by R. A. Spratt
‘But I’m her roommate,’ said Trea. ‘She has no privacy from me.’
‘Hmm,’ said Friday, who did not particularly like her client, ‘go and stand by the door next to Melanie and be silent. If you find yourself unable to not speak, watch Melanie, she will show you how to do it.’
Melanie smiled at Trea silently, which was very kind of her because she didn’t like Trea either.
Friday looked about the room. There was no actual line marked on the floor or walls, but there may as well have been because there was a clear difference between the two halves. Trea’s half was very neat and all her possessions were pretty: feathery pens, love-heart-covered diaries and a pink quilt set.
The other half of the room was more dishevelled. There seemed to be a large amount of stuff shoved into the small space. There were school books, papers, sports equipment, clothes and a half-eaten chocolate bar lying on the middle of the desk. There was also an eclectic collection of fiction. Lots of classic romance novels by Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, as well as lots of action adventure stories by Lee Child and Jo Nesbø. Jacinta’s music collection included retro country classics by Dolly Parton and moody alternative rock by The Cure. On the wall were two large posters, one of the great ballerina Darcy Bussell and one of the great female hockey player Luciana Aymar. There was also a framed picture of a middle-aged couple. Both looked large, proud and stout.
‘They’re Jacinta’s parents,’ said Trea. ‘They’re huge in the building industry. They met on a building site. Her dad was a bricklayer and her mum was a quantity surveyor. Can you believe it? They let anyone into this school these days. No offence.’
Friday went over to Jacinta’s desk, took out a magnifying glass and closely observed each item without touching it. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, pointing to a long pink elasticated bandage snaking its way out of a desk drawer.
‘I don’t know,’ said Trea. ‘A bandage, I suppose. She did sprain her ankle playing hockey, although I’m sure Melanie has her times wrong.’
At that moment a girl in a pink leotard and tutu walked in. To be strictly accurate, it was more as if she floated. Her movements were so graceful.
‘This is Jacinta,’ glowered Trea.
‘Hello,’ said Jacinta, not picking up on the tension in the room, because she immediately started looking through her voluminous ballet bag. ‘Trea, I just realised I’ve still got this.’ Jacinta pulled out a big black calculator.
‘I knew you had it all along!’ exclaimed Trea.
‘No, she didn’t,’ said Friday, looking shrewdly at Jacinta.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Trea.
‘Jacinta – if Jacinta is her real name – knows what I mean,’ said Friday mysteriously.
Jacinta looked nervous. ‘No, I don’t.’
Trea was not interested anymore. ‘Well, that doesn’t matter now because I’ve got my calculator back.’ She smiled at Friday. ‘So I don’t have to pay you, do I?’ The smile teetered over into smugness. Trea left, bouncing out the door.
‘You should have a call-out fee, like plumbers,’ said Melanie. ‘To stop people needlessly interrupting our homework.’
‘You were napping,’ said Friday.
‘Which is an even greater crime to interrupt,’ said Melanie.
Friday turned back to Jacinta and stared at her as if she were as fascinating as a bloodstained murder weapon.
‘Why are you here?’ asked Jacinta.
‘I solve mysteries,’ said Friday. ‘I enjoy it.’
‘I’ve returned the calculator, if that was the problem,’ said Jacinta, defensively.
‘The calculator barely counted as a problem,’ said Friday. ‘There is something much more interesting going on here.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ said Jacinta.
‘There’s no point lying to me,’ said Friday. ‘I always proceed on the assumption that everyone is lying all the time, which allows me to discount everything they say.’
‘I’m not lying about anything,’ protested Jacinta.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Friday as she walked along with her ear pressed to the wall, rapping the dry wall with her knuckle. ‘As I said, I’m not listening to you.’ She went over to the door and looked about in the corridor. ‘Is that a janitor’s cupboard next to your room?’
‘Yes,’ said Jacinta cautiously.
Friday went down the corridor and tried the door to the cupboard. It didn’t budge. Not even the handle turned. ‘Someone has put glue in this lock,’ said Friday.
