We had a lovely dinner that evening – another takeaway. Charlie and Gen were busy so we were allowed to eat on our own, up in the den. Bert was a bit quiet. I figured she was worn out from the drama of the last few days. But I imagined she was relieved as well. It was all over at last. I was pretty pleased too. I’d done well, I thought. It hadn’t gone exactly as I’d planned, but Pippa had been taught a lesson. Whatever happened to her now, whatever trouble she got in, Bert wouldn’t go near her again.
The next morning, a text from Bert woke me up.
School’s closed! Final show is cancelled! Come over.
I was slightly surprised – it seemed like a bit of an overreaction really, closing school and cancelling the final performance just because a few of the costumes had been singed – couldn’t they just get hold of a few replacements? I was also dreading what Bert was going to be like – whining and wailing about missing out on her big TV moment. Still, I only had to get through today, I thought. After that we could say goodbye to the stupid show forever.
I didn’t bother telling Nan about school being closed. No need to lumber myself with a bunch of questions about where I was going and what I was doing. I just put on my school uniform as normal and left the house, ditching my school jumper in favour of my blue Christmas one on the way to Bert’s.
Bert opened the door. Her parents seemed to be sleeping late so we didn’t have to deal with them, which I was glad about.
‘Have you heard?’ she said straight away.
I stepped past her into the hall. ‘What do you mean? Only what you told me. School’s closed.’
‘There’s been a death,’ Bert said in a low, dramatic voice.
‘What?’
But Bert just shook her head. ‘Not here,’ she whispered, looking up the stairs towards her parents’ bedroom.
Once we were in the den, Bert dragged her laptop over.
‘Look,’ she said, perching it on her lap. ‘I heard it on the radio first, but then I looked it up here. It’s on the school website.’
I peered over her shoulder.
Urgent announcement:
School closed today (Thursday 16th May)
Due to a death on-site, Whistle Down Academy will be closed all day today. Further details to follow. Check here for updates.
‘See! A death!’ Bert cried. ‘Is it Pippa, do you think? I texted her, but got no reply. I was thinking, you don’t think she’d do anything stupid, do you? Because she realised she’d been caught …’ She picked up her phone and tipped the screen to face her, but I snatched it away.
‘Bert!’ I said, trying to keep my voice down but not really succeeding. ‘What are you doing texting her? After everything she’s done?’
‘I know, I know,’ Bert said, reaching out to take her phone back. ‘I just wanted to check she was alive! Do you think I should just ring her house?’
I sighed and sat down next to Bert. ‘Of course she’s alive,’ I said. ‘Pippa Brookman’s hardly the type to top herself. It’ll just be some alcoholic tramp who’s crawled in to get warm and then choked on his own sick or something. At worst, it’ll be some builder, doing work up high and falling. That kind of thing is always happening.’
‘Really?’ Bert said, looking down at her phone again. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘For sure. So let’s … let’s just enjoy a free day off!’
Then I remembered: I needed to be sensitive here. ‘Oh, but your show!’ I said, pulling my face into an expression of concern. ‘The last performance cancelled. And your TV interview too. You must be so disappointed.’
Bert just shrugged and looked down. ‘It’s OK. It doesn’t seem important now.’
We went out for the morning, killed a few hours down by the river, skimming stones and making daisy chains and doing other wholesome activities. I was having a hard time keeping Bert buoyed up; she kept mooning about, drifting off into her own thoughts. She must’ve checked her phone at least twenty-five times. Then suddenly it started to ring. I jumped, and tried to get a look at the screen. I really thought it would be Pippa, phoning Bert to grovel, to persuade Bert to take her back.
‘Oh, hi, Mum,’ Bert said.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Just by the river. Yes. OK, but why? What’s happened? OK. Yes. OK. Bye.’
Bert ended the call and looked up at me. ‘That was Mum. She says I’ve got to come home. Something’s happened. I don’t know what.’
