Chapter 4 #2
“Later on, I’ll show you around properly, in peace, if you like.
I started here in the junior school, and I know the place like the back of my hand.
” She points in the direction we’d come.
“The old church is now the dining room, and over there are the classrooms in the south wing. The girls’ dorms are here in the west wing and the boys are over in the east. Once you get to the third form, there’s a floor per year, while all the juniors, first- and second-formers, sleep in the north wing.
” Tori stops at the foot of the stairs. “I’ve got good news and bad news for you.
Good news first: We get a great view from our rooms—they’re up at the top.
Only the upper sixth do better from right under the roof. The bad part is, there’s no lift.”
“Oh,” I say as she reaches for my luggage. “You don’t have to. I mean, I can easily come back down again . . .”
Tori raises her eyebrows disapprovingly. “Hey! Of course I’m going to help you. You’re family now.”
She grins, and I feel like I’m going to burst into tears. It doesn’t sound like she’s just saying it, especially when I remember how warmly she greeted everyone just now.
“We’ll just ask Ms. Barnett which room you’re in.” Tori’s slightly out of breath as she climbs the worn stone steps with the smaller of my cases. “She’s in charge of the third floor and the person to go to if you have any worries.”
“My houseparent, then?” I guess. The rapid footsteps of a group of younger girls we meet on the stairs echo off the unplastered walls.
“You learn fast.” Tori points down the second-floor corridor. “Third form on the first floor, fourth form on the second, and so on.”
I glance through one of the lattice windows on the staircase. From here, you can see right into another courtyard, behind the church this time. There’s a lawn crisscrossed by cobbled paths along which pupils are hurrying from here to there and back again.
All the Dunbridge buildings are grouped around the two courtyards. If this is the west wing, the boys’ dorms must be on the other side of the archway and the broad bridge that brings you into the school grounds from the road. Henry’s wing. Not that that matters to me in any way.
My knees are wobbly by the time we reach the third floor an eternity later.
The higher we climb, the quieter it gets.
On the lower floors, shouts and laughter are coming from the younger pupils’ rooms, but things are clearly much more civilized up here among the sixth-formers.
I can’t help noticing the awestruck way that Tori glances at the two girls just coming down the stairs from the very top.
They must be in the upper sixth, and unlike the younger kids, they seem totally unfazed by the chaos.
All the same, they give Tori and me friendly nods as they pass.
“Hi, Ms. Barnett!” Tori calls a moment later as a slim woman walks away down the corridor. She turns to us. “I’ve found a new girl.”
I follow Tori and force myself to smile. Ms. Barnett must be in her sixties, and has her light-brown hair tied up in a severe bun, yet there’s warmth in her eyes. I like her, even before we’ve spoken a word.
“You must be Emma Wiley,” she says, holding out her hand. “Laura and Jacob’s daughter, right?”
I feel suddenly cold. “Yes, I . . . You know my parents?”
“I was your mother’s houseparent too, and taught them both French and art. Did they come with you? I’d love to say hello.”
I force myself to keep smiling as I shake my head. “No, sadly they couldn’t make it,” I manage.
I don’t know why I don’t tell her the truth. Maybe because I don’t want the first thing Ms. Barnett hears to be that my parents are divorced and that my dad walked out on us.
“What a shame. But I’m so pleased you’re here, Emma.” Her smile is so kind that I relax a little. “Welcome to Dunbridge Academy.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Did you have a good journey? Let me just get the key to your room. Then you can settle in a bit.”
I stand there next to Tori while Ms. Barnett disappears into a room to our left.
Maybe she sleeps on this floor too. When she comes back, she’s holding a key and beckons us to follow.
At the very end of the long corridor, she stops outside a dark wood door and unlocks it.
“I hope you like it,” she says, letting me go ahead.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting. The words boarding school made me think of gloomy rooms and narrow bunk beds, but this room isn’t like that at all.
There’s a bay window with lattice panes.
The glass is a little misty, and the paint is peeling on the frames, but that doesn’t tarnish the room’s charm. Quite the opposite.
As I move further in, old floorboards creak under my feet, and it’s wonderful. My eyes take in steep roofs and small gable windows, then move on to the pointed spires of the old church. Below us is the cobbled courtyard; a little further away, I can see the hills and, on the horizon, the sea.