‘Perhaps it was the janitor so he could get out of cleaning the floors?’ guessed Melanie.
Friday came back into Trea and Jacinta’s room and looked about. She went over to the built-in wardrobe. ‘You don’t mind if I open this, do you?’ she asked.
‘Well, actually …’ began Jacinta.
But it was too late. Friday had slid open the door and pushed aside the hanging clothes. Then she did the most unexpected thing. She stepped into the built-in wardrobe and disappeared.
‘Goodness,’ said Melanie, ‘you haven’t got an entrance into Narnia in your wardrobe, have you? I was most disappointed when I was told that those books were fiction, so if it is in fact real I will be very pleased.’
Just then Friday stepped back out, but this time she was joined by another girl who looked exactly like Jacinta. The same height, the same hair colour, the same eye colour and the same petulant frown.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Melanie. ‘Is your ward robe a cloning machine? That’s even more amazing than a doorway to Narnia.’
‘This is not a clone,’ said Friday. ‘This is Jacinta’s identical twin sister.’
‘Twins!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘Okay, I can see that is slightly more plausible than Narnia or a cloning machine. But it still does seem very strange.’
‘Which one of you is the real Jacinta?’ asked Friday.
‘I am,’ said the girl from the wardrobe.
‘I’m Abigail,’ said the girl who they had previously thought was Jacinta.
‘So you’re both here,’ said Friday. ‘But you take it in turns going to classes and sleeping out here in the proper bed.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the twins.
‘Why?’ asked Friday.
‘Yes,’ said Melanie. ‘Usually I’m not a curious person, but even I was thinking that.’
‘For the money,’ explained Jacinta.
‘We figured out how to hack into our father’s bank account and divert the payment for one of our school fees to our own bank account in the Cayman Islands,’ explained Abigail. ‘That way only one of us would be enrolled. But Daddy would be paying for two.’
‘And also so we could ditch the boring classes,’ added Jacinta.
‘Yes,’ agreed Abigail. ‘I prefer science whereas Jacinta likes English and history. This way we just go to the classes we like.’
‘Who goes to maths class?’ asked Friday
‘Yuck!’ said both girls. ‘Neither of us like that. So we take turns.’
‘Wow, you only attend half the classes each,’ said Melanie. ‘I think these girls might be even more brilliant than you, Friday.’
‘What are you going to do with us?’ asked Jacinta.
‘Are you going to report us to the Headmaster?’ asked Abigail.
‘Of course not,’ continued Friday. ‘You’ve worked out a brilliant scheme. When I was trying to avoid applying to high school, I wish I’d thought up something as clever as this.’
The girls started to smile. ‘How did you figure us out?’ asked Jacinta. ‘Surely it was more than just the calculator.’
‘It was,’ agreed Friday. ‘It was several things. First, your taste in literature. You’ve got Jane Austen and Lee Child. Then, your taste in music. There’s Dolly Parton and The Cure. And your interests: hockey and ballet. Everything is diametrically opposed, as if two people were living here. Then there’s the fact that you were sighted in two places at once. But the clincher w
as the pink bandage.’
‘The bandage?!’ exclaimed Melanie.
‘Yes,’ said Friday. ‘How could you injure your ankle playing hockey yesterday, then go to a ballet class today? You’re wearing pointe shoes. That is very hard on the ankles. So obviously it was not those ankles that took the blow in hockey. So there had to be another set of ankles attached to a person who looked exactly like you, which means either a vast amount of incredibly expensive plastic surgery, or an identical twin. Given the increasing birth rate of twins, I judged that was the more likely scenario.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Melanie.
‘Then it was a question of where,’ said Friday. ‘The janitor’s closet next door was the obvious choice. I soon discovered the door wasn’t just locked, it was glued shut. Someone had injected glue into the lock mechanism. With that doorway blocked, it would be easy for two girls who were heiresses to a building empire to access the power tools and materials necessary to cut another secret doorway through their wardrobe into the janitor’s closet.’
‘So what happens now?’ asked Abigail. ‘Are you going to tell our parents?’
