The Magpie Society One for Sorrow

by Amy McCulloch

  There are faces, accents and languages from all over the world here, chatting and congregating round the long wooden tables. I even think I hear a fellow American twang or two. The atmosphere is quite subdued – not the first-day-of-school chatter and excitement that I was expecting. People are huddled together in groups, exchanging gossip in hushed whispers.

  They’re not talking about you, not this time, I remind myself. I step into the room, holding my head up high.

  ‘Audrey, over here!’

  I swing towards the sound of my name and see Bonnie sitting with Araminta and a few other people at one of the long tables. I walk over and Bonnie scooches along the bench to make room for me.

  Araminta takes the lead, doing the introductions with her charming smile. She points at a handsome guy with spiky black hair and a shining HS badge to match her own. ‘This is Xander, our head boy, and next to him are Katie and Jane. They’re both prefects.’

  ‘Hey,’ I say with a small wave. It feels kinda dorky, so I reach over to grab a croissant.

  ‘Everyone, this is Audrey, our new girl from America!’

  ‘Oh cool! What part of the States are you from?’ Katie’s curly red hair almost drops into her cereal as she leans forward.

  ‘Watch out!’ says Jane, sitting next to her. She catches a lock of Katie’s hair before it becomes milk-soaked.

  ‘Georgia,’ I reply.

  ‘Isn’t that a country?’ Xander asks.

  ‘Is it?’ I reply with a small frown.

  ‘You have to excuse Xander – just because his parents are diplomats he’s obsessed with geography,’ interrupts Araminta. ‘Audrey, how was your first night?’

  ‘Oh, you know, it was OK. Kinda spooky with the wind battering the windows. Also, this place is huge. I’m never gonna learn my way around.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t jump on the first bus out of this place,’ mutters Jane.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  ‘You didn’t listen?’ She raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Listen to what?’

  Almost as one, the group leans back in their chairs and lets out a collective breath, exchanging surprised looks. I cringe, wondering what I could have done – or rather what I didn’t do.

  ‘Well, I for one am happy for you. And you shouldn’t listen. It’s just vile, nasty gossip anyway,’ declares Araminta. ‘Let’s change the subject. You’re in Helios House, right? What’s your room number? That way we can send out a search party if you ever get lost!’ She cackles at her joke.

  ‘I’m in room seven.’

  A shadow passes over Araminta’s face, so quick I almost miss it. Then her eyes turn glassy with the welling of tears. It’s not the response I expect. ‘Oh, poor you!’

  ‘What is it?’ I ask in alarm.

  ‘You have Lola’s old room. Poor, poor Lola,’ she says, more to herself than to me. Oh, right. I have to admire how perfectly she looks the picture of grief, with her hands clasped in her lap and a single tear rolling down her cheek.

  ‘Minty, are you OK?’ Bonnie asks, squeezing her shoulder.

  ‘I’m still just so upset about what happened,’ she replies. There’s a squeak from Jane, and then she starts crying too. Is drama contagious here?

  Araminta sniffles. ‘I guess we can’t avoid this subject after all. You know those flyers that fell during the power cut in assembly yesterday?’

  ‘Yeah …’ I reply.

  ‘They led to a website with a link to a podcast all about Lola’s accident. It’s the worst thing, having her death dredged up like that. To think she should have been head girl right now, not me.’

  ‘It’s horrible,’ says Jane, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Disgusting,’ says Araminta, nodding in sympathy. ‘It’s full of lies anyway and I’m sure Mrs Abbott will be shutting down whoever did this as soon as possible.’

  My stomach churns. I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help feeling curious about what everyone in the school seems to be talking about. Even though it’s exactly what I should be running away from. ‘So … if it’s not too fresh, does anyone mind telling me what happened?’

  Looks are exchanged between all the people at the table, but the consensus seems to land on Araminta to take the lead. She breathes in deeply.

