‘Let me know what you can do to help, Carolyn,’ I say pointedly, because she hasn’t offered anything. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to do as much as you can for the Academy, especially if Lottie attends next year—providing she gets in, of course.’
She gives me a sharp look, as if it’s just crossed her mind that I might have some say over who gets in and who doesn’t. Then, once she’s worked out that I haven’t, she gives me one of her superior smiles. I hate the way she underestimates me. It’s true that I don’t have that sort of power, but if I wanted to influence an audition, I’m sure I could find a way.
Elise checks her watch again and reaches for her Hermès bag.
‘Time to go,’ she says, getting to her feet.
‘Me too,’ I say, grabbing my Marks & Spencer tote from where I shoved it under the table.
‘Already?’ Kendall looks at me in surprise. ‘I thought you only started at one o’clock.’
‘Usually, yes, but I have to be in early today.’ I know I’m blushing, I always do if I lie. But I’ve had enough. Anyway, without me and Elise around, it’ll give her and Carolyn time to bond. Or kill each other. For once, I don’t care which.
It takes me the whole of the journey to the Academy to relax. I don’t regret meeting up with the others, but I hate how they make me feel. I know they think I’m boring, the way I’m always banging on about fundraisers, and I probably am. But someone has to organize them. And fixing the roof is important, although they’d only see that if something were to happen, and then they’d be like, The school roof should have been a priority. They also think I’m not capable of much, which makes me determined to prove them wrong.
I head to my workroom, which is backstage, just off the dressing room. The corridor is deserted; the students are still on lunch break in the inner courtyard and the only sound comes from my sandals as they clack along the tiled floor. A sudden movement catches my eye, a flash of blond hair disappearing into the toilet block ahead of me. I come to a stop, trying to puzzle it out, because I was the only one in the corridor, and there’s no door for anyone to have come through. I give a little shrug; it must have been a trick of the light. I set off down the corridor again, but I haven’t got very far when an eerie wail reaches my ears. A shiver goes down my spine and although my instinct is to flee, the sound pulls me onward, toward the toilet block, until I’m pushing the door open, my heart pounding in my chest, half-afraid of what I’m going to find. After the brightly lit corridor, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior, and when they do I realize that the sound is coming from Imogen.
‘Imogen, whatever’s the matter?’ I cry, dropping my bag and hurrying over to where she is sitting against the back wall, weeping copiously into her hands.
‘I—I can’t tell you,’ she stutters, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and prying her hands from her face because it all sounds a bit—well—theatrical.
‘Well, if you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to help you.’
Her sobs begin to subside and eventually come to a stop with a couple of hiccups. She lowers her hands, digs in one of her sleeves for a tissue, and fishes it out. As she wipes her eyes and blows her nose, I feel guilty for doubting that her tears were genuine, because it’s obvious that something terrible has happened.
‘I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,’ she says, her voice wobbling all over the place. ‘It’s why I haven’t said anything.’ She raises red-rimmed eyes and looks desperately at me. ‘But I’m not sure I can keep it to myself any longer.’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’ I suggest. She doesn’t say anything, just carries on staring at me, and I’m struck at how pale her eyes are, almost devoid of color. ‘It won’t go any further if you don’t want it to,’ I go on, wondering if that’s what she’s waiting for.
‘Promise?’
‘Promise,’ I say firmly.
She takes a shaky breath. ‘Did Bel tell you I fell down the stairs during the sleepover at Sadie’s?’
I nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, it was Ruby.’
‘Ruby who found you? Yes, she was very upset, apparently.’
‘She pushed me.’ She says it so quietly I think I’ve misheard her.
‘Sorry?’
‘Ruby pushed me,’ she repeats.
‘But—’ I feel horribly confused. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ Her voice is so shrill I flinch. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, noticing. She scrunches her tissue backward and forward in her hand. ‘I knew nobody would believe me.’ She sounds so miserable that my heart goes out to her.
