Shattered

by Teri Terry

  She nods. ‘Every few months or so she comes. Stella never refers to her as “mother”, but that’s who it is: Astrid Connor, the smiling assassin.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.’ She sighs tragically. ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me.’

  ‘I told you so.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That Finley really likes you.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She smiles then it falls away. ‘Not that it’ll matter after tomorrow.’

  ‘Call again tomorrow, tell him you’ll meet him later. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Sure it will: I bet he’ll just go off with some other girl.’

  ‘I doubt it!’

  ‘What makes you so wise in the ways of guys, anyhow?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Okay, I’ve told you mine; now tell me yours. Is there someone? There is, isn’t there. Tell me!’

  I can feel the shadow cross my face. ‘There was.’

  ‘What happened? Did you stand him up and then he went off and—’

  ‘No.’ I fling a pillow at her. ‘No, because he really cared so he wouldn’t be so daft. Just like Finley really cares.’

  ‘So why aren’t you together then? If the path of true love is really all forgiving like that, where is he? Why did you leave him behind? Why didn’t he follow you to Keswick?’

  ‘He couldn’t, that’s all,’ I say, and refuse to say more. Eventually Madison sees I’m really upset, apologises and leaves.

  I sigh and turn the lights off, get into bed and pull the blankets around me. If Ben really loved me…shouldn’t that survive everything? Shouldn’t he still feel the same way, deep down inside, even though Lorders have wiped all memory of me from his mind?

  It is romantic nonsense to think so. A wave of sadness creeps over me, bit by bit, so deep that it feels as if heavy weights are holding me still, that I’m paralysed. Later I hear a light tap on my door: Stella? But my eyes stay shut when it opens, my body unmoving, breathing deep, unable to reach out or say anything. Moments later it shuts again and footsteps retreat.

  Underlying the grief, an uneasy sense of disquiet remains. Tomorrow, I meet my grandmother.

  What would she do if she knew I was here? Would she be happy to have her long lost granddaughter back, or is she Lorder through and through?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  ‘There are a few new faces here today, I see.’ She smiles, and her eyes twinkle behind glasses that look a little like mine. ‘I’m Astrid Connor, and your lovely house mother here is my daughter. Bet she didn’t tell you.’ She looks at Stella and then smiles again. ‘Daughters!’ she says, and shakes her head. Like the last photo I saw of her, her hair is silvery grey, swept up. She wears ordinary clothes, nothing says Lorder in how she looks or acts, but there is something about her. The hackles are raised on the back of my neck. Every eye is drawn forwards. Some people you don’t want to turn your back on.

  Stella clears her throat. ‘There are three new girls since your last visit.’ She quickly points to each of us, says our names, while Steph and another girl co-opted to help are bringing in serving dishes, putting them on the table: roast dinner. As Stella points to me and says Riley Kain, Astrid’s eyes fall on mine. A brief moment of something crosses her face – curiosity, that soon fades to disinterest? Then she is interrupted by Stella passing her a dish. The curious glance returns.

  The usual chatter around the table is gone. Everyone eats silently, even Madison, while Astrid holds court. She talks with Stella about the running of the house; asks about window repairs. Every now and then her eyes fall on one of us, and she’ll ask a question: about work, or Keswick. All pleasant and chit-chatty. No order in it, not working her way around the table or any logic to it you can see.

  Then she turns and her eyes fall on Madison: playing with her food, slumped in her seat, eyes lowered. ‘Madison, isn’t it?’ she says.

  Madison looks up, nods: her eyes, visible now, are defiant. Something in my stomach twists.

  Amusement crosses Astrid’s face. ‘Not hungry today, dear?’

  ‘Not really. Can I be excused?’

  Stella’s sharp intake of breath is audible in a room too quiet.

  ‘On one condition. Tell me exactly what you are thinking, first.’

  Doubt crosses Madison’s face; she shakes it off. Please, Madison, don’t be an idiot, I plead silently.

