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  Calding came lightly up the stairs at nine thirty-six, when I was reading in bed.

  After knocking on my door, Calding waited half a second before walking in, her eyes flicking round the room. She took in the photos, of me, Lo and Bel, and one of Elsie Gran, back before I was born, on a march against nuclear energy. Elsie Gran was mid-shout and looked as determined as anyone I’d seen, ready to take on the world. This was the first year I hadn’t put one up of my parents. I’d finally allowed myself not to. They didn’t have any photos of me in their house. When I’d pointed this out to my mother, she hadn’t missed a beat. She said family photos weren’t her thing. She pointed out there were none of my father either. Neither of us mentioned the enlarged photo of herself on the wall of the reception room that led outside to the terrace, protected from the sunshine by a white canopy. That was different because it was art.

  “Making yourself at home?” said Calding. She spoke with forced cheeriness. I bet this was her first house mistress job, but I also bet if I asked her, she wouldn’t tell me.

  “Getting there,” I said. It was uncomfortable having her in my room.

  “So,” began Calding. She pulled her thumb and forefinger over the corners of her mouth, as if to remove the spit that might be resting there. “I hope as House Prefect you will be an example to Pankhurst students this year.”

  “Of course,” I said lightly. I would be a shining example of how to live the best House-Prefect life.

  “Lights out at ten-thirty,” said Calding. “Sleep well.” As she left the room, I noticed she’d changed the heeled shoes she’d been wearing earlier for flat espadrille-type shoes with a rubber sole. I didn’t like the idea of Calding gliding around as silently as the Ghost.

  Meribel and I waited an hour and a quarter after Calding’s night round before climbing out on to the fire escape, our convenient new way to leave the building. As I pulled the window back down behind us, I thought of Lo in her room, and regretted my harshness.

  Meribel told me the first time she’d sneaked out at night, it had been with a girl who was now in Clemmie’s friendship group, and they’d paid a fifth-former for the gate code. The traditional escape route was through the bathroom window on the first-floor corridor, on to the flat roof of the music room and down on to the courtyard paving. The window lock had been sorted so it looked as if it was locked when it wasn’t.

  It had seemed the most exciting thing ever when I’d been shown it by Meribel and Lo. I was totally up for illicit paddling in the moonlight, but the English Channel was so cold that night, it made us scream with pain. I was scared of the silhouettes of scrubby trees growing on the cliff face, and hated the pebbles, which were difficult to walk on, and the fact I couldn’t see what was hopping or crawling over the damp sand by the water’s edge. The murky water itself was not only bitingly cold, but filled with manky vegetation and God knows what else that brushed up against my bare skin. But the taste of danger was intoxicating.

  We’d prepared for tonight’s drop in temperature, and were wearing jeans, thick T-shirts and trainers. There was enough light from the moon and the street lights not to need our phone torches. I’d been listening out for the clicking noise of the back gate being opened, and hadn’t heard anything so it was probable – and highly satisfying – that we were ahead of Clemmie and her crew.

  At Pankhurst, the housemistress accommodation was on the ground floor, a collection of rooms behind the office. We couldn’t see any lights showing, other than the usual night-lights which switched off automatically in the morning.

  There was a fixed CCTV camera on the fence, which had been knocked at some point to make it possible to avoid being seen by climbing on the outside of the railings. We knew the technique at Churchill was to throw a jumper or other item of clothing over the cameras, but our way was more sophisticated. The steps were clanky, some more than others. I went first, cringing at every sound, and Meribel followed. At the bottom was a chain with its attached notice facing outwards: Out of bounds.

  I let Meribel punch in the PIN code on the gate since she’d procured it for us. There was a slight delay until it clicked. I could suddenly taste salt in the air. We slipped through as quickly as we could, punching the air with the giddiness of freedom.

