.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘She’s new, been here a week or so.’

  ‘This close to the end of the year?’ Vic had only heard about Hilary’s recent arrival himself a few days ago.

  ‘Her own school year finished,’ he explained, ‘and her family have not long moved into the area, she thought it would be a good idea to get a feel for the school in the final few weeks of term. Bet she’s regretting it now. If she’d waited, Blair would have been gone but he’s already spread a name for her and it’s catching, she might be stuck with it now.

  ‘A nickname? How very Bitch Tits.’ said Lizzie through a flush of hatred. Vic stood arms folded watching the poor girl being taunted, unaware of what was being said.

  ‘I hate to admit, but he’s outdone himself this time,’ he said begrudgingly.

  ‘Hit me,’ said Lizzie urging the cruel title from Vic.

  ‘Humpty Dunphy.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘I know right?’ Lizzie considered doing nothing. But only for a second. After all what could Pallister do now? She was about to walk out of the place for the last time.

  ‘Cover me, I’m going in,’ Lizzie slammed her locker door shut, and began to march.

  ‘Cover you?’ Vic called after her, not quite sure if he was actually supposed to do something. Lizzie lined up the massive frame of Bitch tits, who, she considered, had a perverse cheek to remark on anyone’s weight. Lizzie had halved the distance between her locker and the crowd before he caught her out the corner of his eye. By the time he realised who was approaching she was almost on them. All chatter stopped instantly, the mammoth boy instinctively pulled his nearest cohort in front of him and Lizzie had to strain to keep a straight face. She walked straight up to Hilary, picked up the garish pink bag at her feet and took her by the arm.

  ‘Come with me,’ she commanded. Hilary obeyed without uttering a sound. Lizzie lead the girl back down the hall, no taunt followed them. Vic had watched the encounter fearing the worst, half expecting another assault on Blair’s genitals. But now Lizzie was heading back, Humpty Dunphy in hand.

  ‘It’s Hilary right?’ Hilary nodded. ‘This is Vic. Vic, Hilary.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, and thanks, um, I’m really sorry, but I don’t know your name,’ said Hilary. She lifted her bag, which Lizzie had dropped at her feet, and pulled it on to her shoulder. She was a big girl, but not unattractive. Her soft round face was framed by long brown poker straight hair. Her full lips and large eyes made for a warm and pleasant appearance. Her school uniform did nothing for her though. The skirt and blouse combo complemented a slim or even average figure, but in a fuller body it strained and groaned disapproval.

  ‘Oh yeah, I’m Lizzie, but I’m afraid this is sort of a hello and goodbye. This is my last day at Queen’s. But Vic here will look after you, at least for the short time he has left here.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you too Vic, I’d be glad to have a friend here, that guy’s been on my case since I arrived. What’s his problem anyway?

  ‘He’s um; well he’s just a bit, um…’ fumbled Vic, stuttering and glowing a fierce hue.

  ‘He just an enormous prick, in every sense. I could tell you how to make him leave you alone, but I wouldn’t advise it, your stay here at Queen’s would be dramatic, but brief,’ said Lizzie, coming to Vic’s rescue. Lizzie had had to work hard with Vic when they first met to help him work through his bashful stumbling. It had been embarrassing especially since she couldn’t return his affection. Now, it appeared, the baton had been passed. Lizzie was glad.

  ‘Well, thank you for your help with him,’ said Hilary, her thumb jabbed over her shoulder to where Bitch Tits had since left. ‘It’s a shame you’re not staying Lizzie, it would have been nice to get to know you.’

  ‘I have no doubts you’ll do just fine here Hilary, you’ll make friends in no time,’ Lizzie said, but she did have doubts, major doubts. Along with her size Hilary’s other downfall was likely to be her accent. She had a lyrical cockney twang which suited her but Lizzie suspected it would feel out of place in these plumy surroundings. ‘If you need anything Vic boards here and I’m sure he’ll be glad to show you around, won’t you Vic?’

  ‘Eh, course. Course I will, my problem. Eh, pleasure, no problem.’ Lizzie smirked.

  ‘Vic, I’ll see you later, and Hilary,’ Lizzie extended a hand. ‘
Nice to meet you, best of luck.’

