The Understudy

by Sophie Hannah

  Adam looks at her, as if for guidance. When she doesn’t respond, he says, ‘Um . . . all right, thank you, girls. That’ll be all for now.’

  Once they’ve gone, I say to Adam, ‘If you’re waiting for me to apologize, don’t bother. I want them gone, permanently. You’ve got grounds to expel both of them. Bloody well do it or I’ll . . .’

  ‘I’ve no grounds to expel Imogen,’ says Adam. ‘There’s no evidence that she’s done anything wrong.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ I snap. ‘She’s done everything. It’s all been her.’

  ‘She lied, Adam,’ says Bronnie. ‘About what she told me.’

  Adam sighs. ‘I think I need to bring her father in. It’s not right that you’re all here, participating in this conversation, while Derek Curwood knows nothing about it.’

  ‘He can’t come in,’ says Kendall. ‘He’s dying.’

  ‘What?’ Adam looks puzzled. ‘No, he isn’t. I saw him the other day. He dropped Imogen off. Waved at me before he drove away. He seemed fine.’

  ‘Imogen told me he was in a hospice, about to die,’ says Bronnie slowly.

  ‘More lies!’ I say.

  ‘I’m going to bring Mr. Curwood in,’ says Adam, sounding decisive at last. ‘I also need to speak to the board of governors before I do anything.’

  ‘In the meantime, can you . . . I mean, can you send Imogen home?’ asks Kendall. ‘Can you suspend her? I’m pretty sure my daughter’s at serious risk of harm—assuming you’re not going to expel her immediately either. How would you feel if it was your child who’d had the noose treatment?’ As soon as the words are out, Kendall covers her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh, my goodness, I didn’t think . . . I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ says Adam, though his face has lost some of its color. ‘I’m never sure how widely known . . . Some of you don’t know this about me, as I don’t mention it very often. I lost a child to AML many years ago—acute myeloid leukemia. That’s why I would never be cavalier about the problems we’re dealing with here. Rest assured, I’m taking all of this very seriously. I’m going to speak to the governors about everything that’s happened. I also need to take legal advice on behalf of the school. There are things you don’t know about Imogen. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but . . . well, she has a history of self-harming.’

  ‘The dressing on her wrist.’ Elise looks at me.

  ‘I don’t care,’ I say. I’m on my feet, heading for the door. For the time being, it seems, Ruby and Imogen are being allowed to stay in the building, and I can’t stand to look at Adam Racki’s face for one more second.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Elise calls after me.

  Nowhere. I just have to escape, before I lash out with more than rude words. I leave the room, slam the door behind me, and lean against it, closing my eyes.

  When I open them a few seconds later, she’s there. Imogen. Standing on the other side of the corridor, looking straight at me with a peculiar expression on her face, arms hanging unnaturally by her sides. I make an undignified noise and try to back away, then realize I can’t; there’s a door behind me.

  ‘It’s okay, Carolyn,’ she says. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just an ordinary girl. Like Jess.’

  I enjoyed making up my ‘dying father’ story. The strange thing is, so much of it’s true. Almost all of it, apart from the dying father part. What do details matter, though? Emotional truth is far more important than boring old facts. Can I make myself cry in five seconds by thinking about losing someone I love? Yes. I don’t need a terminally ill father in order to imagine how it would feel to have one. I know all about loss, and, when you boil it down—that’s what an audience wants: the bare-bones, elemental experience. The archetypal suffering. If they get that accompanied by a description of a yellow-painted room in a hospice that doesn’t exist, who cares? I haven’t even told anyone the room is yellow yet. Maybe I never will. Still, it’s important to know all the details of your story, even the ones you might never need to tell. You’ve got to have it all straight in your head. The details matter. And the facts matter, of course, but one fact matters far more than all the others: No one understands the agony of loss until they’ve experienced it for themselves. And that’s what I’m here to help with. I’ll make the most oblivious among them understand, before too long.

  6

  Revelations

  B. A. Paris

  SNAPCHAT: BEL, SADIE, JESS

  Bel: Hey anyone know why Rubes has deleted her account?

