[Interlude] Sound builds.
Tune in next time for the second episode of WHO KILLED LOLA?
[End] Music plays.
8
Ivy
Across the grounds, the morning dew has settled on the tops of the late summer flowers and clings to the neatly cut grass. A fresh mist hovers round the roofs of the buildings and the crisp air hits my lungs as I step out and take a deep breath in. I love being outside, come rain or shine, snow or sweltering sun. Just being able to look up at the sky and take in the fresh air has always been like a drug. An instant dopamine hit; there really is nothing like it. And when I’ve barely slept – like last night, after listening to that podcast – it helps me feel refreshed.
My feet pound along the woodland path that leads down towards the shoreline. My upper lip is salty with sweat, my heart beating wildly. Running here is so much better than running round the streets of London. Here, I don’t even need to put music on (though I wear my earbuds anyway, in case anyone sees me – so they don’t try to speak to me). It’s much better to listen to the sound of the birds and to hear the waves crashing against the cliffs as I run closer to the shore. I love that feeling of the air rushing past my ears and through my hair, pushing my way forward with my arms, adrenaline pumping through my body. Aged nine, I lifted the first-place trophy for the Kent Junior Schools Cross-country Championships, beating every kid my age, and the older ones, in every school in our region. My mum kept all the medals and trophies as the years went on, although I’m pretty sure they just collect dust in a box somewhere these days.
I picked my favourite route this morning, round the science building, through the wood, over the narrow strip of land that separates the school from the mainland, then finally along the coast to an abandoned chapel. It’s early, so it’s really quiet. I’d left Audrey snoring in bed. I could tell she hadn’t gone to the website on the flyer last night, unlike every other student. If she had, she couldn’t have slept so soundly. I find her baffling. How could anyone be so wilfully ignorant?
I’d been unable to control my morbid curiosity. The podcast presenter was completely anonymous, the voice run through some kind of software to disguise it so I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.
Of course, what Vee said must be completely wrong.
The police said it was an accident. Lola wasn’t murdered, no matter what some anonymous randomer said. Only cowards hide behind a disguise, like trolls on Twitter with their little egg icons. In fact, that’s exactly what this person was doing. Trolling the school. After listening last night, I immediately texted Harriet. Harriet and I have been friends for years. She was the first student in Year Seven who introduced herself to me. A bit brash, excruciatingly honest, but with a heart of gold. Sometimes she’s as irritating as hell, never thinks before she speaks and gets herself into a lot of trouble, but we’ve been stuck together like glue throughout my years at Illumen Hall.
She agreed that the whole thing feels completely tasteless. A girl is dead – and this person is essentially just gossiping about it. I guess this anonymous creep is going to drag out Lola’s death for as long as they can.
I pick up my pace, trying to outrun the images in my mind’s eye … the ones of Lola’s blue lips and that hideous tattoo. I really thought the new term was going to be the end of it. That I could forget about that night, and focus on my future.
The only person out at this time is Mr Tavistock, the groundsman. He’s pushing a wheelbarrow along the path with his slow, slightly wobbly walk. I don’t know who’s holding who up at this point. He seems to be as eternal as the stone walls, destined to wander the grounds long after I’ve graduated. I pass his tidy little cottage, one of a series of dwellings dotted round the outskirts of the school grounds, homes for some of the teachers and their families or other school caretakers. Of course there’s a beautiful Tudor cottage for the headmistress, its walls almost as ancient as the oldest building in Illumen Hall.
Old Mr Tavistock took me under his wing when I first started here. I’d often take walks round the grounds on my own and we eventually started chatting; he’d even join me occasionally. He taught me about the different flowers blooming through the seasons and the bugs and wildlife flourishing in the school grounds. One of my favourite things to do is report back to him about the birds I’ve seen on my walks or runs. His face always lights up when I pretend to be excited by a woodpecker. I think he’s a little lonely – this stupid rumour circulated about him not having a wife because he murdered her and threw her body in the lake. School rumours can get so ridiculously out of hand. I know he’s harmless and very sweet-natured, and his wife died of breast cancer fifteen years ago. I know this because we talk about our families a lot. I know that Mrs Tavistock’s favourite flower was a peony and her favourite bird a robin. I often spot him talking to the robins and I’m convinced he believes they’re her, just checking in on him.
