Night School - Endgame (6 page)

The light streaming through the windows that lined one wall of the office gave her dark skin a bronze sheen as she ended the call and turned to look at Allie.

‘I’m not supposed to bother you,’ she said, ‘until after your grandmother’s funeral.’

So that was why Isabelle hadn’t given her anything to do.

‘If I don’t do something I think I’ll go crazy.’ Allie looked around the crowded room. ‘Isn’t there something I could do? I’ll sweep floors, bring coffee. Anything.’

For a long moment Dom said nothing. Her expression was hard to read. Allie tensed, readying herself to be sent away.

But that didn’t happen.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ the tech said. ‘I was just about to ask Isabelle for another volunteer.’ She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Come with me.’

Allie was grateful for the lie.

Dom headed over to the round table where the others were working, Allie at her side. Rachel waved; Zoe was too involved in her work to notice her.

She tapped the shoulder of the young guard in headphones. He was obviously involved in whatever he was listening to, because her touch made him jump. When he saw it was Dom, he slid the headphones off hastily.

‘What’s up?’

He was small and muscular with short dark hair and skin a shade or two lighter than Dom’s.

‘Shakir Nasseem, This is Allie Sheridan. She’s going to help monitor the communication from Nathaniel’s unit.’

Shakir didn’t ask any questions.

‘Aces.’ He pointed to an empty chair and handed her the silver headphones he’d just taken off.

‘Thanks, Shakir,’ Allie said, as she sat down.

‘Call me Shak,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the Situation Room.’

N
athaniel’s guards talked constantly
.

‘I think they’re bored,’ Shak explained. His disapproving expression told her what he thought of that. ‘They say a lot of stuff they shouldn’t ever say. Raj would kill us if we pulled that kind of shizzle.’

He had a contagious smile that Allie liked instantly. He seemed laidback, despite his intimidating black uniform.

He showed her how to toggle between conversations on the computer, so she could listen to multiple guards at once. ‘Give us a heads up if you hear anything useful.’

She frowned. ‘What’s useful, though?’

‘Clues about their location. Anything at all. A street name. A restaurant. A shop. Anything we can track down.’ He turned back to his own laptop, where the screen held only a mystifying series of numbers. ‘Just keep your ears open. Don’t miss anything.’

Hesitantly, Allie slid the headphones on. Instantly the sound of typing and chatting disappeared. Voices filled her head. They were all male, speaking in the crisp truncated language she associated with soldiers in films.

There were so many of them, at first it was a bit bewildering. A tangle of words. Gradually, though, she began to identify unique voices barking orders, giving locations, making jokes. Saying ‘copy that’ a lot.

‘Going to the shops. Want anything?’

‘Copy that. Get me some crisps. And something sweet.’

‘Copy that. How about that sweet blonde behind the counter? No wait. I forgot. She’s mine.’

‘That’s not what she told me last night…’

‘(Muffled laughter) Copy that.’

There was no way she could imagine Raj’s guards having conversations like this on Cimmeria’s comms system. He’d have their heads.

They never used names, only numbers. After a while she got to know their voices. Nine had a gravelly voice and an Essex accent. Six had a distinctive high-pitched voice and a London accent.

As the hours passed, and she listened to them talk about lunch, their cars, their girlfriends, she imagined faces for them. She decided Nine had a square jaw and dark hair. Six was slim with an overbite.

There was only one guard whose real name she knew. He called himself One.

‘One to Six. You bringing me those papers? Over.’

When she heard that voice, Allie started so violently her earphones unplugged. The guards’ voices flooded into the room.

Shak glanced up at her questioningly.

Her hands had gone cold and clumsy, and she fumbled with the cable.

‘It’s Gabe.’ She whispered the words, as if Gabe might somehow hear her. ‘Gabe Porthus.’

Shak didn’t seem surprised. ‘Number One,’ he said. ‘What a wanker.’ He gestured at her laptop. ‘Make a note of what he talks about. We’re keeping an eye on that guy.’

Allie finally got the earphones plugged in. Gabe’s voice filled her head.

She hated that voice. She’d heard it the day before, but only for a second. Now it made her skin crawl.

His face she didn’t have to imagine. She knew it all too well. He was beautiful – with blond hair and perfectly even white teeth. He had a chiselled jaw and warm brown eyes. The kind of boy any girl would fall for.

He was Jo’s murderer.

His voice was a little deeper than she remembered; the corners had been shaved off his plummy accent, but it was definitely him.

‘Do it now, Six,’ his voice crackled through her headset. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

‘Copy that. En route.’ Six sounded sullen but he didn’t argue.

