Читать книгу White Lies - Zoe Markham - Страница 14

Chapter Three

My heart thumped with a mixture of nerves and general out-of-shape knackeredness as I wrestled my case up the dim stairwell – finally emerging into the bright reception area like an exhausted mole. A short man, completely bald with a perfectly round belly sitting like a beach ball under his shirt, was chatting away cheerily to Tyler. Mr Strickland, I presumed. He looked like he’d been off somewhere hot for the summer, as the top of his head and the front of his nose were brightly burned – a flaming red a million miles from the sun-kissed look Tyler was rocking. That made me smile. He was, quite literally, a shining beacon of normality.

I stood out from both of them though: ghostlike in my comparative paleness, and chubbier than the pair of them put together. Vive la difference! Dad would have said. Get over it, Fatty, would’ve been Beth’s advice. It’s your own fault. Double sting. But I’d spent most of the summer indoors, with comfort food for company. She was right. I had no one to blame but myself.

“Couldn’t wait to get back eh? Missed the old place that much?” Beachball asked, grinning at Tyler, whose reply was another lazy eye-roll. Obviously a standard move. “And who do we have here?” He peered at me for a second, before recognition dawned. “Ah! You must be Abigail! Hello! How was your journey?”

“Yeah, fine thanks.” I was still trying to catch my breath, and made an attempt to cover up the catch in my breathing with a totally unconvincing yawn.

“Excellent!” He grinned. “Well, welcome to the boarding house, Abigail. I’m sure you’ll be very happy here. We’re all the quintessential big happy family. Isn’t that right, Tyler?”

I was expecting yet another eye-roll, but something sad flashed across Tyler’s eyes, just for a second, before he murmured something non-committal in response. Beachball clapped him on the back and took a dig at “the eloquence of youth.”

“Mum and Dad not with you?” he asked, raising himself up on the balls of his feet to look over my shoulder, as if maybe they were standing behind me and were just incredibly small.

“Oh, no. Mum had to rush back,” I told him. “She flies out early tomorrow morning. And Dad’s already out of the country.”

“Ah, now, that sounds very exotic! What is it your parents do? Something much more exciting than teaching by the sound of it!”

I felt a painful tug in my stomach, and there was a split-second delay before I answered. “They’re in the army. Dad’s on deployment in Afghanistan, on his third tour now. Mum’s heading over there for the first time tomorrow.”

“Ah, now, well then.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable, his face glowing even more redly. There was something we had in common, at least. “My word. Not exotic at all. That must be extremely difficult for you, Abigail, having both parents in such… Well, yes, my word…”

There was an awkward pause. I thought it was a bit odd that he hadn’t already known. But with so many kids to look after, I supposed it must have been hard to keep track of everyone.

“And there I was,” he eventually continued, “thinking all our brave young men and women were either home or on their way, not still being shipped out. It just goes to show.”

Everyone always thought that now. That it was all over and done with. That we’d ‘won’. “Most of them are,” I told him. “Dad’s out there working with their police force, and Mum’ll be working with the local army – making sure they’re ready – that they don’t need anyone else. Kind of so that everyone else can come home.”

“Well well…that’s… My goodness. How commendable.”

He looked flustered, and I felt awkward, but help arrived in the form of a crackle from the intercom. Beachball sprang back into cheery mode – looking grateful for the interruption.

“Aha! Let’s see who else is keen to get back!” He rubbed his hands together. “Tyler, perhaps you could show Abigail around? We’ve put her in Scarlett’s dorm. You’ll love our Miss Murphy,” he told me with a wink. “She’s one of the most popular girls in the school; there’s no one here who knows better how hard it can be when you first start boarding, no matter what age you are. She’ll help you find your feet in no time.”

A flash of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on danced across Tyler’s eyes this time, somehow making me feel more nervous than ever as Beachball bounced off to buzz the door open.

“Come on then,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite touch those eyes, before striding off down the corridor towards another set of stairs. I grabbed my case, tried to square my shoulders a little, and followed.

He bounded up three flights before finally stopping beside a door on the top corridor, waiting for me to catch up. It took a while. I tried to console myself with the fact that after a few weeks of this, combined with the walk up that hill to the school every day, I’d be fitter than ever. Not that that would be particularly difficult.