  ‘Wow, I kind of forget that there are people in the world that might not have heard what happened to Lola Radcliffe.’ She pauses as if searching for the right place to start. Everyone around the table is quiet. ‘OK, so every year we have an end-of-term party down by the beach. It’s an Illumen Hall tradition, one of the biggest nights of the year, to be honest, and it was all going really well. We had perfect weather, a bonfire, great music … But then at some point in the night there was a scream and we all rushed down to the waves and –’ Araminta’s voice cracks.

  Katie-with-the-red-hair picks up the thread. ‘Her body washed up on the beach. Just like that. The police did this huge investigation and I’m pretty sure they interviewed the entire school over the summer, but eventually they ruled that it had been an accident. But most people think she must have, you know … killed herself.’

  ‘Even though there was no note,’ interjects Jane. ‘And Lola would never have done that.’

  Katie nods. ‘And then yesterday that creepy podcast dropped. This anonymous voice claiming that it wasn’t an accident, or death by suicide. Instead, they think it was a –’

  Araminta leaps to her feet, her hands now balled into fists. ‘Katie, don’t you dare say it!’ Her voice rings out so loudly, the entire hall goes quiet. Araminta doesn’t look like she cares. All her focus is laser-like on Katie, who is cowering under the force of the taller girl’s rage. ‘Never speculate on stuff like that. Don’t you know how offensive it is? Just because you weren’t friends with her doesn’t give you the right to make accusations.’ She flounces out of the Great Hall, leaving a dozen gaping faces in her wake.

  I stare over at Katie, who looks shell-shocked. I don’t blame her. But then she says something so quietly I almost think I mishear. ‘It’s not like you were friends with her either, Minty,’ she mutters.

  Bonnie jumps up and runs after Araminta. Jane turns to Xander, who gives her shoulder a squeeze, and they leave together. Meanwhile, Katie looks over at me. ‘You OK?’

  I realize I’m trembling so much that croissant crumbs litter my lap. I put the pastry down and brush them off. ‘I just don’t know what to say because I didn’t know her … Lola.’

  ‘Hardly anyone here was super close to her – except maybe Jane and Heloise – but everyone pretends they were her best friend, you know? Especially …’ She nods in Araminta’s direction, then shrugs. ‘It’s sad, but people will move on. It happened months ago. That podcast is utter crap. No one wanted to murder Lola. It’s just creating scandal where there isn’t any. Let’s change the subject. How’s it been sharing a room with Wunder-Ivy?’

  My throat has gone completely dry at that word, but Katie doesn’t seem to notice. I swallow a few times, trying to behave like a normal person who hasn’t just broken out into a cold sweat. ‘Wunder-Ivy?’ I repeat.

  She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh my God, please don’t repeat that. You probably haven’t got to know her well enough yet, but that girl is good at everything. Seriously, it’s scary. She’s some sort of prodigy. Full scholarship every year. Cross-country champion. Music maestro. She’s guaranteed to be head girl next year – well, she was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Katie looks around, checking no one’s close enough to hear us. ‘Look, this is kind of deep Illumen Hall politics stuff so I get that you’re not familiar with it. But normally there’s one or two prefects appointed in the lower sixth who are sort of like … the chosen ones. You know, they get to shadow the current head students and normally they’d get their own rooms and stuff – special privileges. That was supposed to be Ivy this year. She was Lola’s chosen replacement. But now Araminta’s head girl. So Ivy’s posit
ion is a little uncertain. Araminta might pick someone else. Like Bonnie.’ She straightens up. ‘So, tell me about your classes?’

  I return the smile, grateful for this normal conversation. I go on to fill her in about my schedule, and in turn she lets me know which teachers I’ll like and which to avoid.

  Before I know it, the bell rings. ‘What’s your first class?’ asks Katie as we stand up and make our way out of the Great Hall.

  ‘History with Mr Willis.’

  She whistles. ‘Ooh, good luck being able to concentrate in his class! Look, word of advice?’

  I nod and smile as she pauses just outside the doors. ‘I know you’re room-mates with Ivy, but you’re a natural fit with our group. Stick with us. It’ll make your life a lot easier.’

  ‘That’s fine by me. I don’t think Ivy has much interest in being my friend.’

