Night School: Legacy

‘But why Carter?’ Allie’s voice was anguished. ‘He’s not my friend. He’s my boyfriend. That’s different.’


Reaching out to untangle her tightly knit fingers, Eloise squeezed her hands. ‘Because the person closest to you can do the most harm.’

That was a horrible thing to say. Furious, Allie wrenched her hands free. But when she opened her mouth to argue Eloise held up one hand to stop her.

‘Look, before you say it, I know. I know Carter is a good person. We know Carter very well and it’s extremely unlikely he has any secrets from us. But Carter might not always be the closest person to you. And you’ve got to learn how to assess the people you care about dispassionately. You’ve got to be able to separate what you want people to be from what they really are. Even if you love them.’

At the mention of the word ‘love’, Allie flinched. ‘That’s stupid.’ She kicked a foot against the leg of her chair. ‘Nobody can do that. Nobody can investigate their boyfriend and then, like … make out with him after class. Nobody.’

‘People do,’ Eloise said simply. ‘All the time.’


That evening after dinner, Allie sat alone in her room, pretending to read her English assignment, but as she stared at the words they seemed to float on the page in no particular order, as meaningless as a code for which she had no key. Her thoughts were elsewhere. The seeds of doubt Eloise had planted that morning were taking root and winding through her mind.

How would I feel if Carter lied to me? she wondered, flipping a page. Then, horribly: Would he do that?


Keep moving and you won’t die.

Allie ran through the frozen woods repeating those words in her head – over and over.

Keep moving.

Blue moonlight suffused the forest, glinting off her white pyjamas.

You won’t die.

Nine hundred and seventy-one steps … Nine hundred and seventy-two.

She was so cold she couldn’t believe she was still moving. Her frozen fingers clenched into fists that pumped at her sides. She could hear nothing except her ragged breathing and the sound of her sodden slippers crunching through snow.

In the moon’s day-for-night glow, she could make out pine trees and frozen ferns as she skidded along the forest path. Her breath puffed in a crystalline cloud.

She didn’t know where to go. And she was so cold. A sob welled in her throat and she forced it back.

Not now.

Then a sound – something moved through the frozen brush nearby. A bush shook off its mantle of snow.

She skidded to a stop, then crouched in a defensive stance.

As she held her breath and waited for attack, the undergrowth parted and a fox slunk out and stood facing her.

His lush fur was a flash of elegant carmine against the white snow.

Gazing at her with fearless, predatory eyes, he sniffed the air.

Tears sprang to Allie’s eyes, and she dashed them away.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ she whispered, reaching out a hand – blue with cold – to touch him.

His lips curled up to show his white teeth. Before she could withdraw her hand he crouched.

Then, with a snarl he leapt for her throat.


Her breath burning in her throat, Allie leapt out of bed. By the time she was fully awake, she stood shivering, her bare feet on the cold floor, clutching the corner of the duvet. Her eyes wild, she swatted at the desktop lamp until the light came on, then she searched the corners of the empty room.

Finally satisfied that she was alone, she closed the open window, latching it tight. When she climbed back into bed, she pulled the duvet up across her chest like a shield.

‘Thank you, my subconscious,’ she muttered, ‘for ensuring I never sleep again.’

She stayed awake for a long time, and when she did sleep, she left the light on.





THIRTEEN





After the nightmare, Allie slept only fitfully, and it was still dark when she woke for good. She made her way downstairs before seven and sat in the dining hall watching the kitchen staff set up the hot plates and coffee urns. She was staring into the distance when Rachel walked up a few minutes later. Allie hadn’t seen much of her lately – she’d been too busy with Night School.

‘You look like hell,’ Rachel announced, dropping her books on the table. ‘Let’s stuff ourselves. And you can tell me all about it.’

Now they sat in the still mostly empty dining hall with steaming cups of tea and piles of scrambled egg and toast that Allie hadn’t wanted but was nonetheless devouring. Somehow, she felt better just being with Rachel. She’d missed her. There was so much she couldn’t tell her – things she longed to talk about. But bantering with her over breakfast felt good.

It felt like the old days.

‘I’m famished,’ Rachel announced. ‘Dinner was too weird last night for actual consumption. They should have just, I don’t know … framed it. Called it modern art. What are you doing up so early anyway?’