The Magpie Society One for Sorrow

by Amy McCulloch

  BEWARE THE CLIFFS: CALLS FOR INCREASED BARRIERS AFTER LOCAL TEENAGER FALLS

  I’m soon lost in the story, and it’s clear that the police are one hundred per cent convinced that it was an accident. Still, I’m not surprised the podcast has been such a hit. And it is a hit – even with only two episodes, social media is buzzing. It has a top-ten position in a bunch of true-crime charts, and there’s a whole Reddit forum dedicated to the investigation. If I was the architect, I’d be pretty pleased with my performance.

  But it must feel real twisted for the students who knew her. I clear my history, not wanting any trace on my phone that I’ve researched her. I’ve had my binge – now I can forget all about it.

  It’s still raining by the time we get to the town of Winferne Bay. The bus lets me off – and again there’s no shelter – but I’ve seen exactly what I wanted: a small branch of an anonymous, generic-brand coffee shop. I send a prayer of thanks up to the sky because, for a sinking moment, I thought there wouldn’t be one and I’d have to huddle inside a fish-and-chip shop or something equally horrifying.

  I’m drenched even by the short jog from the bus to the cafe, my bangs sticking to the side of my face. The bell above the door dings as I enter and a few curious eyes turn to look at me. I feel like a drowned rat.

  There’s a small queue, so I get in line. I breathe in the scent of coffee and disinfectant, glad to be somewhere a little familiar. I need a sugary coffee asap. If I could have it directly fed into my veins like an IV drip, that would be great.

  ‘What can I get you?’ asks the curly-haired woman behind the counter. Behind me, the bell rings again.

  ‘The biggest pumpkin spice latte you got, extra whip,’ I reply.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Audrey.’

  There’s a prickle along the back of my neck, a feeling like someone is standing just a little too close for comfort. I take a big step to the side, and turn my head slightly to look at the culprit.

  I blink. Right beside me might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He looks vaguely familiar, but I’m sure I’ve never met him before. I would have remembered a guy with eyes like that – dazzling blue and wide, like a Colorado sky. I stare for just a moment too long, then spin sharply away, the colour rising in my cheeks.

  I move further down the counter to wait for my order. I scout a chair in the corner, trying to distract myself from looking back at the man.

  ‘Pumpkin spice, extra large, extra whipped cream for Audrey!’ shouts the barista.

  Suddenly my order sounds so childish. Why didn’t I order, like, an Americano? Americano for the American. Maybe that would have been worse. I collect my drink and take a quick sip.

  ‘Audrey Wagner?’ comes a voice from behind me.

  I hastily wipe my mouth, hoping there’s no whipped cream on my lips. ‘Oh, um, hi.’

  The gorgeous man stares at me, and I can’t help myself – I stare back. Then I give myself a small shake and remember who I am. Not someone to get bamboozled by a guy with stunning blue eyes. ‘Wait a sec, how do you know my name?’

  He gestures at the coffee cup, with my name scrawled on it in big black letters.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘That doesn’t explain the last name.’

  He places his hand on his chest. ‘Mea culpa. You got me. My sleuthing goes deeper than that. I saw the monogram on your bag, AW. Pair that with Audrey and the American accent … I took a guess. I’m Patrick Radcliffe.’ He hands me a business card, which I take in surprise.

  That last name. Radcliffe.

  ‘My parents have had a few meetings with your father, so I’ve heard a lot about you. Never thought I’d run into you on my coffee break though. Random, isn’t it?’ He chuckles. ‘Want to sit?’

  I’ve been so stunned by the guy’s posh, cut-glass accent that I haven’t taken any notice of the people tutting at us, forced to go around us to get to the counter like we’re boulders in a river. ‘Sure,’ I think I reply. I might have just opened my mouth like a fish. He takes my arm and guides me to a seat.

  ‘You’re a student at Illumen Hall.’

  I snap out of my hot-guy-induced stupor. ‘OK, now you’re freakin’ me out.’ I stand up to leave.

  ‘Sit down,’ he says and, although it’s a command, he says it so gently I find myself obeying.

