‘We are certain that Sophie’s death was a tragic accident, but it is important that we know the truth. Sophie was a strong and charismatic figure in the school, and it is fair to say that she was not always well liked – though I am sure that some of you are regretting any unkindness towards her now that she is dead. Because of that, the staff and I will be interviewing each of you in turn, to ask what you know about the events of last night. You will remain here until prefects send you to whichever member of staff will see you. That is all.’
The girls sat down, a low hubbub filling the hall as they talked to each other in quiet voices. Allegra was glad to sit: her head was spinning. She, Romily and Imogen looked at each other; although they did not dare voice what was in their heads, they were all thinking the same thing.
We must say nothing. No one will believe us if we say it was an accident. They’ll think we killed her. Everyone knows she hated us
…
The hall began to empty as the prefects summoned the fifth form one by one. The interviews were mostly rapid, girls called in quick succession. Imogen was summoned first, to see Myers. She went with fists tightly clenched and her face drawn and white. Then Allegra was called, to see Miss Steele. She left Romily still cross-legged on the floor of the hall, wishing her good luck with her gaze.
‘Sit down, Allegra.’ Miss Steele nodded at the chair in front of her desk. Allegra slid into it, grateful not to have to stand on her shaky legs. ‘I will say to you first what I’m saying to everyone. This is a desperately sad matter, first for Sophie herself and secondly for her poor family who are on their way. It goes without saying that it is also deeply private. I’m sorry to say that reporters have already been on the phone this morning, demanding to know more. It is
precisely
the kind of event that interests those with low minds. My strict instruction is that no one, absolutely no one, should discuss this matter out of school or talk to the press. Is that clear?’
Allegra nodded, unable to speak.
Miss Steele softened. ‘I can see you are shocked. I’m not surprised. Many girls have been crying this morning. Their grief and sympathy for Sophie do them credit. But I must ask everybody to tell me exactly what they know about last night. Where were you?’
‘In bed,’ Allegra croaked. ‘In bed, Miss Steele.’
‘Did you hear or see anything unusual?’
Allegra shook her head dumbly. She wanted to believe it so badly that she was almost able to remember events as she told them: a quiet, blameless night in her little cubicle bed.
‘Did the lights and noise wake you up?’
‘No. I didn’t wake up.’
Is that believable? Should I say I woke up?
She felt stiff with guilt and fright.
‘Allegra, do you know anything at all about how Sophie Harcourt died?’
She stared at the Headmistress. All she wanted to do was break down and sob, to tell everything and be comforted; but she knew she must not do it. Everything depended on her silence. She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Very well. You may go.’
In their interviews, Imogen and Romily said the same, and were each dismissed the same way. They were all in the clear.
But then the dreams began.
There was uproar in the few days after Sophie’s death, not just inside the school but outside too: the press were fascinated by the story and it was given pages of coverage for almost a week. The inquest a few weeks later renewed
interest
in the story. The coroner heard that it was not known how Sophie had gained access to the roof, or why she had gone there. Witnesses, including her friend Arabella Balmer, said that it was inconceivable that she was suicidal, despite the pressure of the forthcoming exams. It was death by misadventure, ruled the coroner.
Allegra could not bear to look at the pictures of Sophie’s grief-stricken parents coming out of the Coroner’s Court. In fact, she could not bear for it to be mentioned at all and, by common consent, none of them ever spoke of it. There was no question of their going back to the attic. Allegra threw the key away in the farthest reaches of the games field. Instead, they were grateful for the diversion of the examinations. In the evening they could lose themselves in their revision, and in the day they spent long silent hours in the examination hall, answering questions in history, biology, physics, geography, English, French, maths … Never had they been so grateful for their workload.
When Allegra’s last examination was over, she was summoned to see her house mistress.
‘We’ve decided that it’s best for you to go home, Allegra,’ Miss Myers said gravely, gazing at her through the spectacles that perched on the end of her nose. ‘The sad events of this term have obviously affected you deeply. I’m sorry that you’ll miss the end of term, I know you girls like to let your hair down when the examinations are over, but we think it’s for the best, under the circumstances.’
