by Lulu Taylor
Romily hadn’t been in the lesson to witness the event; she had no need of French tuition and was allowed to do other revision while the others rehearsed their verbs, tenses and vocab ahead of the exams.
Allegra made a face and crossed one long slim leg over the other. She was sitting on an old box in her night clothes of flowered cotton shorts and a blue T-shirt, her cigarette clamped between her fingers. ‘She threw ink-covered blobs of tissue at me on her ruler. You saw it, didn’t you, Midge?’
‘Yeah.’ Imogen took a puff on her cigarette, which she held exactly as Allegra did hers. ‘She tried to pretend it wasn’t her, but I saw her giggling with Arabella Balmer.’
‘I hate her,’ spat Allegra. ‘She covered my shirt with ink splats, and it won’t come out. It’s the one I got at Camden Market too. She knows how cool it is … that’s why she wanted to wreck it.’
‘She’s so jealous,’ Imogen declared, a little pleased that someone like Sophie felt that way about them.
Romily nodded. ‘She hates the fact that we aren’t frightened of her like everyone else is.’
Sophie Harcourt was a powerful force in the fifth form; her wit and forceful personality made her popular, but her ability to turn her gimlet gaze on some poor unfortunate and ruin their life also made her feared. She had a talent for finding the weak spot in others and then teasing and mocking and bullying them until their life became a misery. As a result, everyone tried to keep on her good side or else well out of her way. Except for Allegra’s little group of three.
‘I don’t know why she doesn’t just leave us alone!’ Allegra said, frowning into the night beyond the attic window. ‘What is there to be so jealous about anyway?’
Imogen knew the answer to that: Allegra couldn’t help drawing all eyes to her, wherever she was and whatever she did. She was very naughty, constantly breaking rules and playing tricks – she had once been suspended for a fortnight for organising the biggest food fight the school had ever seen – but her naughtiness was without the personal malice of Sophie Harcourt’s, and everyone loved her for it. Except the teaching staff, of course. But even when she was behaving herself, no one could ignore her for long. Charisma seemed to shimmer out of her, partly because of her beauty – fine-boned features with porcelain-and-gold skin, navy-blue eyes, thick blonde hair, and a slender, graceful figure – and partly because of the incredible air of self-confidence that enveloped her. It was as though she knew she mattered, and took it for granted that everyone thought the same. It armoured her impenetrably against Sophie and her cohorts. And then there was the title …
‘She’s jealous now that you’re Lady Allegra,’ Imogen said wisely. ‘Ever since she found out, she’s been ten times worse than usual.’
Allegra sighed. ‘Bother that bloody title! I wish I’d never got it. Everyone’s been different with me since Grandpa died, even Miss Myers. She told me the other day that ladies didn’t run in the corridors and that I had to set an example to the rest of the school. What bloody nonsense.’
Imogen nodded sympathetically, but in her heart she thought that having a title must be wonderful – so romantic, so old-fashioned, so pretty. When Allegra’s grandfather had died, her father had succeeded to the earldom and Allegra had automatically gone from The Hon. Allegra McCorquodale (and no one cared about that, there were plenty of hons kicking about the school) to Lady Allegra, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Crachmore, sounding like the heroine of a Walter Scott novel. Suddenly, she was someone of importance and it had put certain noses out of joint.
‘Sophie loathes us all, for different reasons,’ Imogen said, taking another delicate puff of her cigarette. ‘She hates the way I beat her in everything, especially English. And she’s green about Romily’s money.’
Romily nodded, tapping her ash into a jar lid kept handy for the purpose. ‘I saw her listening in when I was telling you all about Paris, and she had a face like thunder. And I swear she was trying to get my pink cashmere jumper out of my bag the other day.’
‘See?’ Imogen spread out her hands. It was perfectly obvious to her. ‘She feels threatened by us, and by our club. She can’t rule over us like she does everyone else.’
‘I wish she’d leave me alone,’ Allegra grumbled. ‘If she doesn’t, she’ll be sorry.’
