‘Ah, there you are, Audrey.’
‘Hi.’
‘I’ve had notification that you left the school grounds this afternoon, without permission.’
Heat rises in my cheeks. ‘I went for a jog. That’s allowed, isn’t it?’ When she continues to stare at me, I find another lie tripping off my tongue far too easily. ‘I had an urgent call from my dad. He needed to meet with me.’ But I know she isn’t buying it.
‘We called your parents to notify them. They weren’t aware you needed to leave the school.’
I open my mouth, but Mrs Parsons continues to talk over me. ‘As I’ve mentioned before, at Illumen Hall we take our rules very seriously. We trust in the intelligence of our students. So we trust that you were intelligent enough to read and understand the rules the first time you were told about them. We don’t give you three strikes here.’
‘I’m sorry, but –’
‘No need for apologies. Just don’t do it again.’
‘I won’t.’
She smiles at me, but there’s an edge to it. ‘I know you won’t. And, to make sure the lesson really sinks in, you’re going to sit here and think about it all through dinner.’ Then she slams the door shut. I sit stock-still, shell-shocked. But what snaps me out of it is the sound that follows.
The sound of a lock turning in the door.
‘No!’ I cry out, and launch myself at it. I yank at the handle, but it won’t budge. That bitch has actually locked me in the room. I smack my hand against the door, hard. ‘Hey! Lemme out!’ I bang a few more times. ‘You can’t do this! This must be illegal!’
But she doesn’t come back. I’m so angry that my entire body is shaking. Then there’s a creaking noise behind me.
I spin around – my eyes scanning the room. My heart races with the adrenaline rush, and I wonder if I’m hearing things. But then I see it. One of the panels of wood lining the wall on Ivy’s side of the room, just beneath her desk, has swung open. It’s still moving ever so slightly, swaying back and forth. It must have been opened by the force of Mrs Parsons slamming the door.
For a moment, my back stays glued to the door. I don’t wanna know what’s in the hidden compartment. I want the main door to open, so I can go downstairs and eat dinner like a normal person.
I swallow, then walk over and prise it open wider. I have to crouch down a bit, but I can almost fit inside the compartment that sits behind the wall. It’s small, cramped – and empty.
No, not completely empty. In the corner there’s an envelope. In beautiful cursive writing on the front are the words:
To my beloved
I pick up the letter, hastily shut the compartment and run my hand over the wall. There’s almost no evidence that the panel opens. I would never have known. I press down on it firmly, and it clicks open again.
Huh. I wonder if Ivy knows about this. I look down at the letter in my hand. Is this Ivy’s? Somehow I doubt it. The handwriting doesn’t look anything like what I’ve seen of Ivy’s neat, all-caps-lock style. This is much more flowery. And the paper looks old. It’s stained yellow at the corners and covered in a layer of dust.
Curiosity killed the cat, Audrey. Yet another mystery I don’t want to be dragged into. I throw the letter into my desk drawer without opening it. Putting the letter out of my head, I sit on my bed, grabbing my laptop so that I can send an incensed email to my dad.
Dad, I can’t take this any more. I’m quitting Illumen Hall. You can find me some other school, but I’m not staying here a moment longer.
If you have to know why, try this: http://whokilledlola.com.
Audrey
THE WKL? PODCAST TRANSCRIPT
EPISODE THREE
[Intro] Quiet, with low beats like a heartbeat. The chilling atmosphere builds.
VOICE UNKNOWN
Welcome to the third episode of WHO KILLED LOLA?, a podcast where I, your Voice Unknown, am attempting to uncover the truth of what happened to Lola Radcliffe.
It’s been a month since we launched. Need a recap? DC Copeland dropped the intriguing titbit that the magpie ‘tattoo’ on Lola’s back was drawn with a Sharpie. And an interview with one of Lola’s friends raised a lot of questions about the current head girl of the school.
