Dark Room

by Tom Becker

“Mum, what? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Jay. That was his dad on the phone. Something’s happened. He… He never made it home last night.”

  “Yes, he did,” I said at once. “He texted me.”

  But at that very second I remembered that Jay’s phone was broken. I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and started scrolling through, looking for his text, but it wasn’t there.

  “I don’t understand. He sent me a text last night. I saw it.”

  “Sophie, he didn’t send you a text. Oh, sweetheart, I’m so, so sorry, but… On the way home he had an accident. They think… They think that perhaps the brakes on his bike failed. He went into the canal. By the time they pulled him out it was too late.”

  “What do you mean too late?” I said, clenching my hands so tight that I felt my nails tear the skin of my palms. “Jay’s a strong swimmer. He won almost all the swimming contests at school last year. If he’d fallen into the canal, he would have just swum to the side and climbed out.”

  But Mum was shaking her head. “They think he must have hit his head when he fell in. Sophie, he drowned.”

  It could not possibly be true. And yet, it was.

  Jay was gone.

  An extract from Sleepless

  by Lou Morgan

  “Just a few more weeks. That’s all – a few more weeks and then we’re done.”

  “Until September.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And, you know, aren’t you forgetting something? Like exams, maybe?”

  Everyone else groaned, despite Grey’s grin. Nobody needed (or wanted) to be reminded about the exams. The Clerkenwell School took exam results very seriously indeed. Almost as seriously as their parents did.

  The bell signalling the last of the afternoon’s classes rang, and Izzy hauled herself up from the small grass square that passed for the Clerkenwell’s courtyard, dusting down her school skirt and scooping her bag on to her shoulder. All around the courtyard, students started towards their respective classrooms, watched from the doorways by the school prefects. Not that anyone was in much of a hurry – it was the last real day of term. When the bell rang at 3:30pm, that was it. Study leave – and then exams, yes, but Izzy wasn’t going to think about that until she had to. Which was horribly soon.

  If she was honest, she thought, hitching the strap of her bag further over her shirt, it was probably about three weeks ago. Mia and Dom had had their revision timetables all drawn up and printed out by half term. “Tiger mother,” they’d said in unison when Noah had sniggered at the neat charts marked up in the twins’ diaries – everyone knew how pushy she was when it came to school. Not that Noah had much to worry about. He was probably the only one of the whole group who stood a chance of getting anywhere near a top grade. There was a reason he was at Clerkenwell, after all, and unlike most of them it wasn’t his family’s money.

  Izzy slipped into her seat in the English classroom just ahead of Kara and Grey. Kara kept her head down – she was the one person in the whole class who looked unhappy about the end of term. It didn’t exactly take a genius to know why, either. Poor Kara. She was so afraid of being on the outside that she’d rather be the butt of Tigs’s jokes than risk being forgotten. You could see it in her face. Even after all the time she and Tigs had known each other, she was still afraid of being shut out. All she wanted was to be part of this mythical ‘inner circle’ that had Tigs at its centre. Izzy had said as much to Grey, not all that long ago, as they’d waited for the lifts in the lobby of the Barbican’s Lauderdale Tower where they both lived.

  Grey had shrugged and said, “You know what else has an inner circle? Hell.”

  “You’re telling me Antigone Price is the devil?” Izzy had laughed as the lift pinged and the doors opened, following Grey inside. She’d jabbed the button for the thirteenth floor, followed by the eighteenth for him.

  “Maybe not the devil. But she comes pretty close…”

  The afternoon dragged. Nobody bothered to hide the fact they weren’t working, and even their teacher didn’t seem too concerned. Mrs Alderman went as far as to sit down, tell them all to read a book and to get out a magazine for herself. She flipped through it, occasionally glancing up to make sure they were at least all still there.

  A fly buzzed inside the sash window beside Izzy’s desk, somehow trapped between the two panes of glass. On the other side of the window, she could just make out the top of Lauderdale Tower looming over the neighbourhood.

