Night School

‘Have you seen Sylvain?’ Her throat tightened. ‘I … wanted to thank him.’


‘He’s avoiding you,’ Isabelle said bluntly.

Allie’s head shot up. ‘Why?’

The headmistress’ eyes were kind. ‘You know, don’t you?’

The heat of the tea radiated through the porcelain of the teacup, burning Allie’s fingers. ‘Know what?’

‘He has feelings for you.’

At that moment Allie realised that she did know. She remembered his tears falling on her face. Emotions she didn’t even recognise flowed through her.

‘But I’m with Carter,’ she said weakly.

‘I know.’ Isabelle held her hands up. ‘So there we are.’

Allie watched the slice of lemon floating aimlessly in her cup. ‘There we are.’

The headmistress curled up in the deep leather chair next to her – the circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.

‘I don’t think you’ll see Sylvain again this term. He needs time to think. And to heal.’

‘Would you tell him …’ Allie thought about what to say. ‘Just … thank him for me?’

‘I will.’

Allie set her cup down. ‘And I’ve decided I’m going to go home, rather than to Rachel’s. I need to talk with my parents.’

Isabelle looked worried.

‘I think it’s the right thing to do, and I’m glad you’re doing it,’ she said cautiously. ‘But now that we know Christopher is with Nathaniel and Nathaniel is interested in you … Well, things are different. The situation is more dangerous. I’ll explain this to your mother. But, Allie, at home you will be in more danger. I will do what I can to protect you, but don’t take any chances.’

Allie thought about Ruth. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she promised. ‘I’ll lie low.’

‘The autumn term starts in three weeks,’ Isabelle said. ‘But I can’t let you stay home that long. I’ll give you a few days at home, but after that I really think you should go to Rachel’s. Her father is completely capable of protecting you and he will be expecting you. I’ll send a car for you.’

There was something awful about being told that home – once the safest place she had ever known – wasn’t safe any more. But Allie didn’t argue. She’d seen what Nathaniel was willing to do.

‘OK,’ she said again.

Isabelle took a piece of paper off her desk and wrote something on it. ‘If you get concerned or frightened at any point – if anything feels threatening or just wrong …’ she handed her the piece of paper then handed it to Allie, ‘call me, and I’ll send somebody for you. Don’t take any chances. Will you do that for me?’

The paper had Isabelle’s name embossed on the top, and Allie saw that she’d written a phone number on it.

Allie nodded. ‘I promise.’

They stood and Isabelle gave her another hug. Allie walked to the door. As she turned the handle, Isabelle stopped her.

‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘Ask your mother to tell you about Lucinda.’ Allie’s eyes widened but she said nothing.

Isabelle finished: ‘Tell her I said it’s time.’





THIRTY-ONE


‘Come on, bag. Zip!’

Allie had stuffed the last few things into her bag and now it bulged at the sides and refused to close. Even when she used all of her strength she couldn’t get it to zip up.

The girls had all been given fifteen minutes in their rooms to pack. It turned out most bedrooms were fine. But the teachers were worried the fire and water might have made the ceilings and floors weak.

‘Oh, bugger it.’

Panting from the exertion, she flipped it open and looked for something to jettison. Her scuffed dark red, knee-high Doc Marten boots lay right on top. She pulled them out and tried again.

It closed easily.

She picked up the boots lovingly. No way am I leaving these behind.

Holding them in front of her she studied the scuffs on the toes, the way the leather had moulded to fit her ankles. She’d been in love with these boots since the day she saw them in the window of the charity shop down the road from her school. When she found out they were the right size, she knew they were destined to be hers. For two months she’d gone to that shop every day to make sure they were still there. Eventually she convinced the workers to put them aside for her until her birthday. The thick soles, the sturdy leather, the sheer aggressive power of them made her feel strong again. They were like her armour.

I know I’ve changed while I’ve been here, she thought. But I haven’t changed so much that I don’t think these are bitchin’ boots.

Kicking off her school-issued sensible shoes she pulled on the Docs, lacing them up with happy familiarity. Paired with her school uniform, they looked … perfect.

Then she looked around one last time, running her hand along the top of her desk. She’d hated this place so much when she first arrived. Now she couldn’t wait to come back.

She hoisted the bag to her shoulder and hurried through the door crashing full-force into Carter, who stood on the other side.