Chapter 10
Olive
I spend the whole of study hour waiting for Ms. Barnett to send me over to Mrs. Sinclair.
Because Colin stuck to his guns and grassed on me.
It’s his fault that I can’t concentrate on anything.
Not on my maths prep that’s due tomorrow, and not on the upper-sixth stuff I wanted to look at afterward either.
Why is he so mean? Why did I even go downstairs that night, and why did I let him smash that case up? I didn’t even bloody ask him to do it, so does it now give him some sick feeling of power to blackmail me over it? What’s wrong with the guy?
My heart thuds nervously as I go down after study hour. Ms. Barnett doesn’t stop me, which must mean that Fantino didn’t rat after all. Or else he’s in with Mrs. Sinclair this very moment, dishing up his lies.
What the hell? I’ve been at this school for seven years—it’s home to me. I almost lost everything, and now some bawbag comes along from New York and thinks he gets to threaten me? Well, he’s very much mistaken, and if he seriously wants trouble, he’s got it.
If I’m in luck, Mrs. Sinclair will still be in her office. I don’t know if I’d be so keen to tell her the truth about the broken trophy cabinet tomorrow morning. I’m not usually the type to tell tales, but Colin has it coming.
Fate seems to be on my side, because as I get to the bottom of the stairs, the head teacher is just stepping out of the south wing and heading for her dark Range Rover that’s waiting on the cobbled courtyard.
She and her husband have a house in Ebrington.
Unlike Sinclair, who boards here, she spends her days at the school and drives home every evening.
I speed up to catch her before she gets in.
“Mrs. Sinclair?” She stops, turning to look at me. I try to guess from her face whether or not Fantino’s been to see her. I seem to have got in first, because she smiles at me rather than instantly launching an interrogation into how I dared vandalize school property. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course, Olive.” She waits. “What is it?”
I hate myself for being this weak. For the part of me that’s fighting vehemently against sneaking on someone to the head. I’d never normally do anything like this, but I’m not prepared to let Fantino blackmail me any longer. He asked for it.
I gulp. “Er, about the display case . . .”
Mrs. Sinclair raises her eyebrows in surprise. “That has already been dealt with, Olive.”
My blood runs cold. So has he already spoken to her?
“Did Colin come to see you?” I burst out.
“Yes, he . . .” She stops. “Wait a moment, how do you know that?”
Rats. That was careless. “Yeah, I . . . I don’t know what he told you, but I didn’t do anything.
Honestly. The sight of the trophies, and knowing I’ll never win any more races for the school, made me so angry, but you have to believe me that I’d never have smashed up the cabinet, and when Colin came along, I didn’t want him to—”
“You were there with Colin?” the head interrupts me.
“Yes, I . . .” I pause. “He . . .”
“He just came to see me and admitted that he damaged the display case,” says Mrs. Sinclair.
He what? I freeze. He confessed? He didn’t go through with his threat?
“Is that true, Olive?”
Suddenly I’m overcome by the need to protect him. It’s ridiculous. I’m raging with Fantino because he threatened me. And now I’m trying to save his skin, even though he doesn’t deserve it.
“He was only trying to help,” I explain.
“Help?” Mrs. Sinclair looks at me like I’m out of my mind. “By destroying the trophy cabinet?”
“Yes, I . . .” He was trying to help because I didn’t have the guts. But I don’t say that. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”
Oh yes he did.
It would serve him bloody well right if I told Mrs. Sinclair exactly that. But I can’t.
She eyes me, then shakes her head. “Well, it doesn’t make any difference, either way.
It’s noble of you to want to defend him, but we can’t have that kind of behavior here.
Colin will be given an appropriate punishment.
And now we need to discuss what you were doing out of your room after wing time. ”
I shiver. OK, I didn’t think this through. Because even though I didn’t smash the thing up, I was still out of bounds. My pulse quickens as I force myself to meet Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes. They bore through me.
“I’m listening, Olive.”
Should I lie? Claim that I was on my way to the sick bay for more painkillers? I’d probably get away with that, but I can’t face it.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say in the end. “I was in my room, in bed, but . . . I couldn’t. The moment I shut my eyes, I started to panic, and I had to get some air, to . . . I’m sorry.”
