The Understudy

by Sophie Hannah

  ‘And number two?’

  ‘Hm?’ Elise frowns.

  ‘You said there were two problems with the theory that Imogen’s behind it all.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. The second problem is that Imogen Curwood doesn’t exist.’

  The traffic ahead has slowed to a standstill. Elise swears under her breath as she brakes.

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘This is why I’m driving you in,’ says Elise. ‘I wanted to tell you before we went into the meeting with Adam—I’ve found something out that I might want to use as leverage if I have to, if Adam won’t give Ruby Donovan her marching orders. You’re a law expert. I want your legal opinion about how much trouble I might be in if I reveal what I’ve found out.’

  ‘You mean . . . in America? The Vee story?’

  ‘No. That, I’m going to reveal. Why do you think I demanded a meeting this afternoon? I was told the Vee story, and about the blacklisting and the fake references, by Ruby’s dad. I didn’t have to break any laws to get that information.’

  ‘By Ruby’s dad? Kendall’s husband?’ Who is this woman? What else is she capable of? If she’s tracked down and spoken to Ruby Donovan’s father . . .

  ‘Uh-huh,’ says Elise. The cars in front of us are moving again, and we start to pick up speed. ‘He didn’t admit it in words, but it’s clear he thinks Ruby pushed Vee to her death. When I told him that was what he believed, he didn’t deny it. Just looked hellishly miserable, poor sod.’

  ‘So . . .’ I’m thinking furiously, trying to catch up, to shake off the feeling that I’m being manipulated. ‘What do you need legal advice about? My specialty is international environmental law, by the way.’ Yes, that is as dull as it sounds. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you.’

  ‘Probably not, but you might have a better idea than I do.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I say.

  ‘Okay, so: The Academy keeps records like all educational establishments, right? One of the things it records on its various databases is student details, obviously—names, addresses, everything you’d expect.’

  ‘Right,’ I say.

  ‘What would you say if I told you I’d gained access to those records?’ Elise sounds proud. ‘Secretly and illicitly.’

  ‘How?’ I ask.

  Elise smiles enigmatically.

  ‘What did you find?’ I ask, silently cursing myself for breaking my resolution.

  ‘It’s more a question of what I didn’t find. I didn’t find—couldn’t find—any record at all of Imogen Curwood being a student at the Orla Flynn Academy.’

  ‘What? That’s . . . but she is a student there. We know she is. She’s with our girls every day.’

  ‘Yeah, and maybe she shouldn’t be. Officially, there’s no Imogen Curwood at the school.’

  ‘Are you sure you . . .’

  ‘Didn’t make a mistake, didn’t misread the records, checked the right year group? Yes. I’m sure. There are forty-six students in our daughters’ year. Imogen Curwood isn’t one of them. Has it occurred to you that they might both be bad news—Imogen and Ruby?’

  I open my mouth to protest, to say that no, that would be implausible and too much of a coincidence, when an idea, a new possibility, smacks into me at full speed, pushing my breath to the back of my throat, making me dizzy.

  Both of them . . .

  ‘I screwed him, you know.’

  ‘What?’ I manage to say.

  ‘Kendall’s husband. Greg.’

  ‘You had sex with Ruby’s dad?’

  ‘Uh-huh. He’s hot. Doesn’t look anything like Ruby—that might have put me off. Do you disapprove?’

  ‘No.’ I don’t care who Elise sleeps with. Why would I? It strikes me as a slightly strange thing to do, but that’s probably because I’ve never had enough spare emotional energy even to consider cheating on Dan. All my secret-life escape activity has gone into my musical, and fantasizing about having a show on Broadway or at the West End. I’d fuck Cameron Mackintosh in a heartbeat if I thought it would help my cause, but he’s gay.

  ‘Actually, I did Kendall a favor,’ says Elise. ‘He was thinking of divorcing her. More than thinking. He was going to do it, soon as he plucked up the courage to tell her. I persuaded him out of it. Worked the old Elise Bond magic and saved Kendall’s marriage.’

  She’s probably waiting for me to ask her why and how she did this, but I can’t be bothered. Maybe a night of passion with Magic Elise was all Greg Donovan needed to get him back on the straight and narrow. Who cares? I’m not remotely interested in the Elise-Greg-Kendall love triangle. All I want to think about right now is my new theory. The more I consider it, the more likely it seems.

