Darling Bud

Chapter Tuesday, 6 March 2035

St Emily de Vialar School for Girls Hawkchurch, Devon

Things That Have Bloody Annoyed Me This Morning:

The strings on my breakfast banana.

Stepping on a wet patch in the bathroom in dry socks.

Crying baby on the bus to school.

Whatever metal thing was clanging against the bus window.

The two detectives who came to my school and accused me of murder.

‘Ivy Silverton to the headmaster’s office, please. Ivy Silverton.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I groaned, chucking down my stylus and sliding back my seat.

‘What have you done now?’ Chloe whispered across my desk.

‘God knows. See you at lunch?’

‘Yeah, if you haven’t been flambéed yourself by then.’

I was in no hurry to get to Christensen’s office.

He wasn’t ready to see me anyway. It was the same power play every time.

I knocked on the door – ‘nice sturdy knock, Ivy, no limp wrists’ – and paced the parquet, staring at the weird-ass René Magritte print on the wall.

It was of a steam train coming out of a fireplace with two candlesticks and a clock on the mantlepiece but only one candlestick has a reflection in the mirror.

It was supposed to make us think about time.

I didn’t have a fucking clue what it meant.

‘Enter!’ boomed from within.

I visited Christensen’s office most weeks and it was always the same.

Lecture, right to reply, stern warning and then back to class with a blue ticket, a flea in my ear and a You’re lucky I haven’t expelled you ringing through my brain.

But this time, two things were different.

One – my face. I had bruises and a cut lip.

And two, he wasn’t alone. There were three other people with him.

I only recognised one – my mum’s solicitor, Heather Wherryman.

‘Ivy, take a seat, please. These two gentlemen are detectives, DS Blunt and DI Sherrin. They have asked to speak with you.’

I frowned at Heather. ‘Why are you here?’

‘They called me first, Ivy. I’m in loco parentis, for Claudia.’

‘So what have I done this time?’

‘This time?’ The younger detective, DI Sherrin, a clean-shaven dude with a floppy fringe, gave a fake smile. Not the most detectivist of detectives I ever did see. He looked more like a gymfluencer than a cop. ‘You’re known to us, are you, Ivy?’

Christensen butted in, wiping the corner of his crusty mouth with his manky brown tie. ‘Ivy has some behavioural issues but we’re working through them, aren’t we, Ivy?’ Ooh he reeeeeeally wanted that unblemished Ofsted Grade 1 rating.

‘Yes, Mr Christensen.’

‘It’s been a testing time. Her mother is … poorly.’

‘It’s terminal,’ I told the gym bro, right down the lens. ‘So I’ll be an orphan soon. And she’s going to make me get rid of my rabbit. And she’s packing me off to Australia.’

Heather huffed. ‘You know it’s not like that. Your mum—’

‘—I’m sorry to hear that,’ Blunt cut in. He had curly hair and large cheeks, like my old hamster when he was stuffing his face with sunflower seeds. ‘What happened to your face?’

‘She was attacked at the park last week,’ said Heather. ‘Got into a scrape with some girls, didn’t you?’

‘I can answer for myself,’ I said with an extra bat of eye. ‘Some prefects were saying homophobic things about me and my girlfriend so I hit them. Both of them. Knocked one of them out actually.’

‘But she’s not proud of it,’ added Heather.

‘No. Absolutely not,’ I said, as though a glowing halo had appeared above my head.

Sherrin seemed genuinely concerned and looked at my scabbed knuckles. ‘Looks like you gave as good as you got, Ivy.’

‘I defended my girlfriend, yes. And I won.’

The older detective, clearly uncomfortable seeing a girl who’s into girls outside of a porn app, piped up. ‘We’re actually here because of your football coach – Kieran Andrews.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I knew he was going to do this. This is about yesterday, isn’t it? I’ve apologised. He said we were square. Is this about him being a paedo? What do you need to know – he’s grooming half the lower sixth.’

‘Proof?’ boomed Christensen.

I counted the proof off on my fingers. ‘Amie Lassiter keeps his underpants in her locker – I’ve seen them.

Carrie Grahame has photos of his … dangling participle on her phone.

Maisie Walters-Finch walked in on him in the shower cos he left the door purposely unlocked and he had a semi on.

He only gets away with it cos he’s the son of the head of maths. ’

‘That is all slanderous, Ivy,’ Christensen reminded me, shooting his cuffs.

‘What, that he’s the son of John Andrews, our actual head of maths? Do a DNA test if you don’t believe me.’

‘You have any evidence of this?’ asked Blunt.

‘There’s tons of evidence. Watch the CCTV outside the girls’ changing rooms for five minutes.

Hang around his office on a lunch break.

