Friday Barnes 3

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘Yes, that too,’ said Friday.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ian.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Friday. ‘I know that’s hard for you to say because of your irrationally overblown sense of pride.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ said Ian. ‘I was talking to your uncle. He’s the one who got bitten on the bum getting the diamonds away from the dog.’

  ‘Friday may have the brains,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘but I’ve got the butt.’

  Chapter 12

  A Picture Tells a Thousand Words

  When they returned to school, things were different between Friday and Ian. They weren’t nice to each other. They didn’t even speak. But if Friday stumbled and fell, dropping her books all over the corridor, Ian no longer stopped to laugh. And if Ian put up his hand and answered a question in class, Friday no longer put up her hand and corrected his grammar.

  Without her feud with Ian, school was almost relaxing. Friday only had to worry about avoiding her father. She had a hard enough time with the rest of the student body thinking she was a weirdo, she didn’t want to be seen with her father and take on extra weirdness by association. So, to avoid walking past Dr Barnes’ classroom, Friday and Melanie took the long way round to get to English class, cutting through the ornamental garden, taking their shoes off and wading through the fish pond.

  ‘You’ve been getting on very well with Ian since you rescued his mother from poverty,’ observed Melanie.

  ‘I know,’ agreed Friday. ‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ said Melanie. ‘I had such high hopes for you two as a couple. If he’s being nice to you, that can only mean one thing.’

  ‘He likes me?’ guessed Friday.

  ‘No, that he’s in love with someone else,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Who?’ asked Friday. She was surprised.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Have you seen him being mean to someone else?’ asked Friday.

  ‘He’ll never be mean to another girl the way he was with you,’ said Melanie. ‘That sort of thing only happens when there is true love, which only comes along once in a lifetime.’

  ‘Well, have you seen him being nice to another girl?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No,’ admitted Melanie. ‘But then, I haven’t been paying attention. Plus he’s really sneaky, so even if I were paying attention I might not notice. I bet he’s The Pimpernel. He’s elusive enough.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Friday. ‘Next you’ll be saying Debbie’s The Pimpernel.’

  ‘She could be,’ said Melanie. ‘It would explain why she wears those glasses.’

  ‘Surely she wears them to improve her eyesight,’ said Friday.

  ‘Barnes!’ A year 7 boy hurried over to where the girls were sitting.

  ‘My first name is Friday,’ said Friday.

  ‘I know,’ said the boy. ‘I feel a bit strange saying it though, what with it being a day of the week.’

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Friday.

  ‘The Headmaster sent me to fetch you,’ said the boy.

  ‘But I haven’t done anything,’ protested Friday.

  ‘I think he’s got a problem,’ said the boy. ‘When he was yelling at me to fetch you, his face was a very dark shade of reddish purple. My granddad’s face goes that colour when he’s really angry, or he’s about to have a heart attack.’

  ‘Come on, then,’ Friday said to Melanie. ‘Let’s see which it is.’

  ‘Oh goodie,’ said Melanie. ‘I like being told off by the Headmaster.’

  ‘You do?’ asked Friday.

  ‘The leather armchair in his office is so comfortable,’ said Melanie. ‘I start to drift off and don’t hear a word he says once I’m sitting in it.’

  ‘Did you have anything to do with this!?’ demanded the Headmaster.

  Friday and Melanie’s interview with the Headmaster was not as relaxed as they might have hoped. He was clearly incredibly angry and was waving around what appeared to be a women’s magazine.

  ‘Hold it still,’ said Friday, ‘I can’t see what you’re flapping at us.’

  ‘Look, look!’ he demanded.

  Friday took the magazine and studied the page the Headmaster was referring to. The headline on the page read ‘Secret Snogging Sessions at Elite School’ and had a grainy black and white photograph of Princess Ingrid kissing a boy.

  ‘Who is that?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Princess Ingrid,’ yelled the Headmaster.

  ‘I know it’s her,’ said Friday. ‘I mean, who is the boy?’

  ‘It’s on the next page,’ said the Headmaster.