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you,’ I explain, shifting into a more comfortable position, because I’m still crouched in front of her. ‘It’s just that everyone said Ruby was in the kitchen when it happened. Even you did, I think.’
‘I know, but I hurt my head when I fell and my leg was really sore and I was crying and I went along with what she was saying because I felt really scared about what she’d done. I thought she might have bumped me accidentally—she was behind me on the stairs at the time. But then I remembered her stepping over me as I lay on the floor and running to the kitchen, and at first I thought she’d gone to get some ice or something but then she came back and started crying hysterically, saying, “Oh my God, Imogen, what happened, did you fall?” and then Bel and Sadie and Jess were there and she was telling them how she was in the kitchen when it happened and I didn’t know what to say.’ She pauses for breath. ‘I mean, they’re her friends and I’m only the new girl, and I knew it would look bad if I started accusing her, especially after the music box thing, because I know some people think it was her. But now I’m scared.’ Her voice trembles. ‘If she’d pushed me from higher up I could have been badly injured. Maybe that’s why she waited until I was nearer the bottom, maybe it was meant to be a warning or something.’ She looks at me in confusion. ‘I don’t understand why she did it. I haven’t done anything to her. Unless it was because I wanted to sleep in the bed with her and Sadie. Maybe I shouldn’t have made such a fuss, but I felt left out on the floor.’
In her agitation, she begins shredding the tissue to bits and I have to drag my eyes away from her fingernails, which are black with dirt, or maybe nail polish. ‘We’re going to have to tell the headmaster,’ I say, my heart already sinking because if she’s right in what she’s told me, it’s going to be awful.
‘No, you can’t, you promised! It will cause too much trouble, and I can’t deal with anything else right now.’ Tears well in her eyes. ‘It’s my dad. He’s ill, really ill.’
‘Imogen, I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s in a hospice.’
I stare at her. ‘Hospice?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice breaks. ‘He only has a few weeks to live. That’s why I came here, to this school, so that I could be near him.’
‘But—’ I say, momentarily puzzled, because this is something that Adam should have told the members of staff. Unless—‘Does Mr. Racki know?’
‘No.’ She shakes her head and tears cascade onto her cheeks. ‘I don’t want anyone to know because I don’t want them feeling sorry for me. It’s why I left my last school. I hated everyone knowing about Dad. They were only trying to be kind but it made me feel sad the whole time. I don’t want that happening here.’
‘I can understand that,’ I say gently. ‘All the same, I think Mr. Racki needs to know about your dad.’
‘Please don’t tell him. Maybe—you know—nearer the time. But not yet.’
It’s difficult with her looking imploringly at me. When I think of all she has to deal with, I don’t want to add to her distress by not giving her my word.
‘All right. I won’t say anything for the moment. But if your dad is in a hospice, where are you living? Your mother doesn’t live around here, does she?’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m staying with my grandparents. They live near the ho
spice, so it means I can see Dad every day.’
‘It’s good that you have your grandparents. But it must be difficult for them, too.’
‘It is, especially as they’re not in the best of health themselves.’
‘Do you have someone to help you?’
‘No, my grandparents don’t want anyone except me.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No, thank you. At least, not at the moment. Maybe later.’
I can’t imagine what it must be like for her to have to cope with elderly grandparents as well as a desperately ill father. But if she won’t let me help, there’s not a lot I can do except keep a vigilant eye on her.
‘Well, if there’s ever anything, promise you’ll let me know?’ She nods. ‘And will you let me know how your dad is doing?’
‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Richardson. I feel a lot better now that I’ve been able to tell someone.’ She looks at me worriedly. ‘But you won’t say anything, will you? You won’t tell anyone about Ruby pushing me down the stairs?’ She senses my hesitation. ‘You promised,’ she reminds me.
‘All right,’ I say. But it seems like a promise too far, and I hate that I’m going to have to break it. There’s no danger in me not speaking up about her father being ill, except to my peace of mind. But to keep silent about Ruby pushing her down the stairs—how can I keep that to myself? What if there’s another incident?
