The Girl in the Gallery

by Alice Castle

  When she was a parent, she was going to get chapter and verse from her kids on what they were up to 24/7. Because she knew the dangers out there, even if her stupid mum and dad didn’t.

  You’d think they didn’t want to keep her safe. You’d think their own dull lives – which were basically over now, anyway – were more important.

  You’d think they didn’t even care if she ended up like the girl in the Gallery.

  And they didn’t seem to have really taken anything in about that anyway, though her dad was still furious that he’d been dragged to see Simone ‘on false pretences’, as he kept saying. For all the guff he was always spouting about how much his patients mattered – and she knew he always put them first, a long, long, way before her and her dumb brother, that was for sure – he hadn’t been very caring about this patient, had he? And her mum had been, if anything, even worse. She just kept spouting on about how it was utterly outrageous that anyone would think for one second that it could have been their daughter lying there. It was like someone had tried to make them accept knock-off gear instead of an iPhone, or said something bad about their professional reputations. They were cross, but for all the wrong reasons.

  Because, as Sophia knew all too well, it could easily have been her lying there. In a coma. Nearly dead. Or whatever.

  Her parents were idiots. They just had no clue. Not even the first idea of what she went through, every single day, of how difficult life was for kids like her. End of.

  She seriously thought someone should teach them a lesson.

  Then she remembered, bitterly, that only a couple of days ago, she’d thought she was teaching them a lesson. Unfortunately for them all, it was one they hadn’t managed to notice, let alone learn, despite all their degrees, diplomas, and professional laurels. It had been a wake-up call, but they’d slept blithely on.

  But this time, this time, once and for all, Sophia thought, they would finally get it. She picked up her phone and studied it intently.

  ***

  Katie threw her phone down crossly on the marble counter top, then hastily snatched it back up again to check that the smooth rose gold surface wasn’t damaged. That was the trouble with these stupid gizmos. You couldn’t even make a grand gesture, for fear of damage to their expensive and incredibly frail innards. She was waiting for something from Beth. A call, ideally, but by now she’d have been happy with a text, a WhatsApp, or even the briefest emoji. She had too much information inside her. She had to share some, right now, or burst.

  The phone chirruped its soothing ringtone – selected because it was the most yogic sound available – and she snatched it up. ‘Beth? Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to get you.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, it’s been a bit mad… I’ve been helping Harry, er, Inspector York, and there’s been so much going on… and now I’m at work, and I’ve got to put in a bit of effort… I know we said we’d catch up, but yesterday I was over at the hospital. It’s been awful. So, how’s it going?’

  ‘Terrible! Look, I need to talk to you. It sounds like nothing compared to what you’ve been through, but I’ve heard something… really disturbing. And I think it’s actually got something to do with the girl you found.’

  There was a split-second pause, then Beth said, ‘Can you meet me in the park for a quick lunch, then? We can talk… Unless it can wait until pick-up?’

  ‘No, let’s do the park. Lunch. Great. I’ll be so much happier when I’ve got this off my chest,’ said Katie.

  ‘This isn’t like you, Katie. Is everything ok? Do you want to just tell me now, over the phone? Oh, wait, I’ve got to go and see the school secretary. Oops, that was supposed to be five minutes ago. Christ! I’d better run. See you at the Summerhouse at 12.30?’

  Katie’s lips quirked irresistibly as she finished the call. Beth always made her laugh. She thought she was so organised, but actually she was as scatty as anything. Then Katie realised with a shock that her face felt stiff. It was the first time she’d really smiled since she’d had coffee with Maria Luyten.