Charlie and Genevieve were sitting at the kitchen table with the laptop in front of them. As soon as we went in, Genevieve came over to us.
She put an arm around each of us. ‘Come and sit down, girls.’
We let ourselves be led to the table and sat down side by side. Genevieve and Charlie sat opposite.
‘I’m afraid there’s been some bad news, from your school,’ Genevieve said gently.
Neither of us said anything. We just kept looking at her.
‘It’s Pippa, darling.’ Genevieve reached forward and held her daughter’s hand. ‘There’s been an accident. She’s … passed away.’
36
Blimey, I thought. Dead. Pippa’s actually dead. I hadn’t seen that coming. I mean I’d wished it often enough, but now … I wasn’t sure what I felt.
I saw Bert swallow hard. ‘Is it definitely … her? And she’s definitely, definitely …’
She didn’t finish the question but Charlie nodded. ‘I’m afraid so, sweetheart.’
Genevieve spun the laptop round to face us. On the screen was the same page we’d looked at that morning, on the Whistle Down website.
Philippa Jane Brookman, 12th July 1998 – 15th May 2013
It is with the greatest regret that I have to announce the death of Pippa Brookman from Year Ten.
Pippa was one of our hardest-working pupils and well known for her selfless charity work. Most recently she’d been playing a key role in our project to raise awareness of the marginalisation of the elderly in our society. Our thoughts are with her family and friends at this terrible time. Details of memorial service and condolence book will follow.
Below this, in smaller print, a second paragraph added:
Pippa passed away after a tragic accident, out of school hours but on-site, and as such, a full investigation will be conducted. We thank you for your patience and understanding while this takes place. School will remain closed for the rest of this week.
On reading this my first thoughts were, Selfless? Hardly. Closely followed by, No school till Monday! But I knew that wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to say out loud at times like these. At the moment, Bert had forgotten what Pippa was like, what she’d done to her. People always did that when someone died – got carried away, virtually turning them into a saint. I knew I’d just have to wait it out.
Genevieve came around our side of the table. She bent down and kissed the top of Bert’s head. Then she put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was nice.
‘I’ll get a card,’ Genevieve said. ‘And some flowers for her mother. Poor, poor Vanessa …’
She sat back down at the table.
‘Have a quiet day today, girls,’ she said. ‘Look after each other.’
We hung about in the den for the afternoon, not doing anything or talking much. Bert put on some CD or other, some mournful-sounding music. It was peaceful up there. Hearing about Pippa had been a shock but I started to get used to the idea. Then I began to enjoy my own thoughts, having fantasies where school was cancelled forever, where I didn’t have to go home. Where Bert and I stayed in the den every day, no one in the world but us.
Bert’s phone kept ringing all day, but she didn’t answer it. Once I caught sight of the screen. Jac.
‘What’s he doing ringing you?’ I asked, trying hard to stop it sounding like an accusation.
Bert shrugged and cancelled the call. ‘People just want to … talk. You know. Offer sympathy. They all knew I was friends with her.’
&nbs
p; Around half past three, Charlie brought up a tray of lemonade and some thick slices of ginger cake.
‘Keep the sugar up,’ he said. ‘It’s good for shock.’
I thanked him and started to cram the delicious cake into my mouth. Bert nibbled at hers without much interest.
‘There are some more details of … of what happened,’ Charlie said as he turned to leave. ‘Up on the Echo’s website. If it’ll make you feel better to know, that is. Only look if you want to.’
Bert nodded and Charlie closed the door. Bert pulled the laptop over to us and flipped it up.
The story was on the website’s front page.
Inspirational teen dies in bizarre backstage accident
I snorted, ‘Inspirational!’ But Bert shot me a sharp look so I was quiet while we read.
A Year Ten student at Whistle Down Academy has died on school premises after becoming engulfed by a fireball.
