A Game for All the Family Read online

  ‘Hm?’ says Deborah. ‘Oh, no, I’ll take Yonder, of course. But maybe I’ll talk to my husband about also—’

  ‘No.’

  I said that. Me. Oh, God, this is stupider than stupid. I am about to do an insane thing.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re too late,’ Olwen tells Deborah. ‘Justine’s taking Figgy.’

  Chapter 6

  Who Was It, Sitting on That Tree Branch?

  Later that night, after their parents were asleep, Lisette and Allisande met in the library to discuss the startling new developments that the day had brought. Perrine was not invited to their secret meeting. Since the death of Malachy, the bond between Lisette and Allisande had grown stronger, and they left their younger sister out of as much as they could.

  They talked in whispers so as not to wake anyone, though they needn’t have worried. The library’s book-lined walls did not let any sound escape. Every word spoken in that room was muffled and swallowed up by the decades-old, yellowing pages of such volumes as Brideshead Revisited and A Passage to India.

  ‘I wish Mum could have had her turn first,’ said Allisande miserably. ‘Her way wouldn’t have involved us never seeing our friends again. She said so.’

  ‘I’m confused,’ said Lisette. ‘Mum said we might eventually move away, to somewhere where no one knows Perrine’s name – which made me think that would be her turn. But then she also said that if her turn were first, we wouldn’t have to be cut off from our friends. So … if we put those two things together, what could her favoured plan of action possibly be?’

  Allisande shrugged. Lisette was the sort of person who was always determined to get to the bottom of everything. Allisande was too miserable to dream up theories. She didn’t care what Sorrel’s plan would have been, only about what was going to happen to them all now, with Bascom having it his way.

  ‘I loathe and detest him,’ Allisande thought to herself, knowing that she didn’t really mean it. She thought her father’s approach to almost everything was idiotic and counterproductive, but she loved him because he was her dad, and it’s sensible to love your family unless one of your relatives is a truly evil murderer like Perrine.

  ‘Maybe Mum’s plan was to move us all away but take our favourite friends with us?’ suggested Lisette.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Allisande. ‘I know Mum’s impractical at the best of times, but even she knows you can’t take your children’s best friends and move to the other end of the country with them. I don’t think the Sennitt-Sasses and the Carelesses would be very pleased if Mum packed Henrietta and Mimsie into her suitcase and took them miles away from Kingswear.’

  The absurdity of this idea made both girls laugh. ‘Thank God I’ve got you,’ Lisette said to Allisande. ‘I couldn’t cope with any of this if I didn’t have the best sister in the world.’

  ‘Right back at you,’ said Allisande (or whatever fifteen-year-old girls said in days of yore that meant the same thing). Then she said, ‘I think, when Mum has her turn, we’ll go back to school. That’s what I’m going to believe, anyway.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Lisette frowned. ‘I might be eighteen by then, or nineteen.’ (She was seventeen at the time of this secret conversation in the library.) ‘I’d be too old to go to school. I’d have missed all my A-levels. In any case, the minute we went back to school, anyone who wanted to kill Perrine would be able to do so, wouldn’t they? I doubt a year or two would be long enough for everyone to forget how much they hate her. Even if they did, they’d remember as soon as she walked into the classroom again, wouldn’t they? They’d think, “Oh, there’s that murderer,” and rush off to fashion a noose out of a sturdy rope.’

  ‘Yes, Mum and Dad must know this,’ said Allisande. ‘Which means no more school for us, and no social life. I can’t bear it!’

  ‘Who do you think did it?’ Lisette asked her sister. ‘The noose thing. Who was it, sitting on that tree branch?’

  ‘Mr or Mrs Dodd, I expect.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I can’t see either of them climbing a tree. If they wanted to murder Perrine, that’s not how they’d do it.’

  ‘Then who do you think it was?’

  ‘Well, obviously someone who knew Perrine would be playing rounders in the field that day. Someone who knew her school timetable – and the Dodds certainly didn’t. It wasn’t you, was it, Allisande?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Nor me either,’ said Lisette.

