The Girl in the Gallery

by Alice Castle

  ‘Who?’ said Beth, eyeing Katie, whose normally mirror-smooth hair was sticking up at the back and who was wearing, if Beth wasn’t mistaken, old leggings. She normally never stepped out of the house in anything less than box-fresh Sweaty Betty ensembles, knowing that she was her own best yoga advert, moving lithely through Dulwich as though every step was a seamless sun salutation.

  ‘You know Maria, the new mum in the class, mother of Matteo, who was round for a playdate when Ben stayed the night? Remember? She’s the Italian doctor, the dad’s Belgian,’ Katie gabbled.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Beth slowly, remembering cute little curly-haired Matteo, with saucer-sized limpid brown eyes and the faintest twang of an American accent from his international school. It was all coming back. ‘Seemed like a nice boy,’ she said, feeling that Katie was expecting a lot more from her, but not knowing what to give.

  In truth, she knew nothing at all about the lad, only what Katie had already told her and, to be honest, she’d only been listening with half an ear. Ben hadn’t mentioned him since the playdate, and therefore she didn’t really need to register his existence, did she? Any friend of Ben’s was, of course, welcomed with open arms to tiny little Casa Haldane – but she wasn’t sure she had time for random children outside that charmed circle. She raised her eyebrows at Katie.

  ‘He’s a lovely boy. Well, I think he is. But the point is that Matteo’s got a sister. Chiara. She’s at the College School? Year 9?’ Katie was doing that annoying thing of letting her intonation hike itself up at the end, making everything a question. Clearly, there was some large penny that was meant to drop with a thud, when everything would become clear, but for the life of her Beth couldn’t… Oh, and then she could.

  ‘Oh my God! You mean she’s in the same year as Simone, the girl from the Gallery?’

  ‘Not just the same year, Beth,’ said Katie urgently, taking Beth’s forearm and shaking it. ‘She’s in the same class. And she’s had such an awful time with those bloody girls. You won’t believe it.’

  It was the second time that day that Beth had felt herself leaning forward into a mesmerising tale. In many ways, it was a parallel story to the one she’d just heard from Janice, but uniquely horrible in its way.

  Janice, it turned out, had seen some of the waiting staff at the Hospice drinks picking on one of their own team – a slim girl who seemed out of kilter with the main gang. ‘They just sniggered at her, you know, the way girls do. She dropped a glass and you should have heard them. One girl in particular was really making a meal of it, holding court. The other girl, she just went off on her own, I think she was upset, poor thing. I didn’t see her again,’ Janice had said. ‘That wasn’t the girl, was it?’

  Beth hadn’t been able to reassure Janice. She didn’t know. But she could guess.

  The story Katie told chimed eerily with Janice’s, though it had played out over a period of weeks, rather than a single night.

  ‘Maria didn’t realise at first what was going on,’ said Katie. She was talking in a hushed voice, even though the mummies opposite had gone, shepherded by their children towards the playground. ‘Chiara just thought she was just being really friendly.’

  ‘She?’ Beth bent even further forward towards Katie. If this went on, she’d be lying on the table. She made a conscious effort to straighten up a bit. It was ok for Katie, with her supreme bendability. Those who only went to stretch classes when the second blue moon met a month of Sundays couldn’t hold positions like this for long.

  ‘Sophia. Sophia Something-Jones. She’s the boss-girl of the class. You know there’s always one.’

  ‘Jones-Creedy,’ corrected Beth automatically. ‘God, that name has been cropping up a lot.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Katie. ‘She sounds like a piece of work. At first it was all nicey-nice, inviting Chiara to sit at the popular girls’ table at lunch, then asking her round to her house – really welcoming and sweet, thought Maria.’

  ‘That sounds kind. It can be awful joining a class in the middle of the year, really hard to find your place. And starting in Year 9!’

  ‘Exactly. Everyone I know who has girls says that Years 8 and 9 are the years from hell. Massive amounts of mind games. Honestly, I wouldn’t go back to being that age if you gave me gold bars.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you had any trouble then?’ said Beth.

  ‘Well, no… but I could see what was going on around me,’ Katie said earnestly. Beth could imagine her, gliding like a young cygnet through the turbulent waters of adolescence. She herself, on the other hand…

  ‘How about you?’ Katie asked.

