Night School: Resistance (Night School 4)

The guard gave an officious nod and closed the door.

Outside, the sky was cobalt, just beginning to blacken at the edges. A cool breeze lifted her hair.

A few feet away, his hands shoved in his pockets, Sylvain paced the stone walkway. As soon as he saw her, he brightened.

‘There you are. Let’s go. We have to hurry.’

Allie squinted at him suspiciously. ‘Why? Where are we going?’

His lips quirked up.

‘I knew you’d hate this part.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on. I promise it’s OK. It’s just a surprise. A good surprise.’

She’d never seen him more excited. He was practically hopping up and down with it.

His mood was contagious. Putting thoughts of unfixable Carter and miserable Cimmeria from her mind, Allie took his hand.



‘This way,’ he said, pointing to the right.

The footpath curved away from the terraced gardens behind the school to the edge of the forest. If you followed it far enough, Allie knew it would bring you to the walled garden. From there you could follow it up the hill to the castle ruins. But Sylvain turned off the path early, into the trees.

‘I thought we couldn’t go into the woods?’ she said.

He gave a mysterious smile. ‘I have permission.’

It was darker now – the last of the light had disappeared from the sky. As they moved further into the forest he laced his fingers through hers.

Allie could not figure out where he was taking her. She knew there was nothing ahead of them but forest. The whole thing didn’t make any sense.

‘Seriously, Sylvain. This is crazy. Where are we going?’

Her impatience seemed to amuse him; he stifled a grin. ‘Trust me.’

Just when she was about to demand information, a ghostly glow appeared ahead of them, and suddenly she knew where they were going: The folly.

But why?

Then they stepped through the trees into a clearing and the night lit up.

Allie stopped in her tracks.

Dropping her hand, Sylvain stepped back to watch her reaction.

The folly was a fanciful little structure that served no real purpose – nothing more than a gazebo made of marble with a domed roof, it was intended only to be pretty. A pleasant surprise for Victorians out for a stroll. Inside was a statue of a woman, caught in the middle of a dance.

Tonight it had all been draped in fairy lights. Every piece of marble was enrobed in their sparkling glow. Even the dancing girl held strands of lights in her raised hand like an illuminated veil.

Four steps led up to the statue. And something had been left at the top of the stairs.

Allie turned to Sylvain. In the glow of the lights she could see the anticipation in his eyes.

‘Go ahead,’ he urged her.

Hesitantly, she walked closer to the folly until she could see what it was.

A cake sat at the dancer’s feet, surrounded by candles that flickered in the breeze.

‘Oh …’ Allie pressed her fingers against her lips.

‘There are seventeen candles.’ Sylvain had joined her at the foot of the steps. She blinked up at him in stunned amazement. ‘Happy birthday.’

Allie was struck speechless. In all the chaos, she’d completely forgotten today was her birthday.

But Sylvain remembered.

Tears burned her eyes, blurring the scene.

It had been so long since anyone gave her a birthday cake. It had to be before Christopher ran away. Last year she’d spent her birthday night out with Mark and Harry in London tagging buildings along a train line.

Mark had painted ‘Happy Bloody Birthday, Allie!’ on a wall. And that was that.

‘I …’ Her voice was unsteady, so she stopped talking.

It would have taken Sylvain ages to string all those lights. And the candles. They were the kind they had on the tables in the dining hall – he must have gone back after dinner and sneaked them out.

She turned to him to say something – anything – that could convey how much this meant to her, but there weren’t words for that. Not any that she knew. So she reached up and pulled his mouth down to hers.

His lips were gentle against hers, questioning. Teasing the corners of her mouth until her lips parted and she could taste him.

She stood on her toes, stretching up to twine her wrists behind his neck, deepening the kiss, demanding more.

She’d wanted to do this ever since she saw him standing on the steps of the house that first day in France with the sky in his eyes.

This had to be right, she told herself. There was no way she couldn’t choose Sylvain now. Not after this. It felt right.

Tangling her fingers in the soft curls of his hair, she leaned into him, letting him bear her weight.

Instantly, his arms tightened around her. Supporting her.

For the first time in a long while, Allie thought maybe she was making the right decision.