‘Too late,’ Gabe muttered. ‘Again.’

For a while after that, the other guards seemed subdued, using the radio more carefully. Soon, though, they slid back into their old ways, talking too much and wasting time.

There was nothing useful in what they said – quite a bit of disgusting talk about women. A bit of gabbing about football. Then, late in the afternoon, Six reappeared. Whatever had happened with Gabe, he hadn’t been fired. He seemed relatively jolly.

The others teased him about getting in trouble and he brushed it off.

Then Nine said something that made Allie sit up straight.

‘So… the boss. He still holed up in there with his pictures?’

She made a note: Nathaniel = boss? Pictures?

Six replied. ‘Yep. One says he hasn’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours.’

There was a pause. Then Nine responded. ‘In all seriousness, mate, is the guy losing it? Ever since that old lady got shot no one sees him.’

‘One says he’ll be fine.’ But even to Allie’s ears, Six didn’t sound convinced.

‘Yeah, One gets paid to think that. What’s it feel like to you?’

There was a pause.

‘Too early to tell.’ Six’s tone was terse.

‘Mate, this whole thing’s getting strange. We’ve done nothing since London. We should be moving in on them. Finishing this. I didn’t sign up to be a wet nurse in a loony bin.’ Frustration was clear in Nine’s gravelly voice.

All the other guards had fallen silent. Allie got the feeling they were listening to this conversation – hanging on every word. She willed Six to say something useful.

But when Six replied it wasn’t at all what she was hoping for.

‘I got a break in twenty. Meet at the usual place? We need to take this off the air. One’s on the rag again.’

As the others returned to normal chatter, Allie wrote feverishly: Ever since Lucinda died Nathaniel has been locked away. No one sees him. Guards are restless.

She paused to consider how to explain what she’d heard. Then she wrote it straight.

They think he’s going mad. 

All through dinner that night the students chatted excitedly about working with Dom, finding Carter. There was a tangible sense of hope in the air.

But Allie was distracted. Unable to join in. The conversation she’d heard that afternoon was still bothering her. The idea that Nathaniel was locking himself away and mourning his dead stepmother – who he’d helped to kill – had really thrown her.

It brought too many images of that night. Images she’d tried to forget.

Lucinda’s hand, slick with blood, clutching her wrist.

Red blood soaking through a crisp, Burberry raincoat.

She didn’t want to think about that. She’d tried really hard not to think of it.

Rachel must have seen how distracted she was, because as soon as dinner ended, she pulled her to one side.

‘Hey, are you OK? You look so sad.’ Her warm brown eyes searched Allie’s face.

They stood in the wide hallway, out of the way of the bustling crowd pouring out of the dining hall. Everyone was talking and laughing. Allie felt utterly cut off from that world.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, dodging Rachel’s gaze. ‘I don’t know, Rachel. I guess I’m just not looking forward to this whole funeral thing.’

‘Oh honey,’ Rachel put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Do you want to talk about it? My grandmother died a few years ago…’ She paused, before adding hastily, ‘Of course, it’s not the same as what happened with Lucinda. This must be much worse for you than it was for me. But I was really sad. It was hard to imagine life without her.’

Allie thought for a second about not telling her the truth, but then she couldn’t seem to lie.

‘Here’s the weird thing, Rach,’ she said. ‘I know I should be sad, but I can’t seem to feel very much right now. It’s like I’m numb.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I feel like such a monster. I mean… Lucinda’s dead. Dead forever. But whenever I think about it, it’s like I’m kind of… I don’t know. Empty.’

She squinted at Rachel, expecting her to be repulsed. But it wasn’t repulsion she saw in her eyes. It was understanding.

‘Do you know what? I think that’s perfectly normal,’ Rachel said. ‘You saw her get killed. One of your best friends was kidnapped. And it all happened so fast. Your brain – your heart – they need time to catch up with you. With what happened.’

Allie wasn’t convinced. ‘But it’s weird, isn’t it?’ She kept her voice low so the guards passing by couldn’t overhear. ‘She was my grandmother. It should hurt more.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Rachel scolded her gently. ‘You’re torturing yourself for no reason. You are not doing anything wrong. There aren’t rules for being sad. We all handle it our own way. And you are sad. I can see it in your face. Even if you can’t quite let yourself feel it yet.’

Trust Rachel to know the right thing to say. She’d been reading psychology textbooks for fun since she was fourteen.

‘Thanks for saving my sanity, Rach.’