  Lizzie took the last remaining items from her locker, threw her bag over her shoulder and made her last trip down the wide corridor toward the main doors. As she did, a flash of colour caught her eye. A group of younger females lingered chatting to one another. One of them, a tiny blonde haired girl sported a t-shirt Lizzie recognised instantly. The bastardised yellow smiley face on a black background did not require the bold “Nirvana” emblazoned above it to tell her which band the girl was a fan of. She must have felt Lizzie’s eyes on her as she looked up. She smiled at Lizzie and raised a small hand to wave hello, Lizzie didn’t know her, did not recall seeing her before but she returned both the wave and the smile and pushed open the doors chuffed that a little bit of her was staying behind.

  Fourteen

  Lizzie stared into the face of the girl she knew so well, but now could barely recognise. The girl’s eyes stared back heavy in purple and black, eyelashes laden down with mascara. She scrutinised the girl’s face, ghostly white cheeks making her lips stand out in black lipstick. Lizzie’s train trundled relentlessly on toward Oxford like the second hand of a clock. She could, of course, just turn right around when they stopped, jump on the first train home and give the whole thing up as a really, really bad idea. God, she hadn’t even told anyone where she was going, not even Janice. If anything bad happened tonight her note telling her aunt not to wait up, as she was in Oxford with friends, would leave scant clue as to where to send help.

  The familiar stranger’s face stared back at her, all the time jumping around within the frame of the small hand held mirror, the combination of the train’s movement and her own shaking hand made the image jerk and dance. She had raided Janice’s stores for the appropriate make up, her own meagre collection, which she hardly ever used, was made up of only a few subtle components, insufficient to create the strangest camouflage required for her infiltration tonight.

  It was too much, she decided, the war paint was trying too hard, he would see right through it, and if nothing else it made her feel uncomfortable. She enjoyed a relative anonymity with her appearance. Ordinarily people would barely bat an eyelid when she passed but she was all too aware of the glances she was drawing from the other passengers on the train now, some intrigued some disapproving but all directed at her. She took herself off to the cramped toilet at the far side of the compartment and carefully removed the majority of her work. She replaced it with understated colours. She inspected the result and was still unsettled with the reflection, but it was acceptable. She ran the faucet and attacked a rebellious clump of hair on the back of her head with a damp hand, trying to bring it under control. What an idiot, she thought, not for the first time. What in God’s name was I thinking? A new start, a new look, had been that thought when she had moved south. Her dark wavy hair had been shoulder length back in Scotland, but she had taken a picture from a magazine into the hairdressers and asked the gum chewing girl to replicate the chin length style and had left holding back tears. It hadn’t been the girl’s fault, she had achieved an estimable facsimile to the model, or actress in the picture, but it did not suit Lizzie, at all. Her hair was growing back now, infuriatingly slowly, but it seemed to have a mutinous attitude, almost as if in punishment to her ill-conceived choice.

  She made her way back to her seat only to realise there would be no time to sit and further ponder the evening ahead, the train was pulling in to its destination. A surge of fear flushed up through her body and she again asked the question – do you really want to do this? You don’t have to you know. In fact, if Vic knew what you were up to he would have a fit. She would walk as far as the pub she decided, use that time to make a decision.

  Lizzie stepped out of the station into a gloomy but warm evening. It was that time of the day where some passing cars had their headlights on and some did not. There was a buzz around the place, the rush hour had passed and was replaced with people heading out for meals and drinks, but too early for the drunken - too loud-types to be spoiling it for everyone else. Lizzie had never heard of the Turf Tavern, but had checked a map before heading out.

  She headed through Oxford and ran through her options as she went. The problem was she didn’t know what she was heading into. If she had any inclination then a risk assessment would be so much easier. What if Void worked out that that she wasn’t supposed to be there? What if he asked about the symbol, the council or whatever EC meant? She would be instantly found out; silence was probably not going to save her this time. If he, or his friends, did have anything to do with what happened to Robe she was walking into real danger, but if they didn’t, just maybe she could glean some information from them.

  She found herself standing at the mouth of an alleyway where, according to the map, this Tavern could be found. She had been walking slowly to give herself time to turn things over in her head but she was still out of breath. Her palms were slick and the muscles in her legs kept trying to relax making them shake.

