Night School - Endgame Page 7

  She could hardly see the coffin now, through the blur of tears.

  ‘I don’t know what to think about that. Because I don’t want to stop trying to fix things.’ She looked up at where her grandmother lay. ‘You always tried.’ She swiped a hand across her wet cheeks.

  ‘I guess that’s what I wanted to tell you. Thank you for trying.’

  Something crashed behind her, and she jumped to her feet, whirling as the door swung open, striking the wall.

  Isabelle stood in the doorway, the hood of her black raincoat all but obscuring her face. She held a large bouquet of lilies in her arms. Water streamed from her hood.

  Allie hadn’t noticed it start to rain. But now she could hear the drops pattering against the roof and stained glass windows. The wind shook the trees.

  The headmistress closed the door, and turned back around, pushing the hood off to reveal her face, pale and stern.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Feeling instantly like a trespasser, Allie wiped her tears away. ‘I’m sorry. I just…’

  Isabelle’s expression softened. ‘Please. Don’t apologise. I was just surprised – I thought I was alone. You have every right to be here.’

  She crossed to the front of the chapel and arranged the flowers carefully in a large vase in front of the coffin.

  ‘Did you light the candles?’ Allie asked, her voice tentative.

  Isabelle glanced at the candelabra near her as if she’d only just noticed it. ‘We’re keeping them lit. Myself and the other teachers.’

  She had her back to Allie again, straightening the purple and gold satin that covered the altar table. Moving it one way, then shifting it back again.

  Allie didn’t know what to say, but she had to say something.

  ‘I’m here,’ Allie found herself explaining, ‘to say goodbye.’

  Isabelle stopped fidgeting. When she glanced up, Allie saw her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She looked so heart-broken. And of course she would be – she’d known Lucinda all her life. Lucinda had treated Isabelle like her own daughter.

  The same way Isabelle treated Allie.

  The realisation took her by surprise. She’d been so focused on herself, she hadn’t thought about how devastated Isabelle must be right now. Between Carter and Lucinda – her whole life had just fallen apart.

  Maybe she had things to say to that pine box, too.

  ‘Would you like to… to sit with me, for a while?’ Allie held out a hand. ‘We could say goodbye together.’

  The next day was Lucinda’s funeral.

  That morning, Allie brushed her hair until it hung in smooth waves over her shoulders and carefully applied her makeup. Her grey eyes looked back at her from the mirror, serious but clear. Her nose was still pink from last night’s tears, but that was the only giveaway.

  She and Isabelle had sat in the chapel talking about Lucinda until the candles began to burn down.

  The conversation that started with tears, had gradually morphed into the headmistress telling stories of her childhood, with Lucinda as her de facto stepmother. Soon they were both laughing about a Pekinese puppy given to Lucinda by a foreign ambassador.

  ‘She didn’t want to keep it, but I loved it,’ Isabelle recalled. ‘I named him Socks. He slept in my bed when I visited during school hols. He was so cute, but he was utterly, hopelessly stupid. Lucinda was Chancellor at the time, so she lived at Number 11 Downing Street. It was her house and her office. One day the prime minister came over for a meeting and Socks peed on his handmade lamb-skin wing-tips. He said…’ Isabelle lowered her voice into a passable impression of the former prime minister’s gruff, Scottish demeanour. ‘“Luce, it’s Socks or me, and I’ve got to tell you I don’t think the dog will back your eight-point plan for economic recovery.”’

  Allie laughed.

  ‘She never did get rid of that dog,’ Isabelle said. ‘He lived to be fifteen. She always said she hated him but I think she loved him as much as I did.’

  ‘What about Nathaniel?’ Allie asked. ‘Was he close to Lucinda then? As close as you were?’

  Isabelle’s expression grew thoughtful.

  ‘He was always an odd one, Nathaniel. A skinny kid with a chip on his shoulder. Our dad pushed him too hard, I think. Always demanding a kind of perfection from him that he didn’t ask of me. And his life was so sad – losing his mother like that when he was still a child. Everyone wanted to help him but…’ She held up her hands. ‘He just wanted to be alone.’

  Allie told Isabelle what she’d overheard earlier from Nathaniel’s guards. ‘They say he’s locked up with old pictures. He doesn’t eat.’

  Isabelle’s face tightened; she stared into the shadows at the end of the chapel.

  ‘Nathaniel’s relationship with Lucinda was… complicated,’ she said after many seconds had ticked away. ‘I think he did love her in his own way. But he pushed her away because…’ She heaved a sigh. ‘I guess because he wanted her to prove she’d come back. That she’d always be there. No matter what he did.’

  Allie’s thoughts drifted to her own parents. She hadn’t seen them since Christmas. They talked occasionally on the phone but their conversations were stilted and brief.

  She blamed them for not wanting her. They blamed her for being difficult.

  It was like they wanted a different daughter. And she wanted different parents.

  Maybe Nathaniel felt the same way about his father.

  You can’t choose your parents. But if you could… Life would be a hell of a lot easier.

  From outside she could hear the rumble of engines and the crunching of tyres on the school’s gravel drive. The funeral guests were arriving.

  Allie stood up and headed for the door.