  We headed down the lane. The quickest way to the beach, and the beach café, was down the wide zigzag path at the corner of the large car park at the end of the lane. It wasn’t a path that encouraged walking. It was best gone down at speed with our arms out like five-year-olds pretending to fly. We slowed up at the bottom, when we reached the promenade. The café was shuttered up for the night, but Kipper, who ran it, had forgotten to bring in a sign advertising a new coconut-flavoured ice cream. It flapped noisily in the sea breeze. The steel door of the toilet block was locked but the tiny windows at the top were open, wafting out the stink. Further down the walkway the beach huts loomed.

  We whooped to see the beach empty, and picked our way carefully across the pebbles and the small stretch of damp sand studded with stones, to stare at the dark incoming water edged with foam as it rolled in.

  “Let’s walk along on a groyne,” said Meribel. The groynes, made from wood, were low walls which stretched out into the sea to keep the beach from eroding. Slipping would mean falling into the cold, churning sea, to an unknown depth, and there was a lot of green stuff to slip on.

  “All right,” I said. We’d seen Veronica do it once at night. It had been stupid and brave of her, but we could match that. “Halfway.”

  “Halfway’s good,” agreed Meribel. “And the light’s great for photos.”

  I went first, hauling myself up via one of the groyne’s vertical posts. My trainers were new, too new for the beach, but they had a good grip. The section that stretched over the shore felt easy. If I fell here it would be fine. But as I walked further along the wooden structure, my stomach dropped away, and I thought of freezing water, my ruined phone, trainers and clothes stiff with salt. How cold did the water need to be before it induced a heart attack? I tried to focus on the dark wood, looking for raised bits of furry moss or seaweed. Distracted by a clump further ahead, I placed my foot down too confidently where I was. The skid of my trainer matched the lurch in my body. I had no control over the scream that came out of me. I jerked myself upright, waiting in that split-second to see if I’d overcorrected and would fall backwards.

  I was still upright. I’d got away with it.

  Somewhere behind me, Meribel swore. “Let’s get a photo and turn back,” she shouted.

  I thought of Veronica walking so calmly to the middle. Kate Lynette Jordan-Ferreira would be the same. “I’ll get to the next post,” I called, but not too loudly, worried the act of releasing too much breath might unbalance me as I edged along sideways.

  At the post I swivelled round a few degrees at a time, watching my feet. “Ready?” I called and lifted my head, my smile in place.

  Meribel was leaning against a post, in an uncomfortable-looking crouched position, framing the shot. She knew how to take a good photo, as well as how to make the camera love her.

  “Hey!” The sudden shout came out of nowhere and made me flinch. “HEY!”

  Startled, Meribel turned slightly and lost her balance. She stumbled back with a high-pitched screech, into the water with a crashing splash.

  CHAPTER 5

  Clemmie. It was Clemmie who’d shouted. I could see her up the beach with Paige, Bernard, Hugo and a couple of other boys from our year. Each of them had their phones out and they were videoing or taking photos. Nobody was interested in how far along the groyne I had come. They were fixated on Meribel, who was shrieking about how cold the water was and how she’d dropped her phone and couldn’t find it because the water was too dark. Clemmie could not have looked more delighted as she panned round the beach and then back to Meribel, although she appeared to be having difficulty holding her phone steady because she was laughing so much.

  Hugo went to the water’s edge and held
out his hand for Meribel to grab on to. At least he was doing something to help, and although I felt sorry for Meribel, I thanked God it wasn’t me Hugo was seeing in that state. Meribel was wailing about her phone and how she’d only had it a couple of weeks, but as she came out of the water she pulled at her T-shirt and made a snorting sound that might have been a kind of laughter. It was a tactic we often used at Mount Norton. Make light of the situation; don’t show how much you care.

  Even from where I was standing on the groyne, I could see she was shivering violently. Clemmie was still taking photos, and suddenly Meribel was doing a pose, holding her hands up against her face and pushing her chest out, just like a glamour model.

  Bernard shouted, “I dare you to do a cartwheel on that beam, Kate,” and the attention turned to me.

  “Forget the cartwheel, she’s too scared to move at all,” said Paige.

  “I dare you to do a cartwheel, Bernard,” I shouted back. “Come on, let’s see it. It should be easy on dry land.”

  He laughed. He was a jokey person but he hated making a fool of himself so I knew he wouldn’t.

