Chapter One She woke from a restless sleep. The room, as ever, was cold, but as was often the case these days, Miranda’s forehead was dotted with tiny beads of perspiration. With sleep had come the nightmares. They had come every night since the accident and it was becoming difficult to separate them from reality; she always seemed to wake to the sound of someone softly calling her name. But it was the stern voice of her Aunt Kath that now assaulted Miranda’s ears from downstairs and summoned her to breakfast. For a moment she ignored the call and pulled the duvet over her head counting to herself, ‘One – two – three,’ and with certain predictability, her aunt called her again, ‘Miranda, are you up yet?’ ‘Yes, I’m coming,’ she shouted, her tone suggesting a hint of rebellion. For most of the time these days, Miranda resided at High Firs; a boarding school for girls, just outside the small town of Castle Bishop on the Welsh border, where her aunt had secured her a place, that was Miranda’s destination today. She emerged from her bed into the chilly air of the small box room. The room, which was on the third floor of the Victorian terrace was drab in comparison to the rest of the house, gloomy, no more than a storage room for junk. Miranda grabbed a thick pair of socks and her dressing gown and put them on as quickly as possible before opening the curtains a few inches. Ice had formed on the inside of the window; she rubbed away a section of the frosty layer with her thumb to see a dark, murky January morning. It was Sunday, and except for a solitary man walking his dog there was nobody out and about, but why would there be? Who in their right mind would be up at 6.45 on a Sunday morning? ‘I would,’ she said. She sat on the end of the bed for a few moments, her feet not quite reaching the floor, she was perhaps a little short for her age and slightly built, pretty, with bright hazel eyes and a mass of dark brown hair that fell down thick and curly onto her shoulders. As she sat there, thoughts of her parents and the life she had been denied darted arbitrarily into her head. It was something that happened quite frequently these days. For Miranda it was the end of the Christmas holiday, and the day she would be put unceremoniously onto a train to return to High Firs. She had been at the school for one and a half terms, although to her, it sometimes felt like she had always been there, as if she had known nothing else. The life she’d had before living with her aunt, before High Firs, seemed something of a blur at times, it was a feeling she neither liked nor understood, sometimes it frightened her. Despite everything, she could hardly wait to return to High Firs, Christmas had been a lonely business; it was the first without her parents, a great deal of the time she had spent alone in her room, whilst downstairs, her aunt, with her open house invitation, entertained a steady stream of friends and colleagues. Miranda slid off the bed and made her way reluctantly down the stairs. The heat from a large wood burning stove hit her as she entered the kitchen. ‘Morning, Aunt Kath,’ she said reservedly.
‘Your train leaves at 12.15, so we’ll have to be away from here by 11.30 at the latest.’ She didn’t look at Miranda but continued tapping at her laptop’s keyboard. The room was filled with the aroma of freshly ground coffee combined with the distinctive odour of her aunt’s expensive perfume and cigarettes. Kath was already fully dressed and despite it being Sunday, gave the impression that she was a powerful businesswoman about to attend an important board meeting. She wore a black knee length skirt, an immaculate white blouse; a matching tailored jacket was draped over the back of the chair. She was also wearing a pair of black stilettoes on which the heels were far too high for practical purposes, and finishing the ensemble, a pearl necklace, bracelet and earrings. She always looked elegant though, tall and slender with fashionably coiffured short raven hair and perfect make-up. Kath would never be seen as any less than immaculate in every way, no matter what time of day, no matter what the conditions. In reality though; she was not a high powered business executive, but a solicitor with a small firm in the city. Miranda sat at the large pine table in the middle of the kitchen; she sat at the end, which as always had been set opposite to her aunt. She poured some cereal into a bowl and drew her feet up as the coldness of the quarry tiled floor penetrated through her socks. As Miranda reached for the milk, her aunt looked up from her laptop. ‘Miranda – just look at your hair, it’s an absolute mess, anyone would think it hadn’t seen a brush for a month. For goodness’ sake, go and do something with it would you, I’d prefer not look at that over the breakfast table, if you don’t mind.’ Miranda indulged her. ‘Okay – fine,’ she said, poking her tongue out with a distorted expression as she left the kitchen. It was an act of defiance that went unseen, but it provided a moment of private satisfaction. As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tugging the brush through her mass of tangled brown hair, she paused and stared thoughtfully at herself, wondering about what the future would bring, about the present and the recent past, about happier times with her parents. Deeply immersed in her thoughts, it was as though she was being drawn into the mirror in some type of hypnotic trance. People and places, the past and present, become bizarrely jumbled up; she saw herself as a little girl playing with her parents, they were all happy, all laughing. Her best friend, her Aunt Kath, teachers from High Firs, other faces she didn’t know, all darted into her dreamy state until she abruptly returned to the present, as if someone had snapped their fingers and brought her out of the trance. She caressed the surface of the mirror as their faces slowly faded away. ‘Mum, dad, why did you have to leave me?’ She had no idea how long she had stood there, time appeared to stand still and it left her feeling shaken and troubled. She started to brush her hair once again, this time with long, slow deliberate strokes. Tears filled her eyes, not from the pain of her bottom lip that she had unknowingly bitten and from which blood now started to seep, but from the pain of grief. ‘I miss you,’ she said quietly. She wiped her eyes and slowly went back downstairs. ‘That looks a little better, I suppose. Now don’t linger over breakfast too much, you have a lot to do this morning. Your clean uniforms are hanging in the spare bedroom and you’ll find your sport kits in there as well, so don’t forget to pack them.’
