By Midnight

by Mia James

  ‘Jealous? Of us?’

  ‘Clever, pretty girls like you and me, April. And Ling, of course,’ she added, with a glance back at the girl trailing along behind them. ‘I mean, have you seen what she wears? Like some old hippy throwback, and not in a good way. She’s old before her time and she hates to see fabulous young people having fun.’

  ‘I suppose …’ said April, not exactly surprised that the dislike between them was mutual.

  ‘I’m telling you. Old and bitter. Anyway, talking of beautiful people having fun, that’s why I was waiting for you. Milo’s parents are away this weekend so we’re throwing a Halloween party on Sunday.’

  ‘Sunday?’ said April, knowing what her parents would say about going out the night before a school day, but Davina wasn’t listening. Clearly that sort of thing wasn’t important in her rarefied world.

  ‘It’s going to be so amazing I can’t even begin,’ continued Davina. ‘Only the best people will be there and everyone’s going to look stunning - dress code black, of course. Say you’ll come?’

  April nodded. ‘Of course, I’d love to if I can. Why don’t you text me the details, my number—’

  Davina held up a sleek black phone. ‘Already got it!’ she sang.

  April smiled to herself. How could Miss Holden have thought these girls were dangerous? Davina was an airhead, yes. A little smug too, and she certainly didn’t have any problems with her self-esteem: Davina clearly thought she was just about perfect. April hadn’t seen her in any classes, but there must be a brain underneath the socialite act, otherwise she would never have qualified for Ravenwood, no matter how rich Daddy was. Or maybe her speciality was gossip and social networking? Either way, to suggest that the Faces could be a malign influence was crazy. They just weren’t that clever.

  ‘I can’t decide what to wear,’ gushed Davina, as if to prove April’s point. ‘I’m thinking about a gorgeous chiffon Dolce minidress I saw in Harvey Nicks, but maybe I should go for something more grand like vintage Dior or even a McQueen ball gown. What do you think? And then there’s shoes and bags and I’m going to force Mummy to lend me her Cartier earrings for the night. Oh, it’s going to be such fun!’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said April, and was surprised to find that she was telling the truth.

  ‘She said I was harmless?’

  ‘Fairly harmless,’ corrected April.

  She suppressed a smirk as Caro spluttered with indignation. They were sitting in the Americano Coffee Bar on Highgate High Street and April had just related the story of her encounters with Miss Holden and Davina earlier in the day.

  ‘Fairly harmless? That’s worse than plain ordinary harmless! ’ she shouted. ‘Like I’m even mediocre at being harmful! What do I have to do to be seen as disruptive?’

  April laughed. ‘I suspect you’re going to have to rethink your plan of anarchy.’

  Caro shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s just not fair. You find a dead body—’

  ‘A dead fox,’ said April.

  ‘Whatever,’ continued Caro, ‘and just like that you’re edgy and cool. I’ve been cultivating this image of the school rebel for years, then you come along, fall asleep in a lesson and all of a sudden you’re Che Guevara. There’s no justice.’

  ‘You could always fall asleep in more lessons, or stink-bomb the staff room,’ suggested April.

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?’ She sighed. ‘If I thought it would look good on my Oxford entrance papers, I would.’ She stared morosely into her coffee. ‘So, on the subject of disruption, any plans for the big night?’

  ‘What big night?’

  ‘Halloween,’ Caro said, lowering her voice an octave.

  April shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’m going to go.’

  ‘What? You have to go!’

  April frowned. ‘I thought you were going to forbid me to mix with all those fakes and give me a lecture about going over to the dark side.’

  ‘No, no, don’t you see? You have to go over to the dark side. It’s the only way we’ll ever find out what’s going on!’

  April laughed. ‘Not you too,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Miss Holden. She seems to think the Faces are some sort of dangerous paramilitary organisation hell-bent on world destruction.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t underestimate their desire to crush everything before them,’ said Caro. ‘But mainly through withering put-downs rather than out-and-out violence.’

  ‘So you don’t think they’re dangerous?’

  ‘No, but their friends and relatives are. The party is at Milo Asprey’s house and his father is hot stuff in the energy industry. He’s also super-tight with Davina and Ben’s daddy, Nicholas Osbourne, who heads up Agropharm International, no less.’

  ‘Agropharm?’ April whistled. ‘Even I’ve heard of them. They make aspirin, don’t they?’

  ‘Aspirin, paint, plastics, explosives, chemical weapons …’

  April’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘But don’t get Mr Osbourne wrong - he’s not all bad, he does a lot of work for charity. He’s the chairman of Airlift, the big charity for refugees and war-zone relief. He gives with one hand and takes away with the other, just like all good politicians.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I have my sources.’

  ‘Is this part of your conspiracy thing?’

  Caro shrugged. ‘I said it before, there are no records of who runs the educational trust behind Ravenwood, but Mr Asprey is very active in fund-raising for the school and best of friends with all the governors, who seem to be in awe of him.’

  ‘That doesn’t necessarily make him Mr Big, though, does it?’