When I look up at Mrs. Sinclair again, I see surprise in her eyes, followed by pity. And I hate it.
“I see,” she says slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that, Olive.”
I shouldn’t have said anything. What if she tells Dad? “It’s OK,” I say hastily. “I should have stayed in my room. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“I know we’ve already talked about this, but I would encourage you again to speak to Ms. Vail. You might find it a relief, Olive.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll think about it.” I hesitate. “Will you give me a warning?”
Mrs. Sinclair gives me a hard stare. “Just promise me that you’ll ask for help if you need it.”
I nod and mumble, “Thank you.” Mrs. Sinclair glances at her car and I hastily add, “Please don’t tell my dad what I just told you, Miss.”
Great. Now I sound like my mum. But if Dad hears that I’m not sleeping because of panic attacks, he’s sure to conclude that I’m not ready after all.
“Very well, Olive,” Mrs. Sinclair says after eyeing me again. “Have a nice evening.”
“You too,” I say as she gets into the car.
I shove my hands into my hoodie pockets and turn away.
I walk across the courtyard wondering if that conversation really happened.
To say I was confused would be a massive understatement.
What made him fess up after he threatened me again just now?
Was he only teasing and never intended to accuse me?
I’d like to find him and ask him, but then another thought distracts me.
Please don’t tell my dad.
Mum coming into my room and shutting the door.
I don’t want to sound like her. And I don’t want to ask other people to do a thing I hate.
Because, if I’m honest, I still wish I could go to Dad and tell him everything.
It’s just that I’m afraid he’d be totally devastated to hear that Mum’s been sleeping with another man.
Not that I even know for certain that she has.
Maybe they only kissed. She and that guy looked very close when I saw them in Ebrington.
They must have slept together. I don’t even want to know.
It’s just minging. The way she is at home, so natural, acting like nothing’s happened.
Like she wasn’t the one who destroyed our family, which she did the minute she decided to cheat on her husband.
I can hardly find words for how angry that makes me.
The only thing I know about the man is his name: Alexis.
Does he have a family? Is he going behind their backs too?
Does he hope Mum will leave Dad for him?
Almost without noticing, I’m walking through the main school gate and onto the road that leads to Ebrington.
There’s still a while till dinner, and I feel too churned up just to sit in my room.
All this free time is unsettling. I’m not used to it.
In the old days, I barely had a spare minute between classes, study hour, meals, and swimming.
And I loved it. Being busy. The rewarding ache after a particularly tough training session rather than the pain of the skin graft and my shoulder.
But that’s all in the past. I straighten my back as I get closer to Ebrington. I ignore the wee high street and turn off into the estate where Grace and her family live. I was here on one of my rare free afternoons, totally unsuspecting, when I saw the sight that changed my life.
Sometimes I really wish I hadn’t been in the village that day.
Then I’d have as little idea as Dad about what my mother gets up to when she claims to be doing home visits.
OK, so most of the time that will have been what she was doing, but the idea that she uses her job as a midwife to cover up her assignations with her lover makes me want to boak.
My heart sinks as I come closer to the semidetached house outside which I saw her car.
There’s nobody on the narrow street, but I can’t shake off the images.
The dark front door opening, the expectation of seeing her in the company of either a pregnant woman or a new mother.
And then the numbness that spread through me as she kissed a stranger goodbye.
Back then, I ran away as fast as I could, but this time, I stop outside the house.
Dark bricks, two stories high, with lattice windows and a neat, simple front garden.
I don’t know what good I think it’ll do me to find out who lives here.
I saw the man. About as tall as Mum, thin, dark jeans, pale shirt.
Ebrington might be small, but I’ve never seen him before or since, not that that proves anything—a lot of people who live here work in Edinburgh.
I feel like I’m breaking some rule as I get closer to the garden gate. But just as I’m about to push it open and venture up to the front door, a car turns into the road.
Hastily, I turn away, dig my hands into my jacket pockets, and walk down the pavement. My heart beats faster as I half turn at the end of the road and watch out of the corner of my eye as the car stops beside the neighboring house.