Torn (29 page)

I can’t stand the thought of him and Daley together. It’s so many different kinds of wrong I can’t even begin to count them. Daley is not good enough for Dad. I mean, she’s fine when she’s just being a teacher and staying out of my business. She’s kind and clever and sort of pretty if you think pretty = dainty and weak-looking. But Daley’s like a wishy-washy yellow carnation from the garage. Mum was a prize rose – deep, gorgeous red.

The clock on the oven reads 7.06. I’ve got to get ready. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

He turns and flips a dishcloth onto his shoulder. ‘What are you thanking me for? You’re the one who cooked.’

‘I know.’ I shrug, not sure what to say. I can’t bring
myself to say the words he so obviously wants to hear, so what’s the point of saying anything at all?

Dad purses his lips and nods. ‘It’s OK. Really. Now, you go and write some scandalous article to put in that yearbook. “The dark truth behind the friendly facade of Bransford Academy.” I can see the headlines now!’ He laughs easily and loudly and he’s trying so hard to be a good father that I can hardly bear it.

The dark truth behind the friendly facade of Bransford Academy is darker than he could ever imagine.

I don’t really have much getting ready to do so I lie on my bed and try not to hyperventilate.

I’m scared. Polly Sutcliffe scares me. How can I be scared of Polly Sutcliffe?

What the hell am I going to say to her when I show up without Jack’s song lyrics? And
why
exactly am I doing this again? I’m hit with a sudden desire to stay home and forget all about it. Erase the knowledge from my brain. Go on living my life and avoiding what’s ugly and real and impossible.

But I have to go. I need to hear what she has to say for herself. I need to convince her to do the right thing. Rae was right. We
have
to go to the police.

I lean over and reach into the drawer beside my bed. The ring feels warm to the touch, but maybe I’m running a fever or something. I look at it closely. It looks like an ordinary ring – nothing special about
it whatsoever. But to me it has a sort of power. I slip it into the back pocket of my jeans. Perhaps Tara’s grandmother will keep watch over me. Somehow I doubt it.

A scenario plays out in my head. I enter the media lab. It’s dark. There’s a huge leather chair at the other end of the room, facing a big console with lights and screens and stuff. I approach with extreme caution. The chair turns around to reveal Polly sitting there in a sharp black suit. Her hair is scraped back from her face and she’s wearing red lipstick. She strokes a fluffy white cat on her lap and arches an eyebrow, ‘Ah, Alice, I’ve been expecting you.’ And I know I’m in deep shit.

The reality is slightly different. My footsteps sound ultra-loud, echoing around the deserted corridors. This would make the perfect start to a horror film. Suddenly I feel icy fingertips dancing down my spine and I’m sure that someone’s watching me. When I look over my shoulder the corridor is empty. But someone could be watching from one of the darkened classrooms and I’d never know. Being at school is creepy enough in the daytime; at night it’s just plain terrifying.

I’ve only been in the media lab once – when Mum, Dad and I came to visit the school before I enrolled. I remember being very impressed with all the flat-screen Macs that made our crappy old PC look like a remnant from the Dark Ages.

I glance through the little window in the door and see that the room
is
mostly dark. But Polly’s not exactly looking like some budget Bond villain. She’s leaning over a plan chest, with one of those desk lamps that look like an alien arching over her head. Her hair hangs in front of her face like a curtain.

I take a deep, unsteady breath and open the door.

‘Alice, hi! Come and look at this – tell me what you think.’ She waves me over and moves aside so I can see the yearbook pages in all their glory. There are pictures of Tara everywhere. All the photos from the dance, as well as some I’ve never seen before. One of her in her swimsuit holding an enormous trophy. I don’t think she’d thank Polly for choosing that one. Her legs look mottled, exactly like the night she died. The other girls in the swimming team stand behind Tara, grinning and clapping. I look for Cass but she’s not in the picture – maybe she was the photographer.

There’s a photo of Tara, Danni, Gemma and Sam. Tara and Danni are in the middle, with the other
two acting as bookends. Tara looks knowing and powerful somehow – like she’s been given the key to the universe. She looks like a born winner, ready for whatever life can throw at her.

‘So what do you think? Not bad, is it?’ Polly’s standing way too close, so when she turns her face to look at me I have to take a step back.

‘I think it’s a lot of pictures of Tara.’

‘It took so long to sort through them all. Her parents have hundreds of photo albums of her. Well, maybe not hundreds, but
a lot
. There were three albums of her at various swimming competitions, if you can believe it.’

Tara’s dad used to take his camera with him everywhere. I found it kind of creepy, and Tara hated it – back then anyway.

‘Polly, why are you doing this?’

She shakes her head and frowns. ‘Doing what?’

‘
This
. The yearbook, the dance, the society. All of it.’

Polly shrugs and meanders round to the other side of the plan chest, her fingers trailing around the edge. ‘Because I think it’s the right thing to do.’

‘Bullshit!’ It’s like an elastic band has snapped inside me. I wasn’t expecting this to happen. I was planning on being calm and reasonable and other
sensible things like that. ‘You can’t possibly think that! Can’t you see how twisted this is?’

Polly blinks so slowly that I can see the unevenness of her eye shadow. It’s much darker on the left than on the right. ‘It’s nothing of the sort. It’s … I think of it as penance.’

‘For killing her, you mean?’ There. It’s been said. The words are out there.

There’s a sudden stillness in the room and it scares me. ‘Have you got the song lyrics from Jack?’

Now I’m the one shaking my head. ‘What?’

‘The song lyrics you were bringing me. That
is
why you’re here, isn’t it?’Her voice is sugar-sweet and coated with a thick layer of insincerity.

‘I’m here to talk about Tara.’