  Sadie: Instagram too Jess: Guilt Bel: Think she really did push Imo down the stairs?

  Jess: Yep!

  Bel: What about you, Sades?

  Sadie: Dunno. Don’t want to think Rubes would do something like that Jess: Would loved to have been in Adam’s office earlier. Your mum say anything, Bel?

  Bel: No, just that we shouldn’t judge Jess: Sounds about right Bel: Bog off. What about your mum? She was there too Jess: Polite version—Rubes is a big fat liar.

  Sadie: What about Imo? You trust her?

  Jess: About as far as I can fart

  BRONNIE

  My head is pounding by the time Bel and I get home. Normally we chatter away during the journey, but she seems as preoccupied as I am. Although I can’t wait to talk through everything with Carl, I’m glad he’s not back yet because I need some downtime. That meeting in Adam’s office was the most upsetting of my life, and not just because he told us about his daughter. I stick my head around the door of the sitting room, where Toby is watching television, and have a quick chat with him about his day. Normally I’d tell him to make a start on his homework but tonight, I’m happy to leave him where he is.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ I ask Bel, slipping off my shoes.

  ‘No thanks, Mum, I’ve got stuff to do.’

  I look at her in surprise, because we always have a cup of tea together when we come in. But she’s already turned away. Remembering how silent she was on the way home, I’m about to ask her if everything is all right, then decide I don’t want to know the answer—not yet, anyway. I don’t think I could cope with anything else just now; I’m still reeling from what Carolyn told us at lunch yesterday, about the real reason Kendall and Ruby left the US.

  I fill the kettle and while I’m waiting for it to boil, my indignation rises. I can’t believe Kendall lied to us all like that. What I can’t get my head round is, if Vee’s death really was an accident, why didn’t Kendall just tell us about it? Anyone would understand that she needed to get away after something so terrible happening in her home. Imagine having to live in a house where someone has died! If I were Kendall, or Ruby for that matter, I’d never be able to go down to the basement again, never be able to look at those stairs without seeing poor Vee lying at the bottom of them. I’m surprised they haven’t decided to sell the house.

  I felt awful when Carolyn insinuated that Ruby might have had something to do with Vee’s fall because I couldn’t get what Imogen had told me out of my mind, about Ruby pushing her down the stairs at the sleepover. I’d never told Carolyn and Elise, and although part of me wanted to, I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. But then, when Adam hauled Imogen and Ruby into his office, Imogen ended up telling everyone herself. I could barely look at her; I couldn’t believe that she’d lie to me about something as serious as her dad being ill. I felt so stupid—thank God the other mums didn’t make a big thing of it. Carolyn missed a golden opportunity there but fortunately, Vee’s death trumped my naïvete. I’m furious with Imogen. What sort of person lies about their father being seriously ill? Isn’t she worried about tempting fate? Her poor father; how would he feel if he knew what his daughter’s been saying about him? As with Kendall, I don’t understand why Imogen lied. Maybe it was to gain my sympathy, so that I’d be more inclined to believe what she’d told me about Ruby. Well, I don’t care what Adam said about her self-harming, she’s not getting any more sympathy from me!

  I’m so grateful that Bel has never caused Carl and
me a moment’s worry. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be Kendall, knowing her daughter’s a bully, or Carolyn, knowing that someone hates her daughter. If it were me, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. And there’s definitely something wrong with Sadie, although I’m probably losing more sleep over it than Elise is. In fact, I doubt Elise has even noticed.

  I make tea, putting a teabag straight into the cup and adding hot water. I usually use a pot but desperate times call for desperate measures. I carry my unbrewed tea over to the table and sit down, thinking about the meeting. It didn’t feel right that there was only a small pause in hostilities after Adam told us about his daughter—but that’s Carolyn for you. She’s like a dog with a bone when she thinks she’s onto something.

  ‘Mum?’ I look up and see Bel standing in front of me. ‘Can I talk to you for a moment?’

  She looks as if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and I immediately feel guilty. I knew she was preoccupied with something; I should have asked instead of putting my own needs first. ‘Of course,’ I say, pulling out the chair next to me.

  She sits down. ‘It’s about Sadie.’

