She squinted at Rachel, expecting her to be repulsed. But it wasn’t repulsion she saw in her eyes. It was understanding.
‘Do you know what? I think that’s perfectly normal,’ Rachel said. ‘You saw her get killed. One of your best friends was kidnapped. And it all happened so fast. Your brain – your heart – they need time to catch up with you. With what happened.’
Allie wasn’t convinced. ‘But it’s weird, isn’t it?’ She kept her voice low so the guards passing by couldn’t overhear. ‘She was my grandmother. It should hurt more.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Rachel scolded her gently. ‘You’re torturing yourself for no reason. You are not doing anything wrong. There aren’t rules for being sad. We all handle it our own way. And you are sad. I can see it in your face. Even if you can’t quite let yourself feel it yet.’
Trust Rachel to know the right thing to say. She’d been reading psychology textbooks for fun since she was fourteen.
‘Thanks for saving my sanity, Rach.’
Rachel smiled and pulled her into a warm hug. ‘The doctor is in, whenever you need her.’
Her hair smelled like jasmine flowers. Odd. Jasmine was a scent Allie always associated with Nicole.
Maybe they use the same shampoo now…
‘You can get through this,’ Rachel said, her cheek pressed against Allie’s shoulder. ‘We’ll all get through this together.’
The two of them joined the others who were already gathered in the common room. The conversation was lively. Zoe and Lucas played a bizarrely aggressive type of chess.
Allie sat back, watching the others. Rachel’s words made sense, but she hated being numb. She wanted to feel grief. She wanted it to hurt.
It wouldn’t be real until it hurt.
She thought of Nathaniel, weeping over pictures of her grandmother. How was it possible Lucinda’s enemy felt worse about her death than her own granddaughter?
Why couldn’t she feel anything?
She didn’t want to chat or play. When the others weren’t looking, she slipped away.
Two guards sat on chairs on either side of the heavy front door, with its elaborate system of hand-forged black iron locks hundreds of years old.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said. ‘I won’t be long.’
The two glanced at each other. She could tell that they knew who she was.
Everyone knew Allie Sheridan now.
One stood and opened the door for her.
‘Be careful,’ he said.
Allie inclined her head. ‘Always.’
The door closed behind her with a solid thud. The evening was cool and grey – there’d be no vivid sunset tonight. A hint of rain hung in the air like a threat.
Allie took a deep breath, and then struck out across the grass towards the woods.
It was time to talk to Lucinda.
9
The chapel was hidden deep in the woods not quite a mile from the main school building. When Allie reached the old church wall, she slowed to a walk. Her heart began to quicken.
She didn’t want to do this. But she had to. She would see her grandmother again. She would say goodbye.
And she would feel something.
She followed the long path that ran beside the wall until she reached the arched, wooden gate. She flipped the well-oiled metal latch. The gate swung open.
Inside the churchyard, she saw that someone had cut the grass recently – maybe even today. It still smelled green and fresh. All the bushes had been neatly trimmed, making the grey, lichen-covered gravestones seem taller.
In the middle, an ancient yew tree spread its long, smooth branches over the graves. Its gnarled roots rose out of the ground. The tree was said to be as old as the chapel, and the chapel was more than nine hundred years old.
Just beyond the tree the ground had been disturbed. Fresh dirt lay in a neat pile at the end of a rectangular hole.
It took Allie a second to realise what she was looking at.
When she did, her lungs contracted until her breath disappeared.
Tearing her gaze away, she stumbled the last few steps to the church door. It took both hands to turn the iron ring that served as a handle, and she had to shove her shoulder against the door to force it open.
There was no electricity in the chapel, and she expected to find darkness inside. Instead, she was greeted by a warm, flickering glow.
Candles had been lit in all the wall sconces, ceiling fixtures, candelabras. They glimmered from the pulpit, the tables and on the windowsills.
The flames caught the breeze coming through the open door and shivered. Allie hurried to shut the door.
The room was small, with ten rows of high-backed, mahogany pews neatly aligned on either side of a central aisle. A plain pine coffin had been placed on a stand at the foot of the pulpit.
The lid was shut.
Allie’s back was pressed against the solid oak door. Every muscle in her body was stiff. She didn’t want to be here.
But she had to do this. After all, she’d made it this far.