Night School: Legacy

‘Nineteen twenty-five was a particularly fertile year for literature.’ Isabelle leaned against an empty desk as she lectured. ‘That year The Great Gatsby was published, among many other works. Fitzgerald thought Gatsby was his greatest work. He described it as a “sustained imagination of a sincere and yet radiant world”. But I see it as a morality tale. A book about a good man seduced by corrupt people.’ She straightened, and began walking around the circle of desks. ‘What I want you to tell me is whether that good man is really a good man at the end of the story. And was he truly good at the start?’


Allie, who was just enduring the class today, circled the title in her notebook and put a star beside it. As Isabelle continued to talk, though, her thoughts wondered back to what happened last night. And how furious Carter had been when he found out.

Sylvain had left by the time Carter returned, carrying two steaming cups of tea and looking comforting and normal and … Carter-like.

Allie waited for him to sit down before she told him. When it came to Carter, she didn’t care about the rules. He was so jealous of Sylvain. If she didn’t tell him and he found out later, he’d never forgive her.

As she explained what Sylvain had said, Carter didn’t shout or rage. It was worse than that. He went quiet and pale, and the tendons in his neck were taut.

After a long pause he said in a low voice, ‘I’ll talk to Zelazny.’

‘The thing is … Sylvain says …’ Carter twitched, but she continued. ‘He says he already asked Jerry and Zelazny to change the assignment. They refused. That’s why it took him so long to—’

‘Great.’ Cutting her off in mid-sentence, Carter shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked down, his gaze so icy Allie marvelled that the floor didn’t frost.

‘It’ll be no big deal,’ she’d said, trying to make things better. ‘It’s just an interview – it’s one afternoon. Then it’s over.’

But Carter hadn’t been mollified. ‘They really are,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘messing with us right now.’

Isabelle tapped Allie’s desk sharply with a fingertip, making her jump. Without interrupting her patter, the headmistress shot her a warning look before continuing her journey around the circle. Allie sat up straighter and tried to pay attention. But her chest felt tight, as if the anxiety that curled up there had left less room for her lungs.

After class, she and Carter were going to do their interview.

She wished the class would last for ever. But it was already over.

Isabelle’s parting words had to fight through the sound of students gathering their things: ‘Please collect your copies at the library – Eloise has them ready. And I’d like you to read the first three chapters by tomorrow’s class so we can discuss them. You’re free to go.’


‘Allie, I’m going to a kick-boxing class, want to come?’ Zoe looked up at her expectantly as they walked through the door.

God yes.

Beating something up was about the only thing she wanted to do right now.

‘I wish I could. But I’ve got plans.’ The regret in Allie’s voice was so tangible Zoe gave her an odd look as she turned away.

‘No worries – see you later.’

Carter was waiting for her outside the door, leaning against the wall out of the crowds of students filling the hallway.

‘Hey,’ she said, her heart heavy.

‘Hey back.’ His dark eyes held hers just long enough for her to see the worry there.

‘So … Shall we meet there?’ he asked, as they joined the throng of students surging from the classroom wing through a heavy wooden door into the main school building.

‘Sounds good,’ she said, with a tentative smile.

Pulling her close, he gave her a reassuring kiss before loping off towards the stairs to the boys’ dorm to drop off his things.

Her tennis headache had been mostly gone by morning, although the purple-tinged bruise on her temple was still sensitive to touch.

In her room, she changed from a skirt to trousers. After pausing at the mirror to check her hair, she grabbed her jacket and turned to go, but something stopped her. Draped over the back of her chair was a wool scarf in dark blue. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch it – the fabric was finely knitted wool, soft as a hug.

Where did that come from?

Running the scarf through her fingers, Allie decided Isabelle must have heard about what had happened last night from the nurse. It wasn’t that unusual for things students needed to just appear in their rooms. Like the slippers that appeared the first night she’d arrived at Cimmeria. And the fresh towels and clean sheets that showed up every few days.

After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped the new scarf loosely around her throat and looked at herself in the mirror by the door. She was pale – nerves probably – and set against the dark scarf her skin looked like porcelain. Her dark, wavy hair had grown long – she hadn’t cut it since last spring and now it hung down to her shoulder blades. Sweeping berry-red gloss on her lips she threw her book bag over her shoulder and headed out.

As much as she dreaded it, she was glad they were doing it now rather than waiting – she just wanted it all over with.

For her part, she still hadn’t decided how much to reveal to Sylvain.