“What?” I panted, when I finally made it. “Never seen a girl with asthma before?” I meant it as a joke, but judging by the look on his face it’d come out wrong. “Don’t they have lifts?” I blundered on. “I mean, with everyone having cases and stuff?”

He shook his head. “No lifts. This building is approximately a million years old.”

“Yeah, but…aren’t there laws, or something?” I leant over slightly, feeling my breath start to settle. “What if you’re disabled?”

He shrugged. “You sleep downstairs.”

He pushed the door open, and then looked back at me. “Are you?” he said.

“Am I what?”

“Disabled?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows at me.

“I just meant, you know, what if.”

“Ah.”

He held the door open, and I shimmied past, face flaming from a mix of exertion and embarrassment. And I found myself in the pinkest room I’d ever seen. I don’t know whether it was the tension of the journey, or the awkwardness of the conversation, or what, but after taking a quick look around I burst out laughing, and once I’d started I couldn’t stop. Initially, Tyler looked at me like I was insane; but when I finally managed to blurt out, “God, my eyes!” he cracked a smile, and eventually started to laugh along with me.

“Got any shades in there?” he asked, nodding towards my case.

I felt some of the tension start to leave my shoulders. Now his eyes were smiling. But he still looked slightly awkward, leaning in the doorway, like his feet were trapped behind some kind of imaginary line.

“Somewhere,” I answered. And then, because the silence that followed went on just that little bit too long, as well as because I was suddenly genuinely curious, I asked, “So…are boys not allowed in the girls’ dorms or something?”

He laughed again, and as he uncrossed his arms and stepped inside I thought maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d been feeling tense.

“We’re allowed,” he said, flinging his arms up and giving a little twirl that set me off giggling again. It was a nerves thing. So embarrassing. He nodded across to the only unmade bed of the four – the one directly beneath the window, and I hauled my case over and collapsed onto it. Between the freaky bird and the stair-a-thon I already felt like I needed a couple of hours to recover. And apparently, it showed.

“Need some time to settle in before the grand tour?” he asked.

I glanced around the room again, trying to adjust to the pinkness. Seeing the small bedside table and the individual desk next to it, it hit me suddenly: a stark, visual reminder that I wouldn’t be going home tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or any night for a good few weeks yet. And it really shouldn’t have mattered, because without Mum, Dad or Beth, home was just an empty shell anyway. But still…it got to me. I didn’t want Tyler to see that. I was fifteen, not five – I shouldn’t have been feeling homesick the second I’d walked through the door. Tyler was used to it. They all would be. I’d stick out like a sore thumb if they knew.

“Yeah, I think maybe I’ll get unpacked,” I told him. “Can I come and find you in a bit?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I’ll probably be down in the common room. It’s just off reception.”

“Thanks.” I smiled up at him. He wasn’t the bag-carrying gentlemanly sort like his dad, but he’d been kind, and friendly, and I was glad he’d been there. He stopped at the door for a second before turning to look back at me.

“About Scarlett,” he said, slowly. Carefully. “She’s…”

And I waited, but the rest of his sentence never came.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “I’ll catch you later.”

“OK…” I said, to no one in particular as the door swung shut behind him. “So, that was weird…”

After his footsteps had faded down the corridor, I switched over into snoop mode. The hot pink bed linen must’ve been school issue, because a fresh set sat, gently glowing, at the end of my bed. The curtains and lampshades were the same shocking hue, and two of the three other beds were heaped high with even more violently pink cushions – while the third boasted an enormous, fluffy stuffed pig. It seemed I was well and truly in girly girls’ territory. It wasn’t really my style; but in a way it was kind of a relief, because it was hard to feel threatened by the sort of girl who’d go to bed with a cuddly pig. I’d come up against my fair share of Mean Girls over the years – who hadn’t – but I was pretty sure none of them had been into soft toys.

The wall above each of the other beds was plastered with photos of smiling, laughing teens, and on two of the bedside tables there were framed photos of ridiculously good-looking guys, one throwing a smouldering smile at the camera, and one with his arm around a stunning redhead. The third boasted a tattered photo of what looked to be an ancient Alsatian, and it made me smile.

I’d only brought one photo with me – one real one anyway, there were plenty on my phone – but I wasn’t ready to display it just yet. Pulling my battered, dog-eared novel out of my case, I opened it to where the photo marked my place, and felt my heart attempt both a leap and a nosedive at the same time. I closed it again gently, and laid the book on the small bedside table.