So what have I been investigating in the meantime? I’ve been down the rabbit hole when it comes to the history of magpies and our school. I can’t wait to share what I found …
In an old yearbook from 1967, I found a reference in a leaver’s note to ‘the Magpie Society’. Is this some kind of secret organization in the school, and could it have had something to do with Lola’s death?
To find out a bit more, I’ve come to Winferne Bay, a small town on the mainland, where Illumen Hall students can often be found at weekends. I’m here specifically to talk to Mrs Trawley – a local historian. She was a pupil of Illumen Hall, class of sixty-seven – her face is in that yearbook.
Mrs Trawley, welcome to the podcast.
MRS TRAWLEY
Thank you. I’m not sure I quite understand what a podcast is. Is this OK?
[sound of a finger interfering with a microphone.]
VEE
[laughs]
It’s fine, Mrs Trawley. You’re doing great. Now, you were once a student at Illumen Hall.
MRS TRAWLEY
Oh yes, a long, long time ago.
VEE
Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that long! But you’ve also worked as a local historian in the region.
MRS TRAWLEY
Yes, I’m somewhat of a busybody, I’m afraid, always with my nose in the town’s business! But first, let me say I was so sorry to hear about that poor young girl. It shouldn’t be something that happens in this kind of community.
VEE
I know.
MRS TRAWLEY
I knew her a little. She used to come into town and help me with my market stall. I wish she could have spoken to someone before she … it’s so sad.
VEE
But this isn’t the first time something like this has happened at the school, is it?
MRS TRAWLEY
No, it’s not. When I was at the school, we used to avoid the Tower Wing because we believed that it might be haunted.
VEE
Haunted?
MRS TRAWLEY
Well, yes. After all, the story was particularly gruesome and fired up our teenage imaginations. Long before our time, a student died after falling from that tower.
VEE
Really? I’ve never heard that.
MRS TRAWLEY
It’s not exactly the kind of thing that you’d put in a school brochure! At any rate, the Magpie Society quickly cleaned it up.
VEE
The Magpie Society?
MRS TRAWLEY
Why, yes. The Magpie Society is an Illumen Hall institution. No one quite knows when it was founded, but for many decades, if anything was happening at the school that threatened its reputation or the safety of its students, they stepped in to sort it all out.
VEE
Wow, that’s fascinating. I knew about the tradition of leaving a shiny offering to the magpies so as not to offend them, but I thought it was just a quirk of the school. Who exactly is the Magpie Society?
MRS TRAWLEY
Well, that’s part of it, isn’t it, dear? Nobody knows. They just swoop in and change things.
VEE
Huh. Did you ever try and join?
MRS TRAWLEY
Join the Magpie Society? Why would I ever do that? I wouldn’t even know where to begin. No. If it was a group of students, I never received an invitation.
VEE
Right, OK. Just one other question. Why is it called ‘the Magpie Society’?
MRS TRAWLEY
Haven’t you seen the magpies around the school grounds? They seem to protect the place. I suppose it comes from that. But I’ve never really thought about it. It was just part of the idioglossia of the school, the mythology – as integral as the Sam
hain party or even that creaking stair at the top of Helios House – do you know the one?
VEE
Yeah, I do. But no one at the school seems to have heard of this Magpie Society. Why is that, do you think?
MRS TRAWLEY
Maybe there’s been no need for them …
VEE
Thank you for your time, Mrs Trawley.
MRS TRAWLEY
Thank you, dear.
[Interlude] Music plays.
VEE
So, as you can see, magpies have a strong association with our school. But, while it’s absolutely fascinating, that still doesn’t bring me any closer to figuring out how the magpies are connected to Lola’s death.
My next interviewee is a very special one. Patrick Radcliffe, Lola’s older brother, and former head student of Illumen Hall. Lola should have followed in his footsteps … but she never got the chance.