  Friday turned the page and there was a full-page blow-up of the same photo that clearly revealed who Princess Ingrid was kissing.

  ‘Ian!’ exclaimed Friday.

  ‘That rat!’ said Melanie. ‘How dare he kiss another girl just because she is beautiful, rich and royalty.’

  ‘I’m not here to discuss the inner workings of your adolescent love life,’ said the Headmaster. ‘I want to know how this happened.’

  ‘Well, when a boy and a girl like each other very much –’ began Melanie.

  ‘Not that!’ yelled the Headmaster. ‘I want to know how. Electronics, especially cameras, are strictly banned. How did this photograph get taken and how did it get out to the magazine?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Friday as she stared at the photo. ‘It’s surprising how low-tech a functioning camera can be. All you need is a light-proof chamber and a tiny hole, then some photographic paper. It’s just a question of capturing light.’

  ‘There’s no way a member of the paparazzi has snuck onto the school grounds,’ said the Headmaster. ‘If the electronically monitored fence and security patrols weren’t enough to deter them, then the law would. The courts are very severe with people who sneak into schools and take photographs of children without permission. No photographer would risk it. They would do serious jail time. This was done by a student. I want to know who and how.’

  ‘So you want me to investigate?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No, I want to know – was it you?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘No!’ protested Friday.

  ‘Really?’ said the Headmaster. ‘I know you’ve got a thing for this boy. If you admit it now, I won’t expel you. I’ll just make your life so miserable you’d wish you had never been born.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ said Friday.

  ‘Do you have any idea how many times a day I hear those words?’ asked the Headmaster.

  ‘Why?’ asked Friday. ‘Do you spend all day accusing students of crimes they didn’t commit?’

  The Headmaster slumped in his chair. He looked like he really wanted to expel Friday, if for no other reason than to cheer himself up. ‘All right, I do want you to investigate,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘What’s the fee?’ asked Friday.

  ‘What do you mean “fee”?’ blustered the Headmaster. ‘Isn’t it enough to be doing it for the good of the school?’

  ‘No,’ said Friday. ‘I like this school, but I don’t like it that much.’

  ‘Fine. Name your price,’ said the Headmaster.

  Friday looked across at her friend. ‘I’ve already got my fees paid up to the end of next semester, so what do I want?’

  ‘Kidney pie,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I hate kidney pie,’ said Friday.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Melanie. ‘We all do. Make him take it off the menu and you’ll be a hero.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Friday. ‘I want kidney pie to be replaced with pepperoni pizza on Tuesdays.’

  ‘No anchovies,’ added Melanie.

  ‘That’s pepperoni pizza with no anchovies,’ stipulated Friday.

  ‘Mrs Marigold is not going to like that,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You know how much she likes her kidneys.’

  ‘Those are my terms,’ said Friday.

  ‘All right, deal,’ said the Headmaster.

  A short while later Friday an
d Melanie were sitting on the bench in the rose garden outside the Headmaster’s office, studying the magazine photo.

  ‘The first thing we’ve got to figure out,’ said Friday, ‘is where the photos were taken.’

  ‘At the school,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Yes, obviously,’ said Friday. ‘But where at the school? It’s hard to work out because the photos are black and white and the background is fuzzy.’

  ‘Plus you’re in love with Ian,’ said Melanie. ‘So you can’t take your eyes off his lips.’

  ‘I am not in love with Ian,’ said Friday.

  ‘Ahuh,’ said Melanie. ‘And yet here you are, staring at photos of him.’

  ‘I’m looking at the background!’ said Friday.

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Melanie. ‘Maybe you should look at his hair.’

  ‘I’m not obsessed with his hair,’ said Friday.

  ‘No, I mean the angle of it,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s strange.’

  ‘Maybe Ingrid ran her hand through his hair,’ said Friday. ‘I believe that is something kissing people are known to do.’

  ‘How would you know?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘We didn’t only have physics books in our house growing up,’ said Friday. ‘My mother had a few romance novels hidden behind her quantum mechanics section.’