  When they first met, living in the Barbican had been her way in with Tigs – who had apparently decided that everyone living within the confines of the Barbican estate’s walls was (in her words) ‘safe’. Everyone outside was not. It was a ridiculous idea given that an apartment across the road in Florin Court – where Kara lived – cost just as much as one in the Barbican’s blocks and had its own residents’ pool, but that was Tigs all over. It wasn’t just about the money – although money was definitely a part of it. It was about something more. Of course, Tigs still hadn’t let Izzy forget that she was a new girl. She’d only moved in a year ago, hadn’t she? Tigs had been born there.

  With its locked residents’ garden and its lake with fountains and terraces, the Barbican was a maze of low-rise blocks punctuated by three towers. Sitting at the edge of the bustling City of London business district, just behind St Paul’s Cathedral, it had been built on land flattened by the bombs of the Blitz. The idea was that it would be the future of city life – thousands of flats and apartments in all shapes and sizes, raised up above the level of the roads and the traffic below. It was intimidating from the outside, designed to look almost like a castle. Even its name, Barbican, meant a kind of fortress. In the middle was the garden and the lake, and the Barbican Centre itself – a complex of theatres and cinemas, art galleries, libraries and restaurants open to the public, provided they could find the entrance. The whole place was a labyrinth of different levels, walkways that led nowhere and doors that could only be opened with a resident’s key. It was ‘exclusive’. And Tigs lived in the most exclusive part – a sprawling apartment on the thirty-fifth floor of Shakespeare Tower, one of the high-rise blocks right at the heart of it. Something she liked to remind everyone of at every possible opportunity.

  A loud scraping sound, followed by a crash, snapped Izzy’s attention away from the window and back into the room. Two rows ahead of her, a chair was lying on its side in the aisle and next to it Grey was flat on his back, crying with laughter. Mrs Alderman peered over the top of her magazine, scowled and shook her head. It wasn’t the first time Grey had managed to fall off his chair in class. He bowed to the room – obviously enjoying the applause he was getting – and picked up his seat, dropping back down into it with a grin.

  “Show-off,” Izzy muttered.

  When the bell rang, finally, she hung back, sliding her folder carefully back into her bag. Mrs Alderman had moved on to the crossword, and as Izzy passed the teacher’s desk, she glanced up. “Murder, Izzy?”

  “How many letters, Mrs Alderman?”

  “Eight.”

  “Homicide, Mrs Alderman. But you know that already.”

  “Just testing.” Mrs Alderman tapped her pen on the magazine. “How’s the revision going?”

  “It’s going.” Izzy made what she hoped was a non-committal sound.

  “You are taking it seriously, aren’t you?” The teacher was suddenly stern. “I’m not trying to pass judgement, but after your last school I know how important…”

  “I’m taking it seriously. I am. Honestly.” Izzy stared at the floor. The classroom suddenly felt like it was shrinking, getting smaller and smaller. The walls were pressing in on her and all she could think about was getting out.

  “I’m glad to hear it. These exams could affect your whole future. This isn’t a dry run, this is the real thing.” She blinked at Izzy, watching her reaction – then said, more kindly, “Although that’s not to say you shouldn’t have a break now and then.”

  �
��No, Mrs Alderman.”

  The teacher looked her up and down. “Go on, then. I imagine your friends are waiting for you. Tell Grey I look forward to seeing his exam script, by the way…”

  “I will, Mrs Alderman.” Izzy smiled, and clutching her bag tightly she headed out of the classroom and into the bright sunlight of the courtyard.

  Exactly as predicted, Grey was waiting, along with the others, on the grass. Izzy came out just in time to see him drop to his knees, shouting “Freedom!” at the top of his voice. His school tie was clutched in one of his raised fists and his dark hair flopped across one of his eyes.

  “You’re such a loser,” she said, stopping just in front of him.

  “You love it,” he grinned up at her, brushing his hair out of his face. “It makes you feel superior.”

  “I am superior. Obviously.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.” Grey shook his head.

  “So, I was thinking,” said another voice from somewhere behind Izzy’s head, cutting through their conversation as though it wasn’t happening. Her heart sank. Tigs. She didn’t turn round, hoping that Tigs would take the hint. Some hope – Tigs carried on regardless.

  “I was thinking – revision party? My place? Later?”

