VIOLET CLAYBOURNE WAS MY ROOMMATE and that’s why we became friends.
I was a quiet, bookish sort of girl, of average height, mousy brown hair, hazel eyes. Prone to freckles. At school, I longed more than anything to fit in, but so often found myself on the margins. There were girls I would sit with on the long wooden lunch benches in the dining hall, those I would gravitate towards at break time where we stood in small gossipy groups sharing our news and opinions, trying not to let ourselves down. But until Violet came along, there was no one I could really call a true friend.
Violet arrived on a sunny September afternoon. The trees outside yellowing. That familiar nip of autumn already in the air. It was the first day of a new term, and the beginning of my sixth year at Heathcomb.
Violet dragged her suitcase into our tiny dorm room then stopped, clearly surprised to see me, as if she had been expecting the room to be unoccupied.
‘We’re roommates,’ I explained.
Dropping the suitcase, she grinned and stuck out her hand, still gloved in red cashmere, a startling adornment to Heathcomb’s dowdy uniform. An inch or so taller than me, she had green eyes and thick, wavy brown hair.
‘Violet Claybourne.’
‘Gillian Larking.’
‘I like Tuesdays, purple, and Atropa Belladonna,’ she said, whipping off her gloves.
I stared at her. ‘At-rop—’
‘A tall bushy plant belonging to the nightshade family.’ She flung her suitcase onto the bed. ‘Highly poisonous.’ She turned to me, her hands on her hips. ‘So we’re to share a room, are we?’
I nodded. ‘We’re in the same form. Form B.’
‘How original,’ said Violet dryly. She glanced around the small, bare space. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if we’re stuck together we may as well stick together. Do you want cake?’
She opened her suitcase and produced half a yellow sponge cake, wrapped in brown paper and secured with a ribbon.
‘Mrs Frith – that’s our cook – insisted I take it with me,’ Violet said, unwrapping a cake knife from a chequered handkerchief. ‘Mother doesn’t like us eating cake. She takes these slimming pills the doctor gives her. They affect her nerves. She’s terrified we’re all going to get fat and no one will want to marry us. Sounds like a reason to eat more, if you ask me.’
‘We’re not supposed to bring food in.’ I stared at the cake with its rich cream filling.
Violet grinned at me. ‘Well, we’ll just have to hide the evidence then, won’t we?’ She sliced a great chunk then licked the cream from her fingers. ‘Here. Have this bit. And don’t worry, I’ve just washed my hands in the bathroom three times, so you won’t get any germs.’
I furrowed my brow. ‘Right.’
We sat on the floor, eating our impromptu picnic. I kept a fearful eye on the door, praying Matron wouldn’t discover us. I wasn’t worried about spoiling my appetite for dinner. The food at Heathcomb was dreadful.
‘Where have you come from?’ I asked between mouthfuls.
Violet swallowed. ‘Come from?’
‘Which school?’
‘Oh, I’ve never been to school,’ Violet replied dismissively. ‘We had governesses, tutors, you know. Not that they lasted long. Emmeline knew it all already. She started working her way through Father’s library when she was five.’
‘Emmeline?’
‘My sister,’ Violet said, messily eating her cake. ‘I’ve got two of them. Emmeline – she’s the eldest. Almost twenty-three now. And then there’s Laura. She’s just turned eighteen.’
I tried not to show how impressed I was with Violet having older sisters. I was an only child. My mother had died during my birth and I had lived in Egypt until I was nine years old, before my father decided to send me to boarding school in England. He had since remarried and his wife had given birth to a little boy. I’d never met either of them. Although he wrote me short, termly letters, I got the impression my father didn’t want much to do with me and was preoccupied with his new family. I felt I had been a disgrace to him from the moment I was born. I had, after all, killed my mother. Even so, I knew my father was a cold and distant man. He had lost the ability to feel too deeply. First the war, then the death of the woman he loved. Something inside him had cracked like an egg, leaving a vacancy that could never quite be filled.
Being, in my mind, an only child, I could think of nothing better than to have sisters. I often wondered what it would be like to be a part of a larger family, to have siblings with whom you shared your intimate thoughts and secrets, and who would defend you to the last should you ever need defending. I imagined sisters gave a person an extra layer of protection against the world and I longed for that protection. Life, for me, always felt a little too raw and sharp at the edges. Having sisters, I thought, would be like putting on another layer of much thicker skin.
‘Laura’s still at home,’ Violet went on. ‘But Emmeline’s at Oxford studying Classics.’
