Chapter Two
‘Dad. What’s this
about a murder?’
April stuffed a piece
of toast in her mouth as her father walked into the kitchen. It was
8.30 on a Monday morning and her mother was hovering by the door,
jangling the car keys.
‘Don’t start him
off,’ said Silvia sarcastically, shooting a dirty look at her
husband. ‘We have to leave in about thirty seconds if I’m going to
give you a lift to school.’
Yeah, like I’m going to rush for my first day at
freak-school, thought April. Right now she would welcome the
distraction of one of her father’s stories, especially one about a
grisly local murder. Last night, when Silvia had pulled her back
into the house in full view of that totally fit boy, she had just
muttered something about ‘something on the news’ and ‘dangerous
streets’, then sent her upstairs to unpack. Then Fiona had phoned
back with the latest gossip, which had put all thoughts of murder
from her head. Apparently Fee had just seen Miranda Cooper, one of
April’s classmates at St Geoffrey’s, at the cinema with Neil
Stevenson, the boy April had been nursing a crush on for the past
eighteen months. Neil was an Orlando Bloom lookalike whom April had
slowly managed to befriend over the past year. He was sporty and
cool, one of the popular clique at Marshgate Boys, and normally
their paths would never have crossed, but as luck would have it,
Neil’s mum was one of Silvia’s cronies. Consequently, whenever
Silvia popped by’ Neil’s house to drop off something at the weekend
or on the way to school, he and April would be forced into each
other’s company. ‘Just go and chat to Neil for five minutes,
darling,’ she would say, waving a hand. ‘Listen to a CD or
something.’ It had always grated on April that her mother clearly
trusted her to go into some random boy’s bedroom unsupervised; did
she really think her daughter was that unattractive? Anyway, the
upside was that after the initial awkwardness, she and Neil had
bonded over their mothers’ respective failings as parents and
started to get to know each other. April hadn’t exactly rated her
chances with Neil, even after he invited her to his seventeenth
birthday party in a pub on Princes Street, but a girl could hope,
couldn’t she? April had borrowed her mum’s Gucci peasant dress, the
only thing she could find in her wardrobe that didn’t make her look
about fifty, and had gone along with Fee and another friend. When
they had bumped into Miranda on the street a few hundred metres
away from the party, they had invited her along too. Big mistake.
‘The murder in
Dartmouth Park?’ said William, draining his coffee. ‘Thought you’d
know all about that by now.’
‘Why would
I?’
‘Well, the bloke who
was murdered was in that band, Belarus.’
April’s eyes widened.
‘Alix Graves was killed?’
Unlike half the girls
in her class, April wasn’t a mad Belarus fan. They were a bit too
morose, the lyrics too dark. Half the tracks on the last album were
just too experimental— or so one
reviewer in NME had described them. But
Alix Graves was sexy. She knew at least three girls who would have
to phone the Samaritans when they heard he’d been found murdered in
his London home. Fee for one - she had been known to kiss his
picture before retiring for the night.
‘Who’s Alix Graves?’
said Silvia, fastening the belt of her silk trenchcoat a little
tighter.
‘He’s only one of the
biggest rock stars in the country,’ April gasped, incredulous. ‘
“Moon Cry”? “Dark Angel”?’ She looked at her mother’s blank face
with amazement. ‘You’ve really never heard of him?’
Her father smiled.
‘Your mother prefers Sting. Anyway, Alix’s house was in Dartmouth
Park, which is a fair way from here, so you don’t need to worry too
much. The police are evidently still baffled by what happened and
who might have done it, though. The latest thinking is some crazed
fan but no one really knows.’
April pulled her
phone out and speed-dialled Fiona as her mother gave a theatrical
cough.
‘April,’ said Silvia
impatiently, ‘it’s late. Do you want me to give you a lift or
not?’
April shot her mother
a withering look. Didn’t she understand that this was
earth-shattering news? Alix Graves had been murdered and, what was
more, it had happened down the road! She had to talk to Fiona. She
would be wearing a black veil around Edinburgh for the weekend at
least.
‘Off you go, love.
We’ll talk later,’ said her father. ‘I’ll see what the guys at work
know about it. But don’t worry and don’t let it ruin your first day
at school, okay?’
‘In the meantime I
want you straight back here after school,’ said Silvia briskly. ‘I
don’t want you wandering around when there’s some maniac on the
loose.’
‘And how am I
supposed to make friends if I’m trapped in here?’ said April, in
her mind changing the words ‘make friends’ to ‘meet
boys’.