“I love the view from up here.” Ms. Barnett steps alongside me. “I hope you’ll soon feel at home, Emma.”
I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I only know that it’s very hard to fight the sting in my eyes. I’m here at this boarding school, and everyone I’ve met so far has been supernice, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling seriously overwhelmed.
“Did you bring your own bed linen?” Ms. Barnett asks.
“No, I . . .” I falter. Damn. Did I forget? I did, didn’t I? At least, I can’t remember having packed any. “I don’t think so.”
“Not a problem. I’ll bring you a set. We have towels too. I’ll give you a moment to get started with your unpacking, then come back to go over the house rules with you, all right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Mrs. Sinclair is giving a short welcome assembly for all the new pupils at four o’clock. Come and find me beforehand, and I’ll show you the way.”
“I can show her,” offers Tori, who is still standing in my doorway.
“Really? That would be kind, Victoria, thank you.”
Tori looks as if she’s making a serious effort not to roll her eyes.
I find myself smiling, then remember that it would be wiser not to warm to her so much.
I’m not here to make friends. Everything at this school comes with an end date.
I shouldn’t start liking everyone, or it’ll just cause more unnecessary pain when my time’s up.
“I’ll knock for you later,” Tori promises. “I have to go back down now and look out for more new kids.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” I say.
“After Mrs. Sinclair’s speech, I’ll give you the tour! I promise. Bye, Ms. Barnett!”
Ms. Barnett watches Tori with a shake of the head, but I can see the corners of her lips twitching. She turns back to me. “Come to me at any time if you have questions, Emma. Anything at all. Don’t be shy. I’ll see you again soon.”
She lays the key on the desk, walks out of the door, and I’m on my own, really all-on-my-own alone, and the silence feels oppressive.
I’m truly here. I slowly turn 360 degrees.
All the furniture is in the same dark wood and looks like it could tell a few tales.
I wonder how many generations of boarders have passed through here.
There are so many marks on the desktop beside the wall.
I kind of like that. Above it is a cork pinboard, and above that are two simple shelves.
The bed’s in the corner opposite the windows, with a small bedside table, a chest of drawers, and a plain wardrobe.
Just the bare necessities, but it already feels cozy, even with no bedding on the bare mattress and no pictures on the walls.
Am I allowed to put stuff up? Suddenly I regret not having packed any photos or strings of fairy lights.
Apart from a few Polaroids that I carry around in my diary, all my mementos—photos of Mum and me, Isi, our crowd, and the girls from the athletics club—are at home, stuck up over my desk there.
It didn’t even occur to me to bring them.
Why would I? I’m only here for a year. It’s not worth settling in.
I run my fingers over the wooden desk. Then I reach for one of my suitcases to start unpacking. At least, that’s my plan. I’ve just put it on the floor and undone the zip when my phone buzzes.
It’s Mum—I hadn’t even told her that I’ve made it in one piece. I jump up and hastily snatch it off my bed.
“Emmi-Mouse, you didn’t forget me, did you?” Mum asks as her image comes into focus.
“Just for a moment,” I admit. “It’s all so exciting.” I sit on the floor and lean back against the bed. Against my bed, in my room. “I’ve just arrived at the school, and I’ve met hundreds of new people.”
“You made it, then? Everything worked out? Come on, tell me all about it! Or isn’t this a good time?”
“No, it’s fine, don’t worry.” I smile. “Ms. Barnett just showed me to my room.”
“She’s still there? That’s nice. Give her my love. Maybe she’ll remember me.”
“She already asked after you.” And Dad. But I’ll keep that part to myself.
“Really?” Mum sighs. “I do wish I could be there with you, Emmi. What’s it like? Have you got a nice room?”
“Yes, it’s much bigger than I expected.” I switch the camera around so that I can show her.
“It looks so much like mine back in the day,” Mum says. “I miss that view.”
“Yes, it’s gorgeous,” I say, flipping back to the front camera.
“How was the flight?”
I pause. “It all went fine.”
“Really?” Mum asks in the tone that means she’s busted me. “Emma?”
“Really. I only nearly missed the plane.”
“You what?”
“My alarm didn’t go off.”
“Emma Charlotte Wiley, I hope you’re not serious.”