Mr Tavistock lifts his hand and I wave back. In a way, he’s like a grandfather to me. His family have been tending the grounds for generations, so he knows Illumen Hall inside out.
Once I’m past his home, I don’t bump into anyone else and there’s no sound but the crunch of twigs beneath my feet and the sway of leaves above my head. I savour the peace and quiet. By the time I get back from my run, the other students will be waking up for their first official day of term. Everyone will want to discuss the podcast, so I have to clear my head. I have to be ready.
My jog takes me through Brathebone Wood, and I duck under branches as long grass licks at my knees. The trail is faint at the start of the school year, not yet trampled down under the feet of hundreds of cross-country runners. I like making my small mark on this place. I’ve seen firsthand how the grass regrows, the branches creep back in, the ground grows wild again over the brief summer months. The school will forget me as soon as I graduate, unless I do something truly drastic in the next two years.
Like rob a bank. A lot of money might buy my name on one of the wings, or one of the facilities. The Ivy Moore-Zhang Library. Has kind of a nice ring to it. And it would be a change from all the boring old white men’s names that adorn most of the halls and classrooms.
The track narrows as I cross over the bridge on to the mainland. I stick to the wood, keeping to higher ground, not following the road that would lead to the nearest town, or the footpath as it swerves down towards the beach.
I close my eyes briefly and, as I open them, a magpie shoots out from the tree just above me. Dipping and diving its way through the branches, it follows me for a short while. I salute it as it crosses my path, and watch as it disappears into the trees. I always give a magpie a salute if it crosses my eyeline, something my grandmother used to do to ward off bad luck. And that’s definitely something I want to avoid right now.
I’m just approaching the field with the abandoned church when my heart drops and my breath catches in the back of my throat. I have the horrible feeling that someone’s following me.
It’s then that I hear a crunch on the ground that didn’t come from my feet. Instead of turning to look who’s following me, my instinct is to reach down and grab a small rock.
‘GOTCHA!’ says a male voice as he grabs my shoulders.
I fling my body round, every muscle tense. When I register who my assailant is, the rock tumbles from my fingers. I rip the earbuds from my ears. ‘Teddy, what the hell?’
He kisses me on the lips even though my body is as rigid as a board. ‘Sorry, I thought you heard me. I yelled your name.’
‘Headphones,’ I say. I narrow my eyes, because I don’t think he did yell my name. I would have heard it. He doesn’t know that my music was silent. I wonder what game he’s trying to play. ‘You scared the absolute shit out of me. Why on earth are you out here? Have you followed me the whole way?’ I shake out my arms and brush my hands together to get the mud off them. My adrenaline is still pumping, so I walk on. He follows alongside me.
‘As if I could ever
keep up with your ridiculous pace. No, I know your favourite route. I knew you’d be coming past, as you always do, so I just thought I’d wait …’
‘Well, that’s not at all creepy …’
He shrugs. ‘I mean, now that I’ve said it out loud, it does sound a little … much? But honestly, Ivy, I didn’t know how else we would get to talk. I feel like you’re avoiding me. You didn’t reply to my texts last night after you went to the website.’ He stops and grabs both my hands, bringing them into his chest. He stares at me with his intense, rich brown eyes. I immediately feel uncomfortable.
‘Did you listen?’ I ask him. I don’t have to clarify.
‘Yeah.’
‘What did you think?’
‘That this Vee person is full of shit. The police seem pretty sure no one else was involved and I’m more inclined to believe them over some random. What about you?’
I sigh. ‘What I think is: are you finally going to tell me where you were that night?’ I hold his gaze, so I can catch his reaction.