‘Join the chess club
or something,’ replied Silvia absently.
‘You are kidding?’ asked April, looking pleadingly
at her father.
‘I’m afraid I’m with
your mother on this one,’ said William sympathetically. ‘Just until
we find out what’s going on.’
April shook her head
and grabbed her bag. ‘Well, I think I’ll walk to school—is that
okay? You don’t think I’ll be murdered in broad daylight, do you?’
she said sarcastically. She stalked to the front door, angry at her
parents - how could they even consider grounding her at such a
crucial time? - but also glad that walking would delay her arrival
at her new school for those crucial last few minutes, because it
was the last place on earth she wanted to be going. Right now she
reckoned that being stalked by a killer would be less scary than
Ravenwood School.
‘God, Fee, it’s like
I’m a prisoner here,’ she said. ‘I seriously think they’d rather
lock me in the cellar until I’m old enough to be married off than
let me make a decision for myself.’
April had rung Fiona
as soon as she was out of the house. Her parents would never
understand what massive news Alix Graves’ death was (although their
generation never stopped banging on about John Lennon, so they
should) and they certainly wouldn’t get how hard it would hit
someone like Fiona, who had posters and cuttings of Alix plastered
on every available surface in her room.
‘Yeah, it sucks
you’ve been grounded.’ Fiona sighed. ‘But at least you’re
alive.’
‘Oh, Fee, I’m sorry,’
said April, wincing. ‘I was so mad with them, I didn’t think. How
are you doing?’
‘I’ll be okay.’ Fiona
sniffed. ‘I’m not sure it’s actually sunk in just yet. Do you think
I’ll get away with wearing black today?’
April smiled to
herself. She was right about her friend - she was genuinely shocked
and upset, but she would also relish the opportunity for drama. The
St Geoffrey’s uniform was a horrible battleship grey with burgundy
trim and was strictly enforced. Heaven help the girl who dared to
turn up in a skirt above the knee - she risked the wrath of their
formidable headmistress Miss Batty. April had once been on the
receiving end after wearing shoes that were deemed ‘inappropriately
high’ and she still shivered at the memory.
‘Good luck with
that,’ said April. ‘I can’t see Miss Batty letting you wear black
if your whole family had dropped down dead, let alone
…’
She tailed off as
Fiona began to sob. ‘Sorry, Fee, I didn’t mean …’ April felt the
miles between them stretching away into the distance. ‘Oh, honey, I
wish I was there to help you through this.’
‘Well, if your dad
can find out anything more about it, you know, details, I think that would help.’
‘Sure, I’ll ask him,
but it is his first day at work.’
‘No, no,’ said Fiona,
blowing her nose loudly. ‘Quite right, the show must go on, that’s
what Alix would have wanted. Perhaps I can just wear a black hat to
the school gates or something, some small gesture like
that.’
‘That would be
better.’
‘Anyway, that’s
enough about me,’ said Fiona. ‘It’s your first day, you lucky
thing.’
‘Lucky? I’m dreading
it. All those freaky brainboxes and rich kids, it’s going to be a
nightmare.’
‘No uniform, all
those new boys, it’s going to be amazing!’ enthused Fiona,
recovering herself. ‘Just imagine, loads of boys actually sitting
next to you in class, talking to you in the corridor, holding doors
open for you - it’ll be heaven.’
April smiled. It was
amazing what five years of private education in an all-girls school
could do for your imagination. Since her place at Ravenwood had
been confirmed, Fiona had blown the school up into some sort of
romantic Jane Austinera fantasy where elegant gentlemen cast
furtive but earnest glances at you from beneath their top
hats.
‘I’m not sure it’s
going to be quite that exciting, Fee.’
‘Of course it is,’
insisted Fiona. ‘There will be boys with titles there - real-life lords.’
‘I don’t think
…’
But Fiona was still
talking. ‘And I bet they all drive Range Rovers and call their mums
and dads “mater and pater”. God, you must call me as soon as you
get out of there, I need to hear everything!’
April didn’t think it
was going to be exciting at all, in fact she was dreading setting
foot inside the gates. Even worse, all Fiona’s talk of boys had
immediately made her think of Neil. Her stomach turned over. The
last thing she wanted to do was meet new boys who would waltz off
with the first flirty blonde who fluttered her eyelashes in their
direction.
Fiona was clearly on
April’s wavelength.
‘Anyway, you don’t
have to worry about Neil—’ she began.
‘Neil?’ said April
quickly. ‘What about Neil?’