  ‘Good. That settles it. Meet us in the SCR after class?’

  She flounces away before I have a chance to ask, once again, what the hell is the SCR?

  10

  Ivy

  Once I get back to school, I’m still on edge from my encounter with Teddy. I have an hour before I have to be on duty, so I quickly jump in the shower and then head downstairs into the basement of the building, where the music-practice rooms are.

  Music is another escape – and a burden. Whatever I put my energy into, I have to be the best at it. I had a couple of sessions with a school therapist last year, when they worried about me burning out. But going a million miles an hour is my default speed. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to figure out why.

  I’ve always known that, if I want to get anywhere in life, I have to make it on my own. Music gave me a pathway to that – it’s the reason I’ve got a full scholarship to Illumen Hall after all. My parents aren’t in a position to help.

  After Dad left, Mum enrolled me in every after-school activity possible and it’s fair to say I’ve tried my hand at almost every musical instrument over the years. I guess throwing money she didn’t have into my future was her way of coping and giving me the life she felt she failed at herself. She worked three jobs to fund my endless classes and tutoring, and reminded me constantly that nothing worth having comes easy.

  Although the drums and saxophone never made it past lesson four or five (plus, we had complaints from our neighbours), it soon became clear that piano was my calling, so that’s what I’ve stuck at.

  There are several practice rooms in the basement of Illumen Hall, but my favourite has the Fazioli grand piano. It’s an amazing instrument, polished to a gleaming black, not a single smudge visible on its surface. Whoever donated this piano to the school must have had some serious cash. Using just the very edge of my finger pads, I lift the heavy fallboard that covers the keys. I stretch my hands, the joints popping as I loosen them.

  It takes only a moment for my fingers to adjust to the weight of the keys, to find their positions. Then my fingers are flying along the ivories, warming up with scales that would make my tutor, Miss Chigwell, proud.

  I’m currently practising for my Grade Eight exam which I’ll be taking in a couple of months. The first piece is Beethoven’s Presto alla Tedesca. I feel like I’ve almost got it, but there’s just one bit towards the end my hands fumble over every time and it’s beginning to frustrate me. As I approach the part I’m struggling with, the alarm goes off on my phone – the one that means I’m supposed to be in class in thirty minutes – and I swear at myself for not realizing how long I’ve been sitting at the piano.

  I close the lid gently and stand up, collecting myself. Then I place my palm on the lid. When I lift it up, the ghost of my hand still lies on the glimmering black surface before fading back into obscurity.

  I hear soft applause coming from behind me and spin round to see Clover standing there, beaming.

  ‘Ivy, HONESTLY … I can only ever dream of being able to play like you do.’

  ‘One day you will, if you keep practising.’ I grin as I try and swallow down my embarrassment. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

  ‘Only a couple of minutes. I just caught the end!’

  ‘Oh, the bit I fucked up, you mean?’

  ‘As you often say to me, “Don’t be so hard on yourself – it will come eventually!”’ She erupts into a billowing laugh. I love that she finds herself so entertaining. Clover is just over five foot and very petite, with black skin, bleached curls and a quirky sense of style – but she’s anything but fragile or delicate. She is feisty and bold and everything I wished I was when I was an awkward fifteen-year-old.

  ‘What did you get up to over the summer anyway? I didn’t hear from you much. I did see on Instagram that you spent a lot of time with … Spencer, was it?’ I wink at her, knowing she’ll hate me for bringing that up. ‘Did I see you two together at some Extinction Rebellion event?’

  ‘Ivy! Yes, we hung out, but it’s not official. I kind of want to just focus on me for a bit. Do a bit of soul-searching, yanno? Especially after this Lola stuff. I feel a bit off balance. Things like that don’t happen in Winferne Bay.’ She pauses, watching me closely. ‘How are you feeling about it all? You guys were close, right?’ She sits down on the floor and crosses her legs.

  ‘I mean, we weren’t close-close, but we hung out a lot, especially last year. I feel a bit weird about the whole thing. Especially as I’m in her room now …’

  ‘Oh man, that’s top-level weird. Sorry, Ivy, it must really suck.’