‘Goodness, no,’ said Friday. ‘I’m not the police. Good luck to you. If I had to share a room with Trea, I’d be glad of a secret hidey-hole in the back of my wardrobe too.’
‘Do we have to pay you hush money?’ asked Abigail.
‘We know you’re hard-up,’ said Jacinta.
‘No, don’t be silly,’ said Friday. ‘I’d never dream of blackmailing you. I have principles.’
‘I don’t,’ said Melanie. ‘You can buy my silence with that half-eaten chocolate bar on the desk.’
Chapter 10
The Headmaster’s Ankle
Every Monday morning the whole school gathered for assembly, which was about as far from exciting as you can possibly get. The only interesting thing to ever happen at assembly was for someone to fall asleep, slide out of their chair and bang their head on the floorboards, which allowed everybody one-and-a-half seconds to enjoy a good giggle before the Vice Principal leapt to his feet and glared them into silence.
At this particular assembly however, something interesting had happened – the assembly hadn’t started.
Miss Abbercroft tried to fill the time by reading the school announcements. This did not go well. The first announcement was that the escapee from the nearby maximum security prison had still not been caught, which caused a babble of excited mutters amongst the students, mainly from girls wondering what they should wear in case they bumped into him.
But the second announcement was even more disturbing. The school’s much loved and extremely ancient cat, Purrcy, had passed away. He had fallen asleep on the bonnet of Mr Henderson’s car. Unfortunately, when Mr Henderson started his car, he accidentally put it in reverse instead of drive and rear-ended a tree, which caused a large branch to fall off and crush the cat.
‘What a nice way to go,’ whispered Melanie. ‘While he was taking a nap.’
But the rest of the student body did not see it that way. Many of the girls enjoyed a good hysterical weeping session and saw this as the perfect opportunity to launch forth into one. The announcements had to be abandoned while messengers were sent out to fetch tissues.
Friday was, of course, secretly reading a book that she had tucked inside her blazer. It was the fourth book in The Curse of the Pirate King series. She was just getting to a good bit where the Pirate King had his foot caught in a giant clam in rapidly rising tidal waters. Friday was curious to learn if he would cut his own foot off to escape. And if he did, she just hoped he would remember to use a tourniquet before he started cutting into his own ankle with a sharpened oyster shell.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Friday, realising that the entire student body was sitting inside the hall while the staff milled about outside the back entrance.
‘We can’t begin yet,’ said Melanie. ‘Because the Headmaster hasn’t turned up.’
‘He hasn’t turned up?’ said Friday. ‘Where is he?’
‘Nobody knows,’ said Melanie.
‘Barnes!’ yelled the Vice Principal from the back of the hall.
Friday flinched. Everyone turned to look at her, their eyes zeroing in on her distinctive green pork-pie hat. Friday found herself wishing that an extremely localised sinkhole would open up in the floor beneath her, because to Friday, falling into a fissure in the earth’s surface would be preferable to having 300 of her peers staring at her.
‘Get out here now!’ demanded the Vice Principal.
Friday took a deep breath, stood up and began her walk of shame. She didn’t even know what she was supposed to be ashamed of, so she naturally assumed the worst – that the Vice Principal had discovered something unspeakably heinous that she had no memory of doing.
‘Oh dear, what have you done?’ said Ian as Friday tried to squeeze past him. She could have sworn he moved his knees forward an extra inch to make it difficult.
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Friday.
‘Don’t worry, with luck they’ll just expel you,’ said Ian. ‘They won’t call the police this time.’
Friday ignored him as she continued to edge out of the row.
‘Hello, Ian,’ said Melanie. She was following Friday because she suspected if she stuck close to her best friend she might be able to get out of assembly entirely.
‘Good morning, Melanie,’ said Ian as he gallantly got out of his seat to make it easier for her to pass and even gave a little bow.
Friday rolled her eyes and ignored him, before warily approaching the angry Vice Principal. The rest of the teaching staff was clustered in a group behind him.
‘Where’s the Headmaster?’ demanded the Vice Principal.
‘I don’t know,’ said Friday.