The Radcliffe family are practically Illumen Hall institutions in their own right. Lola’s portrait joins five other portraits of the Radcliffe family that hang on the school walls. And Patrick is absolutely certain his sister would not have gone to the cliffs of her own accord.
[Interlude] Music plays.
VEE
Hello, Patrick.
PATRICK
Hello. And thank you for keeping the investigation into my sister’s death open, rather than sweeping it under the carpet like the police.
VEE
They do seem in a rush to close the case.
PATRICK
[bitterly]
You’re telling me.
VEE
So, tell our audience about Lola.
PATRICK
Happily. Lola was the baby of the family, and she was our beloved. Her favourite thing was riding horses, and she’d applied for a place at Bournemouth University to study acting.
VEE
Oh yes – her best friend, Jessica, is at Bournemouth now, isn’t she?
PATRICK
Yes. And Lola was such a brilliant actor – she shone on the stage and onscreen. She’d actually got a couple of commercials booked for the summer, did you know that? She wouldn’t have thrown that away. I’m so tired of the police and their narrative. There’s no evidence of her being unstable – no note, no journals, none of her friends thought anything was wrong. She had no history of mental illness. She was always so happy, like sunshine in a bottle. We can’t understand it.
[sound of muffled crying]
VEE
Thank you for talking to me, Patrick, I can only imagine how hard this is for you and your family. And don’t worry: I won’t rest until there’s justice.
The beats sound out the close of the episode.
And that’s it for this episode of WHO KILLED LOLA? Tune in next time as I’ll air an exclusive interview with Lola’s very best friend … and what she has to say about the men in Lola’s life will shock you.
[End] Music plays, growing loud before fading out.
21
Ivy
‘I asked Mum about the Magpie Society and she actually said that she remembered it! She said the society caught old headmaster Gallagher when he was embezzling funds from the boarding fees.’
‘That tattoo did not look like a Sharpie drawing. Do you think the police could be trying to throw Vee off the scent?’
‘Can you believe Patrick agreed to an interview? OMG, I had such a crush on him back in the day.’
‘Can someone please talk about something other than that podcast! I can’t hear myself think,’ I snap at a group of Year Ten girls at the table beside me, who have been nattering non-stop.
One of the girls looks over at me, her eyes wide. ‘Sorry, Ivy.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll move.’ I slam my textbooks shut and gather them up.
It’s been a few days since the third episode aired and talk of the podcast floats round the library like a bad smell. It’s becoming such a distraction. In every lesson, a student raises their hand to ask the teacher a question about it, which is always met with some bullshit, wishy-washy response.
It’s been another week – and now another episode – and I’m still no closer to finding out who is doing it. The email had been like a little carrot dangling in front of my face. I thought maybe, once we had the IP address, we could trace the email to the exact computer that had been used to send it. Then I could check the logins and … bingo! But apparently that was beyond the realms of even Teddy’s encyclopaedic IT knowledge.
I find myself being suspicious of everyone. Someone will speak up in a lesson and I question whether their voice, disguised, could be Vee.
Now, instead of studying in the common room as I prefer, I’m in the library waiting for Mrs Ling, the librarian, to pull my request for the 1967 Yearbook from the archive. The one mentioned in the podcast.
The gossip is getting out of control. The other day I passed a Year Nine telling their friend that Mrs Abbott had pushed Lola off the cliff. I actually laughed out loud at that one. Well, before sending them to detention. As prefects, we’ve been instructed to squash any ridiculous rumours. Not good for school spirit, said our headmistress. People are gossiping like magpies, and misinformation is starting to spread like wildfire.
I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed. Not only am I still trying to figure out who’s behind the podcast, but there are some intense mock exams I have to revise for. If I want to follow in my mum’s footsteps and get into Oxbridge, I have to work my arse off this year. Doesn’t look like I’m going to get that leg-up from Mrs Abbott after all.
