Fracture

‘The bloody train.’ He yanked his phone out from the pocket of his jacket. ‘We’ve missed it.’

‘Oh bugger.’ Allie had drunk too much cider to be helpful but she tried to look focused as he typed things into his phone. ‘When’s the next one?’

For a long second he stared at the screen. Then he swore again with more vigour.

‘Tomorrow.’ He sounded disgusted. ‘That was the last useful train tonight.’

Allie stared at him open-mouthed.

‘Tomorrow? What are we going to do?’ Her head had begun to throb and, without the shield of a constant stream of warming cider, the cold penetrated through her layers of clothing right down to her bones. ‘Is there a bus?’

Mark typed more things into his phone then shook his head. ‘No buses.’ He shoved his phone back into his pocket hard, as if it had betrayed him. ‘Stupid country town. We’re stuck.’

‘But’ – Allie looked at the gravestones surrounding them, suddenly aware she was surrounded by dead people – ‘we can’t stay here all night.’

Mark stood up stiffly, the last can falling from his lap on to the ground with a dull clang. ‘The first train goes at half six tomorrow. We’ll be on it. Let’s go and find a place to crash for a few hours.’

That was easier said than done. They had no money for a room. And after spending twenty minutes searching for an unsecured door or vacant building they returned to the churchyard, feeling increasingly hopeless.

Allie’s headache had worsened; she shivered uncontrollably. It was only then they thought to check the church door. To their surprise, it swung open silently.

‘Home sweet home,’ Mark whispered as they stood in the doorway looking in at the dark nave.

It wasn’t much warmer inside the old stone building than it was outside but at least there was no wind.

After fumbling for the switch, Mark turned on the lights just long enough to gather the covers off the altar tables and collect all the candles he could find as Allie stood by the door, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. After that, he switched the lights off again and used the glow of his phone to light their way.

‘Don’t need a nosy vicar coming over to see who’s praying so late at night,’ he explained.

They stretched out together in one corner with the gold and purple satin cloths draped across them like oddly festive blankets. Placing the candles on the floor around them, Mark lit them with his cigarette lighter.

As she stared into the flickering shadows surrounding them, Allie’s teeth chattered.

Mark wasn’t much of a hugger ordinarily, but when she burrowed her way into the crook of his arm he didn’t object.

‘What happens tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow you’ll come to London with me and we’ll find some place for you to stay. I know some guys who have their own flat – I’m sure they’d let you kip on the sofa. Then… we’ll figure something out.’

His voice was gruff and Allie could hear the doubt in it. He wasn’t certain about this at all.

She knew he hadn’t entirely believed her story – he probably thought she was drunk and exaggerating. Or losing it completely. But at least he was still offering to help her.

As she watched the candle flames shudder, she tried to imagine living with his friends. Being alone in the world. Sleeping on dirty couches surrounded by strangers. Trying to figure things out on her own.

Had she made a terrible mistake?

FIVE

‘Right back here.’

The sound of strange voices and heavy footsteps on stone woke Allie with a start from an awful dream in which Jo cried out for her but she couldn’t find her anywhere.

Her eyelids seemed stuck together and her head pounded with nauseating intensity. She rubbed her eyes and they fluttered open to an extraordinary vision – bright yellow, vivid blue, green, and red light flooded the room, blinding her.

It was like being in the middle of a rainbow.

‘What the…?’ Squinting, she shaded her eyes with her hand.

Mark grumbled in his sleep as her elbow dug into his ribs.

‘Sorry.’ She said the word reflexively just as she recognised the stained glass, the pulpit, the flickering candles melting into pools of wax, and the crowd of people standing around them.

‘Oh bollocks. Mark.’ She shook his shoulder hard. ‘Wake up.’

Without opening his eyes, he swatted her hand away. ‘Don’t. Jus’ fell asleep.’

In front of them, a police officer stood with his hands on his hips, disgust in his gaze. ‘Both of you: Up. You’re coming with me.’

The local police station was in a small, squat building near a slow-moving stream at the edge of town. After a short, nearly silent ride together in the back seat of a police car, Allie and Mark were led through the utilitarian entrance.

As the police led them from the church to the car, Allie had heard someone complaining to the officers in strident tones about ‘hooligans’ and ‘vandals’.

There was a time when that would have made her proud.

Once they were in the station, the two were steered into different rooms. As she saw Mark’s blue head disappearing down the corridor, a sudden surge of panic made Allie’s heart leap into her throat. She turned to run after him but a police officer shut the door in her face.

The room where they held her was small and crowded with desks, filing cabinets and shelves. It smelled unpleasantly of mildew, but at least it was warm, and Allie’s limbs slowly began to thaw. Windows set too high on the wall for her to see out let in bright daylight.

Two officers stayed with her. One was young, with a penetrating gaze. The other was older, and had a beard that needed trimming. Neither of them seemed openly unkind.

Allie sat in a battered metal chair, facing them. The younger one was at a computer, where he typed things in using only his index fingers. The older one made notes on a pad of paper. He asked her name and age, and she answered numbly as the young one entered the information into the computer with surprising speed.

When the older one asked for her parents’ names and address, though, she pressed her fingertips hard against her aching temples.

This was so bad.

‘Please. Could you just call Isabelle le Fanult at Cimmeria Academy?’ she said after a long pause. ‘She knows me. Can I have some water?’ Her mouth was so dry it felt like her tongue was permanently attached to the roof of her mouth.

At the mention of the school, the two officers exchanged a look.

‘Are you a student at the school?’ the older officer asked. With a fatherly face and greying hair, he didn’t look threatening.

Allie nodded.

‘Now that is interesting.’ He turned to the younger officer, who was typing busily. ‘Have we ever had a Cimmeria student in here before?’

Without looking up from his monitor, the younger officer shook his head. ‘I don’t think we have.’

The fatherly cop turned back to Allie, studying her with open curiosity. Squirming a little, Allie had a good idea what he saw – a teenage girl with dirt on her face, tangled dark hair and a pounding hangover.

‘What’s a nice boarding-school girl doing burgling a church? Couldn’t your parents just buy one for you if you really wanted one?’

The computer cop snorted a laugh.

Looking back and forth between them, blood rushed to Allie’s face. She hated being laughed at.

Tilting up her chin, she met the officer’s gaze coldly. ‘You have no idea what my life is like.’

But the cop didn’t seem intimidated by this in the slightest. In fact, he looked as if it was the reaction he’d hoped for.