  ‘You disapprove,’ says Elise. ‘That’s fine—I don’t mind. It’s okay for people to be wrong about me.’

  ‘Elise, do you think it’s possible that . . .’

  ‘Wait, watch . . . what the . . .’

  I look up to see what she’s sounding so panicked about. Elise screams. I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong, but I don’t hear my own words, only a terrible, metallic crash-crunch sound, then more screaming.

  If Elise is screaming, she must be okay. She’s alive.

  The car spins to the side at what feels like a hundred miles an hour. My arms are flailing around for something solid to grab hold of.

  I don’t know how much time passes before we stop moving. I don’t trust it at first: the stillness. Elise lets out a strange, high-pitched laugh. Then she says, ‘Run away, you coward piece of shit!’

  ‘Who?’ I ask. We’re on the pavement, still in the car, still upright. I don’t think I’m injured, though my heart’s hammering so hard, it feels like a pulsing wound trapped in my chest. The impact must have pushed us up here.

  ‘Whoever just drove into us. Didn’t you see? A car made a beeline straight for us—boy racer, probably. He accelerated for no reason and rammed straight into us from behind. Then drove away.’

  ‘Did you see him? His face, I mean.’

  ‘Didn’t see anything.’ Elise exhales slowly. ‘Tinted windows.’

  ‘So it might not have been a “he.” ’

  ‘That tire squeal as he drove away was classic boy racer. Fucking dick! That’s it for my car—no way this isn’t a write-off.’

  A police car, its siren blaring, pulls up across the road. An overpowering tiredness sweeps over me. Soon we’re going to be caught up in official accident reports. I wish we could skip that part. I look at the clock on the dashboard. It’s 3:46. Our meeting with Adam Racki is at 4:30. Can we make it in time? How long will this police interrogation take?

  There’s a snag in my brain, something I nearly noticed . . . Nearly but not quite. What was it? I try to go back in my mind, retrace my thoughts. That’s it: the clock on Elise’s dashboard, and the time. 3:46. Specifically, the ‘46’ part . . .

  ‘You said there were forty-six students in our girls’ year,’ I say quietly as a police officer gets out of his car and starts walking toward us.

  ‘Excluding Imogen, yes,’ says Elise.

  ‘That’s not right. Without Imogen, there are thirty-seven in the year. With her included, thirty-eight.’

  Elise sighs. ‘Look, I’m the one who’s been nosing around in the records. I’m telling you: there are forty-six.’

  ‘But there aren’t. There just aren’t. Did you recognize every name?’

  ‘I mean . . . no,’ she admits after a short pause. ‘I don’t know anyone by name apart from Jess, Ruby, Bel—Sadie’s friends. That’s it.’

  How can she be so uninterested? We’ve been to so many school events where the other students are there with their families. Then I realize: Generally, Elise hasn’t been there—she’s usually away on a work trip, or too busy at the office to turn up.

  ‘What makes you so sure there are only thirty-seven?’ she asks me.

  There’s no way I’m ever going to tell her or anyone the shameful truth: that I know the name of every student in Jess�
��s year at OFA, and exactly how many of them there are, because in my stupid deluded head, her classmates make up the imaginary cast of my pretty much imaginary musical. Many times over the past few months, I’ve typed up a cast list on my laptop, then deleted it, then started again, moving this or that person from ensemble to minor part to lead role and back again as I alter my assessment of their various talents and develop my idea of the show.

  ‘I just know,’ I say. ‘Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight with Imogen.’

  The police officer taps on the roof of the car and Elise lowers her window. Another man’s voice coming from somewhere nearby, not the policeman’s, says, ‘The other car was out of control. It was speeding along way too fast and crashed right into them.’

  ‘We’re both fine, thanks,’ Elise tells the small crowd that has gathered. ‘Shocked, but in one piece.’

  I let her do the talking while I puzzle over why there are records in OFA’s system for nine students who aren’t there. And no records for Imogen. The ghoul. Where is she now? In a class, sitting next to Jess, maybe? The thought makes me shiver. I don’t believe in ghosts, but they’re well known for being in two places at once. Could it have been Imogen, driving the car that . . .