  Beth sighed. Obviously, she had been a duckling then. She was still one now. ‘Well. It wasn’t easy, let’s just put it that way.’ Even with her closest friend, Beth had no desire to discuss the mortifications of puberty, which still smarted. ‘I’m with you, I wouldn’t go back for anything. But come on, what happened to Chiara?’

  ‘You know, it was just small things. At first, Sophia made a huge fuss of her, was really interested in hearing all about life in Kuwait, was really sympathetic about Chiara missing her friends there… Then all of a sudden, it was all about ‘had she tried this great new diet?’’

  Beth’s eyes grew round. ‘You’re kidding! That’s a bit mean. Does she actually need to lose weight?’

  ‘Absolutely not! I’ve met her, she’s a perfectly normal size. She’s not wafer thin, granted, but by no means does she need to worry. But it wasn’t just that. They were all holding competitions to see who could lose the most every week, organised by Sophia – actual weigh-ins at her house, with prizes. And, get this, these so-called prizes would be dresses that Sophia said she couldn’t wear any more because they were too enormous.’

  Beth was conscious that her mouth was hanging open. She was stunned. ‘But… this is like an invitation to develop anorexia… Do you think her parents know she’s doing this? Or the parents of any of the other girls? Or the school?’

  ‘They were all sworn to secrecy; it was a really big thing getting Chiara to make an oath of silence to the group… this huge ceremony… round at Sophia’s house, of course. Her parents were nowhere to be seen, Chiara said, and the au pair seemed terrified of Sophia and the friends as well. They shut themselves away in her room, right at the top of the house away from her little brother, and then, well, it sounds ridiculous but they all cut their arms a bit with one of Sophia’s dad’s scalpels. They mingled their blood and swore on their lives they’d never breathe a word. It sounds like some weird cult thing, candles, chanting, the works. Maria said Chiara was virtually hysterical when she finally managed to make her crack and spill everything. She said Sophia would kill her, no-one would ever speak to her again, and she’d be out of the group for good.’

  ‘Definitely for good! God, I can’t believe girls sometimes. That’s just plain evil. Sophia herself is really skinny, but it looks natural. I’m no expert, but she doesn’t have that skin and bone, half-starved look, if you know what I mean. But what about the others?’

  ‘Wait, do you know her?’ Katie was surprised.

  ‘I’ve just seen her Instagram. She’s a bit of an Insta-star,’ said Beth, rolling her eyes.

  ‘I don’t really know anything about the others in the group, and I only know Chiara via her mum. But Maria is in shock. They were so careful, finding great schools for both kids, all that effort to make sure her education wasn’t disrupted too much with the move from Kuwait – and then the poor kid ends up in this virtual cabal, with this evil girl in the centre.’

  ‘You know, I think they’ve actually been really, really lucky. Lucky that Chiara told her mum what was going on. I bet none of the others have said a word to their parents. They’ve been with Sophia since the start of school, I’m sure. They’re all totally under her spell, and will just do what they’re told. Like you said, there’s always a Queen Bee in a class. This time, the ‘B’ stands for something really nasty.’

  ‘Yes, Maria s
aid that the only reason that Chiara did tell was because she’d sworn on her own life – Sophia hadn’t made her swear on her family’s lives. She said she wouldn’t have been able to break that; she would have been too scared that something dreadful would happen to her mum and dad, or her little brother. She wasn’t so bothered about herself, which is heart-breaking, too, in its own way. Don’t ask me what she thought was going to happen if she broke her promise; her fears aren’t rational. But they’re still children, really, and this girl has obviously got them completely spooked. They think she’s watching their every move. And maybe she is! In fact, she certainly is, while they’re at school.’

  Beth shook her head, horrified at the thought of poor Chiara, who’d just moved schools and countries, no doubt trying as hard as she could to fit in and make brand new friends, and going along with this evil rubbish as a result. But what about the other girls? There was much less reason for them to have put up with all this manipulation.

  Katie cut into her thoughts. ‘But I just don’t understand. What’s in it for this Sophia, anyway? Why does she want to make other people’s lives miserable?’

