Miss Bibsmore grabbed the flask, opened it up and sniffed the contents. Star was totally oblivious to anything as she rapturously cuddled and stroked her snake. Honey stood behind her nemesis, giggling.
Miss Bibsmore turned to her. ‘You think this is funny, do you, madam?’
Honey didn’t stop laughing as Miss Bibsmore waved the flask in her face. ‘I presume by your inappropriate laughter that this item is yours then, madam!’
Honey sneered so hard that the uneven bubble of collagen in her upper-lip looked like a giant blister about to burst. ‘Don’t be insane. Why would it be mine? This isn’t even my room!’
‘I may not have all the whys and wherefores yet, missy, but mark my words, I’m on to you, Miss O’Hare.’
‘And my daddy’s lawyers are on to you, so I’d be very careful about defaming my reputation if I were you, Miss Bibsmore.’
‘If you were me? If you were me?’ Miss Bibsmore squealed and then cackled mirthlessly in a mad-ish sort of way. ‘If you were me, you’d know what it is like looking after ungrateful spoilt girls like yourself, Miss O’Hare. You wouldn’t last a day on my legs.’
Honey, her hands on her hips, rolled her yes and replied, ‘Oh go back to your squalid 1950s-decorated flat, you mad old witch.’
Miss Bibsmore ignored her as she took another sniff of the flask and then stuck one of her stumpy fingers inside, tipped it up and licked her finger loudly. She looked around at us, taking in each girl in turn with a piercing look that seemed to reach right down to our very souls – well, that’s how it felt to me. Honey merely flopped idly on Indie’s bed and started shuffling through the stuff in her bedside drawer. Star ignored her too, as she was still stroking Brian. And as for Tobias, well, he was lying lifelessly on the floor with his inside fluff spewing out, so his soul was bared for all to see anyway.
‘Well, is anyone going to own up to this?’ Miss Bibsmore demanded, holding the flask in the air. ‘Because it didn’t get ‘ere by magic!’
Honey, looked up innocently. ‘How do we know it’s not yours, Miss Bibsmore?’
‘Don’t you cheek me, Missy; I’ll have your guts for garters, I will an’ all.’
Honey looked the picture of blond-haired, blue-eyed innocence. ‘I’m not cheeking you, Miss Bibsmore. I’m being deadly serious. How do we know you’re not a secret drunk? Or perhaps you planted it? People like you are always planting things because you’re bored and envious. I know it must be hard for you, being surrounded by beautiful teenage girls day and night, but really, Miss Bibsmore, turning to drink is never a solution.’ Honey said all this casually, without even looking up as she searched more deeply in Indie’s bedside cabinet.
Miss Bibsmore shuffled over towards her. ‘The only thing I’ll be planting, Miss O’Hare, is a mountain of blues on top of you.’
Honey remained unfazed. ‘Well, given that the flask was found on Tobias, common sense would seem dictate it is his. After all, he’s always been a bit out there hasn’t he, darling?’ She directed this comment to Star, who predictably enough ignored her.
‘I suppose you think that’s funny, Miss O’Hare?’
Honey ignored her. ‘Oh look, Indie uses a vibrator,’ she declared, as she pulled a phallic-shaped pair of hair-straightening tongs out of Indie’s drawer.
Miss Bibsmore raised her voice. ‘I’ll ask again. Who is responsible for this,’ she yelled menacingly holding out the flask.
‘Sorry, are you offering us a drink, Miss?’ Honey asked blinking innocently. ‘Because I wouldn’t want to have to report you, Miss Bibsmore.’
Star and I said nothing. I was hoping that if we stayed quiet for long enough, Miss Bibsmore would grow tired of standing there holding up the flask and shuffle off. Deep down I knew that wasn’t likely, but Honey had turned the straightening tongs on and was using them on her hair which created this weird sense that everything was actually completely normal. Just another day in dorm-hell with Honey that would eventually pass just like all the others had.
‘Lost the power of speech, ‘ave we, girls? Well, perhaps you can tell me who owns the bear then?’
I looked at poor Tobias and wondered how Georgina was going to take it, seeing him splattered on the floor like road kill. But then I reminded myself that she must have opened him up and concealed the flask inside him in the first place. Then Star announced, ‘It’s my bear, Miss Bibsmore.’
‘Yours?’ Miss Bibsmore repeated, as if not quite accepting the fact. ‘Yes. Mine, Miss.’
‘Pass me the bear,’ Miss Bibsmore insisted.
Honey bent down, grabbed the ripped Tobias with all his insides coming out and flung him at her. Miss Bibsmore caught him adroitly and examined him carefully. ‘Well, I can’t see a name tag so at the very least whoever owns the item’ll be receiving two blue tickets, one for ‘aving a personal item untagged and another for ‘aving a pet in the dorm,’ she said, pointing to Brian. ‘As for this’ – she held up the flask again – ‘we’ll have to see what Sister Constance has to say. You can come with me,’ she said, pointing to Star. ‘As can you, madam,’ she added, pointing a gnarled finger at Honey.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you, Miss O’Hare. Now hurry along, you can carry the bear and the flask, and no funny business neither.’
‘Why me? This isn’t even my room, that’s not my bear, and I haven’t got a pet in the dorm.’
Miss Bibsmore pressed her face close to Honey’s. ‘Because, Miss O’Hare, I don’t like the cut of your jib.’ ‘I’ll come too,’ I blurted.
Miss Bibsmore looked at me beadily. ‘If you wish. But I don’t advise it, Miss Kelly.’
Star shook her head at me, a gesture that caught Miss Bibsmore’s eye.
‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but I smell a rat.’
For a moment I thought she meant Hilda, but then I realised the seriousness of the matter and began to contemplate the consequences of what could happen. A sinking feeling fell upon me as I followed Star and Brian, who were following Honey with Tobias and the flask. Behind us was the sinister tap, tap, tapping of Miss Bibsmore’s stick as we made our way to Sister Constance’s office.
As we filed down the corridors lined with a century’s worth of photographs of illustrious old girls, and shelves of trophies, plaques and other evidence of their achievements, I felt humbled and unworthy. I’d never really imagined a plaque to Calypso Kelly, but the realisation that I might never have one made me feel like I was squandering my life.
I know that probably sounds melodramatic for a fourteen- (and nine and a half months) year-old, but then Bob doesn’t call me Queen of the Doomsday Prophecies for nothing.