  ‘Life goes on!’ I force myself to shrug. ‘Have you listened to that podcast?’

  ‘Yeah, a bit of it. It’s pretty predictable, but I do wonder if they have a point suggesting it could be murder. There are some definite gaps in the official story. What d’you think?’

  ‘I think it’s vile. I think the person posting it is bored and wants to stir things up while this is still fresh in everyone’s minds.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Clover tugs at one of her curls, lost in thought. Then she springs back to life. ‘Anyway, the real reason I came looking for you, not that I didn’t want a catch-up obviously, is because Mrs Abbott wants you to go to her office during your first free period at eleven. How does that probing bitch even know your timetable?’ She laughs again and I join in.

  ‘She always has to know where I am at every waking moment of the day, apparently! I wonder what she wants?’ My heart sinks. I hate that she has that power over me. Have I forgotten to help register the Helios students for their library passes? No. Was I supposed to be taking families on a tour I didn’t know about?! Urgh.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll see you around, Ivy! Send for help if she puts you in the “chokey”.’ Clover heads out of the door with a wink.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Teddy.

  Sorry for intruding on your run. I

  mean it though. I do like you,

  Ivy. I don’t want this to come to

  an end. I feel like we had a good

  thing going. T x

  I don’t reply. I can’t think about him right now. Besides, I have less than ten minutes to drop off my sheet music and grab my books before the first lesson of term starts.

  I run up the stairs, pivoting round the banister as I approach the entrance to Helios House. But then I see something that stops me dead in my tracks.

  Lola.

  11

  Audrey

  As I enter my first class of the day, I’m grateful to see Bonnie at a desk, an empty chair beside her, and glad that she’s chosen a seat by the window. She waves me over. Looking out, I can see the grounds of the school where we walked yesterday.

  ‘Wow, breakfast was kinda intense,’ I say. ‘Is Araminta OK?’

  Bonnie sighs. ‘Everyone’s a bit on edge at the moment because of the podcast thing. But Araminta’s fine. She’s just under a ton of pressure. She’s so strong and super cool normally.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  I take a moment to inspect the room. History is located in the
most modern part of the school, which is ironic. The room is pleasingly bright. There are huge floor-to-ceiling windows that automatically tint to cut the glare of the sun and, if I crane my neck, I can see the ocean. It’s not nearly as serene as the coastline I’m used to back home. There are no soft sand dunes here, with waving grasses and beautiful pastel houses with wide porches. It’s all jagged cliffs down to a roiling sea, the waves crashing up against the shore despite it being a nice day. The sky is blue, but the sea still looks grey and menacing.

  I scan the faces, but there’s no Theodore. I wonder if he’s in a different year from me? I bite my lip, slightly disappointed. Ivy’s not here either.

  Bonnie introduces me to a couple of other people in the classroom – Max, a cute black guy with bronze-framed glasses, and Rhonda, a brown girl with long black hair tied in an elaborate braid.

  Luckily, my American accent is enough to break the ice with most people. I end up chatting to them about life in Georgia, and I gather an enraptured audience as I describe the turtles that hatch along the beaches on Tybee Island.

  It makes my heart ache to talk about all the good things I had at home. For so long, my memories have been overshadowed by a dark cloud. I don’t think I’ll ever miss my life there, but I feel … nostalgic for the way things were. Still, all the whisperings about this dead girl have brought up so many of the issues I’ve been trying to put behind me, and I’ve worked too hard with my therapist to regress.

  Even yesterday, Lydia messaged me to say she still thinks I’m running away. I’m sure Brendan agrees, although we haven’t talked – he said as much before I left. It was almost too perfect that my parents had always planned to move to the UK; I just had to go with them. But Lydia and Brendan are closer to the truth than I’d like – I did want to run far away from that house, the mile-long beach, the dripping Spanish moss and the woman with the creepy painted tarot cards whose every prediction seemed to come true. It was just my luck that I’ve ended up in the middle of a whole new drama.