  There was a pause while Beth thought about it, munching as she did so on the thick, spongy white bread of her egg mayonnaise sandwich. It was delicious. ‘Maybe just because she can?’ said Beth. ‘Maybe it’s being able to exert all that power. Think about it. No-one is as powerless as a teenage girl. Their parents have all the control, have done for years and will do for years to come. In the meantime, the girls can see what the world’s like – women still not being paid as much as men, stories in the papers all the time about rape and violence. It’s not a very nice world we’re sending them out into. I’m not saying it’s conscious, but maybe she just likes to pull whatever strings she can, while she can.’

  ‘You know what?’ said Katie, picking up her now lukewarm mug of orange-brown builders’ tea.

  ‘What?’ Beth smiled slightly.

  ‘Thank God we had boys! We’ve got it easy.’ Beth nodded fervently, and they clinked mugs.

  All the time, Beth was thinking away. ‘You know what, we’ve got to tell Harry all this.’

  ‘Harry?’ said Katie innocently, arching her brows.

  ‘You know, Inspector York,’ Beth rushed on, avoiding Katie’s amused glance.

  But Katie was suddenly serious. Teasing apart, there were a lot of ramifications to telling a police officer this strange tale, not least bringing more trouble down on the head of her new friend.

  ‘I don’t know, Beth. I mean, Maria didn’t exactly tell me all this in secrecy, but I’m not sure she’s going to want to get the police involved.’

  ‘Ring her and ask,’ said Beth urgently. ‘Honestly. We can’t let this go by. There’s a girl in hospital who could die.’

  ‘But that’s nothing to do with Maria, and this Sophia girl. Is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ said Beth heavily. ‘How much do you want to bet that she’s involved? Everything that’s happened seems to be coming down to that girl. She’s in the same year as Simone Osborne, I know that much. Do you honestly think it would be at all surprising to find out that she’s in the same class?’

  Katie looked at Beth steadily, then got out her phone and dialled. ‘Maria? Can you come and meet us? Yes, in Dulwich Park, the Summerhouse. Right now.’

  ***

  Raf scratched lazily and opened one eye, bringing his phone up and squinting at it. Christ, only 12. That was, like, the crack of frigging dawn. Something must have woken him. He looked around the grungy room, the warm daylight filtering in unforgivingly on the tangle of belongings which constituted his wardrobe. ‘Wardrobe? Floordrobe, more like,’ he grinned lazily.

  He looked around, waiting for an appreciative laugh, then remembered Sophia was back with her folks. Just as well, really. The state of the place showed she was no housekeeper, and she couldn’t cook either. He didn’t know why he kept her around, really. Except it amused him to have a bit of posh begging for it. They were always the wildest, when they went to the bad. Raf, with many years’ experience now of rebellious teenage girls, scrolled through a long line of mental images of girls he’d known, seduced, and moved on from. Yep, the posh ones were the best – not least because they could afford to sub him a bit, buy the odd can and bit of blow, get the takeaways in, and maybe cough up for a phone or watch if they really lerrrrved him.

  He scrabbled beneath the old, stained pillow and brought out a wad of notes which he’d extracted from Sophia’s bag while she’d been on the loo. Still a couple of twenties left. Ah, he was sorted. No need to contact the girl after all. Not today, anyway. Let her sweat. It always made them keener. Reaching over onto the sturdy old box, which had once contained a microwave of doubtful provenance and now passed for a coffee table, he dug around in the aluminium mince pie case left over from Christmas that served as an ashtray. Among the butts, he selected a joint that had a millimetre or two of smoking still left in it. Just to get him moving, so to speak.

  Though, in fact, it had the opposite effect. When he’d got right down to the cardboard filter and was risking burnt fingers, he stubbed it out, turned over on his stomach, drew the greasy pillow over his head to block out the light, and fell instantly into a dreamless sleep. There was nothing on his conscience. There never was. So what, if that other little tart, the friend of Sophia’s, was still in the hospital? Yes, he’d read about it, but it had nothing to do with him. He just sold the stuff. It was up to the users what they did with them, and the consequences were on their own heads. Teenagers, adults, whatever. It was all the same to him. He snored on, a slight smile playing across his handsome face. A couple of years ago, his cheekbones had been all hard planes and angles, sharp enough to break a young girl’s heart. Now his flesh was like dough, just beginning to puff out of shape.