Her eyes slide toward me. ‘It might not have been totally Ruby’s fault that I fell down the stairs.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, frowning. Either Ruby pushed her or she didn’t.
‘Well, we’d all had quite a bit of alcohol to drink.’
‘Alcohol?’ Even I can hear my voice rising dangerously high. But ever since Lucas got drunk at a friend’s house when he was only fifteen and almost got run over by a police car on his way home, underage drinking has been a huge issue in our family. The memory of him being held up on the doorstep by two burly policemen is still fresh in my mind, six years after it happened.
‘Yes, Sadie’s mum gave us cider and maybe Ruby drank more than the rest of us. We were allowed to have as much as we liked,’ she adds, banging a nail into the coffin I’ve mentally constructed in my head for Elise.
‘Well, that explains it,’ I say, relieved to have found a reason for what happened at the sleepover. ‘It was obviously an accident.’
‘What was?’
‘Your fall. If Ruby did drink a lot of cider, maybe she was unsteady on her feet, and as she went down the stairs behind you, she lost her footing and bumped you.’
‘Then why didn’t she say that’s what happened? Why run to the kitchen and pretend she was already there when I fell?’
She has a point. ‘Maybe she panicked,’ I suggest.
‘No.’ Imogen shakes her head vehemently. ‘There was nothing accidental about the shove in my back. You have to believe me, Mrs. Richardson.’ Her voice rises an octave. ‘I could have been killed!’
‘I’m sure it wouldn’t have come to that,’ I soothe. ‘But I don’t see what I can do if you won’t let me tell anyone.’ She waits, wanting more, but I’m beginning to feel exhausted by her constant mood swings. I know she’s upset, but it’s hard to keep up. One minute she’s accusing Ruby, the next she’s making excuses for her.
She has a plaster on her wrist and, noticing that it’s as grubby as her fingernails, I take hold of her hand, hoping a little TLC will do the trick. ‘Why don’t I go and get a clean plaster for this?’ I offer.
‘No!’ She snatches her hand back as if I’ve burnt her. ‘I don’t want anyone touching it!’
‘It’s okay,’ I say mildly. I wonder about telling her to go and give her nails a good scrub, but decide against it. I check my watch and get to my feet, my knees stiff from squatting for so long. ‘You’ve got twenty minutes before your next class. Do you want to stay here or would you like to come and sit with me for a while?’
‘I’d rather sit here for a bit.’ She looks up at me, her eyes bright with gratitude. ‘Thank you for being so kind. There’s no one else I feel I can confide in, and who I can trust not to say anything.’
The rush of pleasure I feel at the first part of her sentence is quickly canceled out by her mention of trust. Despite what she said about Ruby maybe being under the influence of alcohol, I’m going to have to speak to Adam.
‘If you ever need to chat, just come and find me,’ I tell her.
‘Do you think—’ She stops, seeming unsure if she should go on.
‘What?’
‘I know Ruby was awful to Jess last year. What if it’s my turn this year? What if she’s going to start coming after me?’ There’s a real panic in her voice. ‘I’m scared, Mrs. Richardson, really scared.’
Deep in thought, I make my way to Adam’s office. This could be a good time to show him the broken ballerina arm. If I tell him that I found it in the pocket of Ruby’s dress after the rehearsal last week, and mention what Imogen just told me, he’ll have to take some kind of action against Ruby. Poor Kendall. I wish I could spare her. Unfortunately, I can’t.
‘I’m not sure what this actually proves,’ Adam says, holding the twisted piece of pink plastic between his thumb and forefinger and inspecting it as if it’s some kind of weird insect. He’s wearing an orange paisley scarf today, draped over his usual black turtleneck sweater. His scarves tend to match his mood—orange is good, yellow is better, gray is bad—and when he doesn’t wear a scarf at all, it’s best to keep out of his way. So maybe it’s me bringing up the music box that’s put a frown on his face. ‘Where did you say you found it?’
‘In the pocket of the dress Ruby was wearing during the rehearsal last week,’ I repeat. ‘She left it on the floor so I picked it up to put on a hanger and as I was smoothing it down, I felt something in the pocket.’