  ‘All right, then. It’s my one weekend off this month, and I had plans. But she insisted we all be here.’ Madison glares at Stella.

  ‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry you missed your plans.’ Astrid says. ‘What were they?’ A tinge of red crosses Madison’s cheeks. ‘A boy, I’m guessing? My, my. Really, Stella,’ she says, looking at her daughter now. ‘They don’t all have to be here today, not if they have plans. You know I really just come to see how you are. You know what it is like to be a mother, to worry about your daughter.’ There is a malicious twist to her words.

  Stella’s lips are set in a thin line. ‘I think I know what is best for my girls.’

  Madison clears her throat. ‘I told you what I was thinking, like you asked; can I go now?’

  Astrid looks at her daughter, an eyebrow raised in a question.

  ‘Stay and finish your lunch,’ Stella says.

  Madison scowls. ‘It’s not fair. None of the other houses are run like this. She treats us like prisoners!’

  Too far. All the girls look at her in horror. I plead with my eyes: stop this; apologise now!

  Astrid smiles. ‘I think, dear Madison, you would be able to tell the difference between this and a prison, if you ever found yourself in one. You may go now.’

  Madison looks between her and Stella, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Stella nods faintly. ‘Go on,’ she says.

  Madison puts her napkin on the table, pushes her chair out. Walks stiffly to the door and is gone.

  Astrid laughs. ‘What a serious bunch you are! Doesn’t anyone have any stories to tell? Perhaps one of the new girls.’ Her eyes fall on me. ‘Kylie, was it?’

  ‘Riley,’ I answer, trying not to react to her saying my name so close to Kyla.

  ‘When did you arrive in Keswick?’

  ‘Earlier this week. I’m here for the CAS intake.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Chelmsford. But I love the mountains, and I want to work for National Parks.’ I start to rush out an explanation of what they do before she has even asked. My voice trails away.

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘At last: a chatty one. And how did you—’

  ‘Oh drat. Sorry!’ Stella interrupts, springing up as a toppled jug spreads water across the table. Steph dashes for a cloth; Astrid gets up out of her seat before the water can run onto her lap. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Stella says again.

  ‘Stop fussing,’ Astrid snaps.

  She and Stella leave the dining room.

  The door swings shut, and as if we all had been holding our breath, we let it out in one collective gasp.

  ‘Is she always like that?’ I ask Ellie, sat next to me.

  She nods. ‘She’s horrible to Stella, isn’t she? Can you believe what she said to her, about knowing what it is like to worry about your daughter, when Stella’s daughter is missing? Nasty.’

  Then everyone starts talking in hushed tones about Madison, what she said, how long Stella will confine her to house as punishment, but I can’t get Astrid’s words out of my head. Like Ellie said, it was nasty, but not just the way Ellie meant. There was something else twisting behind her words that niggles and worries inside.

  Feigning headache, I leave the others and wander out, thinking I’ll look for Madison. But when I start to cross the reception area, my feet pause. Stella’s of
fice; the hidden door. Will they be in the same sitting room they used to go?

  I shouldn’t. But it’ll be locked anyhow, won’t it? I look around; no one is here. I cross behind the desk to the office door, reach a hand to the knob. It turns and I push the door open. Too late, I realise my mistake: what if they are in here, instead? But the room is empty. Behind me I hear voices and footsteps heading this way. I step through into the office and pull the door shut behind me.

  Trapped.

  What if they come here now?

  My eyes dart about the room, my ears strain for footsteps. All I can hear are some low voices beyond the door: not Stella or Astrid, but some of the girls. They’re not moving: they’re staying out there, probably in armchairs by the window, and not going anywhere any time soon.

  My feet start the reluctant few steps to the curtains that cover the door, somehow feeling half frozen, each move an effort. I should have gone back to my room, or looked for Madison: anything but this.