  Sometimes, being the only woman in a male household was hard. She couldn’t possibly talk to Charlie, and Michael had been out all night at a work do, only coming home after she’d gone to bed. He’d left again before she was up this morning. She’d resorted to phoning him at the office, when she’d failed to get hold of Beth earlier, but she felt mean, burdening him with her woes while he was at the coalface of work. Instead, after an initial attempt to open the topic which he completely misunderstood, she fell back into her usual pattern of half-listening to his complaints about co-workers, entirely unrealistic authors and their crazy expectations, and the stresses and strains of attempting to churn out saleable books in a fiercely digital age. He was a wonderful man, she loved him dearly, and his anecdotes were always well told – but there were times when her mind did wander. That phone call was definitely one. If she’d had to sit an exam on his current concerns, she would have got an E, while she’d looked at her own worries upside down and inside out, without succeeding in unravelling them at all.

  She was so pleased she was seeing Beth. She was just wonderful at that sort of thing. She had a brilliantly analytical mind, loved puzzles, and was great at solving conundrums – as she had already proved. Katie was yearning to drop this whole matter at her feet, like a gun dog with a still-warm kill. Whether Beth would accept it with a happy smile and give her a pat on the head, remained to be seen.

  ***

  Beth gave Janice a long look as they sat in the school secretary’s office, just behind the Reception desk at Wyatt’s. Time was when Janice herself had spent the long hours on duty at the Reception desk itself. Now, there was a newly-appointed – and pretty efficient – underling there, fielding calls and doing Janice’s bidding, and Janice was safely tucked away here in comfort and style, with a large pot plant, swish executive chair, and the pick of this year’s A level art work on her wall.

  A lot had changed in the few short months that Beth had been at Wyatt’s. The large sparkling engagement ring on Janice’s finger, for example. When Beth had first arrived, a band from a completely different marriage had shone a little more mutedly on the woman’s finger, and Dr Grover, too, had been in an apparently happy, long-running union. But dramatic events can have lasting effects. To the chagrin of most of the mummies in Dulwich, Janice was lined up to be the second Mrs Grover, while her own first husband – and Dr Grover’s first wife – had melted away. Not together, as some Dulwich wags would have had it. But far enough and painlessly enough for the efficient machinery of Wyatt’s to run smoothly on, as though things had never been different.

  Janice had always had the most wonderfully warm smile, but Beth hoped she wasn’t imagining a depth of contentment that was new. And, of course, some of the endless parade of family lawyers churned out by Wyatt’s School were also benefitting from a new revenue stream.

  ‘So shocking about the girl in hospital. Can you believe it was a College girl, of all the schools? They used to be so hard working and sensible, didn’t they? What’s happened to that school?’ Janice frowned.

  Beth, with all those Instagram pictures dancing before her, shrugged a little. She had much less faith in teenage innocence now than she’d enjoyed three days ago, but was the College School worse than any other?

  ‘I’m just so relieved Wyatt’s isn’t co-ed,’ Janice continued. ‘We’ve come under a lot of pressure over the years, but honestly? Can you imagine it? What would we do with teenage girls? How do you even deal with them?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Janice,’ Beth felt she had to remonstrate. ‘You were a teenage girl, not all that long ago. It wasn’t that bad. Was it?’

  ‘You weren’t there,’ said Janice with a frank glance. ‘Ok, I was out in the sticks in a tiny village in Hampshire, but we got up to whatever we could.’

  Beth, remembering those off-licence trips again, nodded. ‘I suppose teenagers will just push all the rules they can – boy or girl. The College lot ar
e no different.’

  ‘But trying to get served in pubs when you were 17, that’s nothing now, is it? And buying a packet of Players, well, that seems like something out of a Beatrix Potter. Anyway, I’m just glad we don’t have to pick up the pieces here with girls. Boys can be a nightmare, but in such a different way,’ said Janice.

  ‘Fights?’ mused Beth.

  ‘Yeah, that’s part of it – the easy bit in a way, as long as no-one gets hurt too badly. We’ve had broken bones in the past – lot of testosterone with teenage boys – but nothing like that under Dr Grover, of course,’ said Janice with a smug little smile of proprietorial satisfaction. Beth found it touching that Janice still referred to him formally, even among close colleagues. ‘No, it’s stuff like Muck-Up Day that can still go wrong,’ Janice mused.