‘A likely story,’ said the Vice Principal, contemptuously. ‘Whenever there’s trouble at this school, you’re always in the middle of it. You’ve engineered his disappearance, haven’t you? No doubt with the help of your terrorist connections!’
‘I don’t have terrorist connections!’ protested Friday.
‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ argued the Vice Principal.
‘Yes, I would, because it’s true,’ said Friday. ‘Instead of wasting time accusing me, why don’t you try looking for him?’
‘Of all the impertinence!’ exclaimed the Vice Principal.
‘I’m not being impertinent,’ said Friday. ‘I’m being practical. I can see the whole staff is here, which tells me that none of you have had the initiative to organise a search party yet.’
The teachers looked at their feet and muttered amongst themselves.
‘You should get on to it,’ continued Friday. ‘Obviously the school grounds should be searched. But the Headmaster also likes taking early morning walks in the forest, where he can secretly indulge his chocolate Rolo habit, so you should search there as well …’
‘No need,’ said Melanie. ‘Look! It’s the Headmaster.’
Everyone turned. In the distance they could see the Headmaster being carried up the driveway by a large vagrant.
‘Who’s that carrying him?’ asked the Vice Principal, squinting into the distance. ‘Is it someone from the school?’
‘It’s Malcolm!’ exclaimed Friday.
‘Who?!’ exclaimed the Vice Principal.
‘He’s Friday’s vagrant friend,’ explained Melanie.
‘I don’t believe it!’ said the shocked Vice Principal.
‘Oh dear,’ said Friday, ‘I’m glad I’m not you, Vice Principal. You’re going to get in trouble for this.’
‘But I didn’t do anything!’ he protested.
‘Precisely,’ said Friday. ‘When the Headmaster didn’t turn up, your thoughts immediately went to conspiracy theories instead of doing what a normal person would do – show concern for a missing co-worker.’
‘How dare you!’ yelled the Vice Principal.
‘Even now,’ said Friday, ‘you haven’t rushed do
wn to assist him.’
The Vice Principal glared at Friday then took off jogging down the driveway towards his employer, followed by the more athletic members of staff.
Friday noticed that, just a few feet away, Mr Pilcher was about to start his ride-on lawnmower. So instead of jogging after the teachers, she and Melanie got Mr Pilcher to give them a ride. Friday got to the Headmaster first.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Friday as the mower skidded to a halt on the gravel and she was thrown off the front onto her hands and knees.
‘No, I am not,’ railed the Headmaster.
Now that she could look closely at him, Friday could tell that the Headmaster was in a state. He was dishevelled, muddy, sweaty and his trousers were torn at the knees. Most significantly of all, the tube of Rolos in his pocket was unfinished, a testament to just how distressed he was that he had forgotten his chocolate friend was so close at hand.
‘What happened?’ asked the Vice Principal, lumbering to a panting halt. ‘What’s he doing here?’ The Vice Principal pointed at Malcolm.
‘Carrying your boss,’ said Malcolm.
‘I fell in a hole,’ said the Headmaster.
‘Literally?’ asked Melanie. ‘Or are you talking about a figurative or metaphoric hole?’
‘No, a literal, real hole in the ground,’ yelled the Headmaster. ‘Some vandal dug a hole right in the middle of my favourite walk.’
‘Like an elephant trap in a Tarzan movie,’ said Friday.
‘Are you calling me an elephant?’ demanded the Headmaster.
‘No,’ said Friday, ‘I was just wondering if someone dug a hole in an attempt to trap you.’
‘It obviously didn’t work because he’s here,’ observed Melanie.
‘The hole wasn’t that big,’ said Malcolm.
‘No,’ said Melanie, ‘the culprit probably gave up when he realised the enormity of the task.’
‘Are you saying I’m fat?’ demanded the Headmaster.
‘No,’ said Melanie, ‘I’m just saying if someone was to trap you in a hole, it would have to be a big hole.’
‘Although you are fat,’ added Friday. ‘There’s no point denying it. The waistband on your trousers is sufficient statistical evidence.’