  Something on the wall catches my eye. A recent photo of Astrid that had been hidden in the box in my room hangs there. I pause, look around, and spot a few of the others.

  So. When Astrid comes for a visit, Stella hangs her photos back up; when Astrid leaves, they are hidden in a box. I shake my head. What weird family am I part of?

  Maybe it is time to find out. I pull the curtain out, step behind it. Push the door open and look through.

  And it is just like my dream: a narrow hall. I used to play hide and seek here. It’s dusty and I put a finger under my nose, try not to sneeze. Not used any more?

  When I step through and let the door shut behind me, I’m plunged into darkness. A torch: there used to be a torch hidden here, in the corner. I feel along the wall and reach down, but find nothing.

  I walk, slow and silent, one hand touching the wall. The hall stretches past one room, then turns ninety degrees. There are a few slivers of light from ventilation panels near the floor. And voices.

  I crouch down near a panel, and listen.

  ‘…but don’t do it, please don’t: I’m begging you.’ Stella.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘You know.’

  Astrid titters. ‘You should see your face. My, my: so fierce. It’s a shame you can’t put that energy to better use.’

  ‘I see no better purpose to my life. Isn’t serve and protect the young people of our country part of your official job mandate, as JCO?’

  ‘Oh, it is, and I take that very seriously. The bad apples must go to prevent rot in the barrel, as you well know. These girls, here – they aren’t your daughters. You know the consequences of error: that could be a painful mistake.’

  Silence. Even from the other side of the wall, it feels strained. Is Stella caught in her mother’s eyes? I shiver.

  ‘I told you I had news for you today about Lucy; you haven’t asked me yet,’ Astrid says, at last. ‘Don’t you want to know?’

  ‘Of course I do. Please tell me.’

  ‘Stella, prepare yourself for a shock.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know how I told you weeks ago that Lucy was killed by a terrorist bomb? I’ve found some…irregularities in the Lorder records on this matter.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It appears her death was faked.’

  I’m stunned. Stella had been told I died in that bomb? She didn’t say; didn’t ask about it. And now she isn’t saying anything I can hear in response to news that I’m alive: news it seems she shouldn’t know. And I’m hoping – praying – she is a good actress.

  ‘I don’t understand. Where is she then?’ Stella asks, finally.

  There is a pause. ‘I have no idea. She is still listed as officially dead, but unofficially, she is missing. There seems to be some interest in finding her, from a number of…interesting places. I do wonder what that girl has been up to.’

  ‘Nothing to worry you, I’m sure!’ Stella snaps, too quick, and I’m worried. This is a dangerous game. Somehow, I know – either from traces of memory, or observation today, or both – Astrid is adept at reading what people say and don’t say. Shouldn’t Stella be in hysterical tears at the news that I’m alive?

  ‘Really? We shall see,’ Astrid says. ‘But no matter: you know I’ve kept my half of our bargain, and found out everything I can about what happened to her. I’ll protect her and bring her home safe to you if I can. Darling girl, despite our differences, you know I only want what is best for you. As soon as I find out anything of Lucy’s whereabouts, so will you. But don’t ask anything more of me. You will be disappointed.’

  Soon their conversation turns to other things; roof maintenance needed, damp in the cellar. I’m stiff and cold from crouching down in this unheated hall. Time to make an escape while they’re both still in there and accounted for.

  I can’t go back the way I came; there are sure to be eyes outside Stella’s office door. I stand carefully, ease my muscles and creep slowly forward, one hand on the wall. Their voices fade as I reach another door.

  Carefully I pull the door towards me: nothing! I start to panic: is it locked? It didn’t have a lock before, I’m sure of it. I feel along the door; no padlock, but there is a simple latch. I release it. Step through the door into the utility room that is behind the kitchen, then back along a hall.

  Somehow my feet are remembering, more and more, how to get around this house. I look down before I reach a main hall, brush at my clothes to get rid of the dust.

