Night School

Holding her breath, Allie began looking for a way to get up there. She spotted a jagged section of roofing tiles where she figured she could get a grip and pull herself up, and cautiously made her way over to it. Once she’d begun the climb, she saw how the tiles formed a natural series of hand-and footholds.

On the last stretch though, her foot slipped. As she felt herself slide she tried to scream but no sound came out.

Her fingers grabbed a chunk of masonry, and held on. Once she had a solid grip, she felt along the wall with the toes of her shoes until they located a jagged tile.

As soon as both feet connected to the roof, she pushed herself up with a mighty shove, sprawling onto the roof in an ungainly heap.

Leaning back against the broad chimney stack, Jo – who had made no move to help her – clapped sardonically.

‘Hooray for Allie. She climbed to the very top of the Cimmeria ladder of success in no time at all. I think she deserves a drink. Don’t you, audience?’

Reaching down she pulled a bottle of vodka from behind her feet and held it out to Allie. It was half empty.

‘Have a drink. The audience and I think you should.’

Angry now and still shaking from her near-fall, Allie ignored the bottle. ‘What audience, Jo? What the hell are you talking about? And what are you doing up here?’

Shrugging, Jo pulled the top off the bottle and took a swig, making a face.

‘You know, this just does not get better with time,’ she said, putting the top back on the bottle. ‘I really question Isabelle’s choice of vodka. You’d think she’d have Grey Goose or Absolut, but no. Just this nasty Russian stuff.’

How can she be drunk at eight o’clock in the morning? Allie wondered.

‘Jo, have you been drinking all night?’

‘No! Don’t be ridiculous. Just for the last few hou … What time is it?’ She turned her arm over to look at her watch, spilling vodka on the roof. ‘Oops!’

Allie tried to look calm. ‘Please sit down, Jo, and talk to me.’

‘Of course Allie!’ Jo smiled at her as cheerfully as if they were in the dining hall chatting after lunch. ‘I want to talk to you. But I’ve been sitting for ages. It feels great to stand up and stretch.’

Spinning around on one foot, she wobbled wildly. Gasping, Allie covered her mouth with her hands, but then Jo caught herself and laughed. ‘That was a close one!’

Allie’s heart was pounding so rapidly she feared she might have a heart attack. ‘Please, Jo. Please sit down and talk to me. I’ll drink your vodka. Just … sit down.’

As if it had only just occurred to her, Jo slowly lowered herself until she was sitting on the roof. The smile had disappeared from her face. Now she looked mournful and tears slipped silently from her eyes.

‘Nobody understands me, Allie. Not even you. You’re my best friend and I can’t tell you the truth. That makes me so sad.’

Sniffling, she picked up the bottle and took another drink. Then she swiped her arm across her eyes, and handed the vodka to Allie. Allie tilted the bottle back and pretended to take a drink, then she held onto the bottle carelessly, as if she’d forgotten she still had it.

She leaned towards Jo. ‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’re sad. Has something happened?’

Jo looked at her as if she were mad. ‘Of course something’s happened, Allie! Ruth’s dead! She’s dead. And nobody will tell the truth about what happened. Everybody’s a liar.’

Swinging her arm up she pointed at Allie. ‘And you don’t know anything. Everybody’s keeping you in the dark because they don’t know why you’re here. Or who you are. Who are you, Allie Sheridan?’

Allie held up her hands. ‘I’m just … me, Jo. I’m nobody.’

Shaking her head vehemently, Jo looked increasingly angry. ‘No, no no! That’s not true either. You don’t know anything. You really don’t know. And that’s … stupid. And nobody will tell you. Nobody will tell you.’ Suddenly she looked up and met Allie’s eyes in what felt like a parody of complete clarity. ‘I know things and I won’t tell you.’

Allie swallowed hard. ‘What do you know, Jo? Do you know who killed Ruth?’

Jo narrowed her eyes slyly. ‘Everyone knows what’s going on, Allie. Everyone except you.’ She added in a sing-song voice, ‘But I won’t tell you …’

‘Jo, you have to tell me.’ Allie’s heart was pounding, but she struggled to keep her expression blank. ‘It’s really important. The police have to know.’

Shaking her head back and forth Jo looked tearful again. ‘My parents don’t want me around, did you know that Allie? They don’t care about me at all.’

Allie tried to keep up. ‘I’m sure they do, Jo. They must do. They’re your parents. But tell me about Ru—’

‘No they don’t!’ Jo shouted. ‘My parents love money, and they love St Tropez and Hong Kong and Cape Town. But not me. Not me.’

She was sobbing now. While she was distracted Allie scooted across the roof closer to her – close enough so that she could, if necessary, grab her.

‘Oh Jo. I didn’t know.’ Jo had completely lost it, but she had to get her to talk about Ruth. ‘Tell me who hurt Ruth, Jo. And then we can talk about your family some more.’