  ‘That’s funny, I was just thinking about her.’

  ‘I’m so worried about her!’ It bursts out of her like water from a dam, and when her eyes fill with tears, I know it has to be more than Sadie watching too many series late at night. Please don’t let her be pregnant, I think, putting my arm around Bel and drawing her close.

  ‘Why don’t you just tell me?’ I say gently. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure we can sort it out.’

  ‘I think she’s taking drugs, Mum.’ It takes a while for the words to sink in and when they do, I realize it’s one of those days that’s just going to keep on smacking me in the face. She can’t hold her worry in any longer; tears spring from her eyes and I can feel her body shuddering against mine.

  ‘Drugs?’ I can hardly get the word out. ‘Bel, are you sure?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’ She reaches behind herself, grabs the roll of kitchen towel from the side, tears off a piece, and blows her nose. ‘You’ve noticed, haven’t you? You’ve noticed how awful she looks. And she hardly eats anymore and when I asked her what was wrong, she said she didn’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean she’s taking drugs,’ I say. ‘You said yourself that she’s allowed to stay up all hours. Maybe her body clock is out of sync or something.’

  Bel shakes her head violently, sending her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. ‘Today, at lunchtime, she went off without me—she said she needed to be on her own. I was really worried so I waited at the gate for her to come back. She had her head down, reading something, and as soon as she saw me, she stuffed it quickly into her bag as if she didn’t want me to see it. So when she wasn’t looking, I took it out to see what it was.’ She digs in her pocket and brings out a shiny pamphlet, the sort you find in health centers, folded in half. ‘Look,’ she says, unfolding it.

  So I look. There’s a picture of a bottle of pills, a syringe, and the words The first step is admitting you have a problem on the front.

  ‘This is awful, Bel,’ I say, taking it from her. For a moment I feel completely out of my depth. I might have been able to believe that Jess was taking drugs, or Ruby—but Sadie? She’s even more level-headed than Bel. ‘I just can’t believe it. I mean, why? And how?’

  ‘The how’s easy, Mum. Drugs are easy to come by at the Academy, as long as you have money, which Sadie does. Her mum’s always flinging twenty-pound notes at her, sometimes fifties. Guilt money, Sadie calls it. The why is more difficult.’

  ‘You said she felt under pressure. Could that be why?’

  ‘Yes, but she’s not under pressure academically. And lately, she doesn’t seem that interested in performing. I’ve Googled it—being moody, withdrawn, not being able to eat or sleep are all classic signs of drug addiction.’ She looks at me in anguish, her huge brown eyes still bright with tears. ‘What are we going to do, Mum?’

  ‘I’m going to have to tell Elise,’ I say, my heart sinking.

  Bel nods. ‘You won’t tell Mr. Racki, will you? She might be expelled, like those students last year, and I don’t want that to happen.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. Sadie needs help, not to be expelled.’

  ‘When will you speak to her mum?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’ I think for a moment. ‘I’d rather tell her face-to-face than over the phone. I’ll text her now, ask if I can see her before she starts work tomorrow. I can always go in late.’

  Bel leans over and gives me a kiss. ‘Thanks, Mum. Thank you for always being there for me. That’s Sadie’s problem, I think. She doesn’t really have anyone there for her.’

  I make her a cup of tea, because I want to make sure she’s all right. By the time she leaves to go and do her homework, she’s in a much better frame of mind. I check on Toby, who can’t believe his luck at being allowed to watch even more television, and take my mobile from my bag.

  Elise, could I come over and see you tomorrow morning, at whatever time suits you? I add It’s urgent, in case she thinks it’s about the fundraiser.

  I have to wait until almost ten o’clock before I get a reply.

  If it’s about the fundraiser, I’ll get my assistant to make a transfer tomorrow.

  No, it isn’t about the fundraiser! I reply indignantly. I don’t want to say that I need to talk to her about Sadie in case she starts demanding why and it’s not something I want to talk about by text. It’s about something much more serious.

  How about Monday next week?

  How about tomorrow morning? I retort.

  Busy all morning, I can be at the house at 12. Will need to leave by 12.30. Will that do?

