Chapter 39
You died magnificently
Clara
“Margot,” I said with no small amount of horror, “where did you get all that fake blood from?”
Margot looked down at her outfit then back up at me with a satisfied smirk. “It’s bloody brilliant, isn’t it?”
“You haven’t actually killed anyone at the start of the play, love.”
She shrugged. “How do you know?”
I rubbed my temples as I straightened up from my crouch. “It’s too late to find you a clean apron now,” I muttered. “Okay, go to Miss Summerfield and we’ll––”
“Going well, I see,” Rafe’s deep voice sounded in my ear, and I whipped round to face him. He was smiling down at me, looking impossibly handsome amidst the chaos of Year 3’s performance preparation.
“Rafe, you can’t come back here,” I told him. “This is a parent-free zone. Lily says that the kids need to get into character before they go on. No distractions.”
Rafe glanced over at Margot Harding, who was now wielding a plastic straight razor with alarming enthusiasm, practising her slashing motion with such vigor that Lily had to grab her wrist.
“Ease up on the enthusiasm, Sweeney,” I heard Lily tell her. “Save it for the performance, yeah?”
Beside them, Ozzie was in the barber’s chair (aka Mrs Clayton’s office chair), gurgling and jerking in the throes of his mock death.
Rafe looked back at me and raised one of his eyebrows.
“The children being in character does not appear to be the most pressing problem at the moment, darling,” he said dryly, and I let out a short laugh.
His eyes warmed as he stared down at me and he reached up to brush my fringe back from my eyes.
“I was just checking you were okay,” he said softly. “This is… a lot.”
It was my first week back at Molton Prep.
All the bruising had faded now and the headaches had largely settled, plus Lily really needed my help with the play.
None of the teaching assistants who had stood in for me could really handle Margot.
Mrs Clayton had insisted I take as much time as I needed, but I knew I had to reclaim some part of my normal life, even if “normal” now meant helping Lily stage a gory musical with inappropriately young children.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, then winced. Rafe hated me telling him I was fine, but it was a reflex now.
A loud crash echoed across the stage and I flinched, instinctively flying into the safety of Rafe’s body.
His arms closed around me as we both looked over to see the barber’s chair tipped on its side with a red-faced Ozzie next to it.
“Sorry!” he shouted.
“It’s okay,” Rafe whispered in my ear. “You’re safe.”
Gah! Why did I still have to be so bloody jumpy?
“Ozzie!” snapped Lily. “Honestly, calm the death throes down a bit. You’ll do yourself a damage.”
“It’s gotta be realistic!” he said in a grumpy tone, going to climb back up into the chair, but before he could mount it fully, Zach hooked him round his middle and lifted him up in the air to carry him over to the side of the stage.
I’d roped Zach in to help tonight – after he heard the title of the play, he was all in.
“Curtain’s going up, little man,” he said as he set a disgruntled Ozzie on his feet.
“Wow,” Zach said as his attention turned to us, still wrapped around each other. “Rafe, bit much for a Tuesday afternoon at a primary school, mate.” He was attempting a disgruntled tone, but he couldn’t suppress his smile. Zach was still Rafe’s biggest fan.
“Daddy!” shouted Ozzie. “You can’t be back here! You can cuddle Miss Clara later.”
Rafe did a lot of that. Cuddling. Some of my haze had lifted since I’d seen my father, and I could see even more how very very careful Rafe was being with me.
It was still all light touches, cuddles, no sudden movements, keeping his tone level and soft, even when I was frustrating him.
It was like I was a bowl that he’d broken, and he felt like he had to hold me carefully in case I fell apart again.
“Okay, buddy,” Rafe said as I pulled away from him under the curious stares of the kids around us. He ruffled Ozzie’s hair and told him to break a leg before he sauntered off to find his seat as the lights dimmed.
“Showtime!” Lily whispered excitedly next to me, practically bouncing on the soles of her feet.
A spotlight clicked on, illuminating Mrs Clayton standing centre stage in a surprisingly elegant black dress.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her crisp voice cutting through the murmurs.
“Welcome to Molton Prep’s production of Sweeney Todd.
” She paused, clearly struggling to maintain her professional demeanour.
“I feel I should warn those of a sensitive disposition that this production contains scenes of... enthusiastic violence.” A ripple of laughter went through the audience.
“Before we begin, I’d like to thank Miss Summerfield for her, er, creative vision, and Miss Clara for her invaluable assistance with the children. ”
Lily gave me a light shove and we both stepped out onto the side of the stage, giving the audience a small wave. I looked out into the audience and saw the Sterlings sitting near the front. The earl, the countess and Granny Sterling beamed at me, and Poppy blew me an enthusiastic kiss.
I’d been worried about seeing the Sterlings for the first time after everything happened.
What would a family as posh as theirs think about having such a close association with a criminal’s daughter?
But the first time they came over, when I was still bruised and swollen, Lady Sterling had hugged me for over a minute.
It was one of the few times I cried. A maternal hug like that cut through the numbness, warming me from the inside out.
Even the ultra-posh, reserved Granny Sterling had patted my arm, which was a level above her usual affectionate limit.
Rafe’s dad had found me later when I was getting some water in the kitchen, staring out into the garden.
“Brave thing you did,” he said, and I nearly dropped the glass I was holding. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I-it’s okay. I’m a bit jumpy, is all.”
“I mean it, though. You’re a brave woman.”
“People keep saying that,” I mumbled.
“You don’t agree?”