‘Yes, okay,’ she said, spreading some strawberry jam onto her toast, spreading it so thickly it oozed over the sides causing some to drop onto her plate as she took a bite. She winced as she became aware of the toasts rough texture on her lip. ‘Do you have to eat like that, Miranda?’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘I really do wonder sometimes what sort of manners they’re teaching you at that school. One of the best schools in the country, and that’s the way you behave?’ ‘I said I’m sorry, Aunt Kath. It was an accident. What else do you want me to say?’ ‘Don’t use that tone of voice to me, young lady, maybe your parents allowed it, but I certainly won’t – clear?’ ‘Yes – perfectly.’ ‘Good! After all, I took you in after… I’ve got you in a good school...’ ‘Yes – I know. I suppose I should be grateful,’ said Miranda. ‘Yes, perhaps you should, Miranda. Talking of school, I’m afraid it won’t be possible for you to come home at weekends for the rest of the term, I’m going to have far too much work to do, I simply won’t be able to spare the time – alright?’ ‘Fine,’ said Miranda. ‘So exactly the same as before, then.’ ‘I think you’d better go and start packing – don’t you?’ ‘Don’t suppose I could finish my breakfast first, could I?’ ‘Yes, I suppose so. But don’t take too long about it.’ Miranda spent the whole morning in her room after breakfast, packing her case in preparation for her journey, and indeed the next six weeks of the term. She also had a small rucksack in which she packed a bottle of spring water, a couple of bars of chocolate, a packet of crisps, and a book to sustain body and mind during the journey. She charged her laptop, just in case she felt like doing some work on the train. It would take around three hours to get to High Firs. It was 10.30am, her packing was all done and she was ready. There was still a little time before the taxi would pick them up so she allowed herself a little time to relax in her room listening to some music. She pushed the earphones of her iPod firmly into her ears and laid back on her bed, selected shuffle on one of her favourite playlists and turned the volume up high to the sound of Snow Patrol. Staying in her room for the remaining half an hour or so of complete privacy she would experience for some time, seemed preferable somehow to spending it downstairs with her aunt. In any case, she was pretty certain it suited them both that way. Maroon 5, singing, “Never Gonna Leave This Bed,” was the next track to play. She closed her eyes and drifted, neither asleep nor awake but somewhere in between, somewhere peaceful. The respite was all too short, Miranda looked at her watch and knew the time had arrived to make her way downstairs, denying her aunt the opportunity to call her. She had already dressed in a pair of jeans, a tee shirt under a thick roll necked sweater, and some chunky Ugg boots. Even the rigidity of her school’s standards allowed the boarders to wear casual clothes on their return. There were four hundred and twenty five pupils at High Firs, of whom half were boarders, the day pupils lived in and around the local area and would return on Monday morning, the same as at any other school, but the boarding students were expected to be back by 7pm on
Sunday. After registering they would go to their dormitory, unpack and get changed into their school tracksuit, ready for the evening meal. After that, they were relatively free to relax on their first night back. Carrying her large travel bag, Miranda inched her way down the first flight of stairs, taking great care not to damage any of the immaculate paintwork on the way; she would not hear the last of it if she did. On the landing that led to the ground floor, she dropped the bag to relax her right arm and shoulder for a moment. She could just make out her aunt’s voice coming from the kitchen, she was speaking less loudly than was normal for her, almost in a hushed voice, she sounded furtive, a little uncomfortable. Miranda’s crept halfway down the next flight of stairs, her curiosity getting the better of her. She sat down, straining to hear the conversation, she caught only a few words, then followed a moment of silence before she heard her aunt cutting the call short and hanging up. ‘I can’t talk now – I’ll call you back later.’ Miranda scrambled back up the stairs. ‘Is everything alright out there?’ called her aunt calmly. ‘Yes, yes everything’s fine, just bringing my things down, nearly finished.’ She left her luggage in the hall and joined her aunt in the kitchen. She appeared quite relaxed, reading one of her Sunday newspapers and drinking what must have been her eighth cup of coffee. Glancing over her paper at Miranda and then checking the time on the kitchen clock, she said: ‘Well, I suppose we ought to be leaving, don’t want you missing your train, do we?’ ‘No, no we don’t, do we? Well, I’m ready, so…’ Miranda replied. ‘Are you alright, Miranda? You seem very eager to go.’ ‘Well, it’s like you said, I don’t want to miss my train, do I?’ Her aunt seemed unconvinced that nothing was amiss, but with an uncharacteristic calmness, an almost gentle manner, simply said: ‘Alright then, in that case, I’ll get my coat.’ As they left the house, Kath lifted the large suitcase to take out to the waiting cab, leaving the smaller bags for her niece. She was being extraordinarily pleasant. Only an unrecognisable tune whistled by the cab driver broke the silence during the twenty minute drive to Euston station, Miranda gazing out of her window, her aunt doing the same from hers. ‘Alright, here we are, Miranda,’ said her aunt, as the station came into view, snapping Miranda out of her dreamy state. They arrived in good time to catch the train and walked in silence again into the station. The weather hadn’t improved at all throughout the journey, and the brightly lit station contrasted starkly with the grey, gloomy day outside. Her train already sat waiting at the platform, its engines lightly rumbling away, with an occasional roar as the driver tested them for power. Several people had already boarded, perhaps ensuring a seat that took their fancy, or perhaps simply preferring to sit in the relative comfort of the train carriage. ‘Have you got enough to eat on the journey? I could buy you some sandwiches if you like.’ ‘No thanks, I’ll be fine.’ ‘Well, if you’re sure. In that case I’ll walk with you to the train, come along.’
Miranda chose the last carriage, it was empty of passengers and hopefully it would stay that way so she could settle down to read her book in peace. Her aunt stepped up into the carriage and helped get the luggage aboard. ‘Well, umm, good-bye then, don’t forget to… well anyway, have a good journey. You can phone me from time to time if you like, in fact – I’d like you to,’ she said, stumbling awkwardly over her words. ‘Yes, alright, I will – if you really want me to?’ ‘Yes, of course.’ ‘Okay, great!’ She moved towards her aunt. ‘Well, bye then, Aunty Kath.’ ‘Miranda – please,’ she said, pulling away from the embrace. ‘I’m sorry – I just thought.’ ‘I’m not the hugging type, Miranda, you should know that.’ ‘Sorry. Do you still want me to phone you?’ Kath hesitated. ‘I’d better go; the train will be leaving in a moment.’ ‘But…’ ‘Goodbye then Miranda,’ she said, patting her niece lightly on the shoulder, then turning swiftly on her heels to leave. Miranda called quietly to her. ‘I’ll see you soon then.’ Kath turned briefly, her face expressionless, her voice emotionless. ‘Yes – of course.’ Miranda watched as she turned sharply, left the carriage and walked down the platform, never once looking back. She sat alone in the carriage, lost in her thoughts again as her aunt disappeared from view. A feeling of dismay came over her. For a moment, she believed the frosty heart of her aunt had begun to show signs of melting. Now she felt rejected once again, maybe it would always be this way, maybe it was her fault. Was she a bad person, she wondered, not deserving of her aunt’s love. It struck her more profoundly than it had ever done before, the reality that she was completely alone. Soon though, the carriage doors started to close one by one along the length of the train as the departure time approached. Miranda took a seat at the end of the carriage, resigned to the long journey ahead, she only hoped that she could lose herself in her book, or better still, manage to get some sleep. She wanted to cry, but fought off the tears as the door slid open at the far end of her carriage, she craned her neck to see over the seats with the hope, the somewhat irrational expectation of seeing her aunt returning, to give her the hug she needed so much and tell her everything would be alright. An elderly man stepped into the carriage, removed his black homburg hat and placed it on a seat; he had a balding crown with a shock of thick white hair at the back and sides of his large oval head. His long, heavy tweed coat made him appear tall and robustly built. Miranda felt herself staring at him until his eyes momentarily met with hers as he stood unravelling his scarf. He gave her a broad friendly grin, a polite nod, then took his seat. Feeling stupid and embarrassed she nodded back with a suggestion of a smile and slumped back onto her seat. The engine’s power increased and a jolt made the carriage shake as the brakes were released and the train got underway. Miranda stood up and reached for her rucksack in the overhead rack, taking another covert peek at the old man, once again their eyes met, and once again he nodded with a beaming toothy grin.