  Later, back in my room for the night, my mind is spinning with Astrid: the things she said, the way she said them. The twist of the knife in her words.

  And that Stella was told I had died. Was this before I reported myself found, before she knew I was on my way back to her? She never told me, so I can’t ask without admitting I was listening in. But why didn’t she tell me? I don’t understand her, at all.

  Astrid said she’s looking for me, that she’ll bring me home if she finds me. Yet here I am, and she obviously doesn’t know about it; Stella hasn’t told her. She doesn’t trust her.

  But Astrid has noticed something is up with Stella, I’m sure of it. She won’t let it go. If Astrid works out what it is, I’m in trouble. Despite her assurances to Stella, I don’t trust her, either. If Lorders find out I’m here, they’ll come for me.

  Danger.

  Careful, quiet, each step on tiptoes through Mummy’s office, but it is hard to be a spy in this stupid pink dress: it whispers and rustles as I move. I gather the skirt together and bunch it up in my hands to hold it still as I slip behind the curtains.

  I push the door, step through and hold it partly open with my foot as I lean down to get the torch. Switch it on, then let the door swing shut.

  I creep along the wall, around the corner, then crouch down to listen like a spy.

  ‘…be here soon.’ Mummy.

  ‘He indulges that child, as do you.’

  ‘It’s her birthday!’

  ‘Really, Stella. Isn’t it about time you tell him the truth? That his precious daughter isn’t his; that you don’t even know whose she is. Perhaps I should tell him?’

  ‘No! Don’t you dare, I’ll—’

  ‘Don’t threaten me, Stella. You’ll regret it.’

  Their voices continue but I stop listening. Shaking, I stuff my hands in my ears, but I can still hear Grandma’s words over and over inside my head: his precious daughter isn’t his.

  How could that be? He’s Daddy.

  My daddy!

  I start to cry.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Madison asks.

  ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Where’d you disappear to yesterday? Bets are on that Stella will ground you, between that and what you said at lunch.’

&
nbsp; She smiles, and it is a very happy smile. ‘I wrote it in the book: out until late. I thought I made it quite clear.’

  The bus pulls up and we clamber on. Madison sits with Finley, he holds her hand, and some of the boys whistle. I settle into a seat on my own, glad to put some space between us before Madison shakes off her loved-up state enough to ask me again: is everything okay?

  That dream, the things Astrid said: could it be true? Was he really not my father? All my snippets of memory of him – the way he was with me – say otherwise. But what if he never knew?

  Then he died for a daughter who wasn’t even his.

  Later I’m standing in the CAS meeting room, and when my name is called, collect an envelope. It doesn’t seem so important now. But unless Astrid works out what is up with Stella, and who I am, and everything stops, it is for five years of my life.

  I rip it open.

  Dear Miss Kain, blah blah blah. I scan down to the important part: my trials:

  Week 1: Education

  Week 2: National Parks

  Week 3: Hospitality

  Week 4: Transportation

  Hurrah! I got my top two choices. But I’m puzzled at getting Hospitality. It didn’t really appeal to me so I’d had it far down my order of preference, and it seemed a popular choice. I turn the pages, and find the details for each placement.

  The words next to Hospitality jump into stark focus:

  Report to Waterfall House for Girls, Stella Connor.

  What? How can this be? And I think back to how adamant Stella had been about me not signing up for CAS, especially not for Parks. But then when I went to tell her I’d signed, she was all chilled about it, and I’d thought she’d realised I had to make my own decisions. But I was wrong. She was in town that day; she knows somebody; she must have pulled some strings. What do you want to bet these trials mean nothing, that I’ll end up with her for five years as some sort of apprentice housemaid?

  Eventually it penetrates that the others are leaving, heading off to the first of their trials. Week 1 for me is Education, and I find the details. Keswick Primary School: I’m supposed to go there now, and report to reception. But what difference will it make?