  ‘You don’t think we ought to …?’ began Allisande.

  ‘No,’ said Lisette, shocked. ‘Look at the lengths Mum and Dad are willing to go to to protect Perrine – taking us out of school, even. They’d be devastated if we killed her.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Allisande agreed. ‘I could do it to her, but never to them. Forget I mentioned it.’

  Lisette tried but she couldn’t. As those with personal experience of such a thing will know, it’s hard to forget one of your sisters suggesting the murder of the other.

  7

  ‘Ellen, I swear: that’s not why I brought him home. I didn’t think about you, or George, at all. I’m not trying to replace George with a dog. The thought didn’t cross my mind.’

  The three of us are in her bedroom. Four if you count Figgy, who is gnawing on the corner of Ellen’s school satchel. I wish he’d chew up the whole damn thing and all the exercise books inside it. Then, when he’s finished, he could make a start on the green cardigan Ellen’s about to put on, and her black uniform shoes.

  I realise it’s pathetic, relying on an eight-week-old Bedlington terrier puppy to prevent my daughter from going to school when I’ve failed to do so.

  Ellen could not be more determined. I see it in her granite stare as she stands in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, knotting her Beaconwood tie. No fourteen-year-old should look like this: braced, alert, resolute. Anyone would think she was about to stand trial for murder. It makes me want to weep. I long to help her, but how can I if she won’t tell me the whole truth?

  She pulls off her tie and starts from scratch for the third time. Suddenly, today, it matters to her to make a perfect knot – the same child who, as recently as last week, would happily set off to catch the school bus with her tie draped around her neck like a scarf. She couldn’t have cared less about neatness before George was expelled.

  If he was expelled. If he’s real.

  ‘Answer Mum, El,’ says Alex. ‘She’s trying to talk to you.’

  ‘And I’m trying to get ready for school.’

  ‘You’ve already missed the bus,’ I tell her.

  ‘Because you didn’t wake me up. You knew I wanted to go in, and you let me oversleep. You hoped I’d say, “Oh, has the bus gone? All right, I’ll just stay here and play with my new puppy, my friend-substitute, since I’m obviously so lonely without any human friends.” Well, I’m not going to say that. I’m going to get Dad to drive me in.’

  ‘I’ll drive you in once you’ve apologised to Mum. You’re assuming the worst about her, and not letting her defend herself.’

  ‘I’m not stopping her. She can say whatever she wants.’

  ‘While you ignore her and snark at her?’

  I walk over to the window and look out, so that Ellen can’t see how angry I am. If only I could sail away from all this on one of those boats I can see in the distance …

  ‘If the presence of a dog in the house is going to turn you nasty, I’ll take him back to Olwen,’ I say, enraging myself further with the idea that I might have to do this, and for no sensible reason. ‘She’d have him back in a heartbeat. Just say the word.’

  ‘Figgy’s not going anywhere,’ says Alex. ‘Look at him – he’s just a bundle of fur. We shouldn’t be using him to score points.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune since last night,’ I mutter. ‘Then it was all, “How could you take such a radical step without consulting me?” and “Are you out of your mind?”’

  ‘I’m adaptable and I hav
e a sense of proportion, unlike everyone else around here,’ Alex says. ‘For God’s sake, El, be unfairly angry with Mum if you have to, but don’t take it out on Figgy.’

  Ellen whirls round to face him. ‘Have I done anything to the dog? Like, whatsoever?’ she snaps.

  ‘You’ve refused to look at him. You haven’t once called him by his name. His admittedly absurd name, but still …’

  ‘Lots of kennels do that, Olwen said. They give their dogs themed names: Christmas carols, ABBA songs, whatever.’

  ‘I suppose Figgy Pudding is marginally better than The Winner Takes It All,’ says Alex.

  ‘Mum, I know you got him to make up for George being expelled. As if I’m going to forget about my best friend and love an animal instead! I’m so sad and friendless, I need a pet who can’t get away from me – that’s the only way I’ll ever not be lonely!’