  ‘Like I said, I know your father. And I was at your recent assembly …’

  He waits for me to join the dots, which I do seconds after he speaks. Radcliffe. His voice is familiar too, and I suddenly know why. He was featured on that horrible podcast.

  He’s Lola’s brother.

  ‘Oh my God, you’re … um … oh. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  He’s surprisingly dismissive, waving his hand in the air. ‘Don’t be sorry. I haven’t lost her yet. Not until I’ve found out what happened to her.’

  I take a long sip of my coffee, grimacing at the fact that it’s definitely not as strong here as it is in the States. I need strong coffee right now. I came into town to try and escape from all the noise about Lola, and I’ve walked straight into it again. Straight into the eyes of Lola’s hot older brother.

  ‘Terrible, isn’t it?’ He gestures at my cup.

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty bad.’

  ‘There’s no good coffee around here. I just bought a flat in this godforsaken town so I can be closer to the investigation, but I’m not really getting anywhere. It seems like no one wants to talk to me about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I reply, not sure what else to say.

  ‘It’s bloody frustrating because everyone knows me and my family. Our ancestor was one of the school founders.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Holy crap. As far as I know, my family is not that interesting. There might be some German in there somewhere, owing to the last name, but no important ancestors that I know of.

  ‘Seriously,’ he says, and I think he might be mocking my accent. ‘So of course I was a student at Illumen Hall too. I wasn’t as good a student as Lola, but our family has been attending the school for generations. Not that it’s going to be around much longer,’ he mutters. I frown and am about to ask why when the coffee-shop girl comes over and hands him his order. He takes it from her and throws down his espresso in one. Then he lowers his voice, forcing me to lean in closer to hear him – not that I mind too much. ‘The one thing I know is that there’s no way Lola killed herself or went walking alone on the cliffs at night, or whatever the police story is. And, if she didn’t, that means that someone is out there who knows what happened to her. Maybe someone who’s still a danger to students at the school.’

  Is it just me or is my coffee suddenly scalding hot? I almost drop it. The temperature seems to have risen in the room. Am I sweating? I think I’m dripping on the table. Patrick doesn’t seem to have noticed. ‘It’s actually a happy coincidence that I’ve met you. I’ve been thinking that I need help. Someone on the inside who can –’

  I suddenly worry what he’s about to ask me. ‘What about the podcaster?’ I interrupt.

  His stare intensifies. ‘That anonymous person? They tricked me into doing an interview with them. I want someone I can actually contact.’

  I shake my head, trying to stop the rest of my body from shaking. A thought enters my head: What if he’s the Voice Unknown? ‘I didn’t even know Lola. I’m new to the school. I … I wouldn’t even know where to start.’

  ‘Even better. You won’t have any preconceived notions about who she was, and you’ll have an excuse to ask questions. Lola was … complicated. But she would never have risked her own life. I firmly believe that.’

  Now I stand up, and he doesn’t stop me. ‘I have to go. I can’t help you. I have schoolwork to do. I shouldn’t even be here; I’m technically not supposed to leave the grounds. But you’d know that already.’

  ‘I’m sure the daughter of Walter Wagner doesn’t have to obey the rules.’

  But I barely hear him. I’m already out the door. I ditch my weak coffee
in a nearby garbage can, breaking out almost into a run.

  When I reach the bus stop, I check the timetable on my phone, but there’s not gonna be another bus back to Illumen Hall for ages. There’s a distinct chill in the air, and I have nothing to do but wander the streets of the small town until the bus comes. I dig my hands into my pockets. My fingers touch a sharp piece of card. I pull the offending paper out of my jacket.

  It’s Patrick’s business card. PRONTO ESTATES is printed on the front, with his number on it and an elaborate logo of his initials, PR. I flip it over and see that he’s written on the back:

  Check out the Magpie Society.

  It seems like the harder I try to run from this mystery, the harder it tries to find me.

  19

  Ivy

  My attempts to find Audrey are completely useless. How a freakishly tall, bright blond, very loud person can disappear inside these halls is a mystery, but no one seems to have seen her. There are too many places to hide here, too many rooms and corridors, small nooks and – of course – the vast expanse of grounds. I have my doubts that she’d have ventured outside in this weather, but you never know.