  Hugo yelled, “Kate, chuck us your phone in case you fall in too. You’re a long way out.”

  Good point, and catching was one of the many things Hugo was good at. What was even better was Hugo paying me close attention. Although he was in my year, I’d never got to know him.

  I reached into my jeans pocket with a smooth, careful movement and eased out my phone.

  Everyone was watching me now. Clemmie was filming, no doubt hoping she’d catch me falling in, or losing my phone too. If nothing happened, I’d never see the footage. She certainly wouldn’t want anything showing me and Hugo getting along so well. I held my phone tightly, rubbing my forefinger over the curved end. My case was averagely robust but not waterproof.

  I hesitated for one final second before throwing. It was a slow, gentle underarm throw and Bernard leapt in front of Hugo at the last minute to catch it with one hand. He held it up, with an oh-yeah wiggle. That must have been a fluke. Bernard was no sporting legend.

  “You going to thank me?” he shouted.

  “Er … thanks,” I shouted, a lot less enthusiastically than if Hugo had caught it.

  “Pleasure’s all mine, darling,” he called and threw it up in the air and caught it again, just to make me gasp.

  “Where’s Scholarship Girl?” shouted Paige. “Working her little Primark socks off?”

  Meribel swore at Paige, and said, “I’m legit minutes away from hypothermia,” and I moved a little faster along my wooden tightrope, inhaling the dankness of the green vegetation that clung to my trainers.

  I saw Bernard look at my phone, at the lock screen photo of me with Bel and Lo.

  “Cute,” he said loudly. “Now, let’s see what’s going on in your life.” He swiped and prodded.

  What? He couldn’t get beyond that thumbprint-protected screen … could he?

  If anyone got into my phone I would be vulnerable. It was my own foolish fault, and I would fix it as soon as it was back in my possession and nobody was with me. I jumped down from the groyne as soon as I was sure I’d land on the beach, and I ran to grab it from him.

  “No need to snatch,” said Bernard.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, placing the phone inside my bra. I put my arm round Meribel. “You need to get warmed up.” I rubbed her back, alarmed by how cold she was.

  “Kate’s so rude,” I heard Clemmie say behind us as I marched Meribel towards the path.

  Bernard raced after us. “Let me walk you back.”

  Why couldn’t it have been Hugo?

  “We don’t need you to,” I said.

  Bernard walked alongside, too close, and pretended to look mournful. “I want to protect you from whatever’s out there.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said.

  “No problem,” said Bernard, as if we’d asked him to come with us.

  Meribel was shaking pretty violently, and kept up a low moaning sound as she took each step across the pebbles. Her trainers were waterlogged and encrusted with sand, but she was refusing to go barefoot because of the prickly burrs on the beach.

  As we made our way across the pebbles, Bernard kept up a long story about an aggressive monkey in Thailand. At the promenade, Meribel stopped to take off her trainers and inspect the blisters they’d given her, and then couldn’t face wedging her feet in them again.

  As we walked up the zigzag path, Bernard told us about a girl he’d met on holiday who’d lost her passport and money and how he’d saved the day by letting her use his phone and lending her money. “You’re a real-life hero, Bernard,” said Meribel in a shivery voice.

  “I know,” said Bernard. He was actually serious.

  “How about you save the day again and carry these?” She swung the trainers towards him by the laces.

  “Ew, no thanks,” he said. He pointed at the only car in the car park. It was a dark green vintage sports car, and we could see the outline of two people sitting in the front. “Look who it is.”

  “Who?” I asked, as I took Meribel’s trainers from her. They were super-heavy and smelled of a fish tank that needed cleaning.

  “Monro and Veronica.” Bernard was almost leaping with excitement. “Caught them in the act!”

  ”Really?” It looked to me as if they were just sitting in the front seats. “I didn’t think you were allowed to have cars at school.”

  He ignored me. “This is hilarious. Come on, we’ll give them a shock.” He broke away from us, which was fine by me.

