Lydia stared at her mum.
‘For goodness sake, dear! As Danny would say – take a chill pill!’ said Dad. ‘Lydia has brains enough to know that she shouldn’t accept lifts or anything else from strangers.’
Mum took a deep breath. ‘So what’s this all about then?’ she asked, her voice calmer.
‘Honestly!’ Dad shook his head.
‘It was just a . . . a hypothetical question,’ Lydia said.
‘Hhmm! Then I would say that if you’re not sure whether or not to do something, you should let your conscience decide for you,’ said Mum.
Lydia considered. That didn’t help her very much. Besides, it was too late to ask for advice now. What was done was done.
‘So how was your day, Lydia?’
Lydia chewed on her bottom lip. Her head was bent over her dinner plate so she missed the look which passed between her mum and dad.
‘Oh, it was all right – I suppose.’
‘You don’t sound too sure.’ Dad raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s just that . . .’
‘Just that what?’ Dad prompted when Lydia said nothing else.
‘It . . . it doesn’t matter,’ Lydia sighed.
‘Lydia . . . we know all this has been difficult for you,’ Mum said slowly. ‘You’ve had to leave all your friends and your old school behind and I know how happy you were there . . .’
‘It’s all right, Mum – honest,’ Lydia said quickly. ‘It’s prettier up here than in London and Collivale School is OK.’
Lydia hadn’t meant to make her mum feel bad about moving them to Tarwich in Yorkshire. Mum had been promoted by her company but the only snag was that her new job was out of London. Mum and Dad had said it was an opportunity too good to miss. So here they were, three weeks in Tarwich and only just beginning to get to know the people in the small town.
‘Have you made lots of friends?’ Mum asked eagerly.
‘Oh, yes.’ Lydia crossed her fingers under the dinner table. ‘I’ve got a new best friend, Frankie, and I go around with her and Maxine and Bharti and Anne, and lots of the others in the class talk to me . . .’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ Mum smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Lydia – you’ll soon settle in. Pretty soon you won’t ever want to leave. My boss was telling me that Tarwich is the kind of place that gets into your blood. Very few people move away from here.’
Lydia smiled weakly. She couldn’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to spend their whole life in a place like Tarwich. There was probably something very funny-peculiar in the water which gave all the grown-ups brain fade or something. That would explain a lot!
‘Danny, chew your food with your mouth shut, please,’ Mum said patiently.
Lydia glanced at her brother with irritation. Danny smiled back at her and opened his mouth wider to display mushed-up peas combined with bits of half-chewed sausage and mashed potatoes. It looked disgusting!
‘Daniel Henson, that’s quite enough of that,’ Mum said sternly.
‘Yeuk! It’s enough to put you off food for life.’ Dad wrinkled up his nose.
Lydia scowled at Danny. He was only ten and already he was a serious pain. What would he be like when he was twice his age? Twice the aggravation? Lydia watched her younger brother wolf down his food. She was getting less and less hungry by the second!
‘Danny, you’re going to get raging indigestion if you carry on like that. Don’t eat so fast,’ said Mum.
‘But I have to,’ Danny protested.
‘Why? Your food’s not going to run away, you know,’ said Dad.
‘I have to finish fast before I lose my appetite!’ grinned Danny, shovelling another forkful into his mouth.
Mum and Dad looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘Danny, sometimes you talk some real foolishness!’ said Mum.
‘And that’s another reason I don’t like it up here.’ Danny wrinkled up his nose. ‘They all take the mickey out of the way I talk.’
‘They’ll soon get bored doing that,’ said Dad. ‘Just be patient.’
‘And in the meantime you can always tease them back about the way they speak.’ Mum winked.
‘That hardly solves the problem, dear,’ Dad said mildly.
Mum looked ashamed. ‘True. Danny, ignore what I just said!’
‘I do that anyway.’ Danny shook out more tomato ketchup over his food.
‘Less of that, you cheeky toad!’ Mum tweaked Danny’s ear. ‘And slow down! You won’t lose your appetite before you’ve finished your food – I promise you!’