Rachel smiled and pulled her into a warm hug. ‘The doctor is in, whenever you need her.’

Her hair smelled like jasmine flowers. Odd. Jasmine was a scent Allie always associated with Nicole.

Maybe they use the same shampoo now… 

‘You can get through this,’ Rachel said, her cheek pressed against Allie’s shoulder. ‘We’ll all get through this together.’

The two of them joined the others who were already gathered in the common room. The conversation was lively. Zoe and Lucas played a bizarrely aggressive type of chess.

Allie sat back, watching the others. Rachel’s words made sense, but she hated being numb. She wanted to feel grief. She wanted it to hurt.

It wouldn’t be real until it hurt.

She thought of Nathaniel, weeping over pictures of her grandmother. How was it possible Lucinda’s enemy felt worse about her death than her own granddaughter?

Why couldn’t she feel anything?

She didn’t want to chat or play. When the others weren’t looking, she slipped away.

Two guards sat on chairs on either side of the heavy front door, with its elaborate system of hand-forged black iron locks hundreds of years old.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’

The two glanced at each other. She could tell that they knew who she was.

Everyone knew Allie Sheridan now.

One stood and opened the door for her.

‘Be careful,’ he said.

Allie inclined her head. ‘Always.’

The door closed behind her with a solid thud. The evening was cool and grey – there’d be no vivid sunset tonight. A hint of rain hung in the air like a threat.

Allie took a deep breath, and then struck out across the grass towards the woods.

It was time to talk to Lucinda.

T
he chapel was hidden
deep in the woods not quite a mile from the main school building. When Allie reached the old church wall, she slowed to a walk. Her heart began to quicken.

She didn’t want to do this. But she had to. She would see her grandmother again. She would say goodbye.

And she would feel something.

She followed the long path that ran beside the wall until she reached the arched, wooden gate. She flipped the well-oiled metal latch. The gate swung open.

Inside the churchyard, she saw that someone had cut the grass recently – maybe even today. It still smelled green and fresh. All the bushes had been neatly trimmed, making the grey, lichen-covered gravestones seem taller.

In the middle, an ancient yew tree spread its long, smooth branches over the graves. Its gnarled roots rose out of the ground. The tree was said to be as old as the chapel, and the chapel was more than nine hundred years old.

Just beyond the tree the ground had been disturbed. Fresh dirt lay in a neat pile at the end of a rectangular hole.

It took Allie a second to realise what she was looking at.

When she did, her lungs contracted until her breath disappeared.

Tearing her gaze away, she stumbled the last few steps to the church door. It took both hands to turn the iron ring that served as a handle, and she had to shove her shoulder against the door to force it open.

There was no electricity in the chapel, and she expected to find darkness inside. Instead, she was greeted by a warm, flickering glow.

Candles had been lit in all the wall sconces, ceiling fixtures, candelabras. They glimmered from the pulpit, the tables and on the windowsills.

The flames caught the breeze coming through the open door and shivered. Allie hurried to shut the door.

The room was small, with ten rows of high-backed, mahogany pews neatly aligned on either side of a central aisle. A plain pine coffin had been placed on a stand at the foot of the pulpit.

The lid was shut.

Allie’s back was pressed against the solid oak door. Every muscle in her body was stiff. She didn’t want to be here.

But she had to do this. After all, she’d made it this far.

Slowly, she made her way down the aisle, her feet scuffing softly on the flagstone floor, eyes glued to the pine box ahead of her.

She glanced around nervously – the walls were elaborately painted in medieval style, with devils, dragons, trees and doves. In the candlelight, the paintings seemed to move.

The dove’s feathers fluttered. The dragon’s scales shimmered.

By the time she reached the front row, Allie’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t breathe. Every instinct told her to run away. But she lowered herself stiffly onto the hard wooden pew.

I can do this. I have to. 

The room was so quiet, she could hear the melting wax sizzle.

Knotting her hands in her lap, she made herself think about Lucinda. The first time she’d seen her, standing on the landing in the school building, looking out at the snow. Regal as a queen; an emerald the size of an almond on her finger.

And later, her calm cool voice coming through the phone, giving orders, but also listening. Understanding.

Then, on a hilltop, looking down at the lights of London. One last time.

The coffin was so simple, no ornamentation at all. That was wrong. It should be covered in diamonds.

‘I wish…’

She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, and her own voice startled her to silence.

The candles flickered, sending light dancing on the vivid walls. The dragon’s painted eyes seemed to watch her.