Philippa Brookman, 14, was making last-minute preparations backstage for the grand finale of the school’s acclaimed An Outing to Oz production, created to help raise awareness of the struggles of the elderly, when for reasons that are currently unclear, a fire started in a metal wastepaper bin. A discarded aerosol can in the bin exploded with the heat, engulfing the tragic teen in a fireball. It is believed that Philippa had been trying to salvage show costumes and that this could’ve delayed her escape from the building.
Emergency services rushed to the scene but Philippa died of her injuries in hospital later that night, with her parents and brother at her bedside.
Mark Jeffrey, head teacher at Whistle Down Academy, has urged the public to respect the family’s privacy. ‘I would like to respectfully request that we don’t intrude on the family’s grief by speculating about the cause of the accident. A full investigation will be carried out in due course.’
Philippa’s friends took to social networking sites to pay tribute to the youngster, described by many as ‘a true angel’. There were also claims that Philippa had started the fire herself although these are currently unsubstantiated.
The article went on with more nauseating stuff about how wonderful Pippa was and everything she’d done ‘for the community’.
‘Hmm,’ I said, closing the laptop. ‘Don’t mention anything about what a cow she could be though, do they?’
I tried a smile but Bert didn’t return it.
‘Don’t,’ she said, slightly irritably. She turned away from me.
Later that afternoon, when an invitation to dinner wasn’t forthcoming, I headed home. I hadn’t planned to tell Nan about Pippa or the accident or anything. I thought if I didn’t mention that school was closed then I could head off as normal again tomorrow and have another full day with Bert, no questions asked. But Nan had found out all on her own.
‘I’ve seen the paper,’ she said as soon as I was in the door. ‘About your school and that girl.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah. That.’
‘Did you know her? The girl?’
I shook my head. ‘Not really. Just seen her around.’
‘Stupid girl,’ Nan said. ‘Setting fire to herself.’
I nodded.
‘Still, no school tomorrow then. Good. You can help me clean the oven.’
‘OK.’ I sighed and headed up to my room.
When I was in bed that evening, I texted Bert to let her know I wouldn’t be able to go over tomorrow. We hadn’t made a formal arrangement but I think it was generally understood that we’d be spending these bonus free days together. But it didn’t matter anyway. Bert replied a few minutes later:
I’m going away tomorrow anyway. Parents taking me to my aunt’s cottage in New Forest to get over things. Back Sunday night. See you on Monday.
I smiled at that text. ‘To get over things.’ God love Bert and her penchant for melodrama. Still, I thought, leave her to it. Things would be back to normal soon enough.
37
The next few days dragged, trapped in the house following a series of orders barked by Nan, both of us trying to ignore Granddad’s nonsensical mutterings. I was actually relieved to get back to school on Monday.
I knew that people would be talking about Pippa of course, but I suppose I hadn’t really anticipated quite how much fuss there would be. I’ve always found histrionics a bit annoying. I suppose I get it from Nan, but I find people making a drama and going over the top about things a bit embarrassing. As I made my way to our form room for registration I passed groups of people crying, arms around each other, or sitting alone on benches just staring forlornly into space. The corridor outside the hall was a carpet of flowers and teddy bears. I found it hard to believe that all these people could really have liked Pippa this much. In fact I’m sure some of the people dabbing at their eyes with tissues probably hadn’t even spoken to her before. It annoyed me a bit really. I wondered if they’d still be crying if they knew her like I did. I just kept my head down and made my way to our tutor room ready to catch up with Bert and find out about her weekend in the New Forest.
But Bert wasn’t there. I waited and waited for her to come bounding in the door but she never appeared.
I sent a text while I waited for first period to start:
Where are you?
She replied a few minutes later:
Still feeling shaken. Having a quiet day at home. See you tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes. I thought she was milking it a bit now, to be honest. And I was slightly irritated at her, leaving me to cope with all the drama on my own. I decided not to reply.