‘Over here,’ says a voice. I look through the stacks and see Harriet waving at me, and feel a rush of relief. Thank God – a normal human being. She’s sitting in the corner of the library with Tom. Harriet passes me a boiled sweet from a small paper bag that she’s had hidden down her tights. We call her Willy Wonka, as she always smuggles something sweet into lessons to pass around. Sweets are completely prohibited anywhere but our bedrooms, not that stops her.
‘I’m OK, thanks. I’m not sure I trust anything from your gusset …’ I raise an eyebrow at her and push away the wrinkled paper bag. ‘Where did you get those from anyway – 1934?’
‘They’re actually from the village post office. It’s got a whole retro vibe going on, which you’d know if you ever left the grounds at the weekend. And what’s wrong with my gusset?’ She takes out a lemon sherbet and pops it smugly in her mouth.
Even though I wrinkle my nose in playful disgust, it’s so refreshing not to be talking about the podcast. I turn my attention back to my literature coursework, but I can’t concentrate. My eyes slide over the room and fall on the table opposite, where Araminta sits, surrounded by her posse.
She’s wearing her usual disgruntled expression, but I can’t quite pick up what they’re all talking about, although I can make a pretty educated guess. I continue to watch from the corner of my eye and her arms start flapping and her voice gets louder. I overhear her saying: ‘They’re definitely implying that, Katie!’ I mean, the podcast is not looking great for her, and her reaction isn’t helping by being so shifty.
Ugh, I’ve been thinking about this now for ten minutes – and absolutely nothing from this page of my textbook has sunk in. I put in my earbuds to drown out the speculation and go back to my ‘Historical Background and Poetry Forms’ assessment. A few minutes later, Harriet leans over and pulls out one of the buds.
‘Oi, you didn’t tell me that Mrs Parsons locked Audrey in your room over dinner last week!’ Clearly, Harriet has other ideas instead of studying this evening. ‘I heard her telling Bonnie in class today.’
I pull out my other headphone. ‘Oh yeah. Turns out, after I, you know, flipped my lid at her … she went off to the village. I guess she needed some air.’
‘She doesn’t yet have a handle on Illumen rules?’
‘Nope.’
‘Don’t blame her. If they didn’t have such good fish and chips, I’d swear this was a prison, not a school,’ sa
ys Tom.
I roll my eyes. I know he loves it here as much as I do. But there’s a gnawing of guilt in my stomach. I still haven’t apologized to Audrey.
It was a bit hilarious that she got locked in our room though. I can’t imagine that went down well with ‘Daddy’. The night it happened, Mrs Parsons escorted me back to the room after dinner so she could unlock the room to let me back in and, as the door opened, we were both met with the most flustered, red-faced version of Audrey I think I’ll ever see. Her hair looked wild, unlike her usual sleek golden locks, and her face was blotchy and swollen. She’d obviously been crying. As I lay in my bed that night, I could hear her frantically typing on her laptop like a woman possessed – I assume chatting to her friends back home. I don’t ever really think about the fact she left them all behind. That must be hard. I kept opening my mouth to apologize, but the words never came out. She didn’t seem that keen to talk to me either, and so it just never happened.
‘Bet she went out of her mind!’ Harriet laughs.
‘Probably should have warned her, but we don’t really speak that much.’
Harriet nods. ‘Sucks to have to share your own room.’
‘Tell me about it. I’m a prefect with none of the perks. Me and Audrey just kind of … exist in the same space. We don’t really have lessons together either. We’re pretty different people. She’s really girly and fancies herself a bit, I think.’
‘Ivy, just because someone takes longer to do their hair and make-up than you doesn’t mean they fancy themselves. You should make friends with her. I heard her dad bought that giant house on the coast.’
‘All right, just because your mum’s a Rightmove addict. I don’t pick my friends based on the size of their bank account, you know.’
‘Only based on their ability to provide illegal substances …’ She shakes her bag of sweets at me. I roll my eyes at her, smiling, and put my headphones back in.
The Magpie Society One for Sorrow Page 11
