was telling us scary stories. I couldn’t take it, but as I was about to leave, Mrs Delaney came in. She was fully dressed, her hair immaculate as she sat on the arm of one of the couches.
‘I don’t want you to worry, girls. Scarlett will be fine,’ she said, her voice steady, but I saw her playing with her wedding ring. ‘She’ll be fine. Just fine.’
Three fines.
‘Oh my God. This is it. This is it. Turn it up!’ Molly said, hands everywhere, as though the radio was playing her favourite song.
I looked up as the photograph of Scarlett came on screen. She was in her Crofton uniform, her hair down and falling over her shoulders in dark waves. As soon as I saw it, I looked down at the drying tea stain on the rug and I didn’t lift my head for the rest of the segment. But I heard it all: how Scarlett had left home to meet a friend on Sunday afternoon and hadn’t come back. It was strange hearing her reduced to a few facts – age, height, hair colour – the presenter describing her in a dull, flat voice that made her sound so ordinary. Then, when he described The Old Dear, referring to it as a ‘green Land Rover’ – not the car she charged around in, singing to herself because it didn’t have a stereo, or the car her father drove me back to Crofton in when I went to her house for dinner, gushing about a recipe he’d found for yam porridge – I started playing with my necklace to distract myself from crying.
I didn’t realise until that moment how much I missed her, how much I used to like her, so when Orla reached for my hand, I was grateful, especially when I heard Scarlett’s mother’s voice, small and broken, begging for information. If Orla hadn’t been there, I might have given in to the urge to run out of the room.
As soon as the segment finished there was a moment of silence then Molly turned to Mrs Delaney. ‘Oh my God. Do they think Scarlett’s dead, Miss?’
I jumped up. ‘Shut up, Molly!’ I hissed, tea splashing over the rim of my mug and soaking through my socks. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’
She leapt off the coffee table to stand opposite me. ‘Like you care, Adamma.’
‘We may not be friends any more, Molly, but I’m still a decent human being. Olivia must be worried sick,’ I reminded her, guilt biting at me again. ‘She shouldn’t have to come to school today to hear everyone talking about how her sister is dead.’
‘Decent human being?’ Molly cocked an eyebrow up at me. I knew what she was going to say and I wanted to cover her mouth with my hand. ‘You were her best friend and you threw her away for Dominic. So get off your high horse, Adamma.’
‘I don’t know how many more times I can say this, but I’m not with him!’
Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah. Yeah.’
‘That’s enough, girls,’ Mrs Delaney said, suddenly between us.
She ushered Molly towards the kitchen and Molly stomped off to be comforted by a group of girls, not before she had called me a two-faced bitch , which earned her a swift telling off from Mrs Delaney. Ordinarily, I would have stuck around to enjoy it, but I was so desperate to see if he’d called back that I rushed to my room.
I pulled the pillow and blanket off the shelf in the closet in my impatience to get to my tuck box, almost tripping over them as I walked to my bed. As soon as I opened it, I snatched my phone. It was on top and I had left it switched on after checking it at 3 a.m., then again before I went to the Common Room, so I didn’t have to wait long to find out that he hadn’t called. My heart sank. I thought he might have seen BBC Breakfast , too. So I texted him – Call me. Please. – and managed to put the phone back into the tuck box a second before Orla came in.
‘Are you OK, Adamma?’ she asked, running over to me and pulling me into a hug. ‘I just told Molly off. I don’t know why she said that. Everyone knows that isn’t true. You didn’t steal Dominic from Scarlett.
‘I don’t want you to worry, girls. Scarlett will be fine,’ she said, her voice steady, but I saw her playing with her wedding ring. ‘She’ll be fine. Just fine.’
Three fines.
‘Oh my God. This is it. This is it. Turn it up!’ Molly said, hands everywhere, as though the radio was playing her favourite song.
I looked up as the photograph of Scarlett came on screen. She was in her Crofton uniform, her hair down and falling over her shoulders in dark waves. As soon as I saw it, I looked down at the drying tea stain on the rug and I didn’t lift my head for the rest of the segment. But I heard it all: how Scarlett had left home to meet a friend on Sunday afternoon and hadn’t come back. It was strange hearing her reduced to a few facts – age, height, hair colour – the presenter describing her in a dull, flat voice that made her sound so ordinary. Then, when he described The Old Dear, referring to it as a ‘green Land Rover’ – not the car she charged around in, singing to herself because it didn’t have a stereo, or the car her father drove me back to Crofton in when I went to her house for dinner, gushing about a recipe he’d found for yam porridge – I started playing with my necklace to distract myself from crying.
I didn’t realise until that moment how much I missed her, how much I used to like her, so when Orla reached for my hand, I was grateful, especially when I heard Scarlett’s mother’s voice, small and broken, begging for information. If Orla hadn’t been there, I might have given in to the urge to run out of the room.
As soon as the segment finished there was a moment of silence then Molly turned to Mrs Delaney. ‘Oh my God. Do they think Scarlett’s dead, Miss?’
I jumped up. ‘Shut up, Molly!’ I hissed, tea splashing over the rim of my mug and soaking through my socks. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’
She leapt off the coffee table to stand opposite me. ‘Like you care, Adamma.’
‘We may not be friends any more, Molly, but I’m still a decent human being. Olivia must be worried sick,’ I reminded her, guilt biting at me again. ‘She shouldn’t have to come to school today to hear everyone talking about how her sister is dead.’
‘Decent human being?’ Molly cocked an eyebrow up at me. I knew what she was going to say and I wanted to cover her mouth with my hand. ‘You were her best friend and you threw her away for Dominic. So get off your high horse, Adamma.’
‘I don’t know how many more times I can say this, but I’m not with him!’
Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah. Yeah.’
‘That’s enough, girls,’ Mrs Delaney said, suddenly between us.
She ushered Molly towards the kitchen and Molly stomped off to be comforted by a group of girls, not before she had called me a two-faced bitch , which earned her a swift telling off from Mrs Delaney. Ordinarily, I would have stuck around to enjoy it, but I was so desperate to see if he’d called back that I rushed to my room.
I pulled the pillow and blanket off the shelf in the closet in my impatience to get to my tuck box, almost tripping over them as I walked to my bed. As soon as I opened it, I snatched my phone. It was on top and I had left it switched on after checking it at 3 a.m., then again before I went to the Common Room, so I didn’t have to wait long to find out that he hadn’t called. My heart sank. I thought he might have seen BBC Breakfast , too. So I texted him – Call me. Please. – and managed to put the phone back into the tuck box a second before Orla came in.
‘Are you OK, Adamma?’ she asked, running over to me and pulling me into a hug. ‘I just told Molly off. I don’t know why she said that. Everyone knows that isn’t true. You didn’t steal Dominic from Scarlett.
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