  ‘No, but it does make him a great place to start.’ Caro grinned. ‘Which is why we need to get you spruced up for your big night out.’

  Chapter Nine

  April had to admit it, there were times when she could have strangled her mother, and shopping this Saturday was one of them. She had lost count of the occasions she had closed her eyes and imagined Silvia stepping into an open lift shaft or walking out in front of a speeding truck. She wasn’t proud of having such thoughts, but then she figured it didn’t make her a homicidal maniac, just a normal teenager. Not that you could be a normal teenager with parents like mine, she thought as she watched her mother mixing with the Saturday shoppers on the ground floor of Selfridges. One parent had never outgrown Scooby Doo and spent all his spare time chasing UFOs and zombies; the other had never outgrown Barbie and spent all her time trying to have the best outfit/car/princess/castle.

  ‘Oh, now this is just fabulous,’ said Silvia, holding up a huge turquoise confection with puff sleeves and a silver net overskirt.

  ‘Mum, I’m not five. I don’t want to look like the Little Mermaid. And the dress code is black.’

  ‘But it’s Moschino, darling. Cheap and chic?’

  April shook her head firmly. ‘I want a classic little black dress, nothing too showy. I want to look nice, not weird.’

  ‘But it’s the only label I can find here,’ said Silvia, looking around with distaste. ‘Can’t we go up to the designer floor?’

  ‘No, Mum,’ said April. ‘We can’t afford designer dresses any more, remember?’

  Silvia sighed. ‘Don’t remind me,’ she muttered. She picked up a pink miniskirt, looking over at April hopefully, but April pulled a face.

  ‘Black, Mother.’

  Silvia sighed again. ‘But black is so unflattering on your complexion, darling.’

  ‘Mum. It’s a Halloween party, remember? Witches and vampires?’

  ‘Your father’s favourite time of year.’ Silvia reluctantly resumed her search. ‘Ah, now I think this fits your somewhat limited requirements. And it’s on sale too.’

  She pulled a dress from the rack with a flourish. It was black, shimmery and looked very expensive.

  ‘Okay, I’ll try it on,’ said April in a sulky voice, but
she could already tell that it was going to be perfect. Looking in the changing room mirror minutes later, she could see her mother had chosen well; it was a classic little black dress - fashionable, not frumpy and not too revealing, stopping just above the knee, but still sexy. She had to admit, with her hair up and some gothy make-up, she would look sensational. Her mother had come up trumps. Not that she was going to admit that to her.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Silvia, peeking around the curtain. ‘The boys will be queuing up.’

  ‘Mum!’ protested April, but Silvia just chuckled.

  ‘Right, Ms Conservative,’ she said, grabbing April’s hand. ‘Let’s see if we can spice this up with some drop-dead heels.’

  Laden down with bags, April struggled into the taxi.

  ‘I don’t see why we had to get a cab,’ she grumbled as she flopped into the seat. ‘It’s only a two-minute walk to the Tube.’ She had no particular desire to fight through the crowds with her shopping, especially as it was beginning to rain, but it annoyed her the way her mother casually wasted money when her father was obviously struggling to make ends meet.

  ‘Well, my feet are killing me,’ said Silvia, as the cab slipped into rush-hour traffic. She pulled off a shoe and rubbed her toes, sighing dramatically. ‘Besides,’ she added, with a sideways glance, ‘I wanted to talk to you before we get there.’

  April rolled her eyes. Not the ‘don’t take drugs, don’t get pregnant’ lecture again; she had to put up with it every time she went to a party or out on a date. Not that that happened very often. It was bad enough that she had to hear words like ‘condoms’ and ‘spliffs’ coming from her mother’s mouth - especially considering Silvia behaved like a sulky teenager herself most of the time - but today’s timing was particularly bad. To her surprise, April had enjoyed having a day out with her mother and she didn’t want any misplaced ‘counselling’ ruining their bonding session. They had gone to Nails Inc. for pedicures and manicures, then to Carluccios for lunch - April loved their wild-mushroom risotto more than anything - and then on a mammoth shopping spree from Marble Arch to Piccadilly. Most of all, though, April had loved seeing her mother back to her old fun-loving caution-to-the-wind self. Their time in Edinburgh had made her spiky and moody, but back in the capital she seemed to come to life again. So one of Silvia’s toe-curling ‘advice’ sessions was the last thing she needed right now, especially after Miss Holden’s talking-to. Lord save me from hopeless, well-meaning adults, she thought.

  ‘Now darling, I know you’re sixteen—’ Silvia began.

  ‘Mum, please, I’m old enough—’ protested April, but Silvia held up a hand.

  ‘Yes, I know, and that’s why I’m telling you this. You’ve got your father’s mind, God knows, but sometimes you don’t understand everything that goes on between adults.’

  Uh-oh, this isn’t the ‘don’t drink vodka Red Bulls’ lecture, thought April with a lurch. They’re not getting divorced after all, are they?

