The Five Clues (Don't Doubt the Rainbow 1), page 13
‘Well, thanks for letting me know, Ethan, but I’ve really got to go to school now. Perhaps we can talk later or tomorrow?’
Silence.
‘Ethan? Are you still there? Is everything all right? I said can we speak …’
‘There’s one other thing, Edie,’ the older boy interrupted.
‘I’ve really got to go, Ethan,’ Edie repeated, quickening her step. ‘What is it?’
She heard another sharp inhalation of breath before he whispered: ‘It’s my dad. I found something.’ Suddenly, he had Edie’s complete attention and she pressed the phone close to her ear to hear Ethan’s quiet voice against the wind.
‘I was in the attic yesterday. Not sure why I went there, I think just to be in the space where he spent a lot of his private time. To connect in some other way with him. I miss him so much … still can’t believe he’s dead. Sorry, you know all about that, of course.’
Edie waited patiently but said nothing.
‘My dad made his plastic models up in the attic,’ Ethan continued. ‘It was, like, his workspace. Aeroplanes, ships, cars, tanks … that kind of thing. He was actually really good at them – there’s hundreds up there.’
‘Did something happen?’ Edie probed.
‘Sorry, I’ll get to the point. When I was a little boy and made models up there with him, I once saw him go into a tiny latched space behind his worktop area, concealed by various books and boxes on the floor. He didn’t know I was watching but it was obvious that it was like … a secret place that nobody else knew about. When he was out the house I had a peep, but I couldn’t really understand the stuff that was in there, so I forgot all about it.’
‘Right,’ said Edie definitively, urging Ethan to get to the point.
‘Until yesterday, that is. I was up there and suddenly remembered, so I moved all the junk on the floor out of the way and crawled into the space. There were a couple of plastic model boxes in there – Mosquito and Messerschmitt planes from the Second World War. They seemed out of place, so I opened them.’
‘And what was inside?’ Edie asked anxiously.
‘Papers. Lots of papers … about his job, about Creation, results of the tests on a drug against viruses, I think. Stuff about some lab in Vietnam. And a copy of a submission for the drug to get a licence, with certain parts highlighted in yellow marker pen. I don’t know what it all meant but … Edie … I’m worried. It felt like Dad might have been in some trouble.’
Edie had a terrible sudden sense that she was being followed and abruptly looked over her shoulder, but there was nobody there.
‘Ethan,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘Keep it safe. Photocopy it all if you can … if you have a machine at home. And don’t tell anybody about this.’
Out of nowhere came a high-pitched yell: ‘Edie! Edie! Get a move on, we’re going to be so late!’ Just up the road, Lizzie was looking furious, although her anger was also about Edie still refraining from telling her the truth.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Edie repeated. ‘I’ll call you later.’
‘But …’
Edie didn’t hear the