Night School

‘Serves her right,’ he said, adding as an afterthought: ‘A straitjacket wouldn’t hurt either.’


‘Good morning, class.’ Isabelle’s voice saved Allie from thinking of a riposte. ‘Recently we read works by T.S. Eliot, and last week I asked you to read a work that influenced his writing heavily, the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, translated quite famously by a man named Edward FitzGerald. We discussed Mr FitzGerald on Friday …’

After all that had happened that weekend Allie had no memory of Friday’s class at all. She decided she’d have to take Isabelle’s word for it.

‘Let’s start with my favourite passage, Stanza LXIX. Clare,’ she turned to the pretty blonde girl, ‘could you read it for us please?’

Allie felt a rush of jealousy tinged with guilt – Clare had been Carter’s date to the ball, and Allie had been avoiding her ever since. She remembered the look in Clare’s eyes when she looked up at Carter with a kind of adoration. But Carter had been looking at Allie at the time.

Standing, Clare read in a sweet, bell-like voice:

‘’Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.’



‘Thank you, Clare,’ Isabelle said.

As the student took her seat, she cast a hopeful look at Carter but his eyes were on his notebook.

What a mess, Allie thought, drawing a black heart on a clean notebook page and then stabbing an arrow through it.

Isabelle leaned against a desk. ‘Now this is an almost existential piece of writing – most of you will remember the basic theories of existentialism from earlier this term, if you do not, get ye to the library as this will be on your test – that I love both for its bleak view of life and its dark humour. The balance is quite unique. So, what do you think he’s saying?’

When Allie read the passage on Sunday, she’d had a flashback to Jo’s abortive chess lesson a few weeks ago. But before she could raise her hand, Carter’s voice surprised her – she didn’t think he’d been paying attention.

‘I think he’s saying we’re pawns. And that fate decides what happens to us – who we marry, when we die. But what about personal choice? Don’t we make decisions? Isn’t that power?’

‘Precisely,’ Isabelle said. ‘On the other hand, isn’t our personal choice affected by what fate throws at us?’

‘But that’s absurd.’ Sylvain’s distinctive voice came from the back of the room, and Allie turned in her seat to see him. ‘Everything is up to us. We have all the power. Fate does not exist. How can it?’

‘Typical,’ Carter muttered.

Sylvain glared at him. ‘What is that supposed to mean, Carter?’

Before Carter could reply, Isabelle stepped between them. ‘I’m glad you’re both taking poetry so seriously, but I’ve never had an argument in my classroom over Omar Khayyám before and I’d rather not have one now. Now, then, I think we’ve exhausted my favourite passage. The next passage I’d like us to look at …’

Throughout the next week, the school returned to a kind of battered normality. The smell of smoke gradually disappeared, and work began in the great hall. A skip appeared outside the west wing, and students were regularly asked to avoid the main hallway between the great hall and the skip. The distracting percussion of hammers and drills soon became a tedious part of daily life.

Lisa was sent home to recover from her injuries, and without her or Jo around, Allie found that she spent most of her time with Rachel. This meant she spent most of her time in the library, as that was where Rachel appeared to live. So Allie was not at all surprised when Rachel suggested they go to the library to study after class on Friday afternoon. Lucas came along reluctantly, on the grounds that he had a paper due on Monday and he hadn’t yet even looked at the coursework.

Rachel had proved to be an ideal study companion for science homework, since she knew everything.

‘You really are a science geek,’ Allie marvelled, making a face as Rachel explained the biological structure of tapeworms, her eyes fairly glowing with interest.

Looking up from his books, Lucas said: ‘Why do you think I hang out with her? It’s not like she’s fun or anything.’

Rachel elbowed him in the ribs and turned to Allie. ‘Science is my thing, but you can help me with French. French is definitely not my thing.’

‘Don’t mention French to Allie,’ Lucas warned her. As they both looked at him blankly he mouthed ‘Sylvain’.

‘Oh don’t.’ Allie buried her face in her hands.

‘Too soon?’ Lucas asked.

Allie nodded, but Rachel was struggling not to giggle.

‘What?’ Allie asked.

‘It’s just,’ Rachel snickered, ‘you broke up with Sylvain. That’s like breaking up with, I don’t know, God or something.’