‘You’ll never believe
this, but—sskkizzzzopp—aid Miranda
wa—kkzzzunnngg—’
Dammit - her phone
was breaking up! ‘Fee? What? Who said what about
Miranda?’
Silence. April looked
down at the screen of her phone. One bar! And she was only about
two miles out of central London - how did that work?
‘Hello? Can you hear
me? Fee?’
‘Listen, you’re
cracking up a bit,’ said Fiona. ‘Give me a call at—’
Her last words were
cut off. Damn, damn, damn. April looked
down at her phone, then up at the street and sighed. ‘Cracking up
is right,’ she muttered and set off down the hill.
Walking towards the
Heath in the bright October morning sunlight, April actually found
it hard to feel too gloomy. Red and golden leaves peppered the
pavement under gracefully sagging autumnal trees and she had to
grudgingly admit that the whole village looked rather lovely; the
tall stone houses with their clipped gardens, the view of London in
the distance all covered in a blanket of rust and red. They had
never really had autumn in Scotland. In fact she and Fiona often
joked how Edinburgh was under a weird spell of permanent winter.
Sure, they had a few weeks of weak sunlight in high summer, but
then it was straight back to bullet-hard rain being blown directly
into your face. She looked down at her coat; it was stylish, but it
was still heavy wool. April’s wardrobe consisted almost entirely of
things made of wool; it was the only way to keep warm in Scotland.
Secretly she actually enjoyed wrapping up in scarves, hats and
thick jumpers as she didn’t particularly want anyone staring at her
body, which she always felt was too lanky and boyish, a world away
from Miranda Cooper’s sexy Kelly Brook curves. And April certainly
didn’t want anyone looking at her today of all days. Even so, she
had been up especially early that morning to choose an outfit,
excited and nervous about her first day at a school without a
uniform. She had discussed it with Fee for weeks, but it was
impossible to second-guess what would be considered the ‘right
look’ at Ravenwood, despite the fact that the school had sent
through a forbidding-looking list of rules, including a dress code
that specified height of shoes, length of skirts and so on. Even so
it was liberating - not to say terrifying—to be able to choose
‘real clothes’ to wear to school. She had carefully picked out
something stylish but still neutral and safe; the navy skirt and
cream cowl-neck jumper hardly marked her out as a fashion pioneer.
It was more like camouflage; her plan was to sink into the
background as much as possible … but until she got there she had no
idea if this outfit would help her blend in or make her stand
out.
She walked down
Swain’s Lane, a steep road that followed the contour of the hill on
which Highgate was built. It was clearly a very old road, with
ancient stone walls on one side and old iron railings on the other,
through which she could glimpse Highgate Cemetery. When April had
researched the area - hoping, she supposed, to find a loophole that
would let her stay in Scotland - she had been intrigued to discover
the range of people spending eternity in the graveyard. Famous
figures like Karl Marx rubbed shoulders with Radclyffe Hall,
little-known author of a book called The Well
of Loneliness. April looked around. Loneliness. That’s about
right, she thought, then almost jumped backwards as
something broke cover from the undergrowth and sprinted across the
road. Her hand flew to her mouth, her heart pounding as she tried
not to cry out.
‘A fox,’ she gasped,
slightly embarrassed by her reaction. ‘Only a fox.’
She knew that foxes
were a common sight in many cities, of course, but she’d never seen
one in Edinburgh’s less forgiving granite landscape.
‘Stupid,’ she
whispered, but she still looked nervously over her shoulder and
increased her pace a little.
Ravenwood was
impressive in the light of day. The sun wasn’t quite out, but the
rain had made the slate roof glisten and the puddles in the quad in
front of the grand pillared entrance reflected the brightness. As
she turned into the wide gates she had to dodge around the line of
cars stopping in front of the school.
April had to stifle
an incredulous laugh. It looked like the Oscars - lines of
limousines and black prestige vehicles dropping their A-list cargo
onto an imaginary red carpet before purring away. In her direct
line of vision she could see two grey Porsche Cayennes, three
Bentleys and six black 4x4s of assorted sizes, all with tinted
windows, all stopping briefly on Ravenwood’s wide gravel drive.
