Chapter Twenty-Two
It was cold. Bitterly
cold. The wind was rushing down from the north, being channelled
into frigid, biting gusts by the winding streets, then cutting
straight through April’s coat. It had never been this cold in
Edinburgh, or perhaps she had never felt it so keenly. Certainly
there had never before been so little warmth to cling to. Which was
why she was walking down West Hill towards Ravenwood on this wet
Monday morning. No one had told her to go back - who would when
something so terrible had happened? - but where else could she go?
They had moved back to Pond Square over the weekend and April had
no wish to stay in the house with its over-cheerful yellow front
door and the sinister hunting scene above it. April had known that
her mother needed to return, so she had gone back for her sake, but
walking through that door had been one of the hardest things she
had ever had to do. There was no outward sign of the terrible
struggle as they had shuffled into the deserted hallway - April had
offered up a silent word of thanks to the police cleaners - but the
atmosphere was still claustrophobic and oppressive; it was as if
the rooms and corridors were filled with a solid mist that they had
to push their way through.
The only way to cope
was to pretend life was going on as normal, but every now and then
April would catch sight of something: her dad’s coat hanging on a
peg, his favourite coffee mug on the draining board, and she would
remember that her dad was gone. And if that terrible revelation
wasn’t enough, she would instantly be gripped by anxiety, by the
full knowledge that the killer had been inside this house. Had he
got inside first and hidden, lain in wait, picking his moment to
strike? Or had he pushed his way in, attacked her father in the
hallway? The living room and study had been ransacked as if the
intruder was looking for something, but no one knew what. Had he
searched the rest of the house? Had he been into the kitchen? The
bathroom? Her bedroom? There was nowhere inside those four walls
April could feel safe; even her own room seemed smaller and darker.
Perhaps it was fear, or perhaps that April could no longer fool
herself that her father was coming back, that his laughter would
fill this gloomy space ever again. The coroner had called late on
Friday to inform her mother that they were finally releasing the
body, so Silvia had thrown herself into the preparations for the
funeral. April hadn’t been surprised to learn that her dad was to
be interred in the Hamilton family vault in Highgate Cemetery, but
she had to admit it had upset her at first. To April, a funeral
should be like the ones you saw on TV, on a green hillside under a
tall oak with lots of people standing around in overcoats as the
coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. But the more she thought
about it the more glad she felt that her dad wasn’t going to be
buried under a ton of earth, but would be laid gently to rest on a
shelf. At least this way if he woke up he could bang on the door or
something. He had loved exploring the great unexplained in his
lifetime; now he could wander about unravelling the mysteries of
Highgate in death. And at least he would have company. April quite
liked that idea. But there was no way she was going to hang around
the house talking to her mother about it. The only place she could
think to go was Ravenwood. At least in lessons no one would be able
to talk to her and poring over books and problems might take her
mind off things.
Ravenwood’s facade
looked even more forbidding than usual as she approached, and she
turned up her collar. I hope this wasn’t a
terrible mistake, she thought to herself as she walked
through the gates. April had timed her arrival so she would be
among the last going into the school; she was trying to avoid the
staring eyes and pitying looks, so she joined the final stragglers
running in through the entrance and turned towards her English
class.
‘Oh hell,’ she
whispered, because right in front of her, chatting to that tramp
Sara from the party, was Gabriel. April kept her eyes fixed to the
floor and tried to walk past, but he had spotted her.
‘April,’ he said, ‘I
didn’t know you were back.’
‘Yes,’ said April,
still trying to step around him. ‘But I’m late, so—’
‘I was so sorry to
hear about your dad,’ said Sara, without an ounce of sincerity in
her voice. Gabriel flashed her a look and she moved away. ‘Well,
must get to class,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ said April,
making to push past, but Gabriel put up a hand.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘How
are you? I’ve been worried.’
‘Have you?’ said
April, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because—hey, what’s
going on?’ asked Gabriel, a hurt and confused look on his
face.
‘Oh, just that I
thought you had other things on your mind,’ she said, nodding
towards Sara’s back.
Gabriel shook his
head. ‘Sara? Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t think—’
‘Can’t I?’ April
turned and pushed past him, but he caught her arm.
‘April? What’s the
matter? Tell me!’
‘Why do you care all
of a sudden?’ she asked.
He looked at her
directly. ‘I thought I made it clear how I felt the other
night.’
‘The only thing you
made clear was that you were going to call me. It’s been, what, a
week and a half? That’s ten days when I really could have used a
kind word, Gabriel, but obviously you’ve been too
busy.’
‘I was going to call,
I picked up the phone dozens of times—’
‘I know, I know,’
April silenced him.‘But you couldn’t think what to say? Or perhaps
you thought it might get complicated and messy? It might all be too
difficult? Listen, Gabriel, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s better
we keep away from each other. I know that works for
me.’
