“Claire!” she exclaimed, peering down at the tiny girl in her brand new leotard. “Claire, you have been blessed with a great gift! Come, we must talk to your mother.”
Gertrude watched as Madame called their mother in and excitedly told her that Claire had the potential to be a great dancer. There was talk of extra lessons and scholarships, and nobody mentioned Gertrude once. Nobody even looked at her.
“I taught Claire to dance like that,” she chipped in, determined to get them to notice her.
“Well done, darling,” her mother said, without even turning round. Claire, meanwhile, continued to pirouette around the room, oblivious to the sensation she was creating. Gertrude sat cross-legged in the most uncomfortable spot she could find on the wooden floor. Ballet had been her thing, her favourite thing, but now it was all Claire’s.
She continued the lessons for a while, but her enjoyment was never the same as Madame Beringer cooed and exclaimed over her sister’s incredible prowess. She loved ballet, probably always would, but she just couldn’t bear it.
“I don’t think I want to dance anymore,” she told her mum on the way home from class a few weeks later.
“OK,” her mother nodded.
Gertrude felt a lump rise up in her throat. Her mother had accepted it without a word. All she had wanted was for her to reassure her, to tell her how good she was, that it would be a waste of her talent not to continue. But her mother didn’t say anything of the sort. She was too preoccupied with Claire.
So Gertrude sat at home while Claire spent more and more time at the Ballet School.
“Maybe you would like to join the Brownies?” her mother suggested one night after she dropped Claire off for yet another lesson.
“Brownies?” Gertrude raged. She ran up to her room and slammed the door in disgust. She tore down her posters of Darcey Bussell and the girls from Fame, and tossed them all in the bin, immediately regretting their loss. Then she threw herself down on her bed and sobbed her little heart out.
Morgan sat by herself at the bar of the Dragon, chewing a strand of her long, brown hair. Jock considered tiptoeing past, but Neil saw him come in and asked if he wanted his usual.
“Yes please,” he said awkwardly. “Er ... Hi, Morgan,” he added.
“How do you know my name?” she asked suspiciously.
“From the tea shop.”
She looked blank.
“I was there when the brick came through the window.”
“Oh, that was you?”
Either she was a really great actress or she really was that self-absorbed.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he commented.
She glanced up at the moth-eaten dartboard. “That’s because it’s minging.”
Jock glanced at Neil, but in fairness, he didn’t look particularly offended.
“It was my friend’s idea to meet here,” she explained. “But she’s late. Actually, she’s always late.”
“I know the feeling.”
Her eyes looked a little bloodshot and glassy.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” she said.
“No.”
“So where are you from?” She took a swig from her bottle, some kind of purple alcopop. Not her first, judging by the empties lined up along the bar.
“Notting Hill.”
“Never fancied London myself,” she said. “I hear the streets are paved with dog poo.”
He didn’t deny it. “So, um, did they find out who chucked the brick through the window yet?” he asked.
“Not as such. PC Wesley thinks it was probably those May Day protesters. Some of them go in for dramatic stunts, don’t they? Remember when they poured tomato ketchup all over the Houses of Parliament?”
He nodded. His mum had been livid.
“I bet they did the sheep pen, too. I saw one of them with a couple of whippets.”
Jock frowned. “Would a whippet savage a lamb?”
“It would if you trained it to. Any dog could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“Do you … do you think the May Day protesters took Sapphire?” he asked.
“No.”
He looked at her closely. “How can you be so sure?”
“Well, what am I supposed to think? I mean, did you actually see anyone chasing her?”
“No,” he said, thoughtfully. No one but me.
“No, she staged this,” she said. “Just like she staged the May Queen contest.”
“What do you mean?”
She glanced quickly around the bar. “Don’t tell anyone or I’ll have to pay her back.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She rigged it. Well, I don’t know about the other contestants, but she paid me to drop out, right after they announced the finalists.”
“She paid you?” He was incredulous, not just that Sapphire would pay Morgan off, but that Morgan would allow her to. Would she really turn down the chance to be May Queen for the day? She hadn’t even known about the May Queen Killer.
“How much did she pay you?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“A grand.”
He whistled. “That’s a lot!”
She nodded. “Especially as I would have done it for half.” She took another swig of her drink. “She acted like she didn’t give a toss, but she really wanted to be May Queen. You should have seen the way she pressed the money into my hand. She needed me to take it.”
He picked up his pint and took a long swallow.
“And do you know who took my place?” Morgan asked, her tongue loosened by the drink.
He shook his head.
“Bronwyn. Sapphire’s cook. I’m betting that was her doing, too. I mean, who’d pick Bronwyn for pity’s sake? The girl has a face like a blob fish and a backside like a …”
“Yeah, I did think that was a bit odd. She seems popular, though.”
“She was a charity choice and everyone loved it. You know, pick the ugly girl because we all feel sorry for her. Makes everyone feel all warm and fuzzy. But that’s not why Sapphire did it. She just wanted to cut down the competition. There was no way they’d crown Bronwyn May Queen over her.”