  My apology will just have to wait. But, in the meantime, there’s something else I could do, and it might be better than any sort of apology. I have to find out the real identity of Vee.

  That’s why I find myself lingering outside Mr Willis’s classroom once again (at least I tell myself that’s why). I can hear him through the door, bringing another history lesson to a close. When the bell rings and everyone filters out, I slide my way in and shut the door behind me.

  ‘Oh, Ivy, didn’t see you there!’ He smiles up at me from his desk.

  ‘How are you? How’s everything?’ I pull on the straps of my bag and make direct eye contact. His eyes glint as they take me in, and he glances down after holding my stare just a moment too long.

  ‘Great, thank you, kind of you to ask,’ he says, shuffling papers round the desk. ‘Actually … I moved house last week, much to the disappointment of my two best friends. I do love them, but they were so messy …’

  ‘If only I could have my own space! Would be the absolute dream.’

  He shrugs. ‘I had some of the best times living with my friends – however crazy they were. But it’s not exactly going to be my own space. I’ll be living with my …’ Before he can finish his sentence, he reaches for his coffee mug – but ends up knocking it over all the papers on his desk. ‘Oh shit!’ he says. The flurry of movement causes a cloud of his aftershave to drift towards me. I recognize it immediately. Fresh sea fennel and musk.

  ‘Oh, sorry for swearing, Ivy. I’m such an idiot!’

  I give him a conspiratorial smile, and help to mop up the liquid with some tissues.

  ‘So, um, I wanted to ask you something.’

  ‘Please, go ahead. Anything for one of my best students.’ He winks at me and I swear my heart melts a little.

  ‘Well, have you looked much into the history of the school yourself, sir?’

  He smiles. ‘I’ve never known a student to be as keen to learn as you, Ivy! Does your brain ever stop?’

  No, not really. My. Brain. Never. Stops.

  I laugh, probably a little too overenthusiastically. ‘I just enjoy our chats, I suppose …’ The honesty of that statement hits me around the same time it hits Mr Willis.

  He softens and leans back in his chair, placing his arms behind his head. ‘Ah, that’s kind! Well, this school does have a fascinating history. I particularly enjoy reading about the Victorian era, when young women like yourself were first permitted to come here. That was quite revolutionary in its time!’ His eyes get this sort of dreamy, faraway look in them. Then he shakes his head as he seems to remember where we are – and who he’s talking to.

  I take a deep breath. ‘The reason I ask is because … I’m trying to find out who’s producing the podcast.’ I wait, holding my breath for his reaction and response. His eyes widen and he leans forward in his chair.

  ‘I see.’ He rubs the gingery stubble on his face.

  ‘And the most recent one mentioned magpies, and Lola’s tattoo, and it got me thinking about our start-of-term tradition. I was wondering how to go about finding out how that started?’

  ‘Hmm, that’s interesting, Ivy. I hadn’t thought about it myself. I suppose I’d try the school archives in the library first of all.’

  ‘You were interviewed for the podcast, weren’t you?’ I jump in, while he’s in a chatty mood.

  ‘I was …’ He trails off cautiously.

  ‘Well, how did the person – Vee – get in contact with you? If you don’t mind me asking …’

  Mr Willis sighs, but, to my relief, he answers the question. ‘Through email, first of all. I assumed it was a journalist investigating the story. Then they called me up and I did think it was a bit strange that they’d disguised their voice, but I wasn’t really thinking straight …’

  I narrow my eyes slightly. His words sound a bit forced.

  ‘I really hope you can find out who’s behind this,’ he continues. ‘Mrs Abbott had me in her office immediately after the snippet of my voice came on the first episode of that thing. I explained to her what I’ve just explained to you. I had no idea it would end up on a gossipy podcast that’s making its way through the school! Honestly, I’m dreading they’re going to air the full interview.’

