Alice-Miranda Keeps the Beat

by Jacqueline Harvey

  ‘Oh no.’ Alice-Miranda raced over to one of the firemen. She shouted above the hissing and crackling to tell him that there was another child still missing.

  ‘Are you sure she’s in there?’ the fireman called to Mrs Abboud.

  ‘Of course!’ But the woman wasn’t certain at all. She had put the twins in their cot and gone downstairs to fold a mountain of washing. She remembered sitting on the edge of her bed and feeling overwhelmed with tiredness. She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew she was choking in a room full of smoke and her six-year-old, Esma, was tugging on her sleeve. The last time she’d seen her eldest daughter she’d been in the sitting room playing with Hatice. ‘Hatice, where is Zahra?’ she asked, but the child simply shrugged and laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. Ada Abboud’s eyes darted around the yard and back to the house. ‘Please, you must find her!’ she wailed.

  The firemen pulled down their masks and charged up the stairs again. Alice-Miranda and her friends looked at the house expectantly. Chessie held her breath while Sloane whispered the only prayer she knew. All eyes were glued to the building. It seemed an age before the firemen reappeared, empty-handed.

  ‘Zahra!’ Mrs Abboud screamed, collapsing to the ground.

  ‘She can’t be in there,’ Millie mumbled as fat tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away, leaving a smear of black.

  There was an almighty roar as the roof caved in. The five girls huddled together, unable to tear their eyes away from the devastation.

  The Abbouds had moved to the village and opened their restaurant around the same time Alice-Miranda had started school. At first people were wary. Myrtle Parker had been spotted several times with her nose against the glass, trying to peek between the pasted-up newspapers on the front windows. Two weeks later, a sign had gone up announcing the arrival of Fattoush, a Lebanese-Syrian restaurant with a modern flair. Fortunately, curiosity prevailed and it didn’t take long for word to spread about Mr Abboud’s delicious cooking.

  The interior decor was like nothing the village had seen, with a huge mural of the ancient ruins of Palmyra on three walls and faux stone columns dotted throughout. While the food was far more exotic than most of the locals were used to, Fattoush soon became a favourite for all occasions. It was a true family affair with Mehmet in the kitchen while Ada and Zahra worked the floor with a staff of four.

  ‘No one could survive that,’ Sloane whispered.

  The first ambulance sped off with Mr Abboud inside, its sirens blaring. Paramedics had loaded the twins and the two younger girls in the back of the second ambulance with Mrs Abboud, who was now sedated. There was nothing more to be done. If Zahra was inside, the operation had tragically gone from a rescue mission to one of recovery.

  Constable Derby took a deep breath. He stared at the smouldering building. It was a miracle that the firemen had been able to contain the blaze, but it was hard to comprehend the family’s loss. ‘We need to get you back to school,’ he said to the girls. ‘Everyone will be worried sick.’

  ‘But what about Zahra?’ Chessie asked.

  The man shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  In her short life, Alice-Miranda had experienced quite a deal of drama and many adventures, but this was something so awful she couldn’t believe it was true. Alice-Miranda had met Zahra a number of times when her parents had come to visit and taken her to eat at Fattoush. It was hard to imagine that, in the blink of an eye, the girl was gone.

  Alice-Miranda clutched Millie’s hand as they followed Constable Derby down the alley to the high street, where they were met by a rousing cheer. Ambrosia flew out of the crowd and enveloped her daughter. Myrtle Parker just about suffocated Alice-Miranda against her chest. Chessie burst into tears, as did Jacinta and Sloane. Alice-Miranda stared at the mass of blurred figures. It was as if the world was moving in slow motion … until she spotted Zahra Abboud, walking around the corner as if it was any other Sunday.

  Alice-Miranda ran as fast as her jelly legs could carry her. ‘Zahra!’

  The crowd gasped and turned to see Alice-Miranda grab the girl with both hands.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Terror and confusion clouded Zahra’s face. Her bottom lip trembled as she took in the charred remains of her home. ‘Mama, Papa?’ she screamed, trying to get away.

  But Alice-Miranda held on to her tightly. ‘They’re alive – and your sisters and brother too. They’ve gone to the hospital in Downsfordvale.’