“Do you think Bronwyn had anything to do with it?” he asked.
“Hard to tell, but I heard she and Nerys had a whale of a time on the float.”
“Nerys?”
“Sapphire’s other attendant. I heard they were taking it in turns to sit on the throne. I don’t know why the Mayor didn’t just stop the parade.”
“Well, nobody really knew what had happened,” Jock said.
“No,” she agreed. “I heard there was some rumour going round that Sapphire had a tummy bug. I don’t know where it came from, but I suspect the committee. Those old biddies put a lot of work into organising the fair. They were hardly going to cancel.” She took a big gulp of her drink. “God, Sapphire had better be coming back soon. Angie’s never liked me. She’s just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”
He thought of friendly, kind-hearted Angie and couldn’t imagine her sacking anyone. He didn’t envy her having to manage Morgan.
“Had you seriously never heard of the May Queen Killer?” he asked, watching her closely.
“No, I don’t watch the news.”
“But you must have heard people talking?”
She shrugged. “I don’t listen much.”
That, he could believe.
“Babe! Are you ready to go?”
He turned to see another young woman who must have been Morgan’s friend.
“Bye,” said Morgan, hopping down from her barstool. “We’re going on to Sonic.”
He couldn’t help wondering if she would even get into a club after drinking so many alcopops. She looked a bit unsteady on her feet.
“Hey, why don’t you come with us?” her friend said, giving him an appraising look.
“Er, no thanks. I’m waiting for my friend.”
“Yeah, you’re probably too old a
nyway,” Morgan said, as she stumbled out the door.
He should have been insulted, but she was right. He had never been into the clubbing scene. The one time he tried it, people had stared at him like he was their granddad. And he was only thirty, for Pete’s sake. Still, a quiet drink was all he wanted. He decided to give Dylan ten more minutes. That was about how long it would take him to sink one last pint. But first, he needed a wiz.
He walked into the gents and unzipped his fly. He was just about to let loose when the door opened and another man approached. He heard an impressive gush of pee, in stark contrast to his own.
“Hello, Jock.”
“Stavely.”
Now this was weird. There was no way he was going to be able to pee now.
“So, anything you wanted to tell me?” Stavely asked.
Jock couldn’t be sure, since he refused to look up, but he thought Stavely was looking straight at him, in direct violation of the urinal code.
“Just a minute.”
He willed himself to start weeing. All the while, Stavely’s impressive torrent went on and on.
“Can’t go?” Stavely asked, his own bladder finally relieved. “Well, why don’t we talk about what’s on your mind?”
Jock didn’t want to talk to Stavely. He wanted to put himself away. But at that moment, his pee finally started. He wasn’t going anywhere, not until he had finished watering the marigolds.
Stavely drummed his fingers against the wall. “So what was it you wanted to tell me?”
“I was with her the night before she disappeared,” Jock blabbed. The words were out of his mouth before he even had time to think. “She invited me up for coffee, but I didn’t stay the whole night and I didn’t do or say anything to scare her. I certainly didn’t kill her.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Stavely said. “Bet you feel better now you’ve got that off your chest, don’t you?”
Jock nodded and pulled up his zip. He should probably mention what else he had discovered in Sapphire’s flat that night, but they would find out soon enough if they took a good enough look. It wasn’t for him to tell.
Sapphire huddled with the other May Queens on the cold, hard floor. Only the closeness of their bodies brought any warmth. One snored like a warthog while the little one coughed incessantly in her sleep. It ought to have annoyed her, but she found those sounds strangely comforting.
She had strange, vivid dreams where she was May Queen, waving merrily to the crowd. But nobody waved back. They were all looking up at her with fear. Somewhere in the crowd was the May Queen Killer. She needed to hide, but she didn’t even know what he or she looked like. It could be anyone.
“Follow the light,” someone shouted at her and she was suddenly aware of a beam of light shining a path out of the parade. She jumped down from the float but it was a lot further than she had expected. She felt herself falling down, down, down until she jolted awake. She looked up and saw a beam of daylight as it filtered in through the gap under the cellar door. Her eyes were crusty from crying. She just wanted to go home.
“Morning,” said Ingrid. “I hope you managed to get a little sleep.”
“A little.”
“That’s good. Here, you should drink this.”
“Is that tea?” she asked groggily.
“Yes. You should drink it while it’s still warm.”
She took the cup, draining the lukewarm liquid in a couple of mouthfuls. The tea was sweet and strong, with just a dash of milk, the way she liked it. She could have drunk a dozen cups, but one was all she was offered.
Sapphire looked down at the cup. It had the same distinctive leaf pattern as the ones she had in the tea shop.
“Is this one of mine?” she asked.
Ingrid shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Can’t you tell me anything?” she asked in exasperation.
One of the other women stirred beside her. “We don’t mean to be unhelpful,” she said, sitting up. Her long, curly hair formed a frizzy mane around her shoulders.