She walked away down
the corridor, leaving him standing there. April knew she should
have felt empowered and full of self-confidence having taken
control and told him where to get off. But she didn’t. She just
felt sad.
Mr Andrews, the
English teacher, nodded to April as she rushed in and sat down next
to Caro, but didn’t make any other comment. April could feel the
looks of the other people in the room.
‘How are you, honey?’
whispered Caro. ‘Didn’t think you were coming in.’
‘I’m fine,’ she
replied, feeling that the complete opposite was the truth,
especially after her confrontation with Gabriel. ‘Just want to
forget it all.’
Caro nodded and gave
her knee a squeeze under the table.
April felt bad. She
did have some good friends, but she had almost completely withdrawn
from them since her father’s death. Various people from Davina to
Simon had been ringing and sending texts, but she hadn’t wanted to
talk to anyone, not even Caro or Fiona. What was the point? There
was nothing to say beyond, ‘Oh, it’s all so terrible, I can’t
imagine how you must feel.’ And that was the point: no one could
understand what she was going through. Obviously, some people would
have lost friends and relatives, but how many had died right in
front of them? She knew they all just wanted to offer their support
and a kind word, but to April, it was something she had to deal
with on her own.
‘The biggest problem
with Hamlet is that he is always thinking too much,’ said Mr
Andrews. ‘Now, that makes for some excellent drama and, in fact,
some of the greatest soliloquies Shakespeare ever wrote, but it
does have the potential to make Hamlet a tragic and sometimes quite
annoying character.’
There was polite
laughter.
‘If you all turn to
Act Three, Scene Two, right after Polonius has left, we can see
Hamlet at his most angry. He’s begun to suspect his mother’s role
in his father’s death, plus Polonius has wound him up so much with
his windbag sycophancy that Hamlet’s almost spitting fire. Jacob,
can you read the passage for us?’
A tall boy with sandy
hair and freckles stood up and began to read in a strong clear
voice. “”Tis now the very witching time of night …”’
‘Drama club,’ Caro
hissed in April’s ear. ‘Thinks he’s Kenneth Branagh or Mel Gibson
or something.’
They listened while
Jacob read the rest of the well-known lines:
‘“…when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the bitter day
Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.
O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:
I will speak daggers to her, but use none;
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites;
How in my words soever she be shent,
To give them seals never, my soul, consent!”’
As he finished, there
was a ripple of applause.
‘Very good, Jacob,’
said Mr Andrews with a smile, ‘although usually actors shout the
line “drink hot blood”! But still, very well read. Now, can anyone
tell me what Hamlet is talking about?’
‘He’s going to murder
his mother, of course,’ said a girl with a blue Alice
band.
‘Well, yes and no,’
said the teacher. ‘He does say “my soul and tongue in this be
hypocrites” - he wants to kill her, but he knows he has to be
clever and keep his mouth shut to find out what actually happened.
But of course, it’s just another excuse for inaction. A couple of
scenes on we see Hamlet stumbling across his uncle confessing to
the murder, then kneeling down to pray - the perfect opportunity to
act out his revenge, but even then he manages to talk himself out
of it.’
‘But doesn’t he kill
Polonius straight afterwards?’ asked a spotty boy at the
front.
‘Yes—it’s as if he’s
so angry with himself for not killing his uncle and mother that he
finally loses control. The point is, he wants to find out who
killed his father and avenge the ghost, but he just doesn’t know
how.’
Amen to that, thought April. She was walking in
Hamlet’s shoes. She didn’t know what to do right now, but she was
determined to find out what had happened to her dad and then she
could act. It was just a question of finding the proof. Evidently
Mr Andrews was thinking the same thing, as he glanced nervously in
April’s direction and then abruptly changed the focus of the
discussion, focusing on the safer ground of Hamlet’s relationship
with his mother instead.
If you only knew, thought April with a small smile.
If you only knew.
As it turned out,
April needn’t have worried about the Ravenwood students’ reaction
to her as, to her surprise, they pretty much ignored her. As she
and Caro walked along the corridors towards the refectory it was
noticeable that people were deliberately avoiding making eye
contact with her.
‘What’s going on?’
said April as they sat down at an empty table. ‘I thought everyone
would be staring, but instead they’re avoiding me. I suppose they
don’t know what to say.’
Caro raised her
eyebrows and cleared her throat. ‘It’s not that so much, babe,’ she
said.
April frowned. ‘So
what is it?’
Caro sighed. ‘You’ve
been a bit out of the loop over the past week or so, so you won’t
have heard, but there’s been a development.’
‘What? Come on, tell
me.’
Caro raised her
eyebrows. ‘Milo Asprey is in hospital and our dear old friend Layla
is weeping at his bedside.’
‘But why? Why would
she … oh God.’