  “Revision party? Yeah, right. Like my parents will go for that,” said Juliet, perched on the wall next to Dom. She peered over her sunglasses at Tigs.

  “Fine. ‘Study group’, then.” Tigs sighed theatrically. “Aren’t they working, anyway?”

  “Mum’s on the rota, Dad’s on call. Go figure.”

  “What they don’t know while they’re busy being super-doctors won’t hurt them, will it?” Tigs flicked her glossy blonde hair back over her shoulder and beamed. “So it’s sorted. Six o’clock.”

  “Shall we even bother bringing books?” Noah raised an eyebrow at Tigs, who pouted.

  “Depends if you want to waste time studying, doesn’t it?” With another hair flick, Tigs shot them all a dazzling smile and flounced off in the direction of the main entrance, forcing Noah to step out of her way. If Grey noticed the sway of her skirt as she went, he didn’t show it. But then, he never did. Dom, on the other hand…

  Juliet followed his gaze. “Ugh. You’re all so predictable.”

  “Shh.” Dom tried to put his hand over her mouth. “No talk. Pretty girl walking.”

  “Oh, come off it!” Juliet twisted underneath his arm and gave him a gentle shove. He slipped backwards on the wall and only saved himself from going over altogether with an undignified scramble.

  “You know that was all for you, don’t you?” Izzy nudged Grey in the ribs as they fell into step. Their little group was the only one still in the courtyard. Ahead of them, the solid wooden door on to the street stood open, while behind them Dom tried to empty the dregs of his water bottle over Juliet, who screamed and raced past them with Dom and Noah in hot pursuit, laughing. It was just the two of them left now. Grey watched the others for a moment as they ran off, then shook his head.

  “Not interested.”

  “In Tigs? Doesn’t look like she feels that way about you…”

  “Yeah, well. I’m taken, aren’t I?”

  “What? Oh, in your dreams, lover-boy.”

  It had become a running joke – ever since the day she’d almost collided with him in their building’s entrance lobby and seen the stack of terrible horror movie DVDs in his hands. Top of the pile was a copy of Warlock, of which she knew every single line. The bond had been instant, and since then they’d had regular horror ‘dates’ (as Tigs liked to call them, making little quote marks in the air with her fingers each time) watching endless schlocky films full of monsters, vampires and chainsaw-wielding maniacs. Grey liked the monsters – even if he got annoyed when Izzy pointed out that you could usually see the seams in the swamp-creature’s latex suit. Izzy, on the other hand, liked the serial-killer ones best, and it drove her crazy that Grey always guessed the bad guy. Any time Izzy shrieked or hid behind her hands, he would shrug and laugh smugly. “You knew that was coming though, right? If they die offscreen, they’re not really dead.” This was usually the point where she threw a cushion at him.

  Grey and Izzy walked side by side on the narrow pavements, as they did every school day. In the mornings, the huge concrete bulk of the Barbican fell away behind them like a shadow. In the afternoons, it rose up to meet them. Today, it baked in the sun beating mercilessly down on the glittering skyscrapers of the City. To an outsider, looking at it from the wrong side of the forbidding wall, surely you’d have to be crazy to want to live there. It was hot in the summer and miserably gloomy in the winter, when the rain streaked the endless grey with black. But when you got into the middle of it (if you got into the middle of it) the Barbican was another story altogether. The garden was full of spreading trees that cast shade on even the hottest afternoons, and from inside the fence that kept the general public out, you could sit on the side of the lake and dangle your feet into the water.

  The porter in the entrance hall of Lauderdale Tower nodded in greeting as they walked in, then turned back to whatever he was watching on the little television under the security desk. Grey ducked ahead through the glass doors into the lift lobby, flicking at the ‘call’ button on the central console, which sat on top of a small column in the middle, and turning to watch the three lifts expectantly.

  “Which one, then?” he asked.

  “I’m not playing.” She tried to sound stern, but couldn’t. They’d been playing this game ever since they’d started walking to and from school together last autumn, betting on which lift would arrive at the entrance level first.