So Allegra found herself on the train back to Foughton the next day, with her things to be collected in due course.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ were her father’s opening words when she came through the front door.
‘Ivo, I told you,’ her mother said, throwing the car keys into a china dish on the hall table. ‘They’ve sent her home early.’
‘Why?’ he demanded, his blue eyes turning arctic. ‘You haven’t been expelled, have you?’
‘Ivo!’ Selina put an arm around Allegra’s shoulders. ‘There’s been a tragic accident at the school, don’t you remember? I told you all about it. I showed you that piece about it in the
Telegraph
. Poor Allegra’s been horribly upset by it, tormented with nightmares, so they’ve sent her back.’
‘Oh.’ He frowned at his daughter. ‘Well, we weren’t expecting you for another fortnight, so just keep quiet, understand? At least it means I won’t have to go to another blasted prize-giving, I suppose.’ He marched off down the hall towards the estate office.
She watched him go, her mouth tight.
I hate him. Selfish prick
.
Selina sighed. ‘Sorry, darling, you know what he’s like. Now, be an angel and go and find Brenda in the kitchen, will you? She’ll get you something to eat. I’m so busy this afternoon. I didn’t realise I’d have to come and get you from the station, and it’s put my whole day out.’
It was still a relief to be home. Allegra curled up in front of the nursery fireplace, though there was no fire lit, and lay for ages soaking up the comfort of the familiar room, clutching her favourite old Teddy, although she hadn’t needed him for years. Here she could pretend that all the terror at school had never happened.
I just have to forget, that’s all. We all do. We have to put it out of our minds and keep it out
.
The nightmares began to subside and she enjoyed her first peaceful nights for weeks. She spent the days on her own, reading in the nursery, sitting on the window seat where she could look out over the loch, or in the garden when the weather was good. She went on long walks through the rangy heather and into the woods, or helped the gardener in the fruit patch, gathering peas and berries. Sometimes she
persuaded
her mother to drive her over to the stables so she could exercise the horses – she loved the liberating hours of riding. She kept out of her father’s way, though she could sometimes hear his bellowing even from her bedroom, when he’d been drinking and was shouting about something. As long as he stayed well away from her, she didn’t care.
She wondered what was happening at school. Post-examinations was a time all the girls looked forward to: no lessons, no work, just lazy days, with tennis and swimming and chat, like an endless weekend, until speech day and the end of term. What were Imogen and Romily doing? Were they keeping their promise of silence? She wished that Imogen was here, able to make her laugh and make her forget.
Then a postcard arrived:
Allegra darling
,
School is no fun without you. Hope you are feeling better. We’re playing tennis for hours every day, but only with each other because Imogen’s so shit no one else will play with us. See you in September. Love, Romily xxx
Hi, Lollie, hope you are having a sexy time. I’ll be home soon, so get ready. No news here except that Gina Harris broke her nose on the side of the swimming pool – improvement! Her nose, not pool. Midge x
P.S. MG 4 EVER
It sounded so delightfully normal. Perhaps the worst was over. Could life go back to being what it was before. Carefree? Amusing? Free from the terrible guilt?
God, I hope so. I really do
.
Chapter 7
BACK FROM WESTFIELD
at last, Imogen was restored by the warmth and comfort of home. She had longed desperately to be in her safe, secure little nest, away from the cold, stark awfulness of school where everything and everybody was haunted by that dreadful night. Her parents were delighted to have her home, and sympathetic about the terrible events of the previous term.
‘It’s a frightening lesson,’ her father said, his expression grave. ‘You never know what might happen. You have to live every day to the full.’
‘That poor girl’s mother! I can’t bear to think about it,’ Jeannie Heath said, her green eyes watery with tears, hugging Imogen to her. ‘When I think about the agony of burying your own child … It’s just not natural, it’s against the scheme of things. Are you all right, dear? You’ve gone all white.’
‘I’m fine,’ Imogen said faintly, clinging to the security of her mother and feeling like a little girl again. She had done her best not to think about anything connected with that awful night, and was grateful that she’d been spared Allegra’s nightmares. When her imagination took her up to the attic, she had learnt tricks to stop herself remembering. ‘Allegra’s asked if I can go to Foughton tomorrow. Can I?’