  ‘Not true, El,’ says my husband and valiant protector. ‘That’s not the reason we have a dog. We have a dog because this Olwen character is an excellent saleswoman—’

  ‘She gave him to me. I paid nothing.’

  ‘—who correctly identified your mother as a gullible fool and served up some vague pronouncements about destiny and fate accordingly.’

  I smile.

  ‘What?’ Ellen asks. ‘What is even remotely funny?’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ I tell her. ‘About my motivation – but it’s nothing to do with you. I’m the one who wants to forget about human beings and hang around with a puppy instead. Look at him.’ I nod in Figgy’s direction. He’s moved over to the small mint-green door beside Ellen’s bed and seems to be trying to insert his front paw into the thin groove between it and the wall.

  ‘That’s uncanny,’ says Alex, watching him. ‘We buy a house with a tiny green door embedded in the wall, and then, lo and behold, we acquire a new family member for whom that door is exactly the right size. You see, El? Destiny.’

  I haven’t finished expounding the advantages of dogs over people. ‘Would Figgy ever ask anyone to rewrite three hundred and sixty minutes of TV drama – an entire series – removing the very thing he’d forced you to spend six months weaving in there in the first place, that you’d always thought was preposterous, while denying he’d ever insisted on its inclusion?’ I ask of nobody in particular. ‘Would he expel someone for not stealing a coat, then deny that person ever existed? It’s going to be so relaxing having him around, knowing he’ll never do anything that shitty and irrational. The worst he’ll do is wee on the floor and chew stuff.’

  ‘He’d better not wee on my carpet,’ says Ellen. Her voice sounds strange to me, until I realise what’s changed: her anger’s gone.

  ‘He should be okay for now,’ I say. ‘He had an accident in the kitchen five minutes ago. Let’s hope he got it all out of his system.’

  ‘You honestly didn’t buy him as a friend-consolation-prize for me?’

  ‘I swear. He’s my new best friend, not yours.’

  Ellen turns back to the mirror. Our reflected eyes meet, and she says, ‘I love George, Mum. I don’t only like him. He’s not just a mate. I love him.’

  ‘I know, El.’ Kind of a lie. I didn’t know. I do now.

  ‘It’s not romantic love. I don’t fancy him.’ She pulls a face. ‘You can love a friend as passionately as you love a romantic partner. That’s how much I love George. Even if I never see him again, I won’t stop loving him.’

  ‘Passionately?’ Alex queries.

  ‘Ellen, I get it. I’m not sure Dad does, but I do.’ Her intensity frightens me.

  ‘I’m getting chucked on the pyre as Crap Oafish Dad, am I? After all I’ve done for this family.’

  ‘I’m sorry for being horrible to you about Figgy, Mum. He’s cute. He looks like a grey fluffy sock.’

  ‘So, next contentious issue,’ says Alex. ‘Is Ellen going to school today or not?’

  ‘Yes. I am.’

  I decide to try a new tactic. ‘The police are coming this morning, El. It’d be good to have you here to tell them about George, school, everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Why?’ She looks alarmed. ‘I thought they were coming because of the phone calls.’

  ‘They are. And you believe the calls and George’s expulsion are linked, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know anything. I don’t want to talk to any police. If you make me, I’ll tell them it’s illegal to keep a child off school who wants to go.’

  ‘Ellen, calm—’

  ‘No, Mum! I’m going to school today. I’ll go to my lessons and just … blend in.’

  ‘Why? What are you afraid will happen if you don’t?’

  ‘Justine, you’ve asked her that at least ten times. You’re brow-beating her.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m scared of!’ Ellen covers her ears with her hands, as if she can’t bear to hear what I might say next.

  I feel sick.

  ‘All I know is: if I behave normally, normal things might start to happen again. If I stay away, it’ll be obvious why. Whoever hates us at Beaconwood will hate us more because they’ll know we haven’t forgotten about the George business.’ Ellen’s voice sounds shaky and constricted, as if there’s a hand inside her throat, choking her.

  I can’t cry. It would only upset her more.

  ‘They’ll know we haven’t forgotten, whatever we do,’ says Alex. ‘No one forgets the kind of exchange Mum had with Mrs Griffiths.’