  Meribel and I moved very slowly across the car park because her wet jeans were so uncomfortable. “I can’t look,” I said, but I kept on looking as I saw Bernard about to knock on the rear windscreen to make Veronica and Monro jump. “He is so embarrassing.”

  Within a millisecond of Bernard thumping on the glass, Monro had leapt out of the car.

  Bernard ran towards us like the big chicken he was. “Sorry, mate, couldn’t resist.”

  Monro shook his head slowly, and Veronica pushed open her door then, and got out. “Hi.” She looked past Bernard to us. “Paddling accident?” she asked Meribel.

  “Pretty much,” said Meribel. “I. Am. Freezing.”

  “Car’s warm. Hop in,” said Monro. “I’ll drive you down the lane. You and Kate.” He looked pointedly at Bernard. “No room for you.”

  “She’ll make your seats all wet,” said Bernard.

  “Cheers for that, Bernard,” said Meribel. She walked towards Monro. “I’d really like a lift, thanks.”

  I heard Veronica say, “Monro,” as if she didn’t want him to do it, but he pretended he hadn’t heard.

  “I’ve got an old blanket in the boot,” he said, and went to open it. I didn’t know anyone who drove round with as much stuff in the back of their car, and that included Elsie Gran. He pulled out a grey rug covered in white dog hairs from an old holdall and held it out to Meribel. “Wrap that round yourself and sit on it.”

  She grabbed it. “Thanks.”

  “I’m going back to the beach, then,” said Bernard, returning towards the path. “See you tomorrow. Don’t worry, I won’t mention the car.” He gave a salute, and Monro said, “Tosser.”

  Monro lifted the front seat forward for us for us to climb into the tiny cracked-leather back seat. Bel and I squished together. The blanket seemed to take up a disproportionate amount of room, and the trainers smelled even worse in the confined space. I said, “Are there any seat belts?”

  Veronica turned her head and said, “I assume that was a joke. Only in the front.”

  Monro placed the seat back down and, as I was directly behind it, I had to move my knees right up to my chest.

  The engine didn’t want to start. “It’s OK,” I said. “We can walk. It’s not far.”

  Meribel thumped me.

  “It always starts third or fourth time,” said Monro, and sure enough on the fourth turn of the key, the engine roared. He looked across at Ve
ronica, and I couldn’t work out what he was attempting to communicate to her, but he seemed tense.

  “Nice car,” I said.

  Monro looked at me through the rear-view mirror. “Thanks. I inherited it from my grandad in the summer.” He must have just passed his test.

  “His grandad was lovely,” said Veronica. “He taught us both how to drive on his farm when we were twelve.”

  “Yeah, and you got it much more quickly than I did,” said Monro.

  I let them reminisce about an old Land Rover they used to drive on the farm, and hugged Meribel close, trying to transmit some of my body warmth to her.

  Monro parked up at Pankhurst back gate, and moved his seat forward so we could get out. As I climbed through the door I tripped over the front seat belt, and he gripped my arm, placing his other hand on my back. The pressure of his hold gave me a feeling of lightness, as if I might float off the ground.

  “All right?” he said. “That seat belt’s a pain.”

  I nodded. His expression was serious. I’d rarely seen him smile, and I had an urge to tickle him, just to see what it would do to his face.

  “Keep the blanket for now, Meribel,” he said.

  “Careful up the fire escape,” called Veronica from her seat, ducking her head to try and see us. “The third step from the top is dented and sometimes makes a loud noise if you don’t tread on it right.”

  We crept into the courtyard and up the fire escape, climbing up the outside until we were clear of the camera before vaulting carefully over the rail. We avoided the third step and climbed back in through my window. Meribel went to have a hot shower, and I lay on my bed and deleted the photo of the photo I’d taken on my phone at Elsie Gran’s a couple of days ago for silly, sentimental reasons. I replayed the evening, altering the facts so it was Hugo who caught my phone and accompanied me and Meribel up the zigzag path. I pictured me bundling Meribel into Monro’s car and walking back to Pankhurst with Hugo. I imagined him placing his arm around my back and clutching my upper arm like Monro had done. I could almost feel the breath-catching lightness in my body again.