Chapter 25
Henry
“So which phase of cell division can we see here?” Mr. Ringling’s gaze roams around the classroom. “Inés?”
The helpless expression in her eyes is enough to tell me she doesn’t have the faintest idea.
“Which image shows mitotic figures? Come on, people, it’s nearly lunchtime for me too.” Mr. Ringling looks at me. “Henry, please, have you at least understood this, or is it just me who’s incapable of explaining it properly?”
I look at the images on the screen. “Top left?”
Mr. Ringling sighs. “Great, it really is my fault apparently. Fine. Shall we listen to the mitosis song again? Would that help?”
“Oh, please, no,” mumbles Omar.
I suppress a laugh but can’t prevent the irritating little jingle from starting to play in my head. Mr. Ringling is looking positively baffled, when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
I frown as Mr. Harper pops his head in.
“Excuse the disturbance, but it’s urgent,” he murmurs. “Could you just . . . ?”
“Er, yes, of course.” Mr. Ringling turns to us. “Have another look at the last chapter, please. I’ll be right back.”
I reach for my book, but it’s kind of hard to concentrate—Mr. Harper looked at me in such a weird way.
Why is he here? Normally the school secretary just summons people over the loudspeaker system if there’s anything important.
It’s not unheard of for Mrs. Sinclair to call me into her office to discuss something relating to the school council.
Sometimes even during lessons. So there’s no reason for me to be particularly worried when Mr. Ringling reappears in the classroom after a brief while.
“Henry? Would you go with Mr. Harper, please?” He seems weirdly anxious.
“Oh.” I stand up. “All right.”
Mr. Ringling glances at my desk. “I think you should take your things.”
That’s the moment I get an ache in my belly.
I’m wondering desperately what this could be about as I follow Mr. Harper down the corridors.
Normally, he likes to chat and ask you how things are going, but this time, he doesn’t say a word, which is making me kind of edgy.
I’m at the point of asking what’s going on when we reach the offices.
“After you. Mrs. Sinclair is expecting you.”
I feel his hand on my shoulder before I open the door. There’s something about the expression in his eyes that scares me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, entering the room.
I’ve stepped through this doorway loads of times, but this time it’s different. I can sense it: There’s this tense feeling making it hard to breathe.
Mrs. Sinclair isn’t sitting at her desk as she usually is. She’s standing by the window. There’s a young man beside her.
They both turn to face me.
It’s Theo . . .
What’s he doing here? Has he come for a visit? Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Mrs. Sinclair’s face is grave. Theo’s is pale. I can’t move.
“What’s happened?” I blurt.
Mrs. Sinclair looks at Theo. His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps.
All he says is “Maeve,” and my blood runs cold.
Emma
“Thank you for listening. If you have any questions, please, ask them now.” I exhale soundlessly as the others in the room start to clap.
“Wonderful, thank you, Emma.” Ms. Kelleher smiles at me, standing up. “Very well done.” She glances at the clock. “Well, we’re pretty much out of time for today. The rest of you can head off to lunch break early so that I can give Emma my feedback on her presentation.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my trousers, and pull my USB stick out of the laptop at the speaker’s lectern.
Giving a talk on the Industrial Revolution in Britain had cost me some sleepless nights.
I’m so bad at speaking in front of other people, but at least it’s over and done with now.
Tori and Sinclair give me two thumbs up as they pass me on their way out.
Ms. Kelleher waits until everyone’s left the room, then glances at her notes.
“How do you think that went, Emma?” she asks.
“It was all right,” I begin. “I was very nervous.”
“It didn’t show.” She smiles at me. “You spoke fluently, your English is excellent, and the content more than fulfilled the brief.”
I don’t dare move.
“I’m giving you an A star.”
“Oh.” I’m taken aback. “Thank you.”
“You earned it. Keep up the good work, Emma. And now off to lunch with you.”
I stand up, still with butterflies in my stomach. “Thank you,” I repeat, reaching for my bag.
“I’ll see you again on Friday,” says Ms. Kelleher as I leave the room.
In the hallway, I look around for Tori and Sinclair, but they’ve disappeared. Maybe they’ve already gone to the dining room for lunch. I’m about to glance at my phone when I hear my name.
“Emma?” Grace is walking toward me. For a moment, I panic. But then I see her worried face. “I wanted to let you know.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Henry was called out of biology just now. He had to go to the head’s office, and he didn’t come back.”
“What? Why? What’s happened, Grace?”
“I don’t know, but apparently his brother’s here. I saw Theo’s car in the courtyard.”
She doesn’t continue, but she doesn’t have to. “So that means . . . something to do with his parents?”
Grace gives a helpless shrug. “No idea. I heard that he’s in his room, packing. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Grace,” I manage to say.
My body feels weirdly numb as I turn away. As I go, I reach for my phone, but there’s no message from Henry. Of course there isn’t. If something’s happened, no way will he have room in his head to message me. Shit, don’t let it be anything bad.
I start running, without consciously thinking.
My steps echo in the hallways. The closer I come to the east wing, the emptier they are.
My heart is pounding in my throat as I reach Henry’s floor and hurry down the empty corridor.
His door is open, and a young man is standing there, his phone pressed to his ear.
He’s tall, sporty, and slim in a Henry-like way.
He’s the guy from the old rugby team photos.
Theo Bennington. An older version of Henry, and as white as a sheet.
His eyes flit over me as he makes his call, I can’t take in what he’s saying, but none of it matters. I have to get to Henry.
I mumble a quiet “Hello” as I step past Theo into the room. I don’t think he even sees me.
Henry’s stuffing things at random into a bag.
“Henry?”
He turns.
As I look into his face, I know this is bad. He’s not crying. It’s pure shock. Compressed lips and a blank gaze.
I drop my bag onto the floor and walk over to him. “What’s—”
He interrupts me. “She’s dead.” His voice has never been as dull, and his eyes just kind of look through me. “Maeve. They’re saying she’s dead . . .”
“What?” It’s like a punch in the guts. “Henry, what’s happened?”
He jumps, and at that moment, he looks at me properly for the first time. His shoulders twitch as I lay both hands on his arms.
“I don’t know, it’s . . . They found her in the camp and took her to the hospital in Nairobi.
She was tired yesterday evening, wanted an early night because she had a headache.
They think it was cerebral malaria. They found her too late, this morning, in her tent.
But I don’t know, I . . .” Henry’s slurring, mumbling, speaking too fast, and when he falls silent, I pull him to me.
His whole body is trembling and I want to do something—I have to do something—but I don’t know what.
Malaria. I know what it is, but at the same time, I don’t. A fever, something to do with mosquitoes, and you can die from it. I’ve heard of it. But so suddenly? How is it possible? How can his sister be dead? It has to be some kind of mistake.
But then his brother wouldn’t be here to pick him up, would he? I don’t understand a thing. I want to say so much, but I can’t speak. I can only hold Henry tightly and wonder what I should do.
Are you sure? Could it be some kind of mix-up? What do your parents say? Holy shit, maybe this is all a really horrible nightmare.
It’s not a dream. It’s reality, in which Henry’s brother turns to us and I let Henry go.
“They were able to book us onto the flight,” he says, and I get it. They’re flying to Kenya. Theo’s eyes flit over me. “We have to hurry, Henry. The plane to London goes in an hour and a half.”