  Lucinda would never forgive her for being late to her funeral.

  Rachel, Nicole and Lucas were clustered by the front door. Allie saw Rachel glance at her watch. When Allie walked up, she didn’t hide her relief.

  ‘There you are,’ was all she said. Then, gently, ‘We should probably get going.’

  Everyone wore clothes in sober shades of black and grey. Lucas wore an elegantly tailored suit, and had actually combed his hair.

  Allie’s black silk sheath dress and matching flats had been sent to her room that morning by Isabelle. They fit perfectly. She had no idea where the headmistress had found them with such short notice.

  Together, they all headed out across the lawn. The air was chilly, and smelled clean and fresh. As if last night’s rain had washed away the last of the summer.

  They walked in near silence. Rachel held one of Allie’s hands. Nicole held the other.

  They were just entering the woods when Zoe ran up to join them.

  ‘I’m here,’ she announced, adding with unnecessary honesty, ‘Isabelle made me.’

  Her straight brown hair had been pulled into a glossy braid, her smooth face scrubbed. Her short, grey dress made her look younger than fourteen. The solemnity of the moment seemed to affect even her. She walked with them, instead of dashing ahead as she usually would.

  Nobody tried to make small talk. It wasn’t the day for it.

  When they reached the chapel, they found it crowded – every seat full. People stood at the back. Guards, out of their usual black gear and clad instead in dark suits, leaned against the walls.

  On the pews, alongside the teachers and students, Allie recognised famous politicians from several countries, including the prime minister who Socks had peed on so long ago.

  From the front row, Isabelle motioned for Allie to join her. Allie saw her parents next to the headmistress, twisting around to try and see her.

  To her surprise, at the sight of her mother, her heart jumped. She fought the urge to run to her.

  ‘I better go,’ she said.

  Rachel followed her gaze – her eyes widened. ‘Crikey O’Reilly. Is that your parents?’

  Allie shrugged. ‘I guess Hell froze over.’

  But she was already
crying as she made her way down the aisle, squeezing past the guards.

  As soon as she saw her, her mother’s eyes filled with tears, too. She pulled her into her arms.

  ‘Oh Alyson.’

  And Allie let her call her that. Let her hold her.

  Her father stood beside them, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

  ‘It must have been terrible,’ he said gruffly.

  Allie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so glad to see them. She breathed in her mother’s familiar sent – Coco by Chanel. She always wore it for important events.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘Really.’

  And she was.

  The pine box was still at the front of the room as it had been last night, but it was no longer bare. Now it was covered in flowers.

  Hundreds of white roses were spread across the top like a thick, creamy blanket. Other bouquets pressed against it on all sides. Flowers covered the altar table, the floor, even the windowsills held bouquets.

  The candelabra was still lit, but the other candles had been put out. They were no longer needed; light flooded through the stained glass windows, filling the room with brilliant streams of gold and red.

  A vicar she’d never seen before conducted the service. Some hymns were sung. Famous people said wonderful things about Lucinda.

  Allie was fine until the coffin was carried out. She couldn’t bear to see it put in that hole in the ground. So she slipped away from the crowd.

  She stood alone near the gate, arms wrapped tightly across her torso. Looking up at the grey sky.

  It’s a perfect day, she found herself thinking, for a funeral.

  ‘Hello Allie.’

  The voice came from behind her. French accent. Familiar.

  She spun around to look into a pair of eyes the same clear blue as the sea on a sunny day.

  ‘Oh, ma belle,’ Sylvain said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  10

  ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘Why didn’t anyone tell us?’

  The others surrounded Sylvain, exclaiming, demanding information and hugging him. Even Lucas, who had never been fond of him, pounded his shoulder in a kind of violent guy-hug.

  ‘Glad you’re back, man,’ he said gruffly.

  They clustered near the towering hearth in the great hall talking and laughing, relieved to have something to be happy about.

  Allie stood to one side. She’d already had a chance to talk to him. They’d slipped away from the funeral and walked back to the school together before the others had seen him.

  ‘I flew in as soon as I could get away,’ he’d explained. ‘I had to be here. For you… for Carter.’

  ‘What about your dad?’ she’d asked. ‘Is he… better?’

  His muscles tightened almost imperceptibly at mention of his father, badly injured in an assassination attempt a week ago.

  ‘He’s out of intensive care. The doctors say he’s going to come through.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Allie said with genuine relief. ‘I’m so sorry we’re taking you away from him. He needs you.’

  Unexpectedly, he’d stopped then, turning to face her. He held both her hands in his.

  ‘You need me.’ Before she could react, he’d leaned forward, brushing his lips gently against the top of her head.

  Allie had shivered at his touch. She’d missed him so much. They’d both been through hell. It was a crappy day. When he wrapped her in his arms, she leaned into his touch.

  ‘It’s been horrible, Sylvain. Horrible.’

  ‘I know,’ he’d whispered. His breath stirred strands of her hair.

  Now, as she watched the others chatter excitedly to him, he glanced over to check on her. His gaze a lightning flash of vivid blue.

  The protectiveness and worry in his expression made Allie’s heart ache.

  Oh God, she thought. What am I going to do?