He looks stricken, like I’ve reached out and slapped him across the face. ‘I told you, I –’
‘You said you were with your family, but Mia says you left after dinner and didn’t come back until she’d gone to bed.’
This is the same conversation we’ve had all summer. Teddy won’t tell me the truth. And his little sister Mia has no reason to lie.
He hangs his head. At least he has the decency to look ashamed rather than defiant. ‘I swear I was on my way, but once I got to the party it was already over. The police were there.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You weren’t there. You weren’t with me when …’ The rest of the words choke up my throat. When her body washed up on the beach. On the worst night of my life. He doesn’t have that image seared into his brain. He can move on.
‘So I guess I am avoiding you. I thought I made it pretty clear over the summer that I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship anyway.’ I pull my hands away and carry on walking.
‘Ivy, we spent many a night together over the summer – are you telling me that meant absolutely nothing? If you’re saying you just want us to be friends with benefits, I’m down for that. But can you just let me know?’
I start jogging as I feel my blood begin to boil, and Teddy has no choice but to trot alongside me, even though he’s wearing white Converse, which are now covered in mud.
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I like you, you’re great and yes … we had some fun times together over the summer. But I just want to focus on school right now, Teddy, you know I do. I just want to cool this off for a bit … OK?’ I slow to a stop and smile at him. He is ridiculously hot. His dark floppy hair is slightly curled from the moisture in the air and his chiselled cheekbones are tinged pink with the cold. He’s not shaved in a while so there’s a bit of stubble on his face, making this conversation all the more difficult, because as I’m looking at him now I want nothing more than to pull the muddy Converse off, rip off his trackies and push him against the nearest tree.
He flicks his fringe and shrugs. ‘That’s cool. I get it.’
I know he doesn’t. And I’m not even really sure myself, if I’m being totally honest. But he’s fast becoming the distraction I don’t need. I can feel myself falling – and that’s not my style. I have these last two years at Illumen to get the marks I need to follow in my mum’s footsteps and get into Oxbridge.
‘You know what, Ivy? This is really shitty. I thought this was going to be our time. This is my last year, and I even made sure that I was a prefect too so that we could hang out together!’
‘I didn’t ask you to do that.’ I really want to keep running. I can hear the tracker in my earpiece, the tinny voice telling me: Last mile in fifteen minutes. I’d forgotten to pause it on my phone. It’s going to mess up all my stats; my training is important to me. School’s important to me. If Teddy can’t see that, then he’s not the right person for me.
We’ve known each other since I started in Year Seven. He was the year above, a nerdy little kid who loved gaming and always seemed to have the latest tech – but he grew into his looks and now he’s painfully gorgeous.
Nothing happened between us until the summer after Year Ten, at one of the beach parties. A bit tipsy, he’d held my hand at sunset after an evening of catching each other’s gaze, and he’d guided me down to the water where we drunkenly kissed for what felt like hours. It was electric immediately. You could almost hear the blood pumping through our bodies as we pressed against each other. I went from barely thinking about him to starting Year Eleven with him on my mind all day every day.
He blew up my phone all day every day too. Sometimes just with a joke, or a meme he’d found that he knew I’d like. Sometimes it was a selfie of him at his part-time job in the local Italian, smiling away, holding a handful of freshly made linguine.
But very quickly I made the decision to make it more of a physical thing than an emotional one. I didn’t have time for a boyfriend even then, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know he wanted more from our hook-ups. He’s a good guy, so surely someone who has the time and the brain space for him will snap him up. I just can’t be that person.
‘I do like you, Ivy. More than I care to admit, standing here in the freezing cold at seven a.m. I’ve wrecked my sodding trainers too …’ He leans in and cups my chin, his cold lips almost touching mine.
‘I’m sure the mud will come out, Teddy,’ I whisper against them.