“Yeah, sorry. But I’m here now, so it’s all good.” And if I hadn’t been running so late, I probably wouldn’t have met Henry like that.
“I knew I couldn’t leave you to your own devices.” Mum sighs, but I hear the amusement in her voice.
“Ha, too late,” I say, making an effort to sound unconcerned. It’s not a hundred percent successful, and she seems to notice.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come with you.”
She has to stop sounding regretful if she doesn’t want me to burst into tears. “I really didn’t mind,” I repeat, the way I did on the phone yesterday evening.
“I do, though. I’m such a bad mother.”
“You’re not,” I retort. “Anyway, flying on my own was way cooler. I felt mysterious and independent at the airport, not like some little kid being taken to school by her mum.”
Mum laughs, and somehow that just makes everything worse. “Of course, I ought to have kept my distance and never even dared to call you, Emmi-Mouse.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” I reply, blinking so my eyes don’t even think of welling up.
“You’re probably right.” When Mum speaks again, she sounds more serious. “I’ll come for a visit in a couple of weekends at the latest.”
“You’re invited to dinner with the Herrmanns in a couple of weekends.”
“Exactly. Now I’ve got the perfect excuse—I have to take an urgent flight to Edinburgh.”
“What kind of example are you setting me, Mum, dreaming up excuses and weaseling out of invitations like that?”
“A very good one, of course. It’s your life, and you can say no to whatever you like. Besides, extreme reluctance is a perfectly valid excuse.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Except in the case of homework, but you know that. Speaking of which, you’ll have a study hour at Dunbridge.
Every afternoon at four, an hour with no distractions, just you and your books.
Ms. Barnett knows no mercy, but she also knows every trick in the book for getting ink out of your uniform. ”
Uniform . . . I really need to ask Ms. Barnett about that.
“And you’re sure that you really want to go through with this?” Mum asks when I go too long without speaking.
“What?” I ask hastily. “The year abroad? Yes, of course I’m sure.”
And even if I weren’t, it’s a bit late to change my mind now.
“All right,” Mum says, and I shut my eyes. “It’s just . . . Emmi, you know you don’t have to do this. Not for my sake.”
“I know, Mum.”
“Did I pressure you, talking about it all the time? I think going abroad while you’re at school is an amazing opportunity, but you don’t have to if—”
“Mum,” I say, and she falls silent. “You didn’t pressure me.”
“Are you absolutely sure of that?”
“Absolutely sure,” I say, and deep down, I know she’s still trying to find an explanation for my sudden change of mind.
Of course she is, because for as long as I can remember, she’s been suggesting that I spend some of my school career at Dunbridge Academy.
Not because she doesn’t have time for me and wants to ship me off to Scotland, but because she’s a top lawyer who studied at St. Andrews, and it’s her goal to make all that possible for me too.
The best education, the best foundation for the best future.
But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be the kind of businesswoman who spends more time on planes and high-speed trains than in her own home. Because that’s all she has left. Because it stops people from asking questions.
She’s divorced, and she threw herself into her career to compensate for that.
I don’t actually think that, though . . .
or maybe I do a bit. All I know is that I don’t want to be at a posh British school just so I can put it on my CV.
That’s not what this is about. This is about getting answers to questions I can’t ask anybody else, for which I have to go to this school, the one where my parents met all those years ago.
It sounds like a fairy tale: the German girl and the Glasgow boy, meeting at an elite school in Scotland.
But there are no fairy tales in real life.
There’s just Mum, who puts her work above everything else, and Dad, whose laugh I can’t even remember.
But I can’t tell Mum that. She’d freak out if she knew that every time I listen to Jacob Wiley’s “For Emma” tape, I wonder if his fingertips are still rough from playing the guitar.
I think that happens if a person lets you down often enough: You want to protect your child from being let down too.
But I’m not a child anymore. I’m almost an adult, and yeah, maybe my dad won’t want anything to do with me.
Maybe it’ll hurt as much as it did back then, when he’d send me a present and a card on my birthday and Christmas and promise to visit soon.
I canceled riding holidays with friends so that I could go to the seaside with him, and then he forgot. He just forgot.
So what’s the worst that can happen? Nothing can shock me now. I want him to look at me and explain why he did it. I want answers to my questions. And until then, I’m praying he can give me some.