  Tears sprang to Zahra’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been … It’s my fault. I should have been watching the girls.’

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ Alice-Miranda said gently. ‘Thank heavens you weren’t home.’ She gave Zahra one final hug before the police officer guided the girl across the road and into a car.

  The street was quiet save for the hissing and crackling of the doused fire. It was Mr Munz who broke the silence. He began to clap and was soon joined by the rest of the village.

  A single tear ran down Jacinta’s left cheek. ‘Well, that was a good surprise.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Millie said. ‘What a relief.’

  But Alice-Miranda couldn’t help wondering where Zahra had been. Her mother had seemed so certain she had been inside. The tiny girl shook the thought from her mind. It didn’t matter – the important thing was that Zahra was alive.

  Myrtle and Reg Parker helped Ambrosia Headlington-Bear ferry the girls back to school, where they were greeted at the boarding house by a very anxious Miss Grimm and Miss Reedy. Ophelia, who had been alerted to the drama by Constable Derby, had arranged for Livinia to meet her at the Caledonia Manor Stables. She had then telephoned the children’s parents to let them know what had happened – all except for Hugh Kennington-Jones and Cecelia Highton-Smith, who were trekking in the Andes for a month. Instead she’d notified Mrs Oliver, the family’s cook, who said that she would pass on the message when she heard from the pair.

  ‘Good grief, look at you all,’ Ophelia Grimm gasped as she surveyed the soot-stained group. The rest of the girls in the boarding house were safely tucked away in the dining room, having their evening meal, and their housemistress, Petunia Clarkson, was under strict instructions to keep them there.

  ‘It’s nothing a shower won’t fix,’ Millie said. She licked her finger and wiped the back of her hand, smearing the black to prove her point.

  ‘Come along, Myrtle,’ Reg said, steering his wife by the elbow. ‘We should head home.’

  The woman looked at him as if he were mad. ‘We’re not going anywhere until we know the girls are all in perfect health,’ she said, wrestling her arm away. ‘Besides, I can make tea while Joan gives them the once-over.’

  Sister Joan Guthrie had been a nurse for more than forty years and had taken care of the boys at Fayle for the past ten. She was beloved by all and not just because she had the best stash of lollies in the school. With her short crop of grey hair, stylish red glasses and practical trouser-and-shirt combinations, she was everyone’s favourite surrogate grandmother. In the absence of their own school nurse, Livinia had called the woman to give the girls a thorough check-up.

  ‘That’s awfully kind, Mrs Parker,’ Ophelia said, ‘but we don’t want to keep you.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’m very useful in a crisis,’ Myrtle insisted.

  Reg sighed, knowing full well there was no point arguing with his wife once she had made up her mind. Ambrosia leaned down to whisper in Jacinta’s ear. She hadn’t let go of her daughter’s hand since they’d alighted from the car.

  ‘I’m fine! I’ve told you that ten times already,’ the girl snapped, then promptly burst into tears.

  Ambrosia pulled her in for a hug. ‘Oh, darling.’

  ‘Right, that’s it. Tea and honey sandwiches for everyone.’ Myrtle Parker marched inside and set to work in the kitchenette by the sitting room. Reg hurried to help her.

  Ophelia and Livinia could see more tears were building.
The ordeal had clearly been a shock for the girls, and no doubt a hearty cry would do them the world of good. Livinia took Sister Guthrie to set up in the infirmary across the hallway while the girls, clearly struggling to comprehend the full extent of what had happened, were ushered into the sitting room by Ophelia and Ambrosia. Millie sat on the sofa beside Sloane and surprised the girl by reaching across to hold her hand. Sloane didn’t object. Instead she held on tightly and brushed stubborn tears from her face. Alice-Miranda stood beside Chessie, their arms entwined, while Jacinta clung to her mother.

  Reg Parker walked over with a tray of sandwiches and Myrtle followed with the tea.

  ‘Has there been any news on the Abbouds?’ Alice-Miranda asked, passing a mug to Chessie before taking another for herself.

  Miss Grimm shook her head. ‘Not since Constable Derby phoned earlier to tell us the news. I suspect he’ll give us an update as soon as he can.’