Lydia looked at Mum and Dad and her brother Danny. For all Danny’s whining, he was coping better with the move to Tarwich than she was. It was all so strange and new. She still couldn’t get used to looking out of her bedroom window and seeing the moors stretching out beyond the neighbouring houses, towards the horizon. And in the still of the night, she could hear the river rushing and rumbling past their back garden. Lydia longed for houses and yet more houses as far as the eye could see and the rumble of traffic past their house, not a river. She missed London terribly.
‘Danny, I’m not going to tell you again,’ Mum said crossly as he continued to chew with his mouth open.
Lydia glared at her brother, annoyed at having her reverie disrupted. Danny really was too gross! She looked down at her dinner plate again, her fork still in her hand.
‘Lydia, is something wrong?’ Dad leaned forward.
‘What? Er . . . no, I’m fine.’ Lydia tried to smile, but her face felt as if it was twisting horribly instead of smiling, so she gave up the attempt.
‘Are you sure?’
Lydia nodded. ‘I think I’ll go to bed early. I’m just a little bit tired.’
‘But you haven’t finished your dinner. I squeezed lemon juice over your peas and potatoes, just the way you like it.’ Mum frowned.
‘No thanks, Mum. I’m not very hungry,’ Lydia said.
‘I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t.’ Mum sat back in her chair, annoyed. ‘I rush home to have dinner with my family only to find that my daughter isn’t hungry and my son eats like a cement mixer . . .’
‘Off you go, Lydia, while your mum is exercising her jaw.’ Dad winked.
‘I heard that!’ Mum tweaked Dad’s ear too.
Lydia ran upstairs to her bedroom and flung herself down onto her bed. Everyone seemed so happy.
Even Danny was settling down better than her. He went to a different school from hers so she didn’t even have him to talk to at breaktimes.
The school cup . . . Had she made the right decision? At that moment it didn’t feel like it but Lydia suspected that, no matter what she had done, she would have felt the same way. So much for letting her conscience decide! All Lydia wanted to do now was hide. Hide under the duvet and never come out again.
Ever.
Chapter Three
I Don’t Have It
‘I wish they’d get on with it. We’ve been standing here for ages,’ Frankie moaned. She shifted her weight from her right to her left foot. Lydia nodded but said nothing. ‘You’re very quiet,’ Frankie whispered.
‘Am I?’ Lydia forced a smile. The assembly hall was now completely different from the way it had been the previous afternoon. It was filled to overflowing with the rest of the school, all whispering and coughing. Lydia looked around. There, two rows in front of her, was Anne. A slight smile played over Anne’s face. As Lydia watched, Anne turned to look at the cup cabinet, then back at Lydia. Lydia turned her head to look at the cabinet but there were too many heads in the way for her to see more than the top left-hand corner of it.
‘Attention everyone. Pay attention,’ Mr Simmers, the headmaster, called out from up on the stage.
Mr Simmers was a stout man who obviously enjoyed his food. He wore round spectacles which were too small for his face and made him look like a wise owl. Lydia liked him though. On her first day at Collivale, he had gone out of his way to be friendly.
He did rather talk as if he’d just swallowed a dictionary but at least he always seemed to have a smile on his face. Except for now.
‘I have something very serious to report,’ Mr Simmers said. He peered over the top of his glasses, his beady gaze darting across the assembly hall, lighting on person after person. ‘The Collivale best all-rounder’s sports cup has been stolen.’
An audible gasp filled the hall. Lydia’s mouth dropped open. She looked across at Anne but Anne was looking straight up at the stage.
‘Who’d fleece that dusty old piece of tin foil!’ Frankie scoffed.
Lydia had to fight to breathe normally. All at once, she was burning up.
‘Now, as it was only that cup and no other which was taken, I’m inclined to believe that it was the work of someone from this school, rather than a professional thief. BUT I WANT IT BACK.’ Mr Simmers’ cheeks puffed out as he spoke. ‘If the perpetrator of this . . . this perfidious act owns up to his or her transgression immediately after assembly, then they will not be dealt with too severely. If, however, they do not own up and I find out who it is . . .’ Mr Simmers left the unfinished sentence dangling ominously in the air. Not a sound could be heard. Not a murmur, not a whisper.