  I want to tell her that I’ll make sure to talk quickly but she’d probably reply Good.

  Yes. Thanks, Elise, I write instead.

  I don’t feel like going to work the next morning, which is a first for me. I thought it would help if I wore my lovely silk dress, because it usually makes me feel a million dollars, and I need to feel confident today if I’m to tell Elise about Sadie. Not that it matters what I wear, because as soon as I set eyes on super-glamorous Elise, I’ll feel like a shitty five-cent piece.

  I need to speak to Adam but I’m dreading him bringing up what went on in his office yesterday. I also don’t know if I should say something about his daughter; if I don’t acknowledge what he said, it might seem as if I don’t care. As I walk down the corridor, I see him disappearing into his office and catch a glimpse of yellow. I slow my pace, trying to reconcile myself to the fact that he’s wearing a yellow scarf. It seems wrong, somehow.

  ‘Ah, Bronnie!’ he says cheerfully when he sees me hovering uncertainly in the doorway. ‘Just the person I was looking for. Come in!’

  ‘Good morning, Adam,’ I say stiffly, unable to match his jaunty tone.

  ‘I’ll be putting the list up this afternoon,’ he says, beaming. Seeing my bewildered expression, he laughs. ‘The cast list for the end-of-term musical! I’ve decided to go with West Side Story but,’ he taps the side of his nose, ‘don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I say. The musical is the last thing on my mind. ‘Adam, I need to take an early lunch today. I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘Take as much time as you want, Bronnie. The Academy will still be here when you get back.’

  I manage a watery smile. ‘I hope so. Thank you, Adam.’

  ‘No, thank you, Bronnie. I wouldn’t be able to manage without you.’

  Catching his meaning, I flush to the roots of my hair. ‘Adam, I—’ But he cuts me off.

  ‘I meant the Academy wouldn’t be able to manage without you,’ he says smoothly. ‘And you wouldn’t be able to manage without the Academy, would you, Bronnie?’ I stare mutely back at him. ‘That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing,’ he goes on. ‘Is it silk?’

  ‘Just like your many scarves, Adam,’ I snap, and am rewarded by
the smile disappearing from his face.

  I can’t do this anymore, I think as I walk away from Adam’s office. It’s not worth the risk. I stand to lose everything; Carl will never forgive me if he finds out and I’m not sure I can count on Adam to stand by me. I was stupid to have become involved; I knew it was wrong but I was too weak, and Adam too persuasive. But really, I only have myself to blame. When did I decide that what I had before wasn’t enough?

  The bell rings for the start of lessons and I make my way to the staff room, safe in the knowledge that it’ll be empty. I drink a cup of coffee that I don’t really want, wondering how I’m going to fill the time before going to Elise’s. There’s always a costume that needs to be mended and I’m able to sew without thinking too much about what I’m doing, so I tip what’s left of my coffee down the sink and leave the room. The students should already be in class at this time of the day—no one has free periods first thing in the morning—so when I see someone leaving surreptitiously through a side door my suspicions are immediately aroused.

  ‘Well, I’ll be blowed,’ I murmur, realizing that it’s Imogen. ‘Where the hell does she think she’s going?’ I march after her, intending to ask her if she’s going to visit her sick father, just to see her squirm. Adam said he’s an optician in town but I doubt she’s going there, not at this time of day. So where does she live? I wonder as I hurry after her. With her father or with her grandparents? Does she even have grandparents, or was that another of her lies?

  I follow her across the inner courtyard, trying to time my footfalls with hers so that she won’t hear my steps echoing behind her. She goes through the front gate and onto the street, then runs across the road, narrowly avoiding being run over by a bus. With a blast on its horn, the bus rushes past and as it pulls into a nearby bus stop, I get ready to cross over. But Imogen has gone. I look around in bemusement, pulling my cardigan closed, because there’s a chill in the air. How does she do that, being there one minute and not the next? She was right in front of me a few moments ago. There aren’t many people around so she should be easy to spot—yet I can’t see her. And then, just as the bus is about to move off, I see her long blond hair swinging behind her as she walks along the top deck. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I dash across the road and leap onto the bus, nearly being smashed between the doors as they close.