  ‘Still,’ said Melanie. ‘His hair seems to be defying gravity.’

  Friday looked at Ian’s hair. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘I am?’ said Melanie. ‘That’s a nice change.’

  Friday tilted her head. ‘This photograph is at the wrong angle.’ She turned the magazine around. ‘They aren’t standing up. They’re horizontal.’

  ‘Ew,’ said Melanie. ‘Too much information.’

  ‘We need to talk to the victims,’ said Friday.

  ‘My eyeballs?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘No, Ian and Ingrid,’ said Friday.

  ‘You’re not meant to go within fifty metres of Princess Ingrid,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I know,’ said Friday. ‘I don’t suppose she’d be happy about me standing fifty metres away and yelling my questions at her, either. I’ll just have to talk to Ian first.’

  Friday and Melanie found Ian at the school stables rubbing down a polo pony. Debbie was there too, cleaning tack.

  ‘Doesn’t the school have grooms to do that?’ asked Friday. ‘I’d like to think our exorbitant fees go towards something constructive.’

  ‘They do,’ said Ian. ‘But grooming a horse is an important part of building trust between a rider and his mount.’

  ‘You’re both working as grooms for money, aren’t you?’ asked Friday.

  Ian glared at Friday.

  Debbie nodded happily. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘If you tell anyone,’ said Ian, ‘I’ll take your stupid pork-pie hat and run it through Mrs Marigold’s food processor.’

  ‘Who would I tell?’ asked Friday. ‘No-one likes to be seen talking to me.’

  ‘Except me,’ said Melanie. ‘And if she told me, I’d probably forget.’

  ‘You already know, because you’re here too,’ said Friday.

  ‘I suppose so,’ conceded Melanie. ‘But that’s just a technicality.’

  ‘Anyway, I don’t really care about your relationship with a horse and whether it’s personal or professional,’ said Friday. ‘I’m here to investigate this photograph.’ She showed Ian the magazine.

  Ian’s face went bright red. ‘Who took that?!’ he demanded.

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ said Friday. ‘Before the Headmaster has some sort of aneurysm.’

  ‘And why were you kissing her when we all know you’re in love with Friday?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘That’s not part of this investigation!’ snapped Friday.

  ‘So you admit it’s true,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I do not!’ yelled Friday. ‘We are here to find out who took this photograph, and to do so we need to know where it was taken.’

  ‘The polo pitch,’ said Ian. ‘Right in the middle of it.’

  ‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘That’s not very romantic or private. It’s no wonder you got your photo taken if you were kissing there.’

  ‘We weren’t kissing,’ said Ian.

  Friday peered at the photograph. ‘What are you saying? That this picture has been digitally altered?’

  ‘No,’ said Ian.

  ‘Well, your lips are clearly pressed against hers,’ said Friday.

  ‘And you are both lying down,’ said Melanie. ‘We can tell because of gravity and your floppy fringe.’

  ‘I didn’t kiss Princess Ingrid,’ said Ian. ‘I was warming up my horse when she started yelling at someone on her mobile phone.’

  ‘But students aren’t allowed to have mobile phones,’ said Friday.

  ‘I don’t think all the rules apply to visiting royalty,’ said Ian. ‘Anyway, her yelling in Norwegian spooked Butterfly Buttons.’

  ‘Who’s Butterfly Buttons?’ asked Friday.

  ‘My horse,’ said Ian. ‘She reared up. I fell off and landed on top of Princess Ingrid. She fell over and my face ended up pressed against her face.’

  ‘How embarrassing,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Then her necklace got caught on my shirt button, so we were stuck to each other,’ continued Ian. ‘There would have been plenty of time for the photographer to set up the shot. Luckily, Ingrid had a pair of diamond-encrusted manicure scissors in her pocket, or we’d still be attached to each other.’

  ‘That story does not sound very believable,’ said Friday. ‘Are you just being chivalrous?’

  ‘This isn’t the seventeenth century,’ said Ian. ‘What interest would I have in being chivalrous? It would be more to my advantage if everyone thought I was the type of guy who snogged European royalty on a polo pitch.’