‘I wish I’d known you,’ she told the box. Her voice was low and shaky. ‘Really known you. Sometimes I…’ She paused, then made herself continue. ‘Sometimes I pretend I grew up with you in my life. You took me to plays. To Parliament. We went to Washington, DC, together. I called you “grandmother” and it didn’t feel weird. It just felt… normal. I pretend that’s the way things were. Because… I would have liked that.’

She was shaken by a sudden overwhelming sense of loss. As if a hole had opened in front of her unexpectedly and she was falling down into it.

Hot tears stung her eyes.

Here was the emotion she’d been hiding from herself. The pain she’d dodged since that night on the heath.

She dropped her feet to the floor, leaning forward to look at the box earnestly, letting her tears fall unimpeded.

‘I know you thought I didnt always listen to you. But I did. I really listened. And I want to be like you, someday. To be brave. To try and make things better. Only now…’ She paused, seeking the right words. ‘Sometimes I don’t believe things can be better. Like, maybe better is impossible. And when you try to make one thing better you make something else worse. Something you never thought about before. Like you tried to help Nathaniel and it ended up killing you.’

She could hardly see the coffin now, through the blur of tears.

‘I don’t know what to think about that. Because I don’t want to stop trying to fix things.’ She looked up at where her grandmother lay. ‘You always tried.’ She swiped a hand across her wet cheeks.

‘I guess that’s what I wanted to tell you. Thank you for trying.’

Something crashed behind her, and she jumped to her feet, whirling as the door swung open, striking the wall.

Isabelle stood in the doorway, the hood of her black raincoat all but obscuring her face. She held a large bouquet of lilies in her arms. Water streamed from her hood.

Allie hadn’t noticed it start to rain. But now she could hear the drops pattering against the roof and stained glass windows. The wind shook the trees.

The headmistress closed the door, and turned back around, pushing the hood off to reveal her face, pale and stern.

‘What are you doing here?’

Feeling instantly like a trespasser, Allie wiped her tears away. ‘I’m sorry. I just…’

Isabelle’s expression softened. ‘Please. Don’t apologise. I was just surprised – I thought I was alone. You have every right to be here.’

She crossed to the front of the chapel and arranged the flowers carefully in a large vase in front of the coffin.

‘Did you light the candles?’ Allie asked, her voice tentative.

Isabelle glanced at the candelabra near her as if she’d only just noticed it. ‘We’re keeping them lit. Myself and the other teachers.’

She had her back to Allie again, straightening the purple and gold satin that covered the altar table. Moving it one way, then shifting it back again.

Allie didn’t know what to say, but she had to say something.

‘I’m here,’ Allie found herself explaining, ‘to say goodbye.’

Isabelle stopped fidgeting. When she glanced up, Allie saw her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She looked so heart-broken. And of course she would be – she’d known Lucinda all her life. Lucinda had treated Isabelle like her own daughter.

The same way Isabelle treated Allie.

The realisation took her by surprise. She’d been so focused on herself, she hadn’t thought about how devastated Isabelle must be right now. Between Carter and Lucinda – her whole life had just fallen apart.

Maybe she had things to say to that pine box, too.

‘Would you like to… to sit with me, for a while?’ Allie held out a hand. ‘We could say goodbye together.’

The next day was Lucinda’s funeral.

That morning, Allie brushed her hair until it hung in smooth waves over her shoulders and carefully applied her makeup. Her grey eyes looked back at her from the mirror, serious but clear. Her nose was still pink from last night’s tears, but that was the only giveaway.

She and Isabelle had sat in the chapel talking about Lucinda until the candles began to burn down.

The conversation that started with tears, had gradually morphed into the headmistress telling stories of her childhood, with Lucinda as her de facto stepmother. Soon they were both laughing about a Pekinese puppy given to Lucinda by a foreign ambassador.

‘She didn’t want to keep it, but I loved it,’ Isabelle recalled. ‘I named him Socks. He slept in my bed when I visited during school hols. He was so cute, but he was utterly, hopelessly stupid. Lucinda was Chancellor at the time, so she lived at Number 11 Downing Street. It was her house and her office. One day the prime minister came over for a meeting and Socks peed on his handmade lamb-skin wing-tips. He said…’ Isabelle lowered her voice into a passable impression of the former prime minister’s gruff, Scottish demeanour. ‘“Luce, it’s Socks or me, and I’ve got to tell you I don’t think the dog will back your eight-point plan for economic recovery.”’

Allie laughed.

‘She never did get rid of that dog,’ Isabelle said. ‘He lived to be fifteen. She always said she hated him but I think she loved him as much as I did.’