Polly leans her elbows on the plan chest, hands cupping her face. The light from the alien lamp makes her look ghoulish. ‘OK. Let’s talk.’

‘What happened that night?’

She laughs as if I’ve said something hilarious. ‘I think we both know what happened, Alice.’ She clocks that I’m not smiling and carries on. ‘It was an accident. A terrible accident.’

‘An
accident
.’ This whole confronting-the-villain thing always looks a lot easier on TV.

‘Don’t be so suspicious, Alice. All I’m trying to do is make things right.’

‘And how exactly are you going to achieve that? Tara’s dead, in case you hadn’t noticed. And so is Rae. There’s no possible way to make things right, and you know it.’

‘Well, no. I’m not talking about bringing them back from the dead or anything.’ The sound of her girly giggle makes me want to throttle her.

‘This isn’t a joke. Look, I
know
.’

‘Know what?’ she asks, but from the look on her face I think she might have an idea.

I speak quickly and quietly, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible – like ripping off a plaster. ‘You gave Cass the idea of how to get back at Tara, and you knew Tara had asthma, and you have your inhaler with you all the time but you didn’t give it to her. You stopped Cass giving her mouth-to-mouth – I thought you were supposed to know first aid.’

‘Wow. That’s … interesting.’ Her head is down and I can’t see her eyes – they’re hollow black sockets. The effect is monstrous. She rearranges the yearbook pages between us so that they line up with the edge of the plan chest.

‘Polly, I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.’ I don’t know anything of the sort, but I have to
hope it’s the truth. If it’s not, then I’m alone in the dark with a complete psychopath. ‘You made some mistakes; we all did. But we have to tell someone. We have to go to the police.’

Polly finally looks up at me and her expression is hard to read. ‘OK, now you’ve told me what you
supposedly
know, how about I tell you what
I
know? No one would believe that I came up with a plan like that – not in a million years. And traumatic circumstances can make you forget your own
name
, so it’s hardly strange that I’d forget about my inhaler, or forget that Tara had asthma, or even forget my firstaid training. If I told Cass not to do mouth-to-mouth, it was only because I was scared out of my mind.’ There’s no smugness in her voice or on her face – there’s nothing there at all.

I open my mouth to speak and then promptly close it again. She’s right. I mean, she’s not right. But that’s how it would look to an outsider. That’s how it would look to the police.

‘We’re not going to go to the police, because if we do, Cass is the one who’ll get the blame.
She’s
the one who organized it all.
She’s
the one who’s always hated Tara. I was Tara’s friend, remember?’

‘Lapdog, more like,’ I mutter.

‘What did you say?’

‘You weren’t Tara’s friend. Tara despised you, and you know it. She humiliated you.’

Polly shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter how she felt about me. All that matters is that I liked
her
. I looked up to her. That’s what people think, and that’s what really counts here. Why else would I be doing all this?’ She gestures at the pages in front of her.

‘How can you be so calculating?’

‘I’m not calculating – just pragmatic.’

I walk away from the pool of light around the plan chest and slump in a chair in the darkness. My head is in my hands and I’m trying to keep it from exploding. This cannot be happening. This CANNOT be happening. My new mantra.

I hear footsteps and I think – hope – she’s leaving. But the footsteps get closer and closer until they stop right by me. I hear chair legs scraping against the floor as she sits down next to me.

‘You have to understand that not everything in the world is black and white. Things are hardly ever that simple.’ She sighs. ‘I didn’t plan for Tara to die. I just wanted to humiliate her the way she humiliated me. She deserved it. I didn’t think she’d
die
though. And I can’t tell you why I didn’t help her. I … I don’t know. But I’m not going to lie to you, Alice; I’m glad she’s dead. She was a horrible person and
you know it. So many people are better off without her.’

‘What about her parents? Jack? Danni? Are they better off?’ My voice is dull, lifeless – defeated.

‘Maybe not. But it’s done now. And no one’s going to benefit from knowing the truth.’ She sounds so reasonable I can almost believe she’s right.

‘What about Rae? Did she deserve to die too?’

‘That was … unfortunate. But for all we know she would have ended up killing herself over something else. All that depressing music, those weird goth clothes. Suicide is practically a religion for those people.’

I finally look up at her. ‘How can you say that?’

‘Sorry. That was crass of me. All I’m trying to say is, what’s done is done. It doesn’t matter who meant what or who did what. We’re in this situation and we just have to make the best of it. It will be OK, Alice, I promise you.’ She puts her hand on my knee and I stare at it. Her fingers are long and elegant, her nails are perfectly manicured. Her nails used to be bitten down to the quick, if I remember correctly.

‘Is that why you’re doing all this memorial stuff? Making the best of it?’

‘I saw an opportunity and I went for it. I thought
it was about time people around here started showing me some respect. In case you hadn’t noticed, I was
nothing
at this school. I was less than nothing. And now I’m not. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the only one making the best of this situation, am I?’

‘What are you talking about?’ I’m suddenly dog-tired. This conversation has ground me down to a fine powder. The tiniest puff of wind would blow me away.

‘You mean to tell me you actually believe you’d be going out with Jack if Tara was still alive?’ She snorts. ‘Two words: as if.’

‘He … I …’

‘You know I’m right. Even if by some miracle he would have asked you out, Tara would never have allowed it to happen. She was not a good person, Alice. You have to remember that.’ Polly’s voice is gentle now. She thinks she’s almost snared me with her words. She might be right.

‘She used to be a good person – the best.’

Polly snorts. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’ She doesn’t know, of course. She didn’t know me or Tara back then. And even if she had done, she’d probably have conveniently forgotten – just like the rest of them.

‘She didn’t deserve to die. No one deserves that.’ My eyes fill with tears and I tilt my head back as if that will pour them back to wherever they came from.

Polly says nothing.