  No. That’s crazy. She can’t possibly know that Elise has just told me there’s no trace of her in the Academy’s records. There’s no reason for her to think we’re suspicious of her.

  She can’t know . . . unless . . .

  No. It’s ridiculous. Ghoulish is just an adjective. Imogen Curwood is not a fucking ghost.

  ‘Is it true, Kendall?’ Adam Racki asks.

  It’s five thirty, an hour later than planned—thanks to the car accident—and we’re all in his office. I was surprised at first when Elise and I arrived and found Kendall here, but really, how could she stay away? However much she’d rather never see me or Elise again, she’ll feel it’s her duty to speak up for Ruby.

  ‘It’s not true that Ruby killed Vee,’ she says quietly, as if on cue. ‘Not deliberately and not accidentally. She didn’t do it, no matter what anyone says. I know the whole world suspects her, but they’re wrong. It’s only because Vee’s parents told everyone at the school a twisted version—’

  ‘What about the rest?’ Adam cuts her off. ‘Ruby’s stellar references, the US performing arts schools that were all desperate to have her?’

  ‘All lies,’ I tell him.

  He ignores me, keeps his eyes on Kendall.

  She nods. ‘Everything else Elise has said is true—all apart from the bit about Ruby pushing Vee down the stairs. I wrote those references myself. They weren’t real. They were a lie. It was all a lie. I wanted Ruby to have a chance. I didn’t think of it as wrong, really, didn’t think I was harming anyone. All I cared about was my daughter and how I could make things right for her.’

  ‘This is very serious,’ says Adam.

  ‘I think you’re going to have to ask Ruby to leave the Academy immediately,’ says Elise.

  He turns away. God, he’s useless. What’s he waiting for? Will he ever realize that he’s in charge here, and do something decisive? At this rate, I might have to go to the Sun or the Mail after all. I’m not scared of any questions they might ask. I can’t believe I ever was. How did I let Elise plant that fear in my mind?

  For the first time I wonder if perhaps Elise herself is scared of that kind of attention. If she’ll break into school records and sleep with someone else’s husband, what else might she be willing to do that she wouldn’t want to come to light?

  ‘Why?’ Kendall asks her. ‘Why will Ruby have to leave the Academy immediately?’ She’s not full of rage and fear, as she was at Gymkhana; today she’s dry-eyed and calm. ‘Because I got her in here under false pretenses, or because of the strange things that have been happening?’

  ‘Both, I would have thought.’ Elise looks at Racki. He’s decided to act like we’re not here, staring out the window as if he’s alone in the room.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ says Kendall. ‘Now that Adam’s seen how brilliant Ruby is with his own eyes, what does it matter that I faked her references? She’s easily talented enough to be here.’

  ‘Kendall, it’s not about talent,’ Elise says. ‘No one’s denying that Ruby’s a gifted actor and singer. It’s about character, and the safety of the other students.’

  ‘The noose and everything that’s happened lately, that’s not Ruby,’ says Kendall. ‘Someone else did those things. Bronnie, tell them—tell them how you know Ruby can’t have put the noose there herself.’

  ‘I don’t think she can have done it, Adam,’ says Bronnie, after a brief hesitation. ‘I was in the costume room all evening apart from a few minutes—and I could see Ruby that whole time. But . . .’

  ‘But what?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m so sorry to have to say this, Kendall, but . . . Imogen told me that Ruby pushed her down the stairs. At Elise’s house, on the night of the sleepover.’

  ‘What?’ Elise frowns. ‘She told me the opposite: that no one pushed her. She made a big point of it. Actually, I remember thinking there was something double-edged about the way she said it. It was odd. She could have just said, “I fell down the stairs,” but it felt more like she was making a point of saying that she fell and, honest, guv, no one pushed her.’

  ‘You mean she insisted no one pushed her in a way that made it seem as if someone did?’ I say. I can imagine exactly how that would have sounded.

  Elise nods. ‘She seemed to be protesting too much, now that I come to think of it—she could have been covering up for Ruby.’