April offered a little prayer of thanks that she had avoided the
humiliation of letting her mother drop her off in their little
hatchback. She could only see the backs of the students getting out
of the cars but she recognised the red soles of the strictly
non-regulation Christian Louboutain shoes, not to mention the
assortment of Louis Vuitton and Mulberry totes masquerading as
school bags. God, this is going to be
hell, she thought. Taking a deep breath, April joined the
stream of pupils walking into school, assuming they knew where they
were going. There were a few curious glances from younger pupils,
but she guessed that, to them, a senior was a senior. She pulled a
letter from her bag that said she had to register in room
thirty-six at 9 a.m., wherever room thirty-six was. There was
nothing for it - she’d have to ask. She tapped a girl walking past
her on the shoulder. April pulled her hand back at the touch of the
coat. Fur - real fur. The girl spun
around and thick blonde hair bounced over her shoulders. Her face
was exquisite, like a Russian czarina’s - wide-spaced pale blue
eyes, pale skin like marble and a cool, haughty expression that
matched her icy beauty perfectly. April opened her mouth to speak
but no words came out; the girl stopped and gave April a curious
look, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was seeing. Then she
smoothed the arm of her silky-haired black coat and turned away,
having clearly dismissed her from her thoughts.
April heard giggling
behind her.
‘Heaven help she who
touches the black rabbit.’
She spun round to see
a short girl with a dark bob and a mischievous grin.
‘You look
lost.’
‘I am.’ April nodded,
blushing. She watched the fur-coat-wearing student disappear
through double doors at the end of the corridor. ‘Was that coat
really black rabbit?’ she asked in a hushed voice.
‘Disgusting, isn’t
it?’ said the girl. ‘It was white mink last winter. She’s the only
girl allowed to wear fur to school, for some reason. Then again,
Davina’s father is practically the richest man in London so I guess
normal rules don’t apply. I’m Caro Jackson, by the way. Who are
you?’
‘April. April
Dunne.’
She was distracted
briefly by a gorgeous Indian boy walking into school, his suit so
neatly pressed it looked as if it had sharp edges.
‘What are you in
for?’
April turned back to
Caro. ‘In for?’
‘Your gift.’ Caro
grinned. ‘What got you locked up here? You know: maths, physics,
telekinesis - what’s your speciality?
You know Ravenwood caters specifically for the academically
gifted.’
Her last word was
dripping with sarcasm. April examined Caro again; she was the only
person she’d seen who deviated from the model
student of either sort, neither the type who looked like
they digested algebra over breakfast nor strutted the catwalk over
the school holidays. April noticed that Caro’s jumper was a little
bobbly and that she had black nail polish - something April knew
was strictly forbidden in the school rules.
‘Nothing special
about me, sorry, but I’m joining the Lower Sixth. I think my dad
pulled a few strings to get me in here and, I don’t know, they must
have liked something about me as my GCSE results didn’t exactly
mark me out as gifted.’ She shrugged. She had been quite pleased
with two A stars, four As and three B grades, but knew they’d be
laughed at by some of the brainboxes here. ‘Are you in the sixth
form too?’
Caro nodded, then
took an apple out of her bag and bit into it. ‘Miss Holden’s my
form teacher.’
‘Great! Me too,’ said
April, feeling a sense of relief. ‘I’ve got to find her in room
thirty-six - could you tell me where it is?’
‘I know where
thirty-six is,’ said Caro casually. ‘I’ve been here since I was
thirteen. Come on. We need to go through the
refectory.’
April obediently
followed Caro down a corridor. A distant noise became louder and
louder until Caro swung open a pair of double doors that led into a
glass-roofed atrium. It was an impressively high open space, but
when crowded with pupils laughing, yelling and calling out to each
other, the acoustics were deafening. April tried to take it all in:
a bank of drinks machines stood along one mahogany-panelled wall;
along another was a long antique table on which pairs of pupils
were playing backgammon. Gaggles of beautiful people lounged on the
black leather sofas while younger pupils scurried through as if
they had no business being there.
‘I can’t believe
people are playing backgammon before school,’ whispered
April.
‘So you’ve spotted
the geeks.’ Caro smiled, nodding towards them. ‘Those are the
eggheads, mostly pure maths, some quantum theorists. Don’t try to
talk to them unless you know pi to twenty decimal points. A lot of
international students, for some reason - in fact you’ll find
Ravenwood is very multicultural. North London society is very rich,
present company excepted.’
April frowned. ‘What
do you mean?’
‘Me. I’m the odd one
out, as one of the scholarship kids here. Mum’s a hairdresser,
Dad’s a window-cleaner, which makes me like a Martian or
something.’
April nodded and
smiled. She had only just met this girl, but it was nice being
included in something, even if it was as an outsider. Now Caro
indicated a group by the vending machine gathered around a handsome
boy with floppy blond hair. They were all highly groomed and
slightly regal-looking.