  “Come on. I’m going with … number three.” He pointed his finger at the nearest lift. Sure enough, there was a sudden whirring sound from behind the closed doors and the little red floor indicator set above them began to count down the floors from twenty-five.

  “Nah,” she gave in. “It’s almost four o’clock. You know what that means…” She held up her hands in triumph as the indicator lurched to a halt at seventeen.

  “Mrs Johnson. Foiled again by the blue-rinse brigade.”

  Grey slumped dramatically over the centre console, dropping his bag on the floor. Every day at 4pm, little Mrs Johnson emerged from her apartment on the seventeenth floor to walk her poodle around the garden. The fact that dogs were allowed in neither the garden nor the actual apartments had never stopped her.

  “Two. It’ll be lift number two.”

  A moment later, lift number two pinged and the doors clattered open. Grey snatched his bag up from the floor and pouted at her.

  “Next time, Whedon.”

  “You just hate losing. Admit it.” She laughed as she pressed the buttons for their respective floors, and was still shaking her head at him when the lift stopped to let her out at the thirteenth.

  “You want me to wait for you later?” Izzy pressed one hand against the side of the door to stop it closing.

  Grey shook his head. “Nah. Go on over without me. My beloved mother’s actually home so I’d better make nice.”

  “No party tonight? What’s she going to do with herself?” Grey’s mother had an incredibly successful party-planning business, but it meant that she spent most of her time going up and down the country overseeing the lavish events she’d organized. Grey didn’t exactly say it out loud, but Izzy always got the feeling he resented all the travelling and the time she spent away from home.

  “Probably try to organize me.” Grey sighed. “I’ll see you over there.”

  “Tigs’ll sulk if she thinks you aren’t coming…”

  “Tigs will always find something to sulk about. I’m way down the list.” He suddenly focused on a point just above Izzy’s shoulder, and she turned around to follow his gaze. On the wall opposite, the floor indicator for lift number three whizzed through thirteen and on down to the lobby. Grey shook his head sadly and bit his lip. “Mrs Johnson…” he said sorrowfully as Izzy stood back, letting the doo
rs slide shut.

  “Where’s Grey?” These were the very first words out of Tigs’s mouth when she opened the door and found Izzy standing on the other side. Alone. She blinked out at the landing, obviously expecting him to appear out of thin air.

  “He said he’d come later.” Izzy tried not to sound offended. “We’re not joined at the hip.”

  “Whatever.” Tigs quickly lost interest and flung the door wide open for Izzy to step through. “You’re sure he’s coming, though. Right?”

  “Why don’t you call him and ask him?” Izzy really was trying. She was.

  “God, no. I’m not calling him. Besides, you usually know where he is. What’s with you two, anyway?”

  “Exactly the same as last time you asked me. Nothing.”

  “Like I said, whatever.” Tigs held up a hand and kicked the door shut again.

  In Izzy’s apartment, the door would have slammed, shaking the whole floor. In the Price apartment, however, things worked a little differently. Their front door swung silently on its hinges, slowing down until the latch met the doorframe with a discreet, but solid, click. On the other side, the floor to ceiling windows of the living room took in the whole of the London skyline from thirty-something storeys up, the glass towers of the City glittering in the evening sun. On the vast red velvet sofa that dominated the room, Izzy could see Juliet and Mia, while Kara and Dom sat on the floor on the other side of the glass coffee table. There were, somewhat surprisingly, folders and notebooks open on the table.

  “You actually meant ‘study party’, then?” Izzy jerked her head towards the revision notes.

  Tigs looked blank, then laughed. “As if. It’s in case the Paternal puts in an appearance.”

  “Your mum’s not home?”

  “She’s on retreat.”

  “Is she OK?”

  “The Maternal? Please. She treats that place like a hotel.” Tigs breezed past Izzy and into the kitchen, pulling open the door to a fridge that was taller than either of them. “She’ll be fine as soon as they dry her out. No. Wait.” She slammed the fridge shut again and leaned back against the door, thoughtfully tapping the top of the drink she’d just pulled out. “They don’t dry you out when it’s pills, do they? What do they do? Shake you?” She stared into the middle distance, then shrugged. “Anyway, speaking of pills…”