‘Of course,’ said her mother happily distracted. ‘I can take you over and have coffee with Selina. She’s all taken up with
this
wedding they’re having in London – not that she has to do much, bar pick a hat, it’s all being organised by the bride. But I’m dying to hear about it.’
‘Don’t spend too much time over there, will you, Imogen?’ her father said, looking worried. ‘I never see you. I want to spend some time with my girl in the holidays.’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said, though she knew she would do all she could to be with Allegra as much as possible. After all, her friend needed her now more than ever.
It was lovely to see Allegra again. She looked taller and more graceful, as though the suffering of the last few weeks had refined her. They ran straight up to the nursery where they could talk in peace. Imogen told her everything that had happened in the last days at school, making her laugh with imitations of Miss Steele giving out the prizes. It was good to see her happy again.
‘What was the memorial service like?’ she asked casually, not meeting Imogen’s eye.
‘Pretty bad. Sophie’s family were there. I couldn’t watch. Her mum was crying into a hankie the whole time.’ Imogen moved her finger over a pattern on the rug, remembering. The guilt had been like something vile sitting in her stomach – she’d wanted to puke it up and had even tried to make herself sick afterwards, but couldn’t. ‘It felt … dreadful.’
There was a long silence and then Allegra said in a low voice, ‘Midge – do you think I’m a murderer?’
Imogen sat up straight. ‘No,’ she said fervently, and meant it from her heart. ‘It was an accident, and that’s the truth.’ She believed it but that venomous snake of guilt still twisted inside her.
We did it, even if we didn’t mean to. We were there, and we didn’t tell
. She could never confess it to anyone, not even Allegra.
‘Tell me again about Miss Steele and Hatty Perkins’s
prize?’
Allegra said, changing the subject, and they did not raise it again.
Later, they went out to the temple, a pretty pink marble folly built in the far craggy wilderness of the grounds and looking somewhat incongruous with its pale pastel delicacy amid the grey granite, gorse, bracken and heather. They brought cosy cushions so they could sit comfortably on the stone floor and talk away while they smoked their cigarettes and ate chocolate biscuits.
‘Everyone’s in a terrible fuss,’ Allegra said, tapping her ash out on one of the pink marble columns. ‘My brother Tristan’s getting married in London, so we’re all going down there next week. It’s a turnout of the whole tribe, which is absolutely massive, what with all the divorces and remarriages and aunts and uncles and cousins … But it’ll be nice to see Xander. I’ve not seen him since last hols, and he’s staying with a friend at the moment.’
Imogen thought of Xander, Allegra’s elder brother. He was a skinny, impish thing with a mop of hair the same dark blond as Allegra’s. He liked to play tricks on the girls, usually involving something wriggling and slimy he’d found in the garden. Other than that, he liked to race around on his mini-motorbike, zooming through the heather and whooping as he went, or else to sail and fish on the loch in his red dinghy. She liked him because he was always cheerful and laughing, but he was around only in the holidays and not always then because he was often staying with friends. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since the previous Christmas.
‘Why don’t we ask if you can come too?’ Allegra said suddenly.
Imogen blinked. ‘What? Where?’
‘To Tristan’s wedding.’
‘How can I come? I haven’t been invited.’
‘I’m sure they can squeeze in one more,’ Allegra said with a shrug.
‘God, I’d love to.’ She felt excitement fizz through her. It would be wonderful to be around the McCorquodales at one of their family events, to see the whole glamorous clan in one place, and at a wedding too …
‘I’ll ask Mum. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’
The invitation on the mantelpiece was on thick cream card and engraved in flowing copperplate: Brigadier and Mrs Archibald Pilkington requested the pleasure of Imogen’s company at the marriage of their daughter Elspeth Mary to The Hon. Tristan McCorquodale. As soon as the invitation had been replied to, Imogen’s mother took her to Jenners in Edinburgh, and they bought her a new outfit for the smart London wedding.