Ellie has been working fruitlessly on her portfolio for almost half an hour in a noisy, rudderless class of fellow Year Thirteen students, when Edward Morgan finally appears. ‘Sorry, gang,’ he says, throwing his blazer onto the back of his chair. ‘Mrs Crowe asked me to attend an urgent meeting, but it’s good to see you’ve been making progress in my absence. I know you don’t need any reminders from me about your looming deadline.’
Ellie casts a guilty glance at the near-blank page laid in front of her. Progress is not a word she can lay claim to this week.
‘Is it true there was a press conference outside the school?’ Jasmine calls out.
‘Word travels fast, I see.’ Edward nods. ‘Yes, it’s true.’
‘What about?’
‘The police have made an arrest.’ There’s a rising murmur from the students around the room. ‘I’m sure you’ll be told more in due course, but Mrs Crowe wanted to address the situation publicly. She felt it would be helpful to distance the school.’
‘Who’s been arrested?’ It’s Jasmine again, but Ellie is as curious as the rest of them.
‘I’m sure we’ll know more soon, but hopefully you’ll all feel a little safer now that the police have taken someone into custody.’ Edward’s gaze comes to land on Ellie and she glances away, her own experience at the police station earlier that week still all too clear in her mind. ‘It’s been a frightening time for everyone,’ he adds softly.
‘Does Olivia know about the arrest?’ Jasmine presses.
‘I believe Sarah’s family have been informed. I’m sure Olivia will join us as soon as she’s ready. Now, let’s get back to work.’
Edward moves around the studio, examining portfolios, offering advice and encouragement on their various projects. Ellie keeps her head down. She can’t concentrate. She needs to finish the supporting essay that is to sit alongside her installation, but she can’t focus. All she has is a heading written in bold capitals, made to look as if they drip down the page: ART AS PROTEST. She’s tried to write more, but the words won’t come. She’s so incredibly tired. All she feels like doing is crawling beneath her table, curling into a ball and sleeping for a week.
Seeing Edward circling closer, she slides off her stool and heads to the sinks. There are two boxes of brushes and paints waiting to be unpacked so she slices them open with a Stanley knife and restocks the supply shelves, working slowly, hoping to draw out the time. When she can stall no longer, she folds the empty boxes and places the knife back on its wall hook before returning to her seat.
Seconds later, Edward materialises at her bench. He’s been waiting for her, she feels sure of it. Standing at her shoulder, she knows his gaze is roaming over her workbook and she has to fight the urge to cover the empty page with her hands.
‘How are you getting on, Ellie?’
‘OK,’ she lies.
‘You’ve been very secretive about this project. You’re confident you’ll hit the deadline?’
Ellie turns to find him staring not at her work, but at her. She swallows, caught out by the concern in his eyes, overcome by a sudden urge to confide in him. She wants to tell him how distracted she’s been, how hard she’s found it to sleep, how impossible it is to focus on anything, when all she can seem to think about is Sarah and what happened to her in the woods that night. She clears her throat, unsure how to share her thoughts in the whisper-quiet studio, reluctant to have her private worries spill out into public gossip, when the sound of the studio door squeaking open saves her.
Everyone turns to look as Olivia Easton slips into the classroom. Realising she is the focal point, she gives a brave half-smile. Jasmine, who is closest to the door, moves across and offers an awkward hug which Olivia accepts, standing stiffly in the girl’s embrace. Ellie can see Olivia’s usually glowing skin is a pallid grey, her hair scraped back into a limp ponytail, dark circles beneath her eyes. Ellie thinks she looks like shit and feels a surge of sympathy.
‘It must be such a relief to know they’ve caught the person who did it?’ Jasmine carries on, clumsy in her role as the self-appointed welcome committee.
Olivia nods.
‘We’ve got you. You know that, right?’
‘Will you excuse me for a moment, Ellie?’ Edward leaves her side and goes to join Olivia. He tactfully disentangles her from Jasmine’s clutches and sends the well-meaning girl back to her easel. Ellie watches as he speaks in low murmurs with Olivia, the girl lowering her lashes, her chin wobbling. Ellie hates herself for the small twist of jealousy that Edward’s attentions should have been diverted. Olivia’s been through hell. She’s lost her cousin – her best friend. She wouldn’t want to swap places with her. Not for anything. Who is she to begrudge her Edward’s attention?
Olivia gestures to her workstation. ‘I’ll work through break, if that’s OK? I should try to catch up.’
‘Good for you,’ says Edward. ‘Just do what you can today. No pressure.’
Tears well in Olivia’s eyes and Ellie wonders if she’s about to lose it completely, but then she turns and makes her way to her easel and sits for a moment as if in a daze, before reaching into her bag for a sketch book and a case of charcoals.
Ellie is wracked with guilt. Her lack of focus is even more shaming in the face of Olivia’s effort. If she can haul herself into school in the midst of her grief and work on her portfolio, Ellie has no excuses.
For the next twenty minutes, Ellie attempts to write the introductory paragraph of her statement, grateful when the bell rings to signal the end of the period. As she packs her equipment, Edward returns to her work bench and pulls up a stool. ‘Have you got a moment? We didn’t finish our chat. Tell me, honestly, how’s it going?’ He fixes her with a steady gaze.
There’s nowhere to hide. ‘I know it doesn’t look like I’ve done much, but I’ll get it finished.’