  Silvia took a deep breath and looked out through the window. ‘You know your father and I haven’t been getting on so well lately,’ she said quietly, ‘and I wanted to tell you that none of it is your fault.’

  I never thought it was! thought April indignantly.

  ‘Couples can sometimes go through difficult patches now and then and … things happen. But we’ve made a fresh start by coming down here, the new job and your new school, the new house.’

  She looked over at her daughter and April was appalled to see that Silvia had tears in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry, baby. Everything will be fine,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It has to be.’

  April didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as if her mother was cold and unemotional, far from it. She periodically threw huge temper tantrums when April’s dad wouldn’t give in to her demands and she would often go into long dramatic sulks over rows or imagined slights. But the genuine, adult emotion she seemed to be displaying here was alien to April. She’d never seen her mother cry before. Scream and yell, yes. Bucket-loads of crocodile tears as she wailed that ‘no one cared’, plenty of that. But this? April was at a loss. Should she offer reassuring advice? A warm sisterly hug? But before April could do anything, her mother banged her fist against the window.

  ‘Damn that man!’ she whispered. ‘Damn him.’ Then she shook her head, reached into her Prada bag and pulled out a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. ‘Don’t worry about me, darling,’ she said briskly, leaning over to pat April’s leg. ‘I must have had one too many Manhattans at lunch, that’s all. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of this when we see Grandpa.’

  Ah, so that’s what this is all about, April realised, her sympathy for her mother’s plight rapidly drying up. Silvia didn’t want Grandpa Thomas knowing that she and William were having marital difficulties. April’s grandfather was an imposing man, originally a Romanian immigrant who had made a fortune by unspecified means in the sixties and now lived in a huge house in Covent Garden, which was dark and full of strange ornate furniture and exotic smells. To April, as a little girl, Grandpa Thomas had always seemed like the ogre in the fairy tales with his wild white hair and crazy eyebrows, but as she had grown older she had begun to understand that his ways were those of the Old Country, where family and tradition were of huge importance. Not that it had stopped him changing the family name and doing his best to hide his accent and background as he clambered up the social ladder. In private, however, Thomas never tired of reminding them that their family were Eastern royally—although he was always vague on the specifics. He also never tired of hinting that Silvia’s behaviour had always fallen short of the princess he’d wanted her to be. April guessed that marrying a lowly writer, William Dunne, had been Silvia’s greatest act of rebellion and thus any suggestion that their union might now be shaky would only light her grandfather’s already short fuse. But she still resented being asked to cover for her mother. She looked out of the window, watching fat raindrops swim down the glass.

  ‘It’s not like I’m going to bring it up, is it?’ said April. ‘And considering we haven’t seen him in six months, I expect we can find something else to talk about. I know Grandpa can be a bit insensitive at times, but I can’t even imagine him asking what the atmosphere’s like at home.’

  ‘I know, darling,’ said Silvia, a pleading note in her voice, ‘but you know how easily upset your grandpa can be, especially when it comes to your dad, so let’s try and keep this nice and light, shall we? It’s been ages since we’ve seen him, just the two of us, so let’s just enjoy it.’

  April looked at her mother. Like every other teenager in the country she was used to seeing her parents as ‘Her Parents’, people who did nothing except gripe about the tidiness of your room and moan about your supposed ‘attitude’. It was rare you got to peek behind the curtain to see the real person, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she was seeing. Her mother looked different; older, tired. April knew she was being manipulated, but it was hard to resist when her mother had let her guard down so much.

  ‘Okay, I won’t say anything.’ April sighed as the cab pulled up outside her grandfather’s house. ‘But can you try not to argue about Dad for once, please?’

  Her mother tried to smile, but fell some way short. ‘I’ll try, darling,’ she said, ‘I’ll try.’

  Even in his old age, Thomas Hamilton was still intimidating. At six foot four he was a huge bear of a man, with a big head and hands like tennis racquets. His house was equally impressive, with a pillared entrance hall floored with black and white marble. A sweeping staircase led up to dozens of bedrooms and bathrooms. It was unfathomable to April that anyone could live in a house so big, especially in the centre of London where a Portaloo cost a king’s ransom. But despite all the splendour, April was shocked to see that Grandpa Thomas had aged in the six months since she had last seen him - his back was more bowed, his face more lined - but he still towered over Silvia as he bent to kiss the top of her head.


  ‘Poppa,’ she said, brushing him away. ‘Don’t, please.’

  ‘What? I can’t even kiss my only daughter now?’ he said, spreading his huge arms in a gesture of outrage. ‘Has it become a crime to love my family?’

  ‘Of course not, Daddy,’ said Silvia, ‘just don’t … fuss so.’

  ‘Can I help it if I’m happy to see my best girls? You never phone, you don’t visit …’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Silvia testily, putting her bags onto a leather chesterfield sofa. ‘We’re here now, aren’t we?’

  Thomas shrugged and shifted his attention to April. ‘Ah, my princess!’ he boomed, effortlessly scooping April up like a grizzly bear grabbing a fish. He squeezed her until she thought her eyes were going to pop.