‘OK, OK, I understand. We can cool off, but I still want to be the only guy you creep on.’ He laughs at his own stupid Ivy pun, the same one he’s made for literally years, but my face doesn’t change. He sighs. ‘I’ll leave you to your run. I have prefect duties to set up for.’
He leans forward, but I turn my face at the last second so that he kisses my cheek instead of my lips. I segue quickly into a jog so that he’s left confused as to whether that was an accidental move or on purpose.
I like Teddy. It’s just that I like my Plan even more. And I’m going to have to log a lot of miles if I’m going to forget about the podcast and Lola’s death and get my focus back.
From behind, I hear him shout, ‘You’re trouble, Ivy Moore-Zhang …’ and with that I run along the track faster than I’ve ever run before.
9
Audrey
I see what Mrs Abbott meant when she said that today things were gonna get chaotic at Illumen Hall. I’d woken up, walked bleary-eyed to the communal shower, but had the shock of my life when I left the cubicle in just a towel and soaking wet hair to be greeted by some wide-eyed parents standing in the hallway, carrying boxes. I’d never sprinted so fast in my life, back to the sanctuary of my room.
I lean against the door, breathing heavily. Ivy has already left for the morning – she must be one of those early risers – and I’m glad to have a moment to myself. Today is gonna be different. Yesterday was a blip, an anomaly. This is the day that my life at Illumen Hall really gets started. We don’t have many classes to begin with, so I think I might try and find this SCR that Theodore was talking about, and accidentally-not-so-accidentally bump into him. I intend to make a better second impression.
I take my time getting dressed. Considering we didn’t have a uniform in my old high school, I never thought I’d wear something like this. But I like the feeling that I belong. To Illumen Hall. I throw on some bangles to bling up the look even more.
I blow-dry my hair, taking the time to curl it into perfect beach waves. I start applying my make-up when there’s a knock on the door.
‘Come in?’ I say.
Mrs Parsons pops her head round the door. ‘Oh, Audrey – there you are.’
I frown, my make-up brush still in hand. ‘Am I supposed to be somewhere?’
‘Did you not read your timetable? Breakfast is at seven thirty.’
‘Oh, I’m not hungry.’
Mrs Parsons tuts at me. I’m really starting to dislike this woman.
‘If you’re here and moved in, you have to attend. Those are the rules.’
‘What about Ivy?’ I blurt out. ‘She’s not here.’
‘Prefects have their own privileges, earned through hard work, and they have lots of additional responsibilities.’ She looks down at her watch. ‘If you head down now, you’ll still make it. It’ll be a great start to your day – it’s not often you get to eat in the Great Hall!’
It takes everything I have to avoid a giant eyeroll. ‘OK, I’ll be down soon.’ I only have one eye done, but it won’t take me more than a couple of minutes to finish off the other side.
To my surprise, Mrs Parsons walks in and grabs something off the top of Ivy’s dresser. A packet of make-up wipes. She hands it to me. ‘You can even it out as we walk,’ she says.
‘You’re kidding. Make-up is against the rules here too?’
She purses her lips. It doesn’t look like she’s joking at all. ‘If it makes you late, then yes. So unless you’re looking for your first demerit points already …?’
Internally, I scream. I take a wipe from her, passive-aggressively yanking it so that she drops the pack and has to pick it up from the floor. I furiously scrub at my eye as I follow her. I walk past my phone, still encased in its glass prison. And the same old iPhone sits in Ivy’s spot. I almost growl, I’m so annoyed.
Yet my bad mood is swept away by the sight of the Great Hall. It’s like something from a Shakespearean film set – a long rectangular space with dark mahogany beams that criss-cross like the skeleton of a ship under a cream-coloured ceiling. Huge tapestries hang on the walls, depicting scenes right out of myths and legends. The tables are laden with breakfast goodies – pancakes and fruits, steaming trays filled with scrambled eggs and sausage. It feels like a cruise-ship buffet. I wonder if it’s like this every morning, or if it’s just been laid on for the benefit of the new students and their folks.
The Magpie Society One for Sorrow Page 5