Imogen knew that Allegra was too strong-willed to let Sophie victimise her, and was sure that Sophie would be making a bad mistake if she tried to take any of them on. But lately there had been some minor skirmishes – such as the inky missiles fired in French – and there was a feeling in the air that a big battle was not far off.
There was a loud bang from down below in the dormitories at that moment and the girls all froze, staring at each other with frightened eyes. Imogen’s stomach plummeted with a sickening swoop, and her hands began to tremble. ‘What was that?’ she whispered, her heart racing.
They were breaking some of the strictest of school rules: they were out of bounds, at a time when they were forbidden to be out of their cubicles, and they were smoking. Any one of these was an offence worthy of expulsion; taken together, they would mean instant dismissal.
They all listened a moment more, Romily with her Gauloise poised ready to be stubbed out on the jam-jar lid.
‘Oh,’ Allegra said finally, relaxing, ‘it was nothing. An old pipe banging or something. You know what this place is like.’
It’s all right for you, Imogen thought, her heart still pounding. Allegra seemed cool and unfazed by the terrible risks they were taking, but then, her parents didn’t give a damn what she did and wouldn’t even care if she was sent away from Westfield in disgrace. Romily’s family would no doubt consider the school rules very petty and bourgeois, and simply find an even grander school for her. But Imogen could hardly bear to think of her own parents’ disappointment if she spoiled this chance for herself. She could see her mother’s face now, and the look in her eyes if she discovered that Imogen had forfeited her precious and hard-won education for the sake of a stolen cigarette in the night.
Please don’t let us be caught, she prayed. She knew how dangerous their nocturnal activities were but couldn’t resist them or bear not to be included, even when she risked expulsion. They were a special club after all, with Allegra as their leader, and they did everything together. Allegra had dubbed them the Midnight Girls, because that was when they made their secret treks to the attic, and it made them sound even more special, like a pop group or something. She had led them into all sorts of trouble, from adorning the statue of their founder, Dame Mary Westfield, with a particularly enormous bra and comedy straw hat, to the instigation of the great sock rebellion of the previous year when all girls began to wear forbidden colours of sock and, worse still, around their ankles instead of pulled up to the knee. But this was by far the most serious of her pranks, and every time they made the trek to the attic Imogen was filled with fluttering nerves, though she did her best to hide it.
‘Come on,’ Allegra said, stubbing out her cigarette end, tossing it through the open window on to the roof and then pulling the window shut. ‘We’d better get back to bed.’
The other two disposed of their cigarette ends and got up to make their way back to the dormitory.
Thank goodness for that, Imogen thought, relief beginning to creep through her. Another Midnight Girls meeting over and safely done. I’ll be glad to be back in bed.
She happily followed Allegra down the attic stairs, padding softly after her, with Romily behind. When they reached the bottom Allegra pushed at the door. When it was still only open a crack, she gasped and stepped back, pulling it shut again.
‘Fucking hell,’ she whispered, looking round at the other two with wide, fearful eyes. ‘I just saw Sophie Harcourt walking down the corridor towards us.’
Imogen supported herself against the wall, feeling her knees weaken under her. Her heart started pounding again, and her breathing quickened. Behind her, she heard Romily gasp with fright. If Sophie caught them, they would b
e reported to Myers before morning and probably expelled by the following lunchtime. Oh, God, I knew something like this was going to happen! Why the hell have we been so stupid? Imogen asked herself.
‘What is she doing?’ murmured Allegra under her breath. They waited, trembling, for three long minutes before Allegra finally said, ‘She must have gone.’
‘Be careful!’ hissed Romily as Allegra slowly opened the door again.
‘Is anyone there?’ asked Imogen, her voice high and breathy with fright.
Allegra poked her head round the door and looked up and down the corridor. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Are you sure it was her?’ Romily asked as they crept out of the attic.
‘Of course I am.’ Allegra frowned and looked back down the corridor away from their dormitory. ‘But where was she going?’
‘Who cares?’ Imogen whispered, desperate to get back to the safety of her cubie. ‘Let’s just get back to bed, for God’s sake. If she’s up and about she may disturb Myers, and then we’ll all be caught.’