‘What about Nathaniel?’ Allie asked. ‘Was he close to Lucinda then? As close as you were?’

Isabelle’s expression grew thoughtful.

‘He was always an odd one, Nathaniel. A skinny kid with a chip on his shoulder. Our dad pushed him too hard, I think. Always demanding a kind of perfection from him that he didn’t ask of me. And his life was so sad – losing his mother like that when he was still a child. Everyone wanted to help him but…’ She held up her hands. ‘He just wanted to be alone.’

Allie told Isabelle what she’d overheard earlier from Nathaniel’s guards. ‘They say he’s locked up with old pictures. He doesn’t eat.’

Isabelle’s face tightened; she stared into the shadows at the end of the chapel.

‘Nathaniel’s relationship with Lucinda was… complicated,’ she said after many seconds had ticked away. ‘I think he did love her in his own way. But he pushed her away because…’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I guess because he wanted her to prove she’d come back. That she’d always be there. No matter what he did.’

Allie’s thoughts drifted to her own parents. She hadn’t seen them since Christmas. They talked occasionally on the phone but their conversations were stilted and brief.

She blamed them for not wanting her. They blamed her for being difficult.

It was like they wanted a different daughter. And she wanted different parents.

Maybe Nathaniel felt the same way about his father.

You can’t choose your parents. But if you could… Life would be a hell of a lot easier.

From outside she could hear the rumble of engines and the crunching of tyres on the school’s gravel drive. The funeral guests were arriving.

Allie stood up and headed for the door.

Lucinda would never forgive her for being late to her funeral.

Rachel, Nicole and Lucas were clustered by the front door. Allie saw Rachel glance at her watch. When Allie walked up, she didn’t hide her relief.

‘There you are,’ was all she said. Then, gently, ‘We should probably get going.’

Everyone wore clothes in sober shades of black and grey. Lucas wore an elegantly tailored suit, and had actually combed his hair.

Allie’s black silk sheath dress and matching flats had been sent to her room that morning by Isabelle. They fit perfectly. She had no idea where the headmistress had found them with such short notice.

Together, they all headed out across the lawn. The air was chilly, and smelled clean and fresh. As if last night’s rain had washed away the last of the summer.

They walked in near silence. Rachel held one of Allie’s hands. Nicole held the other.

They were just entering the woods when Zoe ran up to join them.

‘I’m here,’ she announced, adding with unnecessary honesty, ‘Isabelle made me.’

Her straight brown hair had been pulled into a glossy braid, her smooth face scrubbed. Her short, grey dress made her look younger than fourteen. The solemnity of the moment seemed to affect even her. She walked with them, instead of dashing ahead as she usually would.

Nobody tried to make small talk. It wasn’t the day for it.

When they reached the chapel, they found it crowded – every seat full. People stood at the back. Guards, out of their usual black gear and clad instead in dark suits, leaned against the walls.

On the pews, alongside the teachers and students, Allie recognised famous politicians from several countries, including the prime minister who Socks had peed on so long ago.

From the front row, Isabelle motioned for Allie to join her. Allie saw her parents next to the headmistress, twisting around to try and see her.

To her surprise, at the sight of her mother, her heart jumped. She fought the urge to run to her.

‘I better go,’ she said.

Rachel followed her gaze – her eyes widened. ‘Crikey O’Reilly. Is that your parents?’

Allie shrugged. ‘I guess Hell froze over.’

But she was already crying as she made her way down the aisle, squeezing past the guards.

As soon as she saw her, her mother’s eyes filled with tears, too. She pulled her into her arms.

‘Oh Alyson.’

And Allie let her call her that. Let her hold her.

Her father stood beside them, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

‘It must have been terrible,’ he said gruffly.

Allie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so glad to see them. She breathed in her mother’s familiar sent – Coco by Chanel. She always wore it for important events.

‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘Really.’

And she was.

The pine box was still at the front of the room as it had been last night, but it was no longer bare. Now it was covered in flowers.

Hundreds of white roses were spread across the top like a thick, creamy blanket. Other bouquets pressed against it on all sides. Flowers covered the altar table, the floor, even the windowsills held bouquets.

The candelabra was still lit, but the other candles had been put out. They were no longer needed; light flooded through the stained glass windows, filling the room with brilliant streams of gold and red.

A vicar she’d never seen before conducted the service. Some hymns were sung. Famous people said wonderful things about Lucinda.

Allie was fine until the coffin was carried out. She couldn’t bear to see it put in that hole in the ground. So she slipped away from the crowd.