Ariadne looked around. “There’s no one here,” she whispered.
“Then why are you whispering?”
“Oh,” she said, a little louder. “Good point.”
“We’re only here to look for your socks, after all.” I winked at her.
“Of course!” We’d decided it had to be Ariadne’s hockey socks that we were ‘searching’ for this time.
The changing rooms had showers, through a little archway in the far corner. One of them was dripping steadily on the white tiles. The lockers stood nearby, a vast row of silver metal that looked like it had come from an army boot camp.
I weaved through the benches and faced the lockers. Each had a label on the front, bearing a printed black number.
Ariadne appeared beside me. “Number one,” she said, pointing to the locker furthest to the left.
I darted over to it hastily, relieved to see a little key in its lock. I twisted it and the door opened …
Revealing an empty box.
I frowned. Well, it wasn’t always a bad sign. I felt around the inside, the metal cool under my fingers.
Ariadne peered over my shoulder. “Maybe there’s a secret panel or something?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Lockers don’t really need secret panels.” But I tried anyway, pushing on the back and the sides. It yielded nothing.
“Bother,” she said. “Shall we go to the swimming pool, then? Unless you want to check all of them in here.”
“Not really. Let’s leave that as a last resort.”
Outside the sky was iron grey and there was fine misty rain in the air. We walked past the rippling pool and over to the right where the squat changing rooms stood.
I was a little more worried about this. After all, it might be hard to convince someone – Miss Bowler or whoever else – that we’d come looking for Ariadne’s hockey socks by the swimming pool.
Thankfully though, these changing rooms were empty at this time of day too. I made a beeline for the wooden lockers.
The numbers were painted on in faded black. Some of them had rubbed off completely, but it was still easy to locate locker number one.
Ariadne bounced up and down excitedly. “This could be it!” she squeaked.
But when I tried to open the door of the locker, I realised we had a problem – there was no key.
And it was locked tight.
stood there for a moment, staring gormlessly at the empty keyhole.
“There’s … there’s no key,” I said. “I can’t open the door.”
Ariadne pulled out a hair pin and tried it in the lock, where it promptly snapped. “Drat,” she whispered. “I don’t think it will work with these. Why did she take it, I wonder?” She went silent for a moment, but then cried out, “Of course! If she’d left the key in the door anyone could have found the pages, couldn’t they? So she had to hide it. But where?”
I sat down on the bench opposite the wall, and Ariadne plopped down next to me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Where’s a good place to hide a key? I mean, Scarlet must have hidden it somewhere she knew I could find it. But I’ve searched our room completely, and a lot of other places besides. There has to be a clue we’re missing.”
Ariadne nodded.
We both sat there for a moment, gazing at the lockers. And then Ariadne had an idea. “We should check the ones around it,” she said, jumping up. She twisted the tiny brown keys in numbers two, three, four and five. As each door popped open, she peered inside.
I watched her, darting about. Ariadne had seemed so shy and easily flustered when I’d first met her, but clearly she was as sharp as a tack.
“Aha!” she said suddenly. She’d retrieved a tiny strip of paper from the top of locker four, directly to the right of number one. There was a bit of tape on the top from where it had been stuck down.
“Is it from the diary?” I asked.
“Um, maybe … It’s only one sentence.” Ariadne’s face went a bit pale. “It says ‘I’ve swallowed the key’.”
“What?! That can’t be right.” I started pacing up and down on the wet tiles. “It doesn’t make any sense! She does want me to open the locker, doesn’t she?”
I was getting a bit hysterical. Ariadne was looking at me as if I were about to explode.
“It must mean something else. Or someone else wrote it! What if someone else wrote it and it has nothing to do with any of this?” I grabbed the piece of paper out of Ariadne’s hand. It was definitely Scarlet’s handwriting. I would recognise it anywhere. Tears pricked my eyes, bitter and angry.