“We just don’t know much. They don’t tell us anything.”
“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Sapphire asked.
“Fizz.”
“What’s that short for?”
“Elizabeth, obviously.”
Under normal circumstances, she might have smiled.
“Take a moment to wake up,” Ingrid said. “Fizz is going to lead us in some yoga in a minute. That’s how we usually start the day.”
“I’m not really into yoga,” Sapphire confessed. She touched her throat. Her mouth was so dry that it hurt to speak.
“You should give it a go, all the same. It keeps us nimble and it relaxes the mind.”
She stood at the back and watched as the others took their places. They moved in perfect unison, which made her wonder how many times they had done this. How long had these girls been here? She was afraid to ask.
A chill breeze rattled through the cellar, kicking up dust and the youngest girl, Harmony, coughed loudly. Sapphire looked around, but she couldn’t see any water.
“There’s nothing for the rest of you to drink?” she asked.
Fizz shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I drank all the tea.”
“It’s OK,” said Ingrid. “You needed it. You need to recover.”
“Yes, but if I had known …”
“Don’t fret,” Fizz warned her. “There will be more. We just have to wait.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. They might bring something later. If not, then tomorrow.”
“God!”
She licked the dryness in her mouth and tried not to think about how thirsty she was. Her head throbbed intermittently, demanding more air, more water. But she was going to have to be patient. She didn’t know how the others could stand it. She paced from one side of the room to the other. She had been ignoring the deep pressure in her bladder for a while, but it was becoming painful.
“Where are we supposed to pee?” she asked.
“Use the empty cup,” Ingrid said. “They’ll take it away when they collect the tray.”
Sapphire shuddered. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it. With great indignity, she squatted over the dainty tea cup. She filled it right to the brim with dark, orange urine, a colour not unlike the tea that had originally been in it.
“What if the rest of you need to go?” she asked, placing the cup by the steps.
“We’ll use the tea tray,” said Harmony.
“What if we need to … you know?”
“Have a guess.”
“This is too much!” She looked up at the ceiling. There were a few pipes, but none big enough to crawl through. There were no windows either and no significant cracks in the walls. As far as she could see, there was only one way in and one way out. And without tools or keys, it was impossible to get through a locked door.
“Tell me about the people who took us,” she begged, but the others just looked away.
“You said they come down here?” she prompted.
“Only to bring food and drink.”
“So why don’t we overpower them?”
“We can’t,” Ingrid said, shaking her head.
“Have you tried?”
The May Queens looked at each other. “There was another girl,” said Ingrid. “She tried to escape.”
“Well, what happened to her?”
“Don’t ask me that. It’s better you don’t know.”
More than anything, she desperately wanted to know. But there was a look in Ingrid’s eyes, a look that begged her not to push it too far.
She sat down, defeated.
“What would you normally be doing now?” Ingrid asked a little later, as they huddled together on the floor.
“I’d be sitting down to breakfast,” Sapphire said.
Ingrid smiled. “What would you be having?”
She could feel their eyes upon her. “Mayb
e yoghurt,” she said, “with fresh strawberries.”
“Hmm …” Harmony licked her lips.
“Or eggs and beans on toast.”
“God, I miss baked beans!”
“I miss eggs!”
She paused for dramatic effect. “Or even a slice of cake.”
“Describe the cake,” Fizz implored. The others listened eagerly, salivating at her every word.
“Well, my favourite is lemon drizzle cake,” she said. “I make it myself. You take just the juiciest of lemons and–”
A loud, grating sound filled the air.
“What’s that?” she whispered.
“That’s the lift,” Ingrid said grimly. “Someone’s coming down.”
9
The door opened slowly. Sapphire shielded her eyes as a torch shone down into the cellar. After so many hours in the half-light, the brightness burned.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk went boots on the stone steps. The light grew brighter, the closer they came.
“Keep your eyes covered,” Ingrid hissed. “Once you’ve seen their faces, they can never let you go.”
Sapphire kept her hands over her face. The May Queen Killer was so close now. It was all she could do not to look. She could hear breathing, a little fast and heavy from the effort of the steps.
“Please let me go,” she said, her voice shrill. “I haven’t seen you. I can’t tell anyone who you are.”
The only reply was the sound of feet thudding back up the steps. The light grew dim as the footsteps retreated and she peeked through her fingers. The door opened and shut once more, leaving them to their darkness.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now nothing,” said Ingrid. “Just be thankful you were spared.”
Gertrude sat up sharply and threw off her covers. At first she thought a car had veered off the road, but when she pulled back the curtains, she saw that the outside lights were on. The loud buzzing noise was actually coming from the lawn mower. Swearing under her breath, she pulled on her dressing gown and stomped across the landing. The door to Claire’s bedroom was wide open, a tangle of shoes and clothes spilling out into the hallway. Her sister lay face down on the bed, snoring contentedly. Nothing short of a civil war was likely to wake her.
The Perfect Girl Page 6