  ***

  Beth didn’t quite know what she’d been expecting, but she knew Maria wasn’t it. The woman had beautiful expressive chestnut eyes, olive skin, and lustrous dark hair that flowed in a well-schooled wave around her shoulders – so far, so Italian. But she was also nervy, thin, and pent-up, like a whippet or a greyhound, not quite shivering in the sunshine outside the Summerhouse café where they sat nursing yet more thick white mugs, but certainly very tightly wound. For some reason, Beth’s limited stock of Italian stereotypes went more for the bounteous, cheerful mamma type, ladling meatballs onto spaghetti, with a gaggle of small children clustered at her apron strings. This slightly frightening intellectual was more than she’d bargained for. Though, she realised, perfectly reasonable for a doctor.

  ‘…And that’s when I knew it was serious,’ said Maria, her voice husky with emotion. ‘Of course, I blame myself for everything. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with work… but you know how it is when you try to re-establish your working life,’ she said earnestly to Beth and Katie, neither of whom had the heart to admit it was something they hadn’t quite done. Well, Beth had been making great strides recently, with her new Wyatt’s posting – but she couldn’t pretend there had been a great powerhouse of a career waiting to be resurrected. She hadn’t had a full-time job since before Ben was born. That hadn’t been the original idea, but with James’s death, a lot had changed. To put it mildly.

  She looked sympathetically at Katie, not sure really whether her friend saw her fledgling yoga business as the beginning of an empire, or a little hobby to keep her busy while Charlie was at school. Pre-children, Katie had been something in publishing, which was where she’d met Michael – then, as now, a big fish in the pond she had briefly graced. There were career choices there, all right, but not the sort Maria meant. Katie and Beth exchanged a small, private smile, and both nodded encouragingly at Maria.

  ‘There’s the long hours, sorting out the house, and the children. Matteo, he’s still the baby of the family. His class has been lovely, really friendly,’ she said, with a grateful look at Katie. Beth felt a bit guilty that she hadn’t had the boy round yet. But she would, she would. �
�He’s been anxious, though. And even Theo… it’s because of him we moved. The bank, you know. But though we’ve done all this for the sake of his job, it’s not so easy for him either. Just coming in and taking control of his division the way he has done, it’s been huge. He’s needed my support, too.’

  There was a pause as Maria’s thin shoulders worked, and Beth realised to her horror that the woman was holding back sobs. She was all over the place. Beth put a hand tentatively out on the table – a feeble gesture, meant to offer support. Katie, meanwhile, quietly put an arm round Maria’s shoulder.

  ‘There just hasn’t been enough of me to go round.’ Maria’s head was down now, and Beth strained to hear what she said.

  ‘We understand, don’t we, Beth? There’s never time, you always worry that you can’t do everything, help everyone…’ said Katie consolingly.

  ‘I really have it easy,’ said Beth. ‘There’s only me and Ben to consider, and still most of the time I feel awful about something I haven’t got round to doing. We all feel the same,’

  ‘Yes, but my daughter, only in the country for a few weeks, caught up in this terrible, terrible business,’ Maria wailed.

  ‘Well, if it comes to that,’ said Katie, practical to the last. ‘It could be much worse, you know.’

  They all thought for a moment of the young girl, lying somewhere near in a hospital bed, a tangle of electrical cables her only tie to the world.

  ‘Tell us about your work,’ said Beth, eager to distract the woman from all these woes, and not nearly as good as Katie at the touchy-feely stuff. If Maria was very into her career, maybe talking about it would calm her down.

  Unfortunately, it seemed to have the reverse effect. Maria raised a tear-stained face for a moment.

  ‘That’s the trouble. I’m a psychiatrist,’ she sobbed, and put her head right down on the table. Quite apart from the sanitary implications – small dogs and pigeons scavenged here constantly, thanks to the enormous crusts of the doorstop sandwiches, and Beth had never seen anyone from the café make even the merest pretence of wiping these surfaces – Maria was now drawing attention in a most un-Dulwichy way. Maybe she was more Italian than Beth had bargained for.