  Miss Reedy called Millie over first to see Sister Guthrie. Thankfully, everyone was given the all clear. Jacinta had a cough, which probably hadn’t been helped by working herself into such a state. Physically, they were all in good health, but Sister suggested that it would be wise for each of the girls to pencil in a chat with a counsellor.

  Petunia Clarkson appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me,’ she said with a tentative smile. ‘Jacinta, there’s a phone call for you.’

  A sheepish look crept over the girl’s face.

  ‘It’s probably your boyfriend making sure that you’re okay,’ Millie whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  ‘Jacinta is far too young for all that nonsense,’ Myrtle tsked. Reg caught Millie’s eye and gave the girl a wink. ‘Besides, I’ve heard the boy’s mother is getting married and is taking him to live with her and her new husband in New York. I wouldn’t get too attached if I were you, Jacinta.’

  The girl’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s not true,’ she said. ‘Lucas hasn’t said anything to me.’

  Alice-Miranda was as surprised as her friend. She couldn’t imagine her cousin keeping that to himself, but Myrtle Parker’s knowledge of village gossip was notoriously reliable.

  ‘It’s not Lucas on the telephone,’ Petunia said. She pushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear. ‘It’s … your father.’

  The woman was met with a room full of wide eyes and open mouths. Myrtle’s lips quivered. She was even more pleased that she’d insisted on staying.

  ‘Daddy?’ Jacinta wrinkled her nose. ‘I can’t imagine what he wants.’ Without so much as a backwards glance, she was out the door and heading for the telephone booth in the hallway.

  Ambrosia felt sick to her stomach. As far as she knew, Neville hadn’t been in contact with Jacinta for ages. Actually, not since the night he had unceremoniously declared their marriage was over and told her she could go and live in the cottage in Winchesterfield permanently. Neville was a scoundrel through and through and had never been much of a father to the girl, but maybe he’d heard about the fire and wanted to make sure that his only child was okay. Perhaps the man was human after all.

  Alice-Miranda woke with a start, her brow peppered with tiny beads of perspiration. She pushed off the covers and tried to calm her breathing as the rain drummed a steady beat against the windowpane.

  Millie looked up from her book. ‘Morning,’ she said, dog-earring the page she was on. She placed the copy of Lord of the Flies on her bedside table. ‘I think you were having a nightmare. I gave you a shake earlier but got thumped on the head for my trouble.’

  Alice-Miranda sat up against her pillows. ‘Oh, Millie, I’m so sorry.’

  Millie hopped out of her bed and padded over to sit beside her friend. ‘I had a bad dream too,’ she said. ‘I hope the other girls are okay.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Alice-Miranda said, giving Millie a hug, ‘but I’m pretty sure the Abbouds have lost everything. It’s times like these that remind us to treasure each moment with those we love and not take life for granted.’

  ‘Trust you to find that silver lining.’ Millie grinned, then a pained look came across her face and she threw herself on the mattress as if she’d been dealt a heavy blow. ‘Urgh!’ she groaned. ‘I just remembered Caprice will be back from the eisteddfod. I can’t wait to hear how amazing she was,’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘Please try to be patient with her, Millie. You can’t deny she’s very talented.’ Alice-Miranda glanced at the clock. ‘We’d better get a move on. I still smell of smoke even though I practically scrubbed myself raw under the shower last night.’

  There was a knock on the door and Mrs Clarkson poked her head around. ‘Good morning, girls. How did you sleep?’

  ‘Okay except for some bad dreams,’ Millie said.

  ‘Well, I suppose we might expect that for a little while.’ The woman walked into the room and picked up Millie’s uniform from where it had fallen off the back of her chair.

  ‘I love that top, Mrs Clarkson,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Those flamingos always make me happy.’