  Finally, Adam makes a contribution. ‘Why would she protect Ruby if Ruby had just pushed her down the stairs?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps she was trying to hint that Ruby had attacked her but was too scared to say it out loud. Maybe Ruby said, “Tell anyone and you’re dead.” ’

  Kendall’s on autopilot, shaking her head.

  Elise says, ‘Once someone’s pushing you down the stairs, you’re in physical danger—I’d have thought that’d be scary enough. You’d speak up, surely.’

  ‘And she did, eventually,’ says Bronnie. ‘She told me. Maybe in the moment, at Elise’s house, she wasn’t sure what to do. Then she thought about it afterward and realized she needed to tell someone. But then . . . why would she beg me not to tell anyone?’

  ‘You’re all missing something obvious,’ I say. Taking a deep breath, I get ready to share my theory and risk being called crazy. How can I be wrong? I can’t be. There’s no other explanation that makes sense.

  Elise gives me a sharp look. I’ve promised that I won’t mention anything about her little hacking adventure. ‘I think Imogen’s not who she’s claiming to be,’ I say.

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ asks Adam.

  ‘I think Imogen Curwood probably isn’t her real name. I think her English accent, however convincing, is fake. She’s likely to be American—like Vee, the girl who died. There has to be a link: First Vee falls down the stairs and dies, then Imogen falls down the stairs and blames Ruby . . . What if Imogen’s a member of Vee’s family or . . . sent by them, somehow? Maybe they didn’t like the idea of Ruby getting away with what they saw as the murder of their loved one and coming to England to start a new life, get a second chance.’

  Everyone stares at me.

  ‘Think about it,’ I say. ‘Jess swears blind that Ruby can’t have put the music box in her locker because they were together all morning. So who did? That music box appeared the day Imogen started here—the very same day. Imogen didn’t know Jess at that point. She had no motive to attack her. So what if Jess wasn’t her intended victim? What if her aim was to make Ruby look guilty, maybe get her expelled? That didn’t work—for some reason you don’t expel bullies, Adam—so she adapted her plan and turned on Ruby directly: the graffiti appeared, then the noose. And if Ruby was the one she came here to target, what was her motive? If she’s who she claims to be—Imogen Curwood, new to the school—s
he doesn’t yet know Ruby well enough to want to harm her. She certainly didn’t on her first day, which is when the music box happened. Her being here, everything she’s done, must be linked to wanting payback for Vee—it’s the only story that makes sense. First chance she gets, the sleepover at Elise’s, she trots down the stairs, lies at the bottom of them, starts screaming, and makes out that Ruby pushed her—first by hinting, then by telling Bronnie and swearing her to secrecy.’

  ‘I think we need to hear from both girls,’ says Adam. ‘Ruby and Imogen. Wait here, all of you.’

  A few minutes later, the door opens. Adam walks in, with Ruby and Imogen trailing behind him. Ruby is crying and shaking a little. Imogen is staring straight ahead, eyes wide and clear, as if she’s staring at someone on the opposite side of the room, someone who isn’t there.

  Creepy. Ghoulish.

  ‘Thanks for coming to talk to us, girls,’ says Adam, as if they had a choice. ‘We’d like you to tell us about what happened at Sadie’s house, when you all stayed there recently. Imogen, you told Mrs. Richardson that Ruby pushed you down the stairs?’

  Imogen looks shocked. ‘No, I didn’t. No one pushed me.’ She turns to Elise. ‘Mrs. Bond, I told you at the time, don’t you remember? I fell. It was an accident.’

  ‘Imogen, that’s not what you said to me,’ Bronnie protests. ‘Adam, I promise you, she did tell me Ruby pushed her.’

  ‘I didn’t push anyone,’ Ruby weeps. ‘I didn’t touch her.’

  ‘She really didn’t,’ Imogen says. She walks over to Ruby, puts her arms round her, and gives her a hug. ‘It’s okay, Rubes. We know you didn’t do anything, even if they don’t believe us.’ Ruby pulls away from her.

  I’ve had enough of this freak show. I’m on my feet before I can stop myself. ‘Get them out of here, now,’ I hear myself snarl. ‘Fuck off, the pair of you.’

  ‘Carolyn,’ says Elise in a warning tone.