  Beth looked blank. Janice explained. ‘It’s after the exams, a way for the departing sixth form to let off steam – we basically give them free rein to decorate the school and have a bit of a party. You’ve probably seen crowds of boys wandering through the village in the morning, end of summer term?’

  ‘Oh yes, I suppose so. I thought they were going on school trips…’

  ‘I wish!’ said Janice heavily. ‘Unfortunately, it’s all on the school premises. Every year we have to impose more rules to keep it under control. It’s licence for all the clever, mischievous ones to try and outdo each other – and be more outrageous than the year before, of course. One year, they put the entire school up for sale on eBay. Another time, they let a herd of goats out into the playing fields; God knows where they got them. They ate everything bar the rugby posts, bit a bunch of Year 7 kids into the bargain. That was a huge sketch with the parents, insisted the school pay for a load of jabs. But last year? They only carried Dr Grover’s car right out onto the middle of the lawn.’

  There was no doubt that, in Janice’s mind, defiling the Wyatt’s lawn, a semi-circle of green velvet perfection in front of the school’s imposing doors – and tampering with Dr Grover’s wheels – were both equally heinous crimes. Beth couldn’t help smiling. This year, the Headmaster’s car would be much easier to move. He’d junked his heavy, respectable, sensible, and solidly tank-like Volvo with the first wife, and upgraded to a sporty little Porsche that even the Year 6s would have been able to shift.

  ‘The meeting point has gone to the bad as well. They used to congregate beforehand in Dulwich Park, to have a bit of a feast – stuff they’d grabbed from home or bought specially, sweets, doughnuts, crisps, all the kids’ party fare they never really grow out of. Now, it’s basically a question of necking vodka until they can hardly stand. For some of them, the first thing they do when they reach the school is throw up. Honestly, the cleaning bill is becoming astronomical.’ Janice wrinkled her small nose.

  Beth nodded obligingly but felt a sneaking sympathy for the Wyatt’s leavers. They were going out into a tough old world – grades had to be higher and higher now to get into the best unis, like a curious reverse limbo dance. And although they could look forward to the odd bender and a few good times, student suicide and drop-out rates were rocketing. Then, after three years of slog, they emerged to find a stagnant job market. Even with the current, probably brief, spike in divorce cases in Dulwich, there wasn’t the demand for lawyers there’d been five years ago.

  Let the poor kids let their well-coiffed hair down for once, she wanted to say. Once they’d left the hyper-efficient machine that was Wyatt’s, life would probably never be as well organised again. But then, she wasn’t responsible for ironing the dents out of the lawn or repairing goat-ravaged football nets.

  ‘Ugh. Well, I’m not even going to think about that until nearer the end of term,’ said Janice, shutting her laptop with a determined flap. ‘Now, you came here to see me about something, and I’ve taken us off at a tangent. What can I do for you?’ Janice smiled.

  ‘It’s just that, with all this stuff at the Gallery, you know, the girl who was found…’

  Janice immediately looked serious. ‘Awful. If there’s anything I can do, or Wyatt’s as a school… Our hearts go out to the parents.’

  ‘It seems to be just the mum on her own – Jo, her name is. She’s lovely. Oh Janice, if you could see that girl, poor Simone,’ said Beth. She hadn’t meant to say any of this, but just thinking of that small, pale child in the bed made her tear up yet again. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head a little to banish the images. ‘It’s just that I found her, as you know…’

  ‘You seem to make a habit of that,’ said Janice wryly.

  Beth sighed. ‘Well, it’s certainly one I’m really keen to break. But I didn’t realise until earlier that Dr Grover is actually a trustee of the Gallery?’

  ‘He is. He’s super-busy, as you know, but he’s too good to refuse something like that. And it’s a tradition, of course. The original Gallery collection was once housed at Wyatt’s. So, the Headmaster is always on the board, if he possibly can be.’