  ‘I need to go in and act like nothing’s happened,’ says Ellen. ‘That’ll reassure school that we’re not planning to cause any trouble.’

  ‘I’m planning to cause stacks,’ I say. ‘Soon as I work out the specifics.’

  ‘Mum, no!’

  ‘You can’t just wail “No!”, El. I don’t understand, and you won’t explain. If you think something’s wrong at Beaconwood, if you think someone there might be making these threatening calls, why isn’t the obvious answer never to go back there? There are other schools!’

  ‘Justine, you’ve asked and asked. If she wanted to answer—’

  ‘Because of George! What if he escapes and comes looking for me? On a week day, he’d go to Beaconwood, wouldn’t he? That’s where he thinks I’ll be, so I have to be there. I know what you’re both thinking.’

  Alex and I exchange a look. I am thinking about the word ‘escapes’, as uttered a few seconds ago by our daughter; I wonder if Alex is too.

  ‘You’re going to say George wouldn’t turn up at school, having been kicked out,’ says Ellen. ‘I thought that too at first, but then I thought of the bus. He could meet me at the bus stop one morning, just outside school grounds. I think that’s what he’s going to do, as soon as he can. I know him better than I know you, Mum – better than you and Dad know each other.’

  Alex frowns. ‘That’s a big claim, El.’

  ‘It’s true. You should have woken me up in time for the bus, Mum.’

  ‘Why did you say “if George escapes”, as if his home’s some kind of prison?’ I ask her.

  ‘Because it is. He’s not allowed to go anywhere, do anything, have friends. It’s prison without the official label.’

  ‘Don’t his parents know you’re his friend?’

  Ellen laughs. ‘No way. They’d go mad.’

  I try to catch Alex’s eye, but he’s busy trying to pull one of Ellen’s balled-up socks out of Figgy’s mouth.

  They would go mad, or they have gone mad?

  What if George’s mother, Professor Anne Donbavand, is the person making the deranged phone calls?

  ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you about George for so long,’ says Ellen. ‘He made me promise. He said if his mum found out about our friendship, she’d lock him in a cupboard to stop him seeing me. She’s a freakoid. George is always saying he wishes he had a mum like you.’

  I hear her, but I can’t take in what she’s saying. Something about her bedroom window has distracted me and provoked a flicker of recognition. As she was speaking, my attent
ion snagged elsewhere, but on what?

  It felt important.

  Was it something I saw outside? I walk over and stare out. Everything looks normal: the grass sloping down to the river, the trees in our garden, the boats on the water, the wooded hillside studded with cottages.

  Nothing is leaping out at me.

  I inspect the window itself and find nothing remarkable or significant, only an ordinary sash window that needs repainting at some point.

  ‘Justine? What’s up?’

  ‘I … Nothing.’ There’s no way I’m telling Alex and Ellen about another strong, illogical feeling that probably means nothing. I’ve used up my allowance for the year, I think.

  Could it be connected to the story Ellen’s writing about the Ingrey family? This is, after all, the same window out of which Malachy Dodd fell to his death, pushed by the evil Perrine.

  But you weren’t even looking at the window, not at first. You were facing the other way, watching Figgy running around in a circle with Ellen’s sock in his mouth. Then you turned to face the window, expecting to see … what?

  ‘Justine, are you with us, darling?’

  My mobile phone starts to ring. The sound clears my head, like a plunge into cold water. ‘Police or psychopath?’ I say brightly as I pull it out of my pocket.

  ‘Or school bus driver, wondering why Ellen never turns up these days,’ says Alex.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘So you’re still there. Bold as brass. You’re not going to go, are you? Well, neither am I. I’m staying put too. You won’t drive me away.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I say quietly. ‘Where are you staying put? Do you live nearby?’

  ‘Why are you doing this to me, Sandie? I’ve kept quiet all these years. I’ve kept a vile secret that I wish I didn’t know because you wanted me to. Not only because I was scared of what you’d do – though I was, terrified – but also to please you. So why are you punishing me now?’