‘I didn’t mean your work. I meant you.’
Ellie glances around the studio. Jasmine is waving to her from the door, her portfolio under one arm, gesturing something that either means she’ll wait outside or see her later. The other students trickle out behind her, until only Olivia remains, mixing her paints by the sink. Ellie sighs. ‘I’m OK. You know… hard week.’
‘Your mum had a word with me. She’s worried about you.’
Ellie doesn’t like to think about her mum talking with her tutors.
‘I’m going to make an educated guess that you don’t find it particularly easy talking to our school counsellor, given that she’s also your mum,’ he adds with a wry smile.
Ellie stares down at her feet. ‘I guess not.’
‘If you ever want to talk, Ellie, my door’s always open. I told your mum I’d keep an eye out for you, and I meant it. Sometimes, it’s easier to confide in someone who isn’t family.’
His kindness threatens to crack open that rock-hard place inside her. Emotion rises in her throat. Don’t cry, she wills, brushing angrily at her eyes.
‘Have you been sleeping?’ he asks. ‘Eating?’
She shakes her head. ‘Not much.’ She casts a glance in Olivia’s direction then lowers her voice, words she’s held so tightly coming in a sudden rush. ‘I keep thinking about the woods. The party. I think about Sarah all the time… if I could’ve done something different.’ Ellie takes a breath. ‘I wonder who hurt her. If she was frightened. If she tried to run.’
Edward leans back and regards her. ‘It’s understandable her death has affected you. Going over everything with the police must’ve been traumatising.’
She nods. ‘I know I need to focus on my work. If I want to get into art college…’ She shakes her head. ‘I just can’t concentrate. What happened between Sarah and me… I just wish… wish I could…’ She shrugs. ‘I don’t know… say sorry, I guess.’ She wipes at the tear that has spilled down her cheek.
‘You can’t bury feelings, Ellie. Sometimes you have to confront them head on, even when they feel overwhelming. Bottling things up doesn’t help. I bet your mum tells you that?’
Ellie nods. ‘Sometimes.’
Edward looks thoughtful. He scratches his chin. ‘Do you trust me?’ he asks.
Ellie nods.
He leans in and rests a hand on her shoulder, the tips of his fingers warm where they press lightly on the fabric of her shirt. ‘I’ve got an idea. Something that might help. Will you come with me?’
‘Where?’
‘Sometimes, we have to go back to move forward.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Sometimes,’ he says, already standing, tugging at his tie and pulling it from around his neck before grabbing a set of keys and his leather jacket from a hook by his desk, ‘we have to visit the place that frightens us most.’
Ellie looks across at Olivia. She is watching them, surreptitiously, but ducks her head behind her easel when she spots Ellie’s glance.
‘Come on,’ says Edward, slipping through the doorway, beckoning for her to follow. Ellie frowns but reaches for her own coat.
Out in the foggy forecourt in front of the studio, he surprises her by heading for the motorbike standing at an angle beneath an overhanging tree. ‘Where are we going?’ she asks again, as he removes a spare helmet from a tail pack on the rear of the bike and hands it to her.
He smiles. ‘You said you trusted me.’
She knows there must be a hundred other things he could be doing with his time, a hundred other students he could be helping, and she certainly doesn’t want to appear childish or ungrateful, so she puts the helmet on and clambers awkwardly onto the seat behind him.
‘You ever been on a motorbike before?’ he asks over his shoulder.
‘No,’ she says.
‘Well, you’re going to have to hold on, if you don’t want to fall. And lean into the bends. If you fight them, we both come off.’
Clumsily, she reaches round and grabs his leather jacket.
‘Tighter,’ he says, and she can hear the amusement in his voice. ‘Trust me, you’ll want to hold on.’
He starts the engine then reverses the machine, walking it away from the kerb before revving a couple of times. The world around them is cloaked in white, but she can just make out a figure on the top step of the art studio, one that recedes over her shoulder as they pull away. If it’s Jasmine, she knows she’ll never hear the end of this. A ‘special trip’ with Edward. She’ll be tormented for the rest of the year with jokes and jibes. Teacher’s pet. Ellie feels a flash of irritation at her mum for asking Edward to look out for her, for putting her in this position. Then Edward opens the throttle.
For a split second, Ellie thinks they are falling, the angle of the machine and their balance on it precarious and frightening. But then they are flying, the bike growling beneath them, and Ellie is lost to the adrenalin and excitement of the motion, the fog seeming to part before them as they glide across campus towards the main gates, like a stone skimming water.
She watches the blurry outline of familiar school buildings slide by, sinking down a little deeper into her seat as the ghostly forms of students emerge then fade. At the iron gates, Edward slows then pulls over to allow another vehicle through first, a police car moving fast, blue lights flashing.
‘They weren’t going to stop,’ she shouts, the words catching as she remembers her own ride to the station in the back of a police car earlier that week. ‘Wonder what they want now?’
Edward turns and shouts over his shoulder, his words half-muffled beneath his helmet. ‘Don’t think about that. Let’s focus on what you need.’
Ellie twists in her seat and watches the blue lights fade to white and the iron gates disappearing into the fog. It’s the strangest feeling, watching the school dissolve, as if she’s vanishing entirely, being swallowed whole by the vast, white wildness around them. What does she need? She has no idea, but perhaps disappearing for a little while into this strange, muted world isn’t the worst thing to do.