‘Who are
they?’
‘Those are the rugby
boys. Most of them are planning to read law or something equally
serious at uni and they spend all their time studying philosophy
and international affairs with a view to their inevitable political
careers.’ Caro shot April a wink. ‘It goes without saying, don’t
trust them.’ She followed April’s gaze and gave a wry smile. ‘And
before you ask, the pretty boy with the blond hair is Benjamin
Osbourne. You should trust him the least.’
Just then, the boy
next to Benjamin turned around and looked straight at April. A lazy
grin spread slowly across his face and he nodded at her. April
almost gasped out loud. It was the dark-haired boy she had seen in
the square the night before. She could feel her heart start beating
faster.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Caro,
taking April by the arm and turning her around. ‘Come
away.’
‘What do you
mean?’
‘Gabriel Swift.
You’re wasting your time with him,’ said Caro. ‘He’s one of those
unattainable, too-good-for-us-regular-humans types. I think he must
be dating older girls, because I’ve never seen him with anyone
here.’
April glanced back
and was disappointed to see that the boy was no longer looking at
her.
‘And who are they in
the middle?’ asked April, nodding towards the sofas in the centre
of the room. Five or six drop-dead-beautiful girls were draped
across them, pristine in their state-of-the-art designer
wear.
‘We call them “the
Faces”,’ said Caro with a grim smile. ‘The “popular” girls. That’s
“Face” as in “two-faced”. Basically Ravenwood is split in two -
either you’re academically brilliant or you’re from money. Those
girls are the richest of the rich and they’re the scariest clique
at Ravenwood. Although I’m guessing every school has something
similar, right?’
April nodded. Even at
St Geoffrey’s there had been a clique of snooty, pretty girls who
dressed in the latest fashions and looked down on everyone else,
casually spreading rumours and gossip about people for their own
amusement. In Edinburgh, where such posturing had seemed ludicrous,
April and Fee had been able to laugh at their pretentions, but the
Ravenwood girls looked frightening and other-worldly with their
beauty and casual confidence.
‘The net worth of
those kids on the sofas is about forty billion quid,’ said Caro.
‘Family money, of course, but still.’
‘There’s the
rabbit-coat girl,’ said April, recognising the mane of golden hair.
As she watched, the tall blond boy moved over and sat next to her.
‘Wow. Is that her boyfriend? Lucky cow.’
‘Brother.’ Caro
smiled. ‘Davina and Benjamin Osbourne. Their father Nicholas is one
of those mega-rich Eastern Europeans, made a fortune in chemicals,
all very shady. Funnily enough, though, Davina doesn’t tend to date
other rich boys. She’s more into brains. See that guy to her
left?’
April nodded. He was
cute but not stunning and he was clearly ill at ease in such
company.
‘That’s Jonathon, her
latest geek-du-jour. I think she goes for the smart boys to make up
for her own complete airheadedness.
April tried to absorb
this information while she sized up her new companion. Caro didn’t
fit into this picture, with her wry outlook, always watching,
always searching faces. It made April feel a little better; she
wasn’t the only outsider at Ravenwood.
‘So what’s your
speciality, Caro?’
‘Oh, chemistry,
biology, physics, all with a creative twist. The rather boring
ambition is to write books about science, like Stephen Hawking but
without the funny voice.’ She grinned.
‘Oh really? My dad is
a writer,’ said April. ‘He used to work for the Scotsman.’
Caro looked at her
wide-eyed. ‘Your dad isn’t William
Dunne, is he?’
April
nodded.
‘Oh my God, I love
him,’ said Caro enthusiastically. ‘I think I’ve read everything
he’s ever written. That thing he did on Area Fifty-One was awesome.
His books are so definitive, so well argued. He mixes pop culture
with science like no one else I’ve ever read.’
April smiled
politely, but inside she was cringing. Trust her to talk to the one
girl in the school who had heard of her father. Caro put her hand
on April’s arm.
‘Sorry,’ she said
sheepishly. ‘I’m gushing, aren’t I? It’s just I wish I had any sort
of role model in my own family. The best we’ve managed is Uncle
David who owns a dry cleaners.’
Then the bell rang
and everyone began to move. April and her new friend began to walk
out of the refectory, joining the crush.
actually, I think I
might have a story for your dad, if you want to meet me after
school?’
‘Okay,’ said April
warily. ‘What’s it about?’
‘This place,’ said
Caro, just a hint of a smile on her face. ‘I think it’s a giant
conspiracy to take over the world.’