  ‘The email,’ I jump in. ‘Can you give it to me? I know you probably shouldn’t, but I have a question I want to ask them and it seems like the easiest way to get in touch?’

  He stares at me for a second, then turns to his computer and pulls up a browser window, his fingers flying across the keys. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you it. But, if you were to accidentally stumble upon it, that’s not my problem.’ He smirks and pushes his chair back, moving to the far side of his desk to start up his projector.

  Muscles, intellect and slight recklessness? Nice. I sneak round the desk and see the email he’s pulled up. I quickly jot down winfernelocal.89@gmail.com into my phone and save it. No wonder he assumed they were a reporter. Clever move.

  When I’m on the opposite side of the desk, he looks back at me. ‘Be careful, Ivy. Don’t get yourself in trouble. Whatever Mrs Abbott is offering you.’

  I nod. ‘I’ll try and be careful, sir. See you around.’

  My head is buzzing with the thought of having Vee’s email address. It’s my first real break. I head straight to the library. I want to send this email before starting third period.

  Hello, Voice Unknown,

  My name is Ivy Moore-Zhang. I’m an Illumen Hall student and was a close friend of Lola’s. I think I have some information that might be of interest to you, concerning your investigation. You can contact me at this email, or my phone number is 07––––––––.

  Sincerely,

  Ivy

  I send it off immediately and stare blankly at the inbox. Almost instantly, I get a reply. No name, just the email address.

  I know your game, Ms Moore-Zhang. I won’t be needing any of your ‘information’.

  ‘WHAT?!’ I shout, looking round the library. I get a shiver down my spine, and I wonder if Voice Unknown is watching me right now. I drum my fingers on the desk. There’s got to be some vital information in this email. I refuse to have just found this lead and take absolutely nothing away from it. I drop Teddy a text.

  I need your help with something.

  You about?

  Just in the common room. What

  is it? You OK?

  Is there a way to get an IP

  address from an email?

  Yeah, forward it to me.

  I do as he asks immediately.

  HOLY SHIT. IS THIS THE

  PERSON RUNNING THE

  PODCAST?

  Yeah! They just sent me this!

  Give me a minute. I’ll try and grab it.

  I sit, cradling my phone, like it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever owned. My heart
is in my throat and I can feel my temples throbbing. If Teddy can tell me where this email came from, I’ll be one step closer. Minutes feel like hours and it’s getting close to break being over. Just then, my phone buzzes.

  I’ve got the IP address. Whoever

  sent it did it from inside school.

  20

  Audrey

  When I finally get back to Illumen, it’s a little after five in the afternoon. I feel quite proud of myself, having managed to sneak back in without drawing attention to myself. Taking the running gear was an inspired choice. It would have looked to anyone that I’d just popped out for a jog around the grounds.

  I get back to the room in time to change for dinner. My stomach rumbles – I should’ve grabbed a muffin at the coffee shop. Maybe I would have done if it hadn’t been for Patrick.

  I check my ‘fake’ phone where there are a whole slew of notifications. Most of them are from Lydia. I feel a gnawing sense of guilt. I haven’t really been that good at keeping in touch with her since classes started. Considering we used to be in contact basically 24/7, I’m not surprised she’s feeling left out.

  Please text me back. Any

  updates on that cute Theodore

  guy? YOUR BFF WANTS TO

  KNOW.

  I blast off a couple of quick replies, explaining about my busy afternoon – and that no, there are no updates on Theodore – but leaving out the sheet-in-the-pond-screaming-the-class-down detail. I don’t know how Lydia would react to that. It would go one of two ways – she’d either be really worried about me, or else she’d insist on finally updating me about the incident back home. I don’t want either thing to happen, so it’s easier just to leave it out.

  There aren’t any messages from Brendan, but that’s no surprise. We’re broken up after all. Still, I’m a little hurt that he seems to have completely forgotten about me. I think about sending a quick selfie, just to remind him what he’s missing –

  There’s a swift knock on the dorm-room door. ‘Hello?’ I call out, hurrying to bury my phone in my covers and rearrange my shirt. I pull the sheets straight hastily as the door opens and Mrs Parsons pops her head round.