‘You don’t even know what I’m thinking,’ she countered.
‘Oh yes I do,’ he said as she got in beside him. ‘Clearly the Winters have friends in high places. Now, those friends have already prompted a call from the top of the food chain. For whatever reason they’re determined to believe their daughter killed herself. If you go back in there and try to force them to believe she was murdered, what then? You don’t think we’re being watched closely enough as it is? Their well-placed friends are gonna want this thing wrapped up within the hour, and right now we have nothing.’
‘So, you’re saying we should just continue to allow them to believe a lie?’ she asked.
‘I’m saying we take the opportunity to find out who killed her so we can give them some real answers.’
‘Damn it, Bryant. I know you’re right, but I know I’m right too,’ she said, exasperated.
He started the car and turned it towards the drive.
‘Great, I can’t even have one right on my own.’
She sighed as they crunched across the gravel. ‘Bryant, you think Sadie would have written a letter to Mummy and Daddy?’
‘Not a bloody chance,’ he said, reaching the road.
No, strangely enough, neither did she.
Twenty-Six
Dawson checked his watch as he approached the recreation area; at his school it had been called the playground. The area was the size of a small housing estate and appeared to be shared by the whole school.
He heard a bell in the distance before the sound of voices and chatter filled his ears. Kids streamed from the doorways as though a tap had been turned on. Immediately the groups formed: girl groups, boy groups, a few mixed but the majority were gender-specific. A group of eight lads headed for the centre of the space and threw down their jumpers to be used as goalposts.
Some things were universal, Dawson thought, regardless of the school you attended. And young boys playing football between classes was one of them.
He searched the crowd for Geoffrey, and when he couldn’t see him, he took a second to recall his own experience. Where does the fat kid go when they’re forced outside for fresh air in between lessons but doesn’t really want to be noticed?
He started walking the periphery of the recreation area. A few benches hid beneath a row of elm trees, shielded from the emerging sun. Most had groups sitting on the bench, on the wooden arms and on the backrest with their feet on the seats. All except one.
On the bench at the furthest point away from the school building, barely noticeable behind hanging branches of elm, was a kid chomping on a packet of crisps.
Oh how he understood the cycle. He’d been a bit weighty, been picked on, made miserable, eaten, been picked on, made miserable… Well just stop eating crisps and cakes onlookers might think. And if only it was as easy as that.
‘Hey,’ Geoffrey said, looking at Dawson and then guiltily at his packet of crisps.
Dawson understood. He too had felt the shame every time he was seen eating anything that wasn’t an apple or stick of carrot. Average-sized kids could eat whatever they wanted without judgement or attention. The fat kid received stares and head shakes as though they were doing something wrong.
‘Mmm… chicken flavour, my favourite,’ Dawson said.
Geoffrey proffered the packet, and Dawson took one.
Geoffrey left the packet hanging between them.
‘Got a minute for a chat?’ Dawson asked.
He nodded towards the group playing football.
‘Best be quick. They’ll be wanting me back any minute.’
Dawson saw the ironic look on his face and laughed out loud.
Geoffrey smiled in response. Apparently pleased that he had made someone laugh.
‘You mentioned something about the Queen of Hearts, yesterday. What’s that all about?’ Dawson asked, taking another crisp. He’d forgotten just how tasty they were.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he said, looking around.
‘Why not?’ Dawson asked, looking around too, even though no one was anywhere near them.
Geoffrey lowered his voice. ‘We’re not supposed to talk about them. They’re a secret.’
‘From who?’ Dawson asked, feeling slightly ridiculous.
‘Principal Thorpe. He doesn’t like them. They’re banned.’
Dawson couldn’t help being intrigued. ‘I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise,’ he said, leaning in closer.
Geoffrey seemed reassured.
‘Okay, there are four clubs here at Heathcrest, strictly by invitation only. Two boys’ clubs and two girls’ clubs. The girls are Hearts and Diamonds and the boys are Clubs and Spades.’
‘Like those fraternities they have in America?’ Dawson asked.
Geoffrey thought. ‘I suppose so, but they don’t live together or hang out or anything. They’re all different ages. There are eleven members in each club.’
‘Why only eleven?’ Dawson asked.
‘The girls have no King and the boys have no Queen.’
Dawson frowned, trying to get it straight, as he took another crisp.
Geoffrey looked down at the packet and handed it to him, wiping his own hands on his trousers.
‘So, there’s a hierarchy in the clubs?’ Dawson asked.
Oh, how he detested exclusive clubs and groups. Just another way of making the average kid feel inadequate.
‘Oh yeah, it rises in number. Newest member is the Ace and then it rises to the King or Queen of the suit of that club. Each suit is run by a Joker – an adult, could be a teacher or an ex-card.’
‘And how does one get into these exclusive groups?’
‘Chosen by the other members, I think,’ he said.
‘And you move up over time?’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘If a person leaves—’
‘Leaves the club?’
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘No, leaves the school, then everyone automatically moves up a place leaving space for a new Ace to join.’
The bell suddenly sounded the end of break. Geoffrey looked longingly at his sandwich box before returning it to his backpack.
‘So, is it all good-natured fun, the interaction between these four clubs?’ he asked, as Geoffrey hauled his pack onto his shoulder.
‘The girls are not so bad,’ he said. ‘But the Spades and Clubs hate each other’s guts.’
Twenty-Seven
Thorpe was not surprised at the knock on the door. He’d been waiting for over half an hour for Graham Steele.
‘What took you?’ he asked, sharply. He’d asked Nancy to make the call to the counsellor half an hour earlier, and he’d been waiting for the oaf ever since.
‘My aunt is fine, thank you for asking,’ Graham said, tightly. ‘And if you must know I’m late because I’m still prioritising the order of callbacks for the students.’
‘“Callbacks”?’
‘I’ve had forty-three requests for counselling since Sadie died. Obviously, the kids are concerned.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Thorpe said, trying to hide the fact that he should have realised. They were all concerned. Not least because every phone call he’d taken had been from a parent threatening to take their child out of the school, especially since the disastrous press conference.
‘Just how troubled was Sadie Winters?’ he asked.
‘You didn’t know her well?’ Graham asked.
‘Of course not,’ he snapped, sensing rather than hearing the accusation in the tone of his colleague. There were far too many students in the school for him to know them all personally, but he hated that in just a few words this man could make it sound like a catastrophic failing on his part. ‘Just answer the question. Was Sadie in need of specialist care?’
Graham thought for a full two minutes before answering. ‘I feel that Sadie has been quietly withdrawing for quite a while now. I think that her lack of social interaction and academic application began to wane as the star of her sister, Saffron, began to—’
‘Will you please answer the question?’ Thorpe pushed. He was not interested in the counsellor’s extensive theories on the history of the girl’s mental state. One of his biggest concerns right now was duty of care.
Graham’s face grew dark. ‘I will if you ask it.’