Without warning one of the assembly hall doors was flung open. Everyone jumped. Lydia, along with everyone else, turned to see what was happening. Mrs Irving, the history teacher, entered the hall and took a quick look around before almost running up the stage steps. Lydia’s stomach churned. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she watched Mrs Irving whisper in Mr Simmers’ ear. Mr Simmers scanned the hall as if he had suddenly developed X-ray vision.
Trembling, Lydia glanced across to the cup cabinet again before returning her gaze to the stage. Mrs Irving was off the stage now and heading for the door.
‘Could Julie Morgan, repeat Julie Morgan of class 4B, please report to the school secretary immediately after assembly. Thank you.’ The school secretary’s voice rang out over the school’s public announcement system, making Lydia jump.
‘Frankie, I’m . . .’ Lydia began.
‘Assembly dismissed.’ Mr Simmers’ icy voice effectively halted Lydia’s words.
‘Frankie, I need to talk to you,’ Lydia whispered.
She turned with the rest of her row and they all stood, waiting for their turn to troop out of the hall.
‘What about?’ Frankie asked, turning her head to face Lydia.
‘Would Lydia Henson please stay behind.’
It was an order, not a request. The headmaster’s words stopped all whispers in the hall. Lydia was suddenly drowning under the weight of the speculative stares of those around her. She felt totally sick. She looked around dismayed, then across the hall to where Mr Simmers stood. Why had he asked her to stay behind? What was going on? Lydia tried to catch Anne’s eye, but Anne looked straight ahead as she waited for her row to be allowed to leave the hall.
‘I’ll see you later, Lydia,’ Frankie frowned, puzzled.
Lydia waited for the rest of the school to amble out. She kept her head bent, unable to meet the curious glances directed at her. Then she moved slowly down to the front of the hall. Mr Simmers stood on the stage, towering over her like a New York skyscraper next to a beetle. He glowered at Lydia until his heavy, bushy eyebrows met over his nose. His lips pursed in an intense frown, he walked over to the side of the stage and marched down the steps.
‘Do you have something you wish to tell me, Lydia?’ he asked.
Lydia’s ‘No, sir’ was stuck somewhere between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She shook her head slowly.
‘Follow me,’ Mr Simmers commanded.
The headmaster strode out of the hall, not bothering to look at Lydia. Lydia followed him – she could do nothing else. Why had he picked her out? If only Lydia could have spoken to Anne – just for a minute. She longed to know what was going on but who could she ask? Certainly not Mr Simmers. He looked as if his head was about to explode. Maybe he knew about her being in the hall late the previous afternoon after school. Maybe Old Baldie had told him and Mr Simmers just wanted to talk to her about who else she might have seen around at the same time.
To Lydia’s surprise, Mr Simmers didn’t lead the way to his office but instead turned right. Lydia wondered where they were going. She didn’t have to wait long to find out. The girls’ cloakroom. Lydia had to trot to keep up with Mr Simmers’ long stride. Once inside, they turned down the second aisle to the left of the cloakroom doors and Lydia saw Mrs Irving and Mr Balding the caretaker ahead. The cloakroom was almost steaming with warm, damp coats hanging on coat hooks up and down its aisles. At last Mr Simmers came to an abrupt halt.
The headmaster and Mr Balding looked at each other. Mr Balding nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Lydia Henson, is this your locker?’ Mr Simmers pointed to the locker in front of him but his eyes never left Lydia’s face.
Lydia tried to speak but the words got lost in her throat. She swallowed, then tried again.
‘Yes, sir.’ The words came out as a frightened squeal.
‘Open it,’ Mr Simmers ordered.
Lydia looked at all three of the grown-ups before looking at her locker. They all looked poised, as if one false move on her part and they would pounce, tearing her to pieces. Lydia’s heart pummelled her ribs. What was wrong? What was going on?
Wiping her clammy hands on her skirt, she walked forward. She reached out to the combination lock on her locker door before realizing that the locker door was shut but not locked.
‘It’s open,’ she said, surprised.