‘She was heading towards Kat’s,’ muttered Allegra. ‘Perhaps she’s meeting someone there.’
The dormitories were named after saints, perhaps to inspire their occupants towards a life of purity and obedience. Allegra, Romily and Imogen were in St Helen’s, known as Hell’s. Down the corridor was Kat’s, from St Katharine’s. In the other wing of the school were Mag’s and Ag’s, after St Margaret and St Agnes.
‘I’m going to take a look,’ Allegra said determinedly.
‘No!’ exclaimed Imogen in a fierce whisper. ‘We’ve got to get back!’
‘But don’t you see? If Sophie’s up to something, we ought to know about it. That way we’ve got our ammunition ready if she finds out about us. She may already know.’ Allegra shot the other two a determined look. ‘Go back if you want to. I don’t care.’
Imogen looked at Romily and saw her own fright and anxiety reflected in the other girl’s eyes. She reached out involuntarily and clutched her friend’s arm, her hand chilly on Romily’s bare flesh.
Allegra ran lightly on tiptoe down the dark corridor towards Kat’s.
‘What shall we do?’ Romily said quietly.
‘We can’t just stand here.’ Imogen looked up and down the passageway, eerie in the darkness and without the usual scramble of rushing girls. She knew that she couldn’t bear just waiting for whatever it was to happen – whether it was Sophie returning from her mysterious errand or Myers appearing in the corridor, wearing her night-time hairnet and with her hideous towelling robe tied tightly round her barrel-like stomach. ‘Come on, let’s go after Allegra.’ She walked lightly down the hall, keeping to the shadows as though they might somehow protect her, while Romily followed behind.
They turned the corner and saw that Allegra had already opened the door to Kat’s and disappeared into the darkness. Imogen gave a tiny gasp. This was getting stupidly dangerous. They were familiar with the routines of their own house mistress but they knew nothing about Miss Jennings, who guarded Kat’s. She might be in the habit of striding about the dorms at night, making sure that all was well and that none of her charges was up and about when they were supposed to be asleep.
Romily and Imogen reached the open door and glanced at each other, worried and pale. Then Allegra loomed out of the darkness, looking shocked and yet gleeful.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, ‘look at this! Be very quiet. Silent as the grave.’
She led them through the doorway and into the blackness of the corridor beyond. All the boarding houses were laid out the same way: dormitory bedrooms divided up into cubicles on one side, and the house mistress’s room, a common room and other amenities on the other. Kat’s common room was in the same position as Hell’s, looking oddly familiar and yet strange at the same time. Allegra stopped at the doorway to it. She glanced round at the other two and held her finger up to her mouth to indicate absolute silence was required.
Imogen peered into the darkness. She could hear a curious rustling noise, and then the sound of heavy breathing and some short, high gasps. What was it? she wondered. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness and she could make out that two figures were lying together on the common-room sofa. Like Hell’s, it was long and large, big enough for about eight girls to sit comfortably when they were watching television. The figures were intertwined and furiously active.
It took a few more seconds for Imogen to register what she was seeing, but then she knew without a doubt. Her mouth dropped open and she felt a strange mixture of embarrassment, disbelief and a kind of excitement. There was Sophie Harcourt, lying half-naked on the Kat’s sofa, wrapped in the arms of Martha Young, and they were snogging furiously. Martha was wearing only a pair of knickers. One of her long legs was tucked over Sophie’s hips, and one of her hands was thrust down Sophie’s pyjama bottoms where it seemed to be moving. Her naked chest was pressed against Sophie’s.
Of course the girls thought and talked about sex all the time but the whole place was boy-mad. Everyone seemed to be pining away for some pop star or film actor, or else a boy they had met through friends or family. Every girl was desperate to be kissed, to move to first base and beyond. They were sex crazy – but, without exception, opposite-sex crazy. No one talked about any other kind of activity, as though it didn’t exist, and other girls were appraised only on their relative attractions for men.