  The housemistress smiled, as that was exactly the effect she was hoping it might have – for her and the girls. She had taken an extra few minutes to get dressed this morning, locating her favourite blouse and navy trousers and adding a strand of pearls to the ensemble. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that Mrs Abboud and the children have been discharged from hospital. Unfortunately, the news is not so good for her husband. The poor man has suffered third-degree burns and has a very serious case of smoke inhalation. He’s in intensive care. I’m sorry, girls, but I knew you’d want to be kept updated.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful,’ Alice-Miranda said. While she was relieved to hear that Mrs Abboud and the children were in good health, the thought of Mr Abboud in such a precarious state made her feel quite sad and helpless. Surely there was something she and her friends could do. She spotted a card on her desk and picked it up. It was from her Granny Valentina sending her love and best wishes for a happy school term. ‘We should make Mr Abboud a get-well card from all of us,’ Alice-Miranda suggested. ‘Chessie could do one of her drawings for the front and we can create a collage or something on the back.’

  Mrs Clarkson nodded. ‘That’s a lovely idea. I’ll arrange for art supplies to be sent over from school. Now, you two had better make a move. I’ll see you at breakfast.’ Petunia wished she could bottle Alice-Miranda’s thoughtfulness and share it among a few of the other girls. She’d already had a run-in with Caprice, who point-blank refused to take off the nail polish she’d worn for the eisteddfod. Petunia had resorted to threatening to remove it herself if it wasn’t gone by lunchtime.

  Alice-Miranda and Millie followed the woman into the hall, with their bathroom bags and towels in tow, chattering about what they could put on the card – perhaps not a picture of the restaurant but maybe a village scene would be nice.

  Caroline Clinch looked up from the staff table to see Alice-Miranda and Millie enter the dining room. They were followed by Jacinta, Sloane, Chessie and Caprice. She’d spoken to the rest of the girls about not making a fuss, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Upon seeing the group, Susannah Dare and Ivory Hicks stood up and clinked their spoons against their glasses.

  ‘Three cheers for the heroes of the day!’ Susannah called loudly, and the room erupted in overwhelming response. Even the teachers joined in.

  Millie felt a lump in her throat and her eyes began to prickle. She brushed away the tears and took a deep breath.

  ‘Really, girls, that wasn’t necessary,’ Caprice sighed, with her hand on her chest. ‘It was a gruelling weekend and utterly exhausting, but I did it – National Eisteddfod Junior Champion once again.’

  There was a collective groan.

  Ashima Divall rolled her eyes. ‘We’re not cheering for you, Caprice. We’re cheering for the others – they rescued the Abbouds from a fire yesterday in the village. The family would have died if it hadn’t been for Alice-Miranda and the girls.’

  ‘What?’ Caprice snarled. No on
e had mentioned anything to her about a fire – not even her room mate, Sloane. ‘That’s hardly the biggest deal around. I just won the National Eisteddfod and I’m going to be on a new television show – surely that counts for something.’

  ‘That’s fantastic news, Caprice,’ Alice-Miranda said kindly. ‘Well done – we’re all very pleased for you. Girls, I think Caprice deserves three cheers of her own.’ The tiny child jumped up onto a chair and threw her hands into the air. ‘Three cheers for Caprice!’

  There were some grumbles but the majority of the students repeated their earlier effort, although with noticeably less enthusiasm.

  ‘You could at least sound as if you mean it,’ Caprice spat, and stalked off to the servery with her chin in the air.

  ‘Seriously, I could punch her in the nose,’ Millie said, clenching her fists.

  ‘You won’t, of course,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘It doesn’t hurt for us to give Caprice a bit of positive reinforcement every now and then – she works hard.’

  Sloane rolled her eyes and picked up a tray. ‘If only someone could teach her about humility, we’d all like her a lot better.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Jennings.’ Alice-Miranda smiled at the stout woman behind the counter. Rachel Jennings had been the cook at the senior school for a while now. She was quite a bit younger than Mrs Smith, with dark curls scraped into a messy bun. Her uniform was the same as always: a starchy white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, an A-line navy skirt paired with thick stockings and sensible brown shoes, and a navy apron over the top.

  ‘Hello, dear, I’ve made scrambled eggs this morning. I thought it might be easier on your throats in case they’re still sore from the smoke,’ the woman said, giving the watery yellow blobs a swirl in the tray.

  It was unfortunate that Mrs Jennings’s skills didn’t exactly match her enthusiasm. Despite undertaking bouts of intensive training with Mrs Smith and her assistant, Ginny, there were still a few dishes the woman had not yet mastered – scrambled eggs being one of them.