She made herself as comfortable as possible, grateful at least that the train wasn’t crowded, but it was stiflingly hot. Almost without realising, she found herself scrolling through the photos on her mobile. They were varied, some of her friends at High Firs, others of friends from where she had lived before but no longer had the opportunity of seeing, and many were of her parents, either at home, on holidays, or on the archaeological digs on which they had taken her. When she looked at the pictures of her mother, she wondered how her aunt could be so different, so cold and insensitive. But it was easy to forget that she had also suffered the loss of her only sister, maybe it was just her way of dealing with it, but losing both parents was surely much worse, thought Miranda, it seemed she completely lacked compassion. She also remembered her aunt’s apparent absence of grief at the time of the accident and although looking back, everything on that day seemed unreal and at times hazy; she couldn’t recall her expressing any sadness or even crying. Flicking the photos across the screen, she paused occasionally when one that was special to her appeared. Becky Young was her best friend at High Firs, they got on well from the first time they met, Miranda, sometimes thought that Becky was all that kept her from going mad. She looked forward to seeing her again. It was a photo of her that she looked at now, Miranda had snapped it last term in their dormitory and it was typically Becky, posing with a wide smile and acting the fool as usual. Miranda smiled as she looked at the image of her friend. When the phone rang, it made her physically jump. She looked at the screen before answering: “Incoming Call – Becky.” ‘Hi Becks.’ ‘Hi Mand, you okay?’ ‘Yeh, I’m okay – you?’ ‘Yeh fine, looking forward to seeing you.’ ‘Me too. Where are you anyway?’ ‘In mum’s car. On the way back to the old place. Take it you’ve heard the news?’ ‘No! What news?’ ‘Pricey – she’s gone!’ ‘What? Miss Price? What do you mean – she’s gone?’ ‘Gone! Left! Thought you would have heard. Mum got an email about it the other day. Sorry Mand, I know you liked her, I really thought...’ ‘But why? I can’t believe it.’ ‘I know, me neither. Look, maybe we’ll find out more when we get back.’ ‘Yes, maybe. I still can’t believe it though. I’m sure she would have said something, Becky.’ ‘I know what you mean, but... Oh come on, cheer up, Mand, you’ve still got me, anyway, I’m sure the new one will be fine.’ ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right – see you later,’ said Miranda. She ended the call and flopped back in her seat with a heavy sigh, the dull throb in her temples marking the beginning of a headache.
Chapter Two
The train left the grimy buildings that backed onto the railway track in the city and moved into the open countryside, and although the weather showed no sign of improving, the view at least was more pleasing. Miranda was glad to leave the greyness of the city and reach the open countryside, she found herself looking dreamily out of the carriage window at the scenery. The images framed one by one in the window like a passing slideshow. Cattle grazing in one field, sheep with their thick winter coats sodden with the damp air in the next, the trees that skirted the distant skyline, all in a kind of half-light compared to the stark lighting within the carriage. The news from Becky had come as a shock; it was difficult to believe that Miss Price would leave so suddenly, she loved the school; it was everything to her, her life. Miranda also flattered herself that apart from being her history teacher and house-mistress, Miss Price also cared for her, leaving without even saying goodbye seemed so unlike her. Miranda certainly had a fondness for her; at times it felt as though she was more a big sister to her, than her teacher. Miranda wondered why her aunt hadn’t mentioned it, the school would have notified her, as they had done Becky’s mother and everyone else – no doubt about it, but there again, her aunt being her aunt, perhaps it wasn’t so odd, she thought, she wasn’t inclined to be the most thoughtful person in the world. The day had so far brought disappointment and sadness, now she felt a strong sense of apprehension stirring in her stomach at returning to High Firs, to the point where it made her feel a little nauseous. It wouldn’t be the same without Miss Price; it seemed that she had been the only grown-up left in her life that truly understood her feelings and made time for her. Miranda hated herself for allowing such emotions to enter her head, but for a few moments a feeling of anger, possibly even betrayal overwhelmed her thoughts. She shook her head, as if shaking away demons. ‘No!’ she said. ‘She wouldn’t do that. She’d never leave like that, not without saying something – I know she wouldn’t.’ She turned to her book for distraction. She had looked forward to finishing it, there were only a few chapters left which she’d deliberately saved to read during the journey. The notion of diverting her thoughts through reading could sometimes be effective, but not always guaranteed, and on this occasion she found herself aimlessly skimming the pages, hardly noticing, let alone reading a single word. The old man at the end of the cleared his throat with a low sounding cough; it broke the relative quiet of the carriage, and with it, the spell of her reflective mood. ‘Thank God, I’ve still got Becky,’ she said. In the short time they had known one another they had become very close friends. Becky was also an only child, she’d told Miranda how she suffered the loss of her father a few years before, that she understood her friend’s pain and something of what she was going through, though she said that she could only imagine what it must be like to lose both parents suddenly. It was perhaps this common bond that made them such firm friends.