Her mind reeling from this litany of demands, Allie nodded mutely before realising her grandmother couldn’t see her.
‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘Agreed.’
But Lucinda wasn’t finished. ‘Good. Understand this, Allie: violate any part of our agreement and our deal is off. I don’t want to but I will cut you loose if I have to. And you do not want to be out there on your own, I promise you.
‘But give me everything I’ve asked for and, I swear to you, I will give you your revenge.’
By the time Allie left Isabelle’s office, the light had begun to fade from the sky.
She felt exposed, walking through the halls in her street clothes, surrounded by the students in their matching dark blue blazers with the white Cimmeria crest over their hearts. Even with her head down, she could sense curious eyes studying her, hear quiet voices whispering, giggling. But when she glanced up no one met her gaze. She was invisible.
Hurrying her pace, she sped up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory wing and then down the quiet narrow hall to her bedroom. Once inside she leaned back against the door – relishing the privacy. But when she turned on the lights, she stopped in her tracks.
Her room was spotless.
The dirty clothes had disappeared. Papers had been filed. Books were lined up on well-dusted shelves. The wooden floors had been swept and mopped; the bed covered in a crisp white duvet, a blue blanket folded neatly over the footboard.
This was a message from Isabelle and Allie heard it, loud and clear: no more special favours.
In the mirror by the door, she caught a glimpse of her wild hair and smeared makeup. She already knew she reeked of cider and sweat.
She didn’t belong in this room looking like that.
Stripping off her grubby jeans and jumper, Allie wrapped herself in a warm dressing gown, grabbed a fluffy white towel and headed for the door.
At the last second, though, she turned back and picked the clothes up from the floor, dropping them in the laundry basket in the corner.
A deal was a deal.
‘Satisfied?’ she asked the empty room.
As she made her way down the hall she tried to clear her head of the memory of Mark’s expression as she told him she’d decided to stay at Cimmeria. Isabelle had given them a few minutes alone before he was put on a train back to London.
‘You must be joking.’ Disbelief had filled his eyes. ‘I’ve just been held prisoner. For hours. You’re covered in scars and your teachers are fascists, but suddenly everything’s fine?’
Allie hadn’t known what to say. How could she explain to an outsider everything she now knew?
‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s a lot you don’t know —’
He’d cut her off with an impatient gesture. ‘Come on, Allie. I’ve seen your school – it’s like a bleedin’ castle. And I’ve heard how you talk – you were always a little posh but now you sound like the bloody Queen.’
Stung, Allie felt the blood rush to her face. ‘That’s not fair, Mark. I’m still the same person.’
‘No you’re not.’ With his hands resting on his narrow hips, he studied her as if he was seeing her for the first time. ‘Maybe you don’t know it but it’s obvious to me. You’re not one of us any more. You’re one of them.’
Remembering how he’d looked at her then, Allie shivered and pulled the robe more tightly around her.
With a sigh, she pushed open the door to the girls’ bathroom. It was blessedly empty at this hour. In a pure white shower cubicle, she turned the hot water up until the temperature teetered on the brink of painful and let it flood over her, washing away the grime of the last twenty-four hours.
She ran the soap across her skin, noticing the changes the car accident had made to her body – the scars were slick bumps beneath her fingertips.
Each one was a reminder of what she still had to do.
Something Dr Cartwright had said to her in one of their meetings nagged at her. ‘It is OK,’ he’d said, ‘for you to be alive even if Jo isn’t.’
She hadn’t believed him at the time.
But maybe he was right, she thought now. Because I have to be alive to kill Gabe.
Back in her bedroom, she wrestled a comb through her tangled hair and dabbed on foundation. But even when she’d done it, dark shadows still underlined her grey eyes; her skin looked sallow.
Flinging open the wardrobe, she surveyed the row of dark blue options in front of her. The choice of what to wear at Cimmeria was rarely complicated. Dark tights and a short pleated skirt went on first. Then a crisp, white, button-down blouse topped by a blue blazer. A pair of sensible, school-issued shoes and she was fully disguised as a Cimmeria student.
She glanced at her watch – it was nearly dinner-time.
Now, she thought with grim determination, let the atoning begin.
As she hurried down the stairs, the low roar of conversation and laughter emanating from the crowded dining hall grew gradually louder. The happy buzz felt alien and for a long moment she stood outside, unable to make herself go in. She’d been skipping dinners for weeks.
But in her office today Isabelle had made it clear that was no longer an option. She had to be in the dining room on time for every meal from now on, as The Rules required.
That was just one of many things Allie had agreed to do. Because once she’d agreed to stay, Isabelle had read her the riot act.
Allie would attend all classes and make up for all the work she’d missed so far this term. She would maintain perfect grades.