Suddenly the penny
dropped and April was overcome by a rush of conflicting emotions -
hope, relief and despair. That confrontation she’d had with Layla
in the library, when she had ordered April to ‘stay away from my
man’, Layla hadn’t been referring to Gabriel at all; she’d been
talking about Milo. Which was good and bad. Good that Gabriel
wasn’t a two-timing ratbag, but bad that Milo had basically used
her behind Layla’s back. Thinking about it, April could hardly
blame Layla for trying to warn her off if she had suspected what
Milo was like, but even so it was still unfair - it was Milo who
had hit on April when she was vulnerable, not the other way around!
But none of that mattered now, what mattered was Gabriel and the
very thought of his name made April feel as if her heart had
dropped through a trapdoor. The way she had just spoken to Gabriel
… he hadn’t been two-timing her at all and she had driven him away.
She put both hands over her mouth and moaned. What have I done?
‘What’s the
matter?’
‘I think I just
finished with Gabriel,’ she said.
Caro’s mouth dropped
open. ‘Because of the Layla thing?’
April nodded. Caro
saw the look on April’s face.
‘And am I to take it
that you gave it to him with both barrels?’
‘Point-blank,’ said
April. ‘Pretty harsh considering he isn’t a two-timing back-stabber.’
They both looked at
each other.
‘What’s wrong with
him anyway?’ said April eventually. ‘Milo, I mean.’
‘That’s the strangest
thing - no one knows,’ said Caro. ‘He’s got some horrible skin
condition, like it’s blistering and falling off him. Apparently
he’s strapped to the bed because he’s having fits too. Some people
are saying he’s in danger of organ failure, but that could just be
another rumour.’
‘That’s
horrible.’
‘What’s
horrible?’
April looked up and
there was Layla, standing with her hands on her hips, her chin
jutting out. Behind her were Chessy and Ling Po, who seemed to have
been accepted into the Faces.
‘Milo being ill,’
said April. ‘I’ve just heard, Layla, I’m so sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry?
You didn’t care about him before.’
April looked at Caro
nervously. ‘No, well, he seemed nice, but it’s bad he’s in
hospital.’
‘Bad?’ She laughed.
‘Is that all you can say about it? My boyfriend is in intensive
care and you think it’s “bad”?’ she mocked. Her friends all
laughed.
‘Listen, Layla,’
began Caro, ‘leave her alone, she hasn’t done
anything.’
‘Stay out of it,
Jackson,’ said Layla, a nasty edge to her voice. ‘We’re just
talking, aren’t we, April? Just two friends talking about
boys.’
April managed a weak
smile.
‘Of course, you
haven’t got much to talk about, have you, April?’ sneered Layla.
‘Not many boyfriends we can see, even though the guys are all over
you. Maybe you prefer the company of girls.’
The Faces crowd
cackled.
‘Is that why you’re
so pally with each other?’
‘Hey!’ shouted Caro.
‘What’s she ever done to you?’
‘Nothing.’ Layla
laughed. ‘We’re not all into that sort of thing, are we,
girls?’
‘Listen, I know
you’re feeling pretty bad about Milo, but—’ began April, trying to
calm the situation.
‘Don’t you
dare tell me how I feel,’ hissed Layla,
jabbing her finger at April. ‘What would you know about it? Oh, I
suppose you think that just because your daddy’s dead you feel my
pain. Well, let me tell you - you have no idea.’
God, she’s actually going to hit me, thought April,
seconds before Layla made a lunge for her. April moved fast, but
not quite fast enough. Layla clattered into her and they both
tumbled onto the table, sending a pile of books
flying.
‘Get off me!’ cried
April, but Layla had grabbed a handful of her hair and was pulling
her head down towards the tabletop.
‘Shut up, bitch,’
spat Layla. ‘I’m going to rip your throat out, just like your
dad.’
‘What?’ Suddenly April was overcome with a
white-hot fury. ‘Don’t you dare talk about him!’ she screamed,
turning on Layla like a tiger. All April could think of was the
injustice. It wasn’t her fault Milo had a girlfriend and still hit
on her. It wasn’t her fault he was sick. And it certainly wasn’t
fair that she was getting the blame. But most of all it wasn’t fair
that her dad had been taken away. All the frustration and guilt
that had been building up since her father’s death spewed out and
she screamed, pulling herself free of Layla’s grip. She felt
strangely strong as she did so, as if she had been shot through
with electricity. Layla stumbled backwards, slipping on some
spilled drink and tumbling onto her backside, and April was on her
in a moment, pushing her down, grabbing her hair and banging her
head against the floor.
‘Stay away from me!’
she yelled. ‘Come near me again and I’ll kill you!’
Strong hands grabbed
her and pulled her away.
‘I don’t think that’s
a very good idea, Miss Dunne,’ said a voice. She turned around and
her heart dropped. It was Detective Inspector Reece.