‘So this could have already been on the floor. And somehow got into the pocket of Ruby’s dress.’
This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. I want to tell him that of course it couldn’t have ‘somehow’ got from the floor and into the pocket of Ruby’s dress all by itself, but I need to tread carefully. He’s not just the headmaster, he’s also my employer.
‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ I say, wondering why he’s unwilling to accept what I just told him. ‘There’s something else, though.’
I’m getting good at recognizing the sounds of a sigh being stifled. ‘Yes?’
‘I just found Imogen in the toilets in tears. I don’t know if you’re aware, but last Friday, the girls had a sleepover at Sadie’s house and Imogen fell down the stairs. At the time, she said it was an accident; now she’s saying that Ruby pushed her.’ I pause, giving him time to process this latest piece of information. ‘She asked me not to tell anyone, but it’s not something I felt I should keep to myself.’
Another frown. ‘Was Imogen hurt? I don’t remember being informed that she’d had an accident.’
‘No, she wasn’t hurt, apart from a few bruises. But that’s not the point, surely? The point is that she could have been hurt.’
‘You’re right, of course. But if Imogen doesn’t want anyone to know—including me—there’s not a lot I can do. Maybe she’s decided to just suck it up.’ He runs his hand through his thick black hair and I know I’m in for a quote. ‘The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.’
‘That’s as may be,’ I say tartly. ‘But pushing someone down the stairs is quite a bit of ill.’ He gives me a look, because I don’t usually question him, or his quotes, but I can’t believe he’s not taking it more seriously. ‘Don’t you think you should speak to the police?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Adam slaps his hand down on the desk, making me jump. ‘Imogen didn’t fall on school property or during school hours. When it comes down to it, it’s got nothing to do with me, or with the school.’
‘But what if this is only the beginning?’ I persist. ‘What if it escalates? First the music bo
x, then the push down the stairs.’
‘Bronnie.’ He gets up from behind his desk, walks over to where I’m standing, and lays a hand on my arm. ‘Do you really want the police coming to the school?’ Heat rises to my cheeks at his touch. ‘You wouldn’t want them to find out about us, would you?’ he asks, his voice low.
I shake my head quickly. ‘Leave it with me, Bronnie,’ he goes on. ‘I’ll speak to everyone concerned and once I have, if there’s any action that I deem necessary, I’ll let you know.’
He gives my arm a little squeeze, goes back to his desk, opens the drawer, and drops the plastic arm inside. Sitting down, he pulls his keyboard toward him, his way of telling me that the conversation is over. I don’t like the way he does that, dismissing me as if I’m one of his students, when we both know I’m much more than that. It makes my blood boil.
‘Oh, Bronnie?’ he says when I’m halfway to the door. I turn, thinking he’s going to ask me to go and fetch Ruby. ‘I know I can rely on you to be discreet about what you’ve just told me. Especially as Imogen asked you not to tell anyone,’ he adds pointedly.
It takes a lot not to slam the door behind me. Did he just reprimand me for breaking my promise to a student? I’ve always defended him to Carolyn, but now I understand something of her frustration. How can he be so unconcerned about what I’ve just told him? What’s it going to take to make him realize how out of control things could get?
‘Is everything all right, Mrs. Richardson?’ Looking up, I see Jess lounging against the wall, an amused look on her face.
‘Yes, thank you, Jess, everything’s fine.’
‘It’s just that your hair is all mussed up.’
Before I can stop myself, I’ve raised a hand to my head and am smoothing my hair down. It feels fine to me, and I have a horrible suspicion that Jess is winding me up, trying to make me feel more uncomfortable than I already do. Like mother, like daughter, I think crossly, wishing I could swipe the smirk from her face.
‘Did you want something?’ I ask, without any of my usual warmth. Of Bel’s friends, Jess is my least favorite, probably because I see too much of Carolyn in her, especially in the too-sharp tongue area.
The Understudy Page 5