Which really didn’t sodding help.
What was she supposed to do with information like that? Oh, yes, Lucy, you could’ve been First Minister, or Prime Minister, if only your poor father had been able to afford the fees.
Well, he couldn’t, so there was no point—
‘Leaving so soon?’ A large figure appeared at her shoulder, bringing with him that familiar musty aroma of sandalwood. Just like Dad used to wear. The blue academic robe, trimmed in silver, was the clincher, though.
‘Mr McCaskill.’
‘It’s Argyll, please. Oh, and here.’ There was a click, then a whoooom as a school brolly popped open above them both. The downpour thrummed against the tight black fabric. ‘Can’t have you getting wet on the way back to your car.’
‘What happened to Allegra?’
‘Ah.’ His smile turned into a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Yes, she can be a bit...’ He pantomimed a shudder. ‘Don’t get me wrong, a lot of the first years have... challenging personalities when they get here, but I have to admit there’s something decidedly unsettling about Miss Dean-Edwards. Like she’s, I don’t know, playing chess in her head every time she talks to you?’
‘More like something out of a Brothers Grimm story, emerging from the deep dark woods, wearing the skin of a little girl, trying to pass for human.’
They stepped out into the quad.
‘Thanks, I’m probably going to have nightmares about that now.’ Argyll moved closer, making sure they both stayed dry. ‘Mind you, having met her parents, I’m not surprised she’s a little monster.’ That boyish smile was back. ‘But luckily I like a challenge: keeps life interesting. We’ll get those sharp corners polished off her in no time. After all, she’s only eleven.’
The same excuse she’d given the Dunk for Benedict Strachan’s behaviour.
‘The kids are always a little rough around the edges when we get them. They’re used to being top of the class in their primary schools, spoiled at home, feted by their friends. It usually takes a while to realize that the whole world doesn’t actually revolve around them.’
They marched past the twisted oak in the middle of the quadrangle, Argyll slowing his pace to an amble, so she had to either slow down too, or march out into the rain.
Lucy matched his pace. ‘A whole school full of creepy wee egomaniacs.’
‘By the time she hits the second term, you won’t recognize her. Promise.’ He cleared his throat, looking out straight ahead as he and Lucy strolled down the path. ‘You gave Allegra your card. I wondered, you know, if it’s not being too forward or anything, if you’d like to give me one too?’
She raised an eyebrow at that, and pink rushed up his cheeks.
‘I mean, a card. If you’d like to give me a card too.’ Going redder by the moment. ‘Or not. It’s understandable. I didn’t mean to... Yes.’ Picking up the pace again. ‘Anyway, right now, Allegra has been assigned her academic brother, so it’s all about establishing peer-to-peer support networks, and next term she’ll get an academic father and mother from the senior years. That’s when the pupils really get into their stride.’
‘And learn they’re not the centre of the universe.’
He licked his lips. ‘You may not have noticed, but I might be babbling somewhat.’
Really?
They’d reached the archway back out into the real world, where the Dunk was sitting in the pool car, engine running.
She pointed. ‘This is me.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. About the babbling.’ Getting all flushed again. ‘Here.’ Holding out the brolly and stepping back, so she was the only one underneath its swollen black wings.
‘My car’s just over there.’
‘I know, but... you might get wet later. And it’s good advertising for the school, of course. With my compliments.’
‘Fair enough.’ She took the proffered umbrella.
He stood there in the downpour, smiling and blushing at her. Like something from the closing scenes of a particularly cheesy romcom.
To be painfully honest, he wasn’t actually that bad-looking. Maybe even attractive, in an upper-class cry-havoc-for-Harry-and-St-George kind of way. Or however that quote went. The point being: he was a nice guy, and not a complete arse-faced minger, so would it kill her to throw him a small bone?
Pfff... Lucy rolled her eyes, pulled a face, then dug a hand into her inside pocket. ‘Fine.’ She handed him one of her Police Scotland business cards. ‘My mobile number’s on the back, in case Allegra remembers anything.’
‘Definitely.’ He tucked the thing away, inside his jacket. ‘I’ll be in touch. I mean, if she remembers anything. Definitely.’
And with that, Lucy turned and marched off towards the pool car, leaving him in the rain. ‘Bye, Mr McCaskill.’ Not bothering to hide her smile, now that he couldn’t see it.
His voice boomed out behind her. ‘It’s been lovely meeting you!’
‘You OK, Sarge? Only you look a bit... you know.’ The Dunk took a right at the junction, into the sprawling nest of housing estates that formed the northernmost edge of the Wynd, windscreen wipers making slow-motion, groaning arcs through the drizzle. ‘It was those snotty posh twats, wasn’t it? Tell you, they give me the willies.’
‘Yeah, I noticed, what with all the terrified looks and awkward silences.’
‘It’s not my fault! I have... issues.’
‘You certainly do.’ Lucy frowned down at the phone in her hand and the text sitting at the top of the list. Rereading DI Tudor’s message for about the fifth time since leaving St Nicholas College.
I’m worried about her upsetting you Lucy
I’m trying to help
We’re all here to support you
If you need to take some time off for your mental health that’s OK!!!
Now why did that read as if he was covering his backside, in case she tried suing the force for constructive dismissal? Here is written evidence that I have done my best to ensure that DS McVeigh got the help she needed, but she would not cooperate, m’lord. Therefore, she can’t sue us, because we did everything right and she’s just an obstinate, bloody-minded, thrawn, scrawny bitch.
Or maybe they were going to sign her off on the sick? When they started talking about ‘taking some time off for your mental health’ you knew you were in trouble. Wouldn’t be long before they stuck you out to pasture, like ex-DI Christopher Gourley, drinking yourself into oblivion, till one day you just upped and disappeared... And it wasn’t as if anyone would even bother to report Lucy missing. There was no one to miss her.
So much for her good mood.
Why could no bugger ever let her be?
Fine, she’d make yet another sodding appointment to see Dr McNaughton. Play along, like everyone wanted. Maybe then they’d all sod off.
‘And dear God, was that Allegra kid creepy enough?’ The Dunk turned left, into a wide, curving cul-de-sac. ‘With her “neuro-linguistic programming” and her “Oh, my allowance is so huge I can hand out new jackets, willy-nilly, to the oiks and tramps, for I am Lady Muck from the Manor!”’
‘That’s it, up there.’ Lucy pointed through the windscreen at a large fifties bungalow, set back from the road, like all the other large fifties bungalows on this street. Every drive boasted at least one four-by-four, every lawn a couple of large trees and a collection of well-tended flowerbeds. The kind of place where it’d be safe to raise a kid.
Only it hadn’t really turned out that way. Not for Benedict Strachan.