Imogen’s heart started racing and she jumped back into the corridor, pressing her hand to her mouth. She knew that she should not be witnessing whatever it was she had seen: it was deeply intimate and private. She felt immediately tainted and dirty, as though she was a voyeur, preferring to watch other people rather than do anything herself. But she could also feel a fizzing, treacherously sweet excitement, filling her belly and making her almost uncomfortably aware of herself. Whatever Sophie was feeling now, she, Imogen, had never felt anything like this, having just had a glimpse of what awaited her, perhaps not with another girl but with someone, sometime in the future. It looked terrifying and tempting at the same time: could she really abandon herself as Sophie was doing? Could sex really do that to you? Could it really create the pleasure that Sophie seemed to be feeling?
‘Let’s go,’ she whispered to the other two. Romily looked pale and frightened, half horrified, while Allegra’s eyes were dancing and she was grinning widely.
There was no argument. The other two followed her quickly as Imogen led the way swiftly out of Kat’s and back to the safety of their own dormitory. They didn’t speak again as they made their way to their separate cubicles.
Imogen lay in her bed, staring into the darkness, unable to shake the image from her mind: all she could see was Sophie, pushing herself into Martha’s embrace, thrusting her tongue into Martha’s mouth, and Martha’s hand at its mysterious work inside Sophie’s pyjama bottoms.
‘Oh, God,’ she murmured to herself, hardly able to believe she was thinking it. ‘Poor Sophie. Poor, poor Sophie.’
Chapter 2
Stanley’s Restaurant
West Coast of America
2000
MITCH BENT OVER his paperwork, laboriously filling in the answers to his homework. It didn’t come naturally to him, all this writing, and it wasn’t what he’d come into the catering industry for. He’d come because he wanted to cook, do things with his hands, taste things with his mouth, and make things he could see and feel. But he also knew that he needed an education to get on, so he was taking a night course in business and accounting at the local college. It was hard for him, especially when the only quiet time he had to study was after his late shift finished, at one o’clock in the morning, when he ought to be getting to bed, considering it was a six a.m. start the next day. But his blood was buzzing from service now even though the next day he’d be pole-axed with exhaustion, fit only for making stocks and prepping for at least four hours, with a break before the evening shift started all over again.
So here he was, still in his chef�
��s trousers – baggy black pants that didn’t show the spills – sitting in his boss’s office at the desk under the chipped aluminium lamp, making himself think about profits and percentages, and keeping going with the aid of Diet Coke.
A noise made him look up. In the doorway stood a woman wearing tiny denim cut-offs and a little pink T-shirt that strained tight across her large breasts. She shook out her canary-yellow curls, ran her tongue over her lips and said breathily, ‘Hi, Mitch. How ya doin’?’
Mitch felt apprehension creep along his veins. ‘Hi there, Jo-Lynn. Where’s Stanley? He here?’
She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. I’ve come on my own.’
Ah, Christ. I’ve been expecting something like this. Mitch had been noticing lately that his boss’s wife was taking an interest in him, and he’d been doing his best to deflect it. Jo-Lynn was an attractive woman, there was no denying that. Those long brown legs that she showed off so nicely in her little shorts were enough to give him a hard-on on their own, let alone those tits of hers, but he knew better. Stanley would not take kindly to the prospect of his pretty young wife being boffed by his sous-chef, and he was a large man with a meaty pair of fists on him. So Mitch had taken to keeping out of Mrs Baker’s way whenever she sashayed into the kitchen.
‘Actually,’ Jo-Lynn went on, ‘he’s asleep.’
Mitch just stared at her.
‘Pretty sound asleep, if you wanna know. I crushed up a couple of my sleeping pills in his Bourbon. I don’t think he’ll be stirring till morning.’
Mitch put down his pen, feeling uncomfortable. A nervous sweat was breaking out on his upper lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’
She looked at him coyly, acting a little shy and girlish. ‘Oh, you know … so that I could have some time on my own. A little bit of peace and quiet. You know what Stanley’s like. He ain’t easy. Sometimes I need …’ she sighed softly and smiled at him, lowering her lashes ‘… some relaxation.’