  Beth, who hadn’t known this quirk of Dulwich history, wasn’t surprised, given how intertwined the Endowment schools were with the fabric of the place. There were plenty of parts of Wyatt’s which would have made fine galleries in times gone by, when there were fewer pupils clogging the place up.

  ‘Do you think he could talk to me and, well, really to the investigating officer? I’m sure there’s a lot he could say that might help to get some background on the sort of events that are held at the Gallery. As it was after one of those evenings that it all, well, happened…’

  ‘Oh yes, it must have been the hospice drinks,’ said Janice. ‘It was a good evening.’

  Beth did a double-take and moved unconsciously to the edge of her seat. ‘Wait! Don’t tell me you were actually there?’

  ‘Well, yes, Dr Grover always goes, and of course I was with him,’ said Janice, a little primly – and a little defensively. With good reason. A few hundred years ago, in a village like Dulwich, Janice’s only place after recent events would have been in the stocks, with a large scarlet ‘A’ for adultery pinned to her breast, or even daubed on her forehead if the elders were feeling really expansive. While now, nominally things had moved on, there would always be whispers about the way she got together with her swain that would dog their relationship. It would either bring them together against a cruel world or, if the weight of guilt got too much for one or other to bear, would break them apart as surely as a hairline crack in the finest bone china.

  Beth, who hadn’t known the first Mrs Grover – or, indeed, the starter Mr Janice – was firmly on her friend’s side, and wouldn’t have questioned Janice’s right to attend under any circumstances. And she was now positively blessing the change of fates which had led Janice to be present on the arm of a Trustee, on the right night, and at the scene of the crime. She brought her hands together and clasped them in front of her in excitement. With her position now on the edge of her chair, she looked as though she was praying.

  ‘Ok, so no need to bother Dr Grover. You can tell me everything about that night. Don’t leave anything out. Not one single thing,’ she said.

  Chapter Ten

  Katie was sitting outside the Summerhouse café at one of the uncomfortable wooden benches, having negotiated the ungainly clamber necessary to get into position. The trouble was that the benches were firmly fixed to the large, round wooden tables. It was probably sensible that nothing was portable – people were so light-fingered these days, even in Dulwich – but the furniture seemed to have been designed for giants, not the café’s usual clientele of mummies, nannies, au pairs and small children, who had to perform all kinds of gymnastics across the splinter-strewn expanses of wood to get into anything resembling comfortable positions. Add sunshades, which diligently covered only the central portion of the tables, leaving the customers roasting in direct sunlight, and it was a mystery why the place was so popular.

  But it was already full, teeming with romping toddlers, marauding Chihuahuas and pugs looking for dropped crusts, and Ka
tie had only secured her bench by dint of turning up twenty minutes early. She was now looking at her phone every few seconds to check the time, and the twenty minutes had seemed like forty, fully ten minutes ago. She’d bought two huge doorstep sandwiches, wrapped in cellophane, which she was eyeing hungrily. She knew well enough to give the coffee a wide berth here, and had instead bought two builders’ teas in the café’s thick white china mugs. She was trying her best not to swig down her own rapidly cooling brew too fast.

  ***

  Beth trotted towards the café, shiny pony tail swinging, fringe falling across her face so thickly that it was difficult to imagine how she could see in front of her. Feeling the beam of her friend’s attention on her, she speeded up almost to a canter and puffed her way to the table.

  ‘Sorry, Katie.’ Beth clutched her side where a stitch was starting up in protest at the steeplechase she had just unexpectedly run, and began to scrabble into position on the huge bench. Opposite them, a couple of mummies with two very subdued pre-school children watched her every move, which of course made her feel doubly clumsy. When she was finally sitting in some semblance of a comfortable position, cursing her stumpy legs and the bench’s designer with equal venom, Beth turned to face Katie, preparing to tell all about her meeting with Janice. But for once, her friend’s usual placid calm had deserted her.

  Katie was pink in the face and leant towards her urgently. ‘I’ve got to tell you what Maria Luyten said to me this morning,’ she hissed.