When You Are Mine(97)

‘If it isn’t Philomena McCarthy!’

‘Do you remember every student?’ I ask.

‘Only the naughty ones,’ she jokes.

‘I was never naughty.’

‘You were cheeky. I remember that prank with the business cards.’

In my final year, on our last day before our exams, we printed our names on thousands of business cards and hid them throughout the school, under desks, in cupboards, behind panels, ceiling tiles, in pipes and musical instruments. Those cards are still turning up ten years later.

Pearlie opens her office door and invites me into a cluttered room full of filing cabinets and shelves stacked with box files. Admissions and applications. There is a desk and enough chairs for the prospective parents and a student to be interviewed.

‘What have you been doing with yourself?’ she asks. ‘No, don’t tell me. You became a police officer.’

‘I did.’

‘Mr Shem told me.’ My old drama teacher.

‘Is he still here?’

‘Of course. He’s planning to donate his skull to the drama department for when they do Hamlet.’

‘Alas poor Yorick.’

‘Exactly.’

She has a laugh like a dolphin.

‘You’re too young to have a school-age daughter – what brings you here?’ she asks, cleaning up her desk, moving aside a misshapen pottery coffee cup that was clearly a gift from a student.

‘I wanted to ask you about an old girl, Margaret Brown. She was a few years ahead of me. A vice-captain.’

The change in Pearlie is immediate as her face hardens and her lips tighten into thin lines.

‘Is this a police request?’

‘A personal one.’

‘I can’t talk about former students.’

‘Can you confirm that she was expelled?’

‘She was asked to leave.’

‘Why?’

‘My job is to protect the reputation of St Ursula’s, not to spread scuttlebutt. That was years ago. It was handled correctly and there is nothing more to be said.’

‘What was handled correctly?’

She gives me a watery glare. ‘Philomena, please don’t ask me again.’

‘I’ve heard so many different stories,’ I say. ‘One is that Maggie was caught making out with Caitlin Penney in the changing rooms.’

‘No comment.’

‘Another is that she was having an affair with a male teacher, and that she fell pregnant. There was talk of drugs.’

Pearlie is about to interrupt, but I keep going.

‘This is important,’ I say. ‘Over the past few months, I’ve become friends with Maggie – she calls herself Tempe now – but I’m now concerned about her. She put a tracking app on my phone and has been following me.’

‘Which is nothing to do with the school.’

‘Two days ago, I woke up in Tempe’s bed with no memory of getting there. I think she drugged me and …’

I can’t finish. Pearlie’s hand goes to her mouth. My voice is rising. ‘I’m not asking you to reveal any privileged information. This is between us. It doesn’t leave this room.’

‘I really can’t comment on—’

‘Please. I just need to know. Would you trust her?’

There is a long pause. Pearlie gets to her feet and opens her door. I feel like I’m a schoolgirl being expelled from class. As I pass her, she leans close, her breath against my ear, whispering.

‘No.’





53


There are two reasons why the police execute warrants in the pre-dawn darkness. The first is the obvious one. Like the proverbial early bird, they want to catch the worm when it’s still at home tucked up in bed. The second reason is the element of surprise – nabbing the worm halfway between sleep and wakefulness, giving him or her no time to hide or destroy evidence, or to alert accomplices.

Right now, they are hammering on the front door, shaking the entire house. I’m awake because I have barely slept. Henry takes longer to respond.

‘Who is it?’ he asks groggily.

‘The police.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Who else would it be?’

The knocking grows louder. Front and back now. Taking no chances.

Refusing to meet my fate wearing flannelette pyjamas, I take my robe from a hook in the bathroom and slide my arms through the sleeves as I make my way downstairs. Six officers are standing on my doorstep. Fairbairn is at the front. He has his warrant card in one hand and a search warrant in the other.

‘Good morning. I hope we didn’t wake you.’

‘Not at all. Coffee? Tea?’

The officers push past me and begin searching the house.

The warrant has been signed by a magistrate and issued under Section 8 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. They are looking for evidence of indictable offences.

‘I will allow you to stay in the house as long as you don’t interfere,’ says Fairbairn, following the usual script. ‘A police officer will accompany you while you get dressed.’

Henry has appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed only in boxer shorts. He blocks a detective who tries to get past him. The officer shoves him roughly aside, saying, ‘Touch me again, sir, and I’ll have you arrested.’