  Sylvain had still been her boyfriend when he went away. Now she had to tell him the truth about Carter.

  And then she would lose him forever.

  Looking at him now, his wavy hair perfectly tousled, his cheekbones high and fine, standing tall and slim as he listened patiently to the others, she felt hollow inside.

  She had to let him go. It had already taken her too long to listen to her heart. Too long to realise who she wanted. He’d be right to be angry with her about that.

  She shook herself. She couldn’t think about this today.

  Turning, she looked around for her parents. People were streaming in from the chapel, but she didn’t see them in the crowd.

  The room was set up with tables draped in pristine white linen. Pale yellow flowers topped every table.

  Along one wall, buffet tables were piled high with food – charcuterie and sliced cheeses, cold roast chicken and at least a dozen salads. One entire table held just decadent desserts – cheesecake and chocolate puddings, something covered in blood red raspberries and glossy blackberries.

  With the sunlight streaming in through the towering windows, it looked more like a wedding than a wake. Allie knew that was intentional. Lucinda would have hated people standing around weeping over her.

  Waiters in black suits circulated with trays of red and white wine, and juice. Allie was accepting a glass of iced orange juice when her parents appeared at her side, looking a little red-faced and hot from the walk back from the church.

  ‘There you are.’ Her mother lifted a glass of white wine from a passing tray with relief in her eyes. ‘You disappeared.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Allie said. ‘Turns out I’m not so great at funerals.’

  ‘I’m the same,’ her father said, taking a glass of iced water. ‘Maybe you inherited it from me.’

  ‘I’m not sure bad manners are genetic.’ Her mother’s reply was tart but Allie smiled.

  She hated their dysfunctional family relationship, but she’d been away from them both so long it was almost nice to encounter it again. The warm glow of familiar antagonism.

  ‘I’m glad you guys are here.’

  If she’d said ‘I’m thinking of piercing my nipples’ they couldn’t have looked more astonished.

  ‘What?’ she said innocently. ‘I’m not allowed to like you?’

  ‘Well, it is a bit unorthodox,’ her father murmured, sipping his water, but he looked pleased.

  Her mother recovered quickly.

  ‘Of course you’re allowed to like us. It’s virtually required.’ She took a gulp of wine and glanced at her husband, who inclined his head in some silent communication. ‘Actually, seeing as we are together… there are some things we need to discuss.’

  Something in her voice made Allie’s stomach clench. Her moment of near-contentment evaporated.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  The noise in the room was increasing – everyone was back from the church now.

  ‘Let’s step outside for a second,’ her mother said.

  They walked together up the grand staircase to the landing, where Allie first met Lucinda, the night of the winter ball.

  They stood at the banister, looking down over the hallway. A low rumble of voices rose from the grand ballroom below. But they were alone and could talk quietly.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ Allie’s gaze skipped from her mother’s face to her father’s.

  ‘First,’ her mother said, ‘we owe you an apology for the way we handled things. I never told you who Lucinda was. Or about my connections with Cimmeria.’ She rested a hand cautiously on the highly polished oak banister, as if she didn’t quite trust it. ‘That was wrong. We should have told you the truth. But in all honesty, we never suspected things would turn out like this.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Allie assured her, without hesitation. ‘I’ve kind of worked that bit through.’

  ‘There was a time when I thought I’d never see this place again,’ her mother said. ‘Hoped, even.’

  ‘And now?’ Allie shot her a
sideways look.

  Her mother’s lips curved into a tight smile. ‘I still don’t like it.’

  Downstairs, someone laughed. She saw Zoe dash down the hallway barefoot in her little grey dress, shoes clutched in her hands.

  ‘And we are very sorry that you had to see… what you saw that night in London.’ Her mother dropped her gaze. ‘What happened to Lucinda was awful. And she wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.’

  Allie thought of the look in Lucinda’s eyes as she’d clutched her wrist with bloody hands. A look of trust. Of acceptance.

  ‘Yes she would.’ Allie didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. ‘I actually think she had a very good idea something like that might happen. She wanted me there to see it.’

  Her father looked taken aback. ‘Why on earth would she have wanted that?’

  ‘So that I would understand what the stakes are.’ Allie hadn’t thought about this much before now – there hadn’t been time. But as soon as she said it, she knew it was true. ‘She wanted me to understand what I was facing. What I am facing.’

  ‘You’re not facing the same danger as Lucinda,’ her mother argued. ‘That’s absurd.’

  Maybe she didn’t mean to sound as sharp as she did, but Allie’s temper flared with the speed of a match strike.

  ‘Do you have any idea what the last year of my life has been like?’ Her voice was low and cold. ‘Lucinda is not the only person who’s died. Jo died. And Ruth. Other people were hurt. Including me.’ She held up her hair so they could see the jagged wound at the edge of her scalp. ‘I amcovered in scars.’

  Her mother made a small sound, and covered her mouth with her fingertips.

  Allie took grim satisfaction from that.

  ‘I’m lucky to be alive. And I might not be for long if we don’t win this thing. So don’t tell me what Lucinda wanted or didn’t want.’ She took a breath. ‘I think I know better than you.’