Night School: Legacy

But Allie couldn’t.

‘Seriously, Carter,’ she said, ‘I’m so behind on my maths work. I’ve got to catch up or I’m so profoundly screwed.’ Lie number two. Which he bought completely, of course. Because he trusts me.


As she ran up to the girls’ dorm, her heart was so heavy in her chest it seemed to slow her down. Moving one foot after the other was difficult.

Lying to Carter. She’d never imagined she could do that. How had everything got so tangled?

In the relative safety of her room, she closed the door and leaned against it. Catching her reflection in the mirror next to the door, she frowned at herself.

What have you done?

She had to tell him the truth, of course. He’d figure it out soon enough after Isabelle met with him. And when he realised she’d lied …

A sudden chill made her shiver, and she walked over to close the window. Wind was making the shutter thump against the wall, and rain had blown in and dampened the desktop.

Two things happened at the same time: she remembered she hadn’t opened the window today and she saw the envelope on her desk.

It was of thick, heavy paper – the kind used for invitations. Her name was written on the back. In Christopher’s handwriting.





SIXTEEN





Allie scrambled away from the desk so rapidly her feet tangled and she nearly fell. Reaching out for the wall, she caught her balance, all the time staring at the envelope on her desk as if it might get up and chase her across the room.

He’s been in here, she thought with a mixture of horror and excitement. Christopher’s been in here.

Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear herself think, and she forced herself to calm down while she tried to decide what to do. Should she run straight to Isabelle? Try and find Carter or Rachel?

Or just open the envelope and see what’s inside?

With tentative steps she made her way back to the desk, approaching the envelope as one might a caged panther until, reaching out a shaking hand, she picked it up.

The creamy paper was unmarked aside from the word ‘Allie’, written in the familiar handwriting she hadn’t seen in more than a year. She ran her fingertip across the word as if it would give her some sense of what had happened to him – why he’d run away. Why he’d left her.

Slipping her finger under the lip of the envelope, she pulled it open. Inside, a single sheet of thick, ivory paper had been neatly folded. She held it to her nose wondering if it would smell of her brother. Of home as it had been before he left.

But it smelled of nothing.

Unfolding it, she found her name written at the top in Christopher’s distinctive left-slanting handwriting.


Dear Allie,

I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you after all this time. I’ve missed you so much! Staying away from you has been the hardest part of everything that has happened.

When I saw you that night last summer, I knew I had to get back in touch with you. You’ve changed so much I almost didn’t recognise you. You’re all grown up now.

I am so proud of you.

I know you don’t understand why I’m with Nathaniel. But I haven’t gone crazy or joined a cult, or whatever Mum and Isabelle told you. I just learned the truth about our family. And I made a choice.

I want you to have the same chance I did to make a choice based on the truth about who we are. We Meldrums.

So will you meet me so we can talk? I’ll be down by the stream, next to the chapel, Friday at midnight.

I know you’re probably angry with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t come. But I’ll be there. Please come. I can’t wait to see you again.

Christopher



Standing stock still, Allie gazed out of the window into the dark autumn evening.

Christopher was right here. Standing where I am now. Hot tears flooded her eyes. If he wanted to see me so badly, why didn’t he wait until I walked into the room? Why leave a note and sneak away?

With effort, she forced herself to read the letter again. This time she noted the way he’d underlined their grandmother’s name, writing over the letters twice until the word stood out on the page. He’d pressed his pen so hard against the paper it had nearly gone through.

As she stood holding the letter, one thought reverberated in her head: What am I going to do now?


Allie didn’t sleep that night. She read the letter over and over again until she didn’t need to read it any longer; she’d memorised it.

At about three in the morning, convinced that there was no hidden message in it and no part she might have missed, she lay back on the bed, her hands covering eyes, counting her breaths.

She had few options.

If she told anybody about the letter they would insist on telling Isabelle out of a desire to protect her. Then the matter would be taken out of Allie’s hands.

They’d never let me see him, and they might do something to him. Have him arrested. Or something else. Something worse.