‘Mr Balding has been opening all the lockers in here and in the boys’ cloakroom on my instructions,’ said Mr Simmers. ‘I had reason to believe that the sports cup would still be on the school premises.’
Lydia stared from her locker to Mr Simmers’ stony face and back again. Her eyes widened to their absolute limits.
‘I don’t have it. I don’t have the cup,’ she said, aghast.
‘Open your locker, Lydia,’ Mr Simmers repeated grimly.
Lydia slowly reached out for the door handle. It was cool beneath her fingertips. She swallowed hard. She could hear Mr Balding wheezing in the background. The sound came from far away. She had to strain to hear it. Immediately around her was silence. A sudden sound, like bucketfuls of gravel being thrown onto the flat roof of the girls’ cloakroom, made Lydia jump. Outside, the rain, which had been bad enough before, was now tipping down. A smell like damp towels came from all the coats. Lydia’s mouth was dry. Her palms were clammy. She grasped the locker handle and pulled it open. A glint of silver dazzled her. It took a few moments for Lydia to focus. And there, in front of her PE kit and her scarf and gloves – was the sports cup.
Chapter Four
Believe Me
‘I didn’t put it there, sir. I don’t know how it got there,’ Lydia said, astounded.
‘Lydia, I’m deeply disappointed in you,’ said Mr Simmers, shaking his head.
‘But I didn’t do it. I didn’t steal the sports cup. You’ve got to believe me . . .’
‘Then what’s it doing in your locker?’
‘I . . . I don’t know, sir.’
Mr Simmers shook his head again. ‘Thank you Mrs Irving, Mr Balding. That will be all.’
The caretaker and the history teacher each gave Lydia a grim look before walking past her without saying a word.
‘I didn’t take the cup, sir. I swear I didn’t,’ Lydia said again.
‘Have you told the combination number of your locker to anyone else?’ asked Mr Simmers.
Reluctantly, Lydia shook her head. If only she had!
‘Could someone else have memorized the number while you were opening it?’ asked Mr Simmers.
Lydia racked her brains. She always cupped her left hand over her right when she was opening her locker just so that no one would see her number.
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ she whispered at last.
‘Then I fail to se
e how the cup could have got into your locker, if you didn’t put it there and no one else could have put it there,’ Mr Simmers frowned. ‘If this was some kind of foolish prank, Lydia, then I have to tell you, I’m not amused. Now I don’t believe you meant to really steal it, otherwise you would have taken it home with you. Certainly you’d have taken it off the school premises. As yet, I fail to grasp your motivation for removing the cup but I intend to make an example of you. I won’t tolerate such behaviour.’
‘But I didn’t do it, sir. You’ve got to believe me . . .’
‘Lydia,’ Mr Simmers said quietly. ‘Mr Balding has informed me that he saw you in the assembly hall last night after school. He didn’t know your name but he recognized you when I brought you into the cloakroom.’
Lydia swallowed hard. That explained the look that had passed between them.
‘Were you in the assembly hall last night?’ Mr Simmers asked.
Lydia could feel herself shaking. She felt as if she was tipping over, as if the ground was disappearing out from under her feet.
Tell him. Tell him about Anne hiding by the stage in the hall. You weren’t alone. Tell him . . .
But Lydia didn’t want to get Anne into trouble as well. Besides, what good would it do? Nothing could change the fact that the cup had been found in her locker . . .
‘I didn’t do it.’
‘Lydia, did you take the cup?’
‘No, sir, I never touched it.’
‘You’d swear to that?’
‘I . . . I . . .’ Lydia couldn’t say any more. She had touched it. Last evening, she had reached out her hand and touched it. That image kept spinning around in her head.
‘There’s a very easy way to clear all this up. I can call in the police and have the cup checked for your fingerprints,’ said Mr Simmers grimly.
Lydia trembled violently. Her mouth filled with saliva. She swallowed over and over to stop herself from throwing up all over her shoes. The police . . .
‘Should I do that, Lydia?’ Mr Simmers asked. A small pulse throbbed in his cheek. Lydia watched it, mesmerized.