My friend seemed a little scared, but she didn’t say anything about it. Ariadne had started reading the words over and over, her eyes going back and forth. I looked at her, breathless. Calm down, I tried to tell myself. We need to find the truth. Together.
Then, a moment later, she spoke again. “I-I think you’re right, Ivy. It does mean something else. You’d never get to the key if she’d actually swallowed it. So what else could swallow a key?”
I thought about it. “An animal? Ugh, that wouldn’t be easily retrievable either.”
Ariadne nodded. “Right. So this must be a metaphor. She’s hidden it in something.”
“Then why not just say that?” I snapped in frustration. “Why be so cryptic and say it was swallowed unless it was actually swallowed?”
Neither of us had an answer. We traipsed back to our room, defeated. I remained silent the whole time, while Ariadne spouted out mad ideas.
“A drawer! A hollow tree! A button box! A … lavatory!”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You think Scarlet might have put an important key in the lavatory?”
“Maybe not,” said Ariadne sadly. “But I’m running out of suggestions.”
On Friday afternoon, I got a reply to my letter from Aunt Phoebe. The post was given out at the end of assembly, with Miss Fox watching over us like a hawk. I wondered if she read all of them beforehand.
I dashed back to the dorm with my letter, hoping that my aunt had cottoned on to my plight. The familiar sight of her slightly wobbly writing made me smile wistfully as I unfolded the letter. It read:
Dearest niece,
Your letter finds me well, though I do miss you terribly. I had quite forgotten to water the plants, but I’m sure they will live. That is what rain is for, of course!
You say you have found out something interesting about goldfish? You must tell me all about it sometime. I’m glad to hear that you are learning things. I think Rookwood School will be very good for you.
Will you be able to return for the Christmas holidays? I shall look forward to seeing you then, though I must remember to get enough coal – I’d better write that down somewhere. In the meantime I hope you can continue to get on with your studies. One day you might even become a doctor like my Arthur. I am so proud!
With all my love,
Your aunt
Phoebe Gregory
I sighed. My aunt was the kindest of souls, but a little lacking in the brain department. Another spark of hope dwindled away.
On Saturday, I spent every chance I got looking into various containers, in case they contained one of the tiny brown keys. I looked in every drawer, every nook and cranny. I even searched around the lavatories, though certainly not in them.
I was beginning to think I would never be able to solve this clue. What could swallow a key if it wasn’t alive?
That very question was crossing my mind as I walked past the biology classroom on Monday afternoon. I was on the way back to our room to get changed for ballet, but when I passed the little glass window in the door I froze completely.
Because there was something in the cupboard of that room.
And it had certainly once been alive.
There were only a few other girls nearby, chatting amongst themselves, and soon they would all be in their classes. I waited for them to pass and then peered into the biology room. It appeared to be empty, unless Mr
s Caulfield was in the cupboard too. I supposed I could always think up a burning question about biology to ask her.
I opened the door cautiously. The room smelt of Bunsen burners and a faint odour that might have been dead frog. I wrinkled my nose.
The cupboard door at the side of the blackboard was wide open, though there was no light coming from within. Did I really want to go in there with that … thing? Oh, Scarlet!
I approached the cupboard and pulled on the light switch. The bulb made a fizzling noise as it came to life, but then moments later exploded.
I ducked, shielding myself from the glass. Wonderful, I thought. Just wonderful. Now we’re going to get a lecture from Miss Fox on the misuse of light bulbs.
At least nobody else could have heard the small explosion from outside of the classroom. I stood up and brushed myself off. I could just about make out huge shelves in the darkness, lined with jars full of strange, greenish liquid with parts of long-deceased creatures floating in them.
And, in one corner, the white teeth of Wilhelmina grinned back at me.
Come on, Ivy. This was not terrifying. I only had to go into a dark cupboard with a real-life skeleton and stick my hand inside its mouth.
Gulp.