  Decision time, she told herself. This was the point of no return, she could still walk away, this is a public place, she considered, whatever goes down they can’t do anything to you here, but then would that really stop someone who could do what they did to Robe? This isn’t your responsibility, but then who else is going to step up? Okay, but perhaps there was a safer way to go about this? Perhaps walking straight into the lion’s den was less courageous and more careless? She had just decided to walk once around the block to either pluck up courage or talk herself out of it when it was too late.

  ‘Lizzie?’ a now familiar voice made her jump. ‘Wow, that is you, you look great, I’m so glad you came, I wasn’t sure you would,’ Void stood smiling, looking a little uncomfortable, Lizzie looked around.

  ‘Where are your friends?’

  ‘They’re all inside. I’m running a bit late,’ Void stepped into the alleyway pushing out his elbow in a gentlemanly gesture. Where Lizzie had unusually applied makeup, Void had removed his altogether, and he looked all the better for it.

  ‘Look Void, about tonight, I’m not really sure…’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, afraid she was about to change her mind. ‘They’re a good bunch, and besides I don’t think there will be that many here tonight, a lot of people have finals just now. Just think of tonight as an easy introduction, a little head-start.’ A head-start on what? Lizzie was dying to ask, but dared not.

  ‘I’m just not great around new people you know?’

  ‘They’ll love you Lizzie, trust me,’ Void wiggled his gallant elbow in encouragement. Lizzie took a breath and slipped her hand through the crook.

  The tight alleyway took them to the front door of an unassuming little pub, extremely old judging by the way no two lines of the building seemed to be running parallel to one another. The noise of the place spilled out onto the street through its open door. Void led the way inside and evidently knew the place well. Even though it was getting dim outside it was far brighter than inside. If Lizzie had entered alone she would have waited for her eyes to adjust, however Void strolled confidently on. Muted yellow light, dark wood beams and tables of the same colour flashed by. A smell of vinegar, home cooking and, of course, beer hit her like a wall. The majority of the noise, which was significant, was centred around the bar itself, a long curved slab of down-lit wood. Two bar tenders were busy serving the crowd huddled in front of them, two or three deep. From the look of the clientele students and tourists competed for attention. Small tables filled the nooks and alcoves of the pub and these seemed to have been acquired almost exclusively by students. As Void drew her slowly but surely through the throng of bodies Lizzie caught a strong acrid smell of tobacco. A group of young men sat a table and would have looked utterly ridiculous but for the surroundings. Each held long, impossibly thin smoking pipes, beautifully carved into gentle curves. The low ceiling, exposed beams and Dickensian look to the place forgave their pretentiousness. The pipe smokers were dressed in refined tweeds and held flames to their
pipes which appeared to be style over functionality. It was as if she was travelling back in time the deeper into the tavern she went. Lizzie wondered if these young men were who they were here to meet but Void led on past open side doors, which allowed a pleasant breeze through the building and Lizzie spotted a well tended and over populated beer garden which Void ignored, finally turning a small corner to a table set under a particularly low part of the building.

  A set of three candles in the middle of the table gave the only discernible light to this strangely private area within the busy pub. The round table was large, and five chairs around it were occupied leaving three free. Lizzie didn’t recognise four of the seated characters but one she did – Elvira.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Void apologised to the table. There was a pause as the various faces looked up at the latecomers, stopping their conversations mid sentence. Elvira was the first to speak.

  ‘Fuck is this Void?’ the girl with the long black hair, wearing her heavy blusher and a vicious scowl extended a finger at Lizzie.

  ‘This is Lizzie, Lizzie this is everyone. Well not everyone, just a few of the council really, this is-’

  ‘Shut your hole Void,’ Elvira cut him dead shouting at him in a whisper.

  ‘It’s cool Kara, relax. She had her invite. She’s not been sworn in yet obviously but I didn’t see any reason she couldn’t come along, thought it’d be nice for her to meet you guys.’

  ‘That’s not your bloody decision Void. God, you’re in the door five minutes and you think you’re running things round here. Are we supposed to just take your word for it that she’s had her invite? And even if she has what makes you think you can invite her here? This is unofficial, remember, we need to stay under the radar. We have no idea if we can trust her. I can’t believe how stupid you are,’ Kara’s attack was all the more cutting in her heavy Geordie accent.

  ‘I might be the newest member to the group Kara, but that doesn’t mean I have to wait for your permission. If anyone has delusions of being in charge it’s you,’ Void’s rebuff sounded woefully timid.