Why does a girls’ football coach even need an office?

He brings them presents, lends them money.

A tenner here, a fluffy pencil topper there.

I know for a fact Jenny Endicott has borrowed books and taken them back to his house.

And he always stares at our arses when we bend over in football or hockey.

I know a PDF when I see one. I lived with one for ten years. ’

Heather coughed and because I wasn’t explaining, she felt the need to. ‘Ivy’s stepfather had a relationship with a schoolgirl, just before he came into Ivy’s life. He was a registered sex offender. He left when Ivy was young.’

‘He left when I was ten,’ I added. ‘I didn’t find out he was a sex offender until then and I was supposed to just accept it and not love him anymore—’

‘—Ivy, they don’t need to know all this,’ Heather interrupted.

‘I’ve still got his sodding surname too.’

Blunt piped up. ‘We’ll need to look into this to see if what you’re saying about Kieran Andrews is true, of course. These are serious allegations.’

‘I’m not allegating – I’ve been saying it for months!’ I cried. ‘Nobody listens to me.’ I looked from man to man, then to Heather, standing by the bookcase. ‘Is this why you’re here?’

‘No,’ said Blunt. ‘Mr Andrews was found dead this morning. At his home on the seafront in Lyme Regis.’

‘Shit,’ I gasped. ‘How?’

‘Stabbed. Eleven times.’

‘Oh my God.’ My heart pounded but, for some reason, I felt like smiling.

None of them were smiling so I self-consciously covered my mouth like I was in shock.

Then I really wanted to laugh but I rolled it into a coughing fit and Heather offered me a lozenge.

She studied me like I studied that Magritte.

When I was done coughing, I started sucking.

I didn’t realise it until the sweet was half sucked that they were all staring at me. ‘You think I did it?’

‘We’re just trying to collect evidence at this stage,’ said Sherrin, removing a mint from his pocket and secreting it under his tongue. ‘Mr Andrews was killed between eight o’clock last night and five o’clock this morning. You visited Lyme last night, is that right?’

‘I’m not saying another word without a lawyer. And not her either.’ I threw Heather a last look and folded my arms.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ she huffed, ‘you don’t need a lawyer, just tell them what you were doing in Lyme.’

‘I went to see Chloe. She lives on Cobb Road, overlooking the seafront.’

‘Chloe Dantzer,’ said Christensen. ‘She’s in Ivy’s class. Same age, deputy head girl – Reverend Dantzer’s daughter, from St Catherine’s.’

‘Why did you go to see her?’ asked Sherrin.

‘I went to see Chloe and drank Ribena and then I went to the arcades. By myself. I like the Skee-Ball. I collect the tickets. The prizes are a joke. Five hundred tickets for a bloody pencil sharpener. It’s criminal.’

‘Why didn’t Chloe go with you to the arcades?’

‘She doesn’t like them. Says they’re too loud.’

‘Did you meet anyone while you were there?’

‘No. I just played Skee-Ball, got some chips. Then I went home on the bus. I like doing my own thing. You can’t always rely on other people.’

‘Like Chloe?’

‘Among others.’

Heather jumped in. ‘What has this got to do with anything, detective?’

Sherrin stepped forwards and took the lead.

‘We’re trying to build a picture of everyone’s movements last evening.

And Ivy, you and Kieran Andrews had a fairly blazing argument yesterday by all accounts, during a football practice session in which you loudly proclaimed he was “grooming your girlfriend”, the aforementioned Miss Dantzer. ’

‘He is. He was.’

‘Tell us more.’

‘We did argue, me and Chlo. At her house. I saw her phone and it had all these messages on it from him. He’d been buying her stuff. And he sent her some photos.’

‘Photos of what?’

I glanced at Heather, then back to Sherrin. ‘What do you think, his Flickr album from the Balearics?’

‘IVY!’ shouted Christensen.

‘His dick, of course. There were loads of messages, dating back months.’

Blunt took the reins. ‘So you go over to see Chloe, you argue about Andrews sending these photos, then you go straight down to the arcades and get chips. You didn’t go near Anning Court where Andrews lives?’

‘I wouldn’t even know where Anning Court was.’

‘So if we looked on your phone or your laptop, there won’t be any searches or directions for Anning Court?’

‘I’ve never heard of the place.’

Heather bit her lip. ‘Ivy, they will check the cameras all around the town. You need to be sure.’

‘I am sure,’ I snapped. ‘I think I’d remember if I killed my football coach last night.

’ Heather stepped back against the bookcase like I’d blown her off course.

‘You’re all looking at me like I’m guilty.

I have quite intense hemophobia – I couldn’t have done it even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. ’

Sherrin threw Blunt a look, who threw Christensen a look. Who threw them all back to me.