I went in, treading carefully to avoid the broken glass. The only sound was the faint ticking of the classroom clock. Wilhelmina appeared to be trying to outstare me, her empty eye sockets filled with shadow. I breathed as steadily as I could, and forced myself to stand face to skull with the deceased girl.
There were little rusty hinges on the skeleton’s jaw, the same as those Mrs Caulfield had used to open up the top of the skull, and wires holding the whole thing together. I shuddered.
I stretched out my shaking hands towards it. You’re doing this for Scarlet, I told myself. Just think about getting the next page of her diary.
I unhooked the clasps on the little hinges and, wincing, tugged on the skull’s jaw. It yawned open with a horrible creaking sound. Wilhelmina clearly hadn’t made any trips to the dentist in recent years.
And, as it opened, I saw it – a glint of something darkly metallic in the shadows of the gaping mouth. Quivering terribly, I put my hand in to retrieve it.
I tried to ignore the feel of the teeth scraping on my wrist and the rising urge to scream.
And then … there it was. The tiny brown key.
“Oh thank you thank you thank you,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if I was thanking Scarlet, or even Wilhelmina, but I was thankful all the same.
I quickly closed up the jaw, hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious that I’d been in there. But a crunch under my foot reminded me of the exploded light bulb. Oh well.
I stowed the key safely in my pocket and dashed outside. A quick glance at the clock told me I had already missed ten minutes of ballet class.
“Could you pick somewhere a bit less awful to hide your clues next time, Scarlet?” I muttered under my breath as I hurried through the corridors.
Unfortunately, I had a feeling that things were only going to get worse from now on.
iss Finch’s piano playing came to a halt as I scurried into the room. She stood up. “Where have you been, Scarlet?” she demanded.
Everyone turned from the barre to look at me. I felt my face flush red. “Sorry, Miss Finch.”
“Scarlet,” she repeated, “I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked where you’d been.”
“I …” I hadn’t thought I would need an excuse; Miss Finch was usually so lenient. So I decided to borrow the excuse my teacher had used herself. “I was feeling unwell.”
I could see the disappointment in her eyes. “Is that so,” she said. “You’ve missed the warm-up and the barre work. I suggest you get on with those by yourself.”
I nodded and sat down to lace on my shoes. Nadia stuck her tongue out at me, but I ignored her.
“Oh,” said Miss Finch, “and see me after class.”
“Yes, Miss Finch,” I replied miserably.
I remained at the side of the class doing stretches and simple moves while the rest of the girls danced. I hated to watch other people dance when I couldn’t join in – it was like being in a cage. Every second, I longed to leap through them and spin pirouettes until I was dizzy. Anything but being left out.
I felt guilty for being late and angry at myself, but at least I had the locker key. For the first time, it occurred to me that if I managed to find all the diary pages and work out the truth about what had happened to Scarlet, then maybe I could escape this ghastly place.
When the bell rang for the end of the day, I stayed where I was, watching my reflection in the mirror. I saw everyone else curtsey and file out of the room at the edge of my vision.
When the last girl had left, I watched as Miss Finch approached me in the mirror. “Why did you lie to me, Scarlet?” she asked softly.
The way she said it put me even more on edge. She hadn’t spoken like a teacher. She’d spoken like someone who’d been genuinely upset that I’d lied.
I clenched my fists as I turned to face her. “Because I can’t tell you what I was really doing,” I replied.
Oh no. Why had I just said that?
She raised her eyebrows at me. And then, unexpectedly she asked, “Was it important?”
I nodded, not daring to open my mouth in case it said anything else stupid.
“All right.”
All right? I’d been expecting to have to write lines at the very least.
“Just don’t do it again. You’re one of my best students and –” she gave a weak smile – “you know I have problems with some of the others.”
“Yes, Miss.”
At first I presumed she was talking about Nadia, but there was something in the way she said it that made me think otherwise. Maybe there was a reason why Penny no longer took ballet.