“All I did was snitch. It’s not exactly––”
“Don’t be absurd!” he snapped. “You’re braver than most of the women and men of my acquaintance, and I know some extremely questionable fellows in the military. Without you, your family’s network couldn’t have been dealt with… via the legal route, that is.”
Before I could ask the earl what the other route would have been, he’d gone.
A wave of applause broke out, but Mrs Clayton wasn’t having any of it.
“I’d hold that thought if I were you,” she said ominously. “Let’s see how you all feel after the performance. So, without further ado, Molton Prep proudly presents Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street!”
Mrs Clayton walked off the stage as the lights came on to reveal the elaborate, if a little bizarre, set of old London, constructed entirely of cardboard, glitter and what appeared to be an excessive amount of aluminium foil.
The parents burst into another round of applause and, despite my nerves, I found myself smiling.
When Margot finally made her entrance as Sweeney Todd, the audience’s reaction was a mixture of laughter and genuine alarm.
The tiny girl, dressed in a miniature barber’s outfit complete with fake bloody apron, had a manic gleam in her eye that seemed far too authentic for comfort.
I glanced out into the audience again to see the Duke of Buckingham grinning from ear to ear, whilst his wife, Lottie, gripped his arm, focusing on her daughter with a horrified expression.
Ozzie’s moment came at the end of the first act. Playing Sweeney’s first victim, he was positioned in the barber’s chair which was up on the higher part of the stage as Margot circled him dramatically, plastic razor gleaming under the stage lights.
“You’re cooked, Pirelli!” Margot declared, going completely off-script in a moment of inspired improvisation.
Then, with a dramatic flourish, she drew the plastic razor across Ozzie’s throat.
Hugo Knightsbridge, one of the smaller year threes, was positioned behind Ozzie and let off a party popper with red streamers (something Lily had come up with when Mrs C banned a device that would spurt fake blood across the stage).
Ozzie then began his dramatic death, complete with gargling and clutching at his neck.
Margot handed him something from the depths of her apron and he fumbled with it at his neck until red blossomed from it and soaked his shirt.
A collective “Ewww!” rose from the audience, followed by uncertain applause as Ozzie’s “body” slipped off the chair and down the slide Lily had nabbed from her neighbour’s garden, onto the table on the lower part of the stage to be met by two other children dressed as equally bloodthirsty barber’s assistants, who were preparing to chop Ozzie up and turn him into a pie.
I looked out at the audience again, all now gaping in shock at the scene. Some camera phones were being slowly lowered.
Poor Lottie Harding looked like she might throw up.
Bloody Margot.
The interval was a blessed relief, until of course Zach dragged me out from backstage to join the Sterlings. Rafe wasn’t the only Sterling Zach worshipped. The earl had arrived last week for a Sunday roast with a black Labrador puppy.
“Heard you want to be a vet, my boy,” he blustered as he handed the squirming puppy to my open-mouthed brother. “Can’t train to be a vet if you don’t have a dog. Bloody ridiculous.”
“Dad, don’t you think you should have checked with me first?” asked Rafe in annoyance.
“Now see here, Rafe––” the earl started to say, but Zach cut him off.
“Thank you,” he said in a choked voice; the puppy was licking the underside of his jaw then. “I-I-I just… thank you.” His eyes filled with tears, his face reddening with the effort it must have taken to hold them back.
Rafe huffed out a breath, but his annoyance evaporated. I bit my lip to stop myself saying anything. I’d wanted Zach to have that moment, but there was no way we could keep a puppy at my flat when we moved back there. Maybe Zach could visit?
The last thing I wanted was to outstay my welcome with the Sterlings. They’d been very kind, but I knew Rafe’s guilt was consuming him. That was why he’d taken us in. He felt responsible for what happened.
Yes, he still called me darling, he held my hand, he even kissed me lightly, but I knew he was just helping me to heal.
Over the last two weeks my libido had come back with a vengeance and I really didn’t want light touches anymore.
I wanted Rafe to do very filthy things to me again, and that did not seem to be on his agenda at all.
So no, my brother and I were not going to be imposing on the Sterlings any longer than we needed to.
Once I was brave enough to go back to the flat, we would move out.
“Did you see me die, Gran?” Ozzie shouted as he ran towards the countess and flung his arms around her for a hug, likely ruining the expensive outfit she was wearing.
“Wonderful performance, darling,” she said, smiling down at his upturned face as she brushed some blood-soaked hair from his forehead. “Absolutely gruesome.”
“You died magnificently, young man,” put in Granny Sterling.
“Yes, bloody brilliant, squishball,” said Poppy, grinning as she bounced over to him. “You smashed it. Best death I’ve seen in ages.”
“Hugo didn’t pop the party popper when he was supposed to,” Ozzie grumbled.
“I don’t think that matters, Oz,” I told him, smiling at the Sterlings as I approached.
“Margot sliced an artery, Clara,” Ozzie said in a patient tone. “It’s supposed to start spurting straight away.”
The earl, the countess, Granny Sterling and Poppy all moved to hug me and Zach (the earl’s hug for Zach being more a manly back slap), and then Rafe claimed me, pulling me into his side.
“Fab cardy, Clara,” said Poppy, and I smiled.
The soft wool cardigan I was wearing wasn’t actually one of the ones Poppy had bought me (she might claim they were cast-offs, but I knew better); it was one I’d bought a few years ago when I qualified as a teacher.
Bright orange with purple edging and so, so soft.
I’d bought it but never worn it. But tonight it just felt… right.
Like it was okay to be noticed.
Like it was safe.