Once again, I was impressed. I knew of very few girls who had gone to university and I hardly dared dream it might be something I could one day do myself. A teacher had suggested it could be a possibility for me, but I was unsure. I did well enough in school, but not exceptionally well, and I doubted my father would pay for me to stay on. I would have to ask him, which would require a carefully worded letter, and I hated asking my father for anything.
‘Your sister must be very clever,’ I murmured.
‘Oh, she is,’ replied Violet. ‘Too clever for her own good, Mummy says. And there was an awful row about Oxford. Mummy didn’t want her to go. She thought Emmeline would become too lofty and that no one would want to marry her. But Daddy said Emmeline could go if she wanted. He’s a soft touch, you see.’ Violet smiled. ‘Anyway, Emmeline was always going to get her own way. She usually does.’ She paused to pick a few stray cake crumbs from her dress. ‘What a nuisance it is we have to wear these itchy frocks. Do we have to keep them on all the time?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. ‘Except for games, of course. Why? What do you go about in at home?’
Violet grinned. ‘Slacks – if I can get away with it. They’re much more practical. I’ve a lovely pair of brown ones. But Mummy is always trying to get me into a frock.’ She laughed.
I smiled uncertainly.
‘You’ve got a lot of books,’ Violet said, eyeing my night table.
‘Only a few favourites,’ I said. Piled up there was Jane Eyre, Great Expectations and The Woman in White. I had been an avid reader since I was a child. Books had always been my companions, a way of escaping my dreary and very ordinary life – not any better in England than it had been in Egypt.
‘Mummy says Emmeline’s nose is permanently stuck in a book and it will do her no good.’
‘And your other sister – Laura – does she read?’
Violet frowned. ‘Laura reads Tatler. She loves the society pages.’
I had magazines too but I didn’t admit this to Violet. The magazines were my guilty secret. I bought them (along with Fry’s chocolate bars) from the village shop using the small allowance my father sent me, stuffing them up my pinafore and carrying them furtively back to my room. The magazines featured true romance stories with titles like ‘A Night Too Long’ and ‘The Test of Love’, along with fashion and beauty tips. Although I enjoyed the stories about breathless aching women caught in the arms of unsuitable men, what I really loved were the advertisements: glamorous models in red lipstick, telling me that the right face cream, pair of silk stockings, or a Camel cigarette could change my life. I believed in them. I would gaze at my favourite models over and over, scrutinising their faces, the sharpness of their cheekbones, the thickness of their eyelashes, their coy smiles. I sat in front of the mirror holding my hair up to my chin, imagining what I might look like without my pigtails and freckles, with my lips painted and my cheeks rouged.
I swallowed another mouthful of cake. It really was delicious. ‘What about you then?’ I asked. ‘Do you like books?’
Violet reached into her suitcase and produced an extremely tatty copy of Peter Pan and Wendy. ‘It’s my favourite,’ she announced. ‘We went to see the play at the theatre in London.’ She waved the book at me. ‘After I read it, I knew that no book could ever be as good, so I stick to this one. I must have read it a hundred times.’
Before I could comment, Violet had moved over to the window and was throwing it open, letting in a chilly blast. She stuck her head out, peered upwards, then turned to look at me.
‘I wanted to ask you, Gilly,’ (no one had ever called me Gilly) ‘how do we get up on the roof? I was looking at it from the drive when Higgins was fetching my things from the car. You’d be able to see the whole grounds from up there. It must be a splendid view.’
‘It is possible to get up there,’ I said, pleased to be given the opportunity to tell Violet something I knew. ‘There’s a staircase at the end of the fifth-floor corridor. But of course we wouldn’t be allowed.’
Violet looked surprised. ‘Why ever not?’
‘We just wouldn’t be.’
‘At least show me the staircase,’ she said, grabbing hold of my arm. ‘Show me now.’
‘I really don’t think we should,’ I said. ‘We’re supposed to be in our rooms. Settling in.’
‘I only want to see the staircase. And you’re meant to be showing me around, aren’t you?’
* * *
The hallways and stairwells were busy with girls arriving, hugging each other, expressing joy or dismay over their new rooms. Violet, I noticed, kept close to me. She seemed alarmed by the cacophony of excited girls.
‘Gosh, it’s loud,’ she said, her eyes darting from left to right. ‘In my house people creep about the place and keep to their own quarters. My mother would never stand for any of this screeching.’
‘It’s because they’ve just arrived,’ I told her. ‘Matron will soon quieten them down.’
We continued to weave our way through the throng and up to the much quieter fifth floor.
‘Shh,’ I said, placing a finger over my lips. ‘Some of the teachers have their rooms up here. I doubt anyone is in now, but still . . .’
Violet nodded, but as soon as we reached the little staircase she let out a squeak of enthusiasm. Before I could stop her, she was leaping up the stairs two at a time.
‘Violet, no!’ I said, panicking.
It was too late. She was at the top of the stairs, rattling the door handle. To my surprise, the door opened and she disappeared.
‘Violet!’ I called after her. ‘You mustn’t!’
I ran up the stairs and out onto the roof. Violet was standing next to a chimney stack, her face to the sun, the breeze lifting her hair. ‘Isn’t it marvellous, Gilly? I told you it would be.’
I stopped and looked around me, amazed at how much sky there was. I could see the chapel, the tennis courts and the playing field that stretched to the trees.
Violet walked to the edge and put her hands on the low lip of the wall.
‘Be careful,’ I said.
She turned and grinned at me. ‘Are you always such a worrywart?’
‘We must go back,’ I said, ignoring her. ‘We’ll get into an awful lot of trouble if we’re caught up here.’
Violet sighed. ‘If we really must. But we should come up here again, Gilly. Just think, at night we could see the stars.’
I shook my head. Clearly Violet had no idea what punishments would be bestowed on us if we were caught out of our rooms at night, let alone on the roof.
‘It’s the perfect place for Elvore,’ said Violet.
‘Elvore?’
‘A magical land. Full of enchanted forests and castles and dragons. I go there often with my sisters.’
Before I could reply, a stern voice called out from somewhere behind us. ‘Hello? Hello? Is there someone out here?’
Startled, Violet and I immediately ducked down behind a chimney stack.
‘A teacher?’ Violet whispered.
I nodded, my heart in my mouth.
The door closed with a bang. Neither of us moved. We sat there, waiting until we were sure the coast was clear.
‘Do you think they’ve gone?’ Violet asked.
‘Yes, I should think so.’
‘That was close, wasn’t it?’
Come on,’ I said. ‘We’d really better go back now.’ I returned to the door but when I tried it, I couldn’t get it open.
‘Violet,’ I called to her in dismay. ‘The door is stuck. Come and help me.’
Violet bounded over and rattled the handle. ‘Gosh, do you think it’s possible that teacher – whoever they were – might have locked the door?’
I looked at Violet, the horrible realisation settling in my stomach.
‘I think we’re probably locked out, Gilly,’ Violet said.
I could feel the panic rising in my throat. ‘No,’ I said. ‘We can’t be.’ I pushed my body against the solid door but it didn’t budge. I tried the handle again. Nothing.
‘Yup, we’re definitely locked out,’ said Violet cheerfully. ‘They’ll have to send someone to rescue us.’
I could feel my eyelids pricking and, not wanting Violet to see, I turned away. ‘No one will know we’re even up here,’ I managed to say. ‘We might not even be missed until they do the head count at lights out.’
‘Then we will get to see the stars,’ said Violet.
‘You don’t understand . . . We’ll be punished. Maybe even expelled.’
‘Well, that’s all right,’ said Violet, pouting. ‘I never even wanted to come to this stupid school in the first place. I already miss Fee Fee.’
‘Who’s Fee Fee?’
‘My pet rabbit.’
I put my face in my hands. It was too much. To be stuck up here. To get into this kind of trouble on the first day of the new school year. Even if we weren’t expelled, we’d be laughed at by the other girls for weeks. The thought of being excluded sent a cold shiver of fear up my spine. If I was going to support myself after leaving Heathcomb, I needed to finish school, to complete my exams. It wasn’t that the thought of staying on appealed to me; I despised school. But I knew I needed options. ‘Marry well,’ had always been Aunt Ada’s advice. I wasn’t sure this was something I could rely on.
Violet, sensing my distress, touched my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Gilly,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to . . .’
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and took a few shaky breaths. Violet was still looking at me.
‘I’ll make it all right, Gilly. I promise. Please don’t be upset.’
‘You can’t,’ I said. ‘It’s done now.’
Violet walked briskly to the edge of the roof. ‘We’ll call for help,’ she said, peering over the edge. ‘When we see someone.’
My heart was heavy. I thought of us waving and shouting like victims of a sinking ship. I imagined the door opening, Miss Tankard’s stony face. I think you had both better come with me, girls.
Violet was still leaning over the edge of the roof.
‘Please,’ I said, sniffing. ‘Be careful.’
‘Look,’ said Violet. ‘There’s a window open just below us. See?’
I peered cautiously over. A few feet below us was a window. Below it, a thick concrete ledge.
‘The fifth-floor lavatories,’ I said glumly.
‘I think we could get down,’ said Violet.
I looked at her in disbelief. There was no way I was climbing over the edge of the roof and dropping onto a windowsill. If we slipped, we would certainly fall to our deaths.
‘I’m sure we could do it,’ said Violet. ‘We just need to hang on to the drainpipe. Once we’re on the ledge, we’ll be fine.’
I looked at her, aghast.
‘And we’ll easily get through the window. We’re hardly heifers, are we?’
Violet had a foot up on the low lip of the wall. She began to tuck her pinafore dress into her knickers.
‘Violet, please. It’s too dangerous.’
Before I had a chance to say anything else, she’d hopped over the edge.
I let out a cry of alarm then leaned over, half expecting to see her crushed body lying on the gravel below. But there she was, clinging to the drainpipe.
As I watched, she shimmied down until she reached the deep sill. I could hardly bear to look as she transferred her grip, one hand at a time, from the drainpipe to the top of the window.
She managed to get a leg through, then sort of slithered in, feet first. Her face appeared a moment later, beaming up at me. ‘I told you it would be easy, Gilly. Come on.’
I shook my head.
Violet sighed. ‘I’ll have to fetch a teacher then. Tell them you’re locked out.’
I shut my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. I’d be known as a troublemaker for the rest of the school year. The other girls would avoid me, not wanting to be damned by association. I almost felt death would be preferable.
‘It’s perfectly all right. I promise,’ Violet called up to me. ‘I know you can do it, Gilly.’
I glanced back at the locked door, then took a deep breath. What choice did I have? But there was no way I was tucking my dress into my underwear. If I fell to my death, at least my dignity would remain intact.
I gripped the top of the roof as Violet had done, then swung my legs over, lowering myself down and feeling with my feet for the bracket that held the drainpipe to the wall.
‘That’s it, Gilly,’ Violet called out. ‘Now just wriggle down.’
The drainpipe felt rough and flaky under my hands. I had my arms and legs wrapped around it. It wobbled a little on a loose bracket. I looked down and gasped. The ground was a very long way below me. Suddenly, everything was spinning – a confusion of sky, brick and gravel. I closed my eyes.
‘Come on, Gilly, you have to keep going.’
I opened my eyes. Violet, still craning her neck up at me, looked worried. I stared at her. I couldn’t move. My limbs had frozen. The sensation was terrifying. I had visions of the whole school out on the lawn staring up at me as I clung, petrified, to the rusty drainpipe. I’d be there for hours. I imagined fire engines. Reporters. The locals in the village who had all come to get a good look at the girl stuck between the roof and the lavatory window. The crowd would part as I finally slipped and fell. They wouldn’t even bother to put a bench up in my name. She brought it on herself with her foolishness, our teachers would say. Let that be a warning to you, girls. I’d exist only as one of those school legends, like the story of the girl who was flung from a deranged horse and killed in ’23, and who was said to haunt the stables.
‘Put your left foot on the window ledge,’ Violet instructed. ‘It’s easy. Come on now.’
I shook my head. I could hear the ringing of the bell and thought, vaguely, of girls rushing towards the dining hall, unaware that I was out here, my hands growing sweaty as I clung desperately on to the drainpipe.
‘Put your foot on the window ledge, Gilly,’ Violet said again. ‘Let go of the drainpipe and hold onto the window frame.’
I moved my foot a fraction towards the ledge.
‘That’s it,’ said Violet encouragingly.
I really am going to die, I thought. I’m never going to see my sixteenth birthday. I’ll never have known anything but Heathcomb; cold dorm rooms, rows of giggling porridge-scoffing girls with hockey-bruised legs, winter mornings spent lunging pathetically at lacrosse balls, the grey soap smell that permeated the dingy corridors. This will have been my entire life. And now it was over.
The thought was such a depressing one that I heaved myself onto the ledge, gripping the top of the window and squatting down. Violet cheered and guided my shaking legs through the window. I tumbled through, falling on top of her. After a stunned moment, I struggled to my feet.
Violet was brushing herself off. ‘See. I told you I’d get us out of it. You just had to trust me. Now, what was that horrible ringing sound?’
‘The dinner bell,’ I choked, overcome with relief that I had done it, that I was still alive. My heart beat furiously in my chest. Heathcomb would not, I decided, be my life. There was more, there had to be. And now that I wasn’t lying dead on the gravel outside the gymnasium windows, I vowed I would no longer be poor, quiet, shy, put-upon Gillian. I would rise to whatever heights I might be capable of rising to.
‘Well, come on then,’ said Violet, untucking her dress. ‘Let’s go to dinner, shall we? All that clambering about has worked up my appetite.’
I stared at her, unable to work out if I liked her, or if she was completely mad.