“I’ll be on time next lesson, Miss,” I promised. And I meant it.
At the top of the basement stairs I pulled the door shut behind me, and almost ran straight into the round figure of Miss Bowler.
“Slow down, girl!” she barked. “And don’t slam doors. Were you born in a barn?”
“Sorry, Miss. No, Miss,” I said.
I edged around her and walked on, slowly. I needed to get back to the changing rooms by Miss Bowler’s horrid swimming pool and find out what lay inside locker number one.
Ariadne wasn’t back from hockey when I got to our room. I pulled on my uniform and checked that the key was still in my pocket, its coldness reassuring to the touch. I tried not to think about the fact that it had spent the last few months inside a dead girl’s skull.
I hurried back downstairs and out towards the swimming pool, a cold breeze swirling around me.
The changing rooms were deserted again, and they smelt even more of damp. There was a rack of the hideous woollen swimming costumes hung up to dry in one corner. The floor tiles were sopping, and I had to tread carefully as I tiptoed towards the lockers.
There it was. Number one.
Hadn’t anyone ever wondered where the key was or why it wouldn’t open?
I inserted the tiny brown key into the lock and felt a flood of relief when it fitted. I twisted it and the locker door popped open.
My heart rate quickened. There was no tape this time, the pages were simply lying at the bottom of the locker.
After a quick glance over my shoulder, I picked them up and began to read.
Dear Diary,
I don’t trust Violet. Not one bit. She touches all my things, I’m sure of it. I think she might even read what I write in here. Can you believe it? Everyone knows you should never read someone else’s diary. Even Ivy wouldn’t read mine, and she’s my twin.
I’ve kept this diary under my pillow, but I saw Violet standing near it when I came back from the lavatories today. So I’ve decided I need a better hiding place for it. I’m sure I can think of something to thwart her!
Sometimes I think she might be following me. When I’m alone I oft
en hear footsteps, see curtains moving when I turn around. I went for a bath yesterday, and when I walked out with sopping-wet hair she was right there. Just standing outside the door, staring. “What are you doing?” I said, and she replied, “Waiting for a bath. Is that a crime?”
But I didn’t believe her for one second. Her eyes are like a snake’s.
I’m not even sure if it’s just me that she’s spying on. I see her making notes on things all the time, in strange places. Once I thought I saw her snatching glances at an old photograph, but she hid it before I could look.
One day I will find out what she’s up to, I promise you that!
This Violet girl was sounding more sinister by the minute.
I read on:
Dear Diary,
Today in English literature, everyone started giggling when I walked in. They tried to stifle it but it spread like wildfire. “What?” I demanded. I could feel their eyes burning into me. It was only when I turned to the blackboard that I understood why.
Someone had drawn a horrible caricature of me with the teacher’s chalk. The name ‘Scarlet Grey’ floated around the figure’s head in scratchy letters. They’d given me bulbous eyes and straggly hair, and a tongue that poked out of a too-big mouth.
I looked … dead.
I didn’t have to ask who’d drawn it. I went straight up to the desk where Violet and Penny sat smirking. “You’re not going to get away with this,” I said.
Penny laughed, twirling her hair bow with her fingers. “I think we already did,” she replied. So with all my strength, I tipped their stupid desk over on to the floor. Their inkwells smashed and spilt ink blossomed black across their books. Ha!
Violet screamed at me, and that was when Miss Brown walked in. I saw her eyes widen in fury and I just had to run.
I think I was intending to go to the roof but for some reason my legs carried me down to the ballet studio. Miss Finch was there, reading a book in between classes.
She asked me what was wrong and I … I just cried. I know! I never cry! I felt like a complete baby. I told her that Violet won’t leave me alone, that she follows me everywhere and goes through my things. And I told her all about the horrible tricks she and Penny have pulled on me. Miss Finch was sympathetic, and she said that she knew how it felt to be picked on. She said I should try to ignore it.
The Lost Twin Page 11