  ‘You’re in luck,’ said Melanie, ‘because that’s what everyone does think.’

  ‘I’ve got a hole in my best polo shirt that can prove it,’ said Ian. ‘Princess Ingrid sliced out a huge chunk getting her necklace free.’

  ‘I’ll check out your shirt later,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ said Melanie mischievously.

  ‘But now, let’s go and investigate the scene of the crime,’ said Friday.

  ‘I don’t think you can call kissing a crime,’ said Melanie.

  ‘The photograph,’ said Friday. ‘Taking the photograph is the crime.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Melanie. ‘You’re still pretending to be focused on that.’

  As Ian went back to grooming his horse, Friday stared at the back of his neck. The hairline was crooked. ‘Do you realise that there is a nick of hair shaved out of the back of your head?’

  Ian rubbed the back of his neck with his fingertips. ‘I guess that’s what happens when you have to go to a budget hairdresser.’

  ‘I’ll cut your hair with the grooming shears next time,’ offered Debbie, with a giggle.

  ‘So nothing was stolen from around your neck?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I did lose my room key yesterday,’ said Ian. ‘I kept it on a cord around my neck. Debbie suggested it. I assumed the strap snapped.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Friday.

  Chapter 13

  The Telltale Scale Model of Saturn

  ‘Look, there’s the model of Saturn,’ said Friday as she held up the magazine and aligned the picture with her view of the school building. ‘So they must have been –’ she took several paces to the right and a few back until the picture was perfectly lined up ‘– right about here.’

  Melanie looked at their feet. ‘Yes, this grass looks very similar to the grass they were lying on.’

  ‘So where was the person who took the photograph?’ Friday turned and looked behind her.

  There wasn’t much to see on the polo field. It was just a large, flat area of grass. But along one side was a clump of bushes. ‘Over there!’ Friday said.

  The girls approa
ched the bushes.

  ‘Do you think a bush did it?’ asked Melanie. ‘I’ve read The Day of the Triffids, so I know that plants are capable of much more wicked things than you might imagine.’

  ‘No, it must have been someone hiding in the bushes.’ Friday got down on her hands and knees and started crawling round underneath them.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Friday. ‘Some sort of trace evidence, I suppose.’

  ‘You mean like fibres or paint smears?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Yes, that sort of thing,’ said Friday.

  ‘So this sweater wouldn’t interest you?’ asked Melanie, holding up a jumper she’d found snagged on a branch.

  Friday got up and looked in the collar. There was a name tag on the label. ‘Harriet Chow,’ she read out.

  ‘I know her,’ said Melanie. ‘She’s in fourth form.’

  ‘If someone was crouched behind this bush, waiting for the perfect photo opportunity with the sun beating down, they probably would’ve gotten hot,’ said Friday. ‘Hot enough to feel the need to take their jumper off.’

  ‘You think Harriet did it?’ said Melanie.

  ‘Let’s go and talk to her,’ said Friday.

  When Friday knocked on Harriet Chow’s door it was answered by a short girl with thick-framed glasses and the most beautiful glossy long black hair Friday had ever seen. It almost reached down to the back of her knees.

  ‘Harriet, I presume?’ said Friday.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Harriet with a smile.

  ‘Can we come in?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Why?’ asked Harriet.

  ‘We found your jumper in a bush,’ said Friday.

  ‘And we think you sold a photo of Princess Ingrid snogging Ian Wainscott, so we want to search your room to see if you’ve got a camera,’ said Melanie.

  Harriet laughed. ‘You can come in, but you won’t find a camera.’

  Friday and Melanie stepped into the room. Harriet smiled at them.

  ‘You seem awfully smug,’ observed Friday.

  ‘Do I?’ said Harriet, smiling even more smugly.

  Friday looked about the room. Everything was as neat as a pin. It would be very hard to hide anything because all the school equipment and books were perfectly arranged so that everything was visible at a glance. Friday peered into the wastepaper basket. ‘May I empty this out on the floor?’