Mr Jeffrey did a special assembly for Pippa. I didn’t go. I walked right down to the end of the field and sat in the trees where no one could see me. I suppose it was risky to draw attention to myself by not going, but I just couldn’t bear the thought of it. Of sitting there while everyone spouted nonsense about how wonderful Pippa was, no doubt a huge photo of her massive moon face showing on the projector screen.
I don’t think I spoke to a single person that day, except to answer a few questions in maths. Talk of Pippa was everywhere though.
‘She must’ve been having a crafty fag, don’t you think? Didn’t stub it out properly.’
‘Maybe it was an electrical thing … something must’ve just short-circuited or whatever.’
‘God, what an awful way to go. Burnt alive.’
It was a bit annoying, I suppose, knowing what had happened but it not occurring to anyone to ask me for my theory, but really I knew it was a good thing that I was so invisible. I knew the sensible thing was for me to keep my head down for a few days. Once it’d all come out – what Pippa had done, what she was trying to burn – then maybe I’d join in a bit more. I could tell them how I knew she was bad news all along. Hopefully by that point people would’ve got over the whole ‘poor little dead girl’ routine and they’d be ready to see her for who she really was.
At home that evening we’d just finished dinner and were sitting in the lounge when the doorbell rang. It made all three of us look up in surprise. The doorbell rang so rarely in our house I think all of us had forgotten what it sounded like. I got up to answer it.
There were two people on the doorstep, a man in a police uniform and a woman in a sensible trouser suit and long beige mac. Her hair was up in a tight bun and she looked a bit severe.
‘Good evening,’ the woman said. She flashed me a glimpse of an ID badge. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Dale and this is Police Constable Harding. Are you Frances Bird?’
‘Uh, yeah,’ I said, looking from the woman to the man and back again. The man seemed very young, I thought. He looked more like a teenager, dressed up in the police uniform for fun, than a real policeman.
‘Are your mum and dad at home?’ DS Dale asked.
I shook my head. ‘My mum’s dead.’
This seemed to throw her for a moment, which I suppose had been my intention. ‘Ah. I see. Well, is there someone else?’
‘My nan and granddad are here,’ I said, gesturing to the living r
oom. Right on cue, Nan emerged.
‘Who is it?’ she called. When she caught sight of the people on the doorstep she came over to join me in the doorway. ‘Can we help you?’ She peered at DS Dale and PC Harding suspiciously.
‘We’d just like a quick word with Frances, please,’ DS Dale said. ‘It’s with regards to an accident at her school.’
‘That girl who set herself on fire?’ Nan asked, still not showing any sign of letting them in.
DS Dale nodded. ‘Philippa Brookman. Yes, that’s right.’
‘Well it’s nothing to do with Frances, is it?’ Nan snapped. ‘She barely knew the girl.’
‘It’s just a few questions,’ said DS Dale, her voice light and friendly. ‘Shouldn’t take too long. We’re talking to everyone who might be able to help. We’re just anxious that we get to the bottom of what happened.’
Nan hesitated for a moment but then she said, ‘You’d better come in. Go in the kitchen.’
DS Dale said that Nan should stay with me while they talked to me and we all sat at the kitchen table. I wished Nan didn’t have to be there. I wasn’t sure what the police were going to say exactly but I knew it wouldn’t take much for Nan to get snippy and blame me for something.
DS Dale did all of the talking. I wondered why PC Harding had bothered turning up at all to be honest. Maybe it was a work experience thing. She asked me a few general questions about how I knew Pippa and then she got onto the business of Wednesday night’s fire.
‘Can you tell me where you were at around five o’clock on Wednesday afternoon?’
I had to think about this for a moment. As far as Nan knew I was at school, in the library doing my homework, but then if anyone asked I’d planned to tell them I was at Bert’s.
‘I was at my friend Bert’s,’ I said eventually. ‘Doing homework,’ I added for Nan’s benefit.
‘Were you?’ Nan said, looking at me. ‘I thought you were in the library.’
Birdy Page 19