I got on with making my bed up and unpacking, before I could start thinking about things and getting upset, convincing myself that it’d be good to look ‘settled’ by the time the others got here. I hung my school clothes – the exact same unimaginative navy blue and white as all the others I’d been through, just with a slightly different crest on the sweatshirt – in the narrow wardrobe. My own clothes, mostly oversized jeans and hoodies, got crammed in around them. I stacked my new stationery on my desk and filled the bedside table with more well-thumbed paperbacks and my trusty Kindle.

The wide, inviting drawer under the bed, the only one with a key sitting pretty in the lock, cried out for my stash. I chewed on a thumbnail as I considered it. I could just throw it all out – dump the lot in one of the big Biffa bins that would inevitably be sitting out back somewhere. I could leave it all behind me once and for all – make this fresh start real. Or, I could just hold on to it for a bit, let it help me through the first few days and then ditch it when I was settled. It wasn’t like I was going to use it, after all. It just helped, knowing it was there. I listened carefully for footsteps out in the corridor, then pulled the two concealed carrier bags from my case and shoved them inside. I slammed the drawer on them and flicked the lock, slipping the key into my pocket before I could change my mind.

And that was me pretty much done. I started to feel a tightness in my chest as I looked at my little corner of the dorm, that familiar early warning of anxiety on the horizon. The walls started to slowly press in around me, and it didn’t feel as if there was enough air in the room. My fingers found the bracelet again, worrying at the tiny knots so hard I was afraid they’d all unravel.

Not losing it already are you, Abs? Beth’s voice was always there in the back of my mind. The best friend, the best big sister a girl could have. I knew it sounded corny, but so what, it was true – she was the one person who’d always been there for me, no matter how many times we upped and moved with Mum and Dad’s ever-changing deployments. The only constant. It had been difficult, almost impossible half the time, to make friends and hang on to them, but I’d lucked out because I had my best friend there with me all the time. Except for now, of course. I was here, and she was off settling in at uni, and nothing was ever going to be quite the same again.

Quit overthinking it, Doofus. We’ll talk online. And the holidays’ll be here before you know it.

She’d told me so many times. It was burned into my brain, but still it was hard to hold on to. I’d be OK for a bit, then I’d feel myself slipping again.

You’re not on your own.

Trying not to look at the walls as they pressed in towards me, I leant over to pull the curtains back from the window, fumbling with a fiddly, ancient-looking screw-fitting before I could finally fling the sash up high enough to let in the late summer air. I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with it, as a gentle breeze skimmed across my skin.

“You’ve always got to look for the positives,” Dad had kept telling me. All summer long. And I got that, I really did. It was just that sometimes the positives were really, really good at hiding.

A shriek from outside overrode my overthinking, and I stuck my head out of the window to see what was going on. The dorm faced out directly onto the courtyard, and I could see cars lining up outside the gate now – disgorging laughing kids with enormous bags. No one looked up at the new girl in the window; everyone was busy looking for their friends at ground level. I got to be invisible, anonymous, for just a little while longer.

A brightness in the trees to the left caught my eye: a flash of midnight blue, followed by a fierce flare of red in the sunlight. I stuck my head out further, risking discovery to peer across at the branches swaying in the late-afternoon breeze. And there he was again. “How’s your wife, Mr Magpie?” I only whispered it this time in case anyone did look up and think I was insane. Do you even have to say it again if it’s the same one? If it even was the same one. He’d need a name if he was going to keep showing up. I watched as he flicked his head from side to side, as if he was telling me ‘no’ – no what? No I don’t have to say it again? No he’s not the same one? Shouldn’t he, perhaps, have been nodding ‘yes’, as in ‘yes, Abby, you’re losing your mind, talking to a bird’?

His eyes locked on to mine as I thought it – the only soul out there who saw me. They flashed a deep, disturbing shade of red – a trick of the sunlight, no doubt, and presumably the flare I’d initially seen. I tried to hold his gaze. It felt like a question of pride. My eyes started to burn, and he emerged the clear winner as I closed them to clear the bright, piercing after-image of his own.

When I looked again, he was gone.

I told myself it could have been worse – it could have been a raven. That would have been way more creepy. The stuff of powerful poems and brooding teen dramas and meaningful nightmares.

Trust me to end up with a magpie. I never quite got it right.