Rupert stood at the breakfast buffet dressed in a pale-pink V-neck T-shirt with a white round-neck T-shirt underneath, black straight-leg jeans and brown loafers. He took a bowl and reached for the long handle of a silver serving spoon sticking out of the fruit salad.
‘Morning, Most Handsome,’ said LB, appearing beside him.
‘Morning, Most Joyful,’ said Rupert. He took in her red cheeks, her hair down and wet. ‘Did you go for a run already?’
She nodded. ‘Have you seen the beach?’ She reached for a bowl.
‘How did you sleep?’ said Rupert. ‘Anyone break your door down?’
‘What?’ said LB.
‘Kelly,’ said Rupert. ‘In the penthouse with the daggers.’
Amber, hair wrapped in one fluffy white towel, body wrapped in another, hauled her rucksack up onto the bed and took out a long-sleeved beige top, matching beige trousers and a pair of black boots. She got dressed, brushed her wet hair, and went back over to her bed. She pulled out the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet, took out one of her oracle decks, and started to shuffle.
Kelly woke with a start. She lay very still, waiting for the pounding in her chest to stop. She couldn’t remember the nightmare, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one. She was about to reach out for her phone, then groaned. The sound of screeching birds erupted outside her window.
‘Oh my God. Birds! Shut. Up.’
She slammed her head back onto the pillow. When she rolled over, pulling the covers with her, she saw the grim line of vacant beds, and caught the numbers on the alarm clock: 07:15.
She slapped the covers hard. She heard a scratching sound at the window, and turned to see two white and grey herring gulls pecking on the ledge.
‘No way,’ she said. ‘No way. No way. No way.’
She scrambled out of the bed on the opposite side.
I AM STILL IN THE NIGHTMARE.
Amber walked into the dining room and saw Rupert standing at the juice dispenser, moving his glass back and forth to mix orange and grapefruit juice.
‘Claire Standish, The Breakfast Club,’ blurted Amber as she walked towards him.
‘Correct!’ said Rupert.
LB slapped his arm when he sat back down at the table. ‘That wasn’t fair! You didn’t say you were a girl.’
‘Hate crime!’ said Rupert. ‘Were you trying to guess?’
‘Of course I was,’ said LB. ‘I’m always trying to guess things.’
‘Guess how much Kelly loved her room last night,’ said Amber.
‘I filled her in,’ said Rupert.
‘Well, here’s part two of the story. I just met her on the way to “talk to the management”.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Rupert. ‘We all know what’s going to happen there.’
Johnny sat sideways at his desk, his feet up on a cardboard box beside it, his fingers steepled, staring at Kelly as she finished speaking. Then he lowered his index finger onto a list of rules, in English, that had been sent to the parents and, specifically, to the part that said, ‘must, for the duration of their stay, speak in Irish at all times’. Then he picked up a red Sharpie and underlined it. Then he underlined the rest of the sentence twice: ‘or risk expulsion*’. Then he circled the asterisk and the matching one at the bottom of the page next to the tiny print that said: ‘No refunds.’ Then he drew an exclamation mark. Then he added another one. Then he pointed to his office door.
‘Oh, hold on,’ he said, taking his feet off the cardboard box and sitting up. ‘I’ll walk you back.’
‘I thought we had to talk in Irish,’ said Kelly. ‘And I’m fine.’
Johnny was pulling open the cardboard box. ‘No, you’re not. You’re helping me.’ He took out the top package – black, wrapped in clear plastic with an ‘XL’ on a round sticker in the bottom corner. He searched through the rest of them.
‘How do you say, “One size fits all” in Irish?’ he said. ‘Rhetorical question.’ He ripped open the package and pulled out a black hoodie, holding it up by the shoulders and shaking it out. Across the back, in gold foil cursive, was written Coláiste na Carraige.
‘Nice,’ he said, hanging it on the arm of the chair. ‘Very nice indeed.’
He threw two packages at Kelly, took a pile himself, and pointed to the door again. He followed her out, throwing a package onto the front desk as he walked past.
They arrived at the dining room, and handed out the hoodies to Rupert, Amber and LB who were just finishing breakfast.
‘Where’s the big guy?’ Johnny said.
‘In his room,’ said Rupert, as Kelly sat down beside him.
‘Take his for him,’ said Johnny. He scanned the table. ‘Did he eat? I don’t want anyone to think we’re not feeding you.’
‘He hasn’t come down yet,’ said Rupert.
‘Before I go,’ said Johnny, ‘the only thing I ask of you all is that you wear these on the beach on the last night. For the promo shot.’
‘What if we don’t qualify for the beach party?’ said Kelly.
‘High hopes here,’ said Johnny. ‘Everyone qualifies for the promo shot.’
Kelly gave her one-shoulder shrug.
‘You know it’s a badge of honour to survive this course,’ said Johnny.
‘What if you don’t survive?’ said Kelly.
‘If I don’t,’ said Rupert, holding up his hoodie after Johnny had walked away, ‘please don’t let this be the crime scene in which my body is found.’
Lockie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Tears welled in his eyes. He swiped them away with an angry hand. He looked at the clock. 07:18. And now he had twelve minutes to get up, get ready and get out. He didn’t want to eat. His stomach felt hollowed out. If he knew this was what it was like when you broke up with someone you loved, he never would have fallen in love in the first place. That was one of the main lies he had tried out. He wished he’d never met Clare. That was another. He finally understood the songs he used to skip. Hearing song lyrics was like being stealth-bombed into tears that could happen anywhere, any time. Last night, Rupert had figured out the ancient radio alarm clock and they were blasted awake earlier by some guy singing about his girlfriend breaking up with him.
But Lockie’s wasn’t a break-up. It was a controlled explosion. With a Clare’s-dad-shaped silhouette laughing in the blast. Lockie sucked in a huge breath and held it as he pictured punching that silhouette down, down, down, until it was a flat line.
‘Asshole,’ he said, whipping off the covers, and landing his feet hard on the velvety carpet. He paused, then rubbed them back and forth on the soothing velvet. He stood up. ‘Thank you –’ He walked towards the bathroom – ‘I said to a carpet.’ He shook his head. ‘This is how people lose their mind.’
He paused in front of a long mirror, his blond hair askew, his eyes swollen, the waistband of his white boxers a little rippled, his ribs a little more pronounced. Then his head went straight to Clare, and how she would stand in front of him, tiny, pulling his arms around her, lying back against him as he kissed the top of her head, and then they would look at each other in the reflection and know they looked perfect together and one of them would always say it out loud, but both of them would always know that that had never mattered. Being perfect together, feeling perfect together was the best thing he had ever known. Tears slid down his face again.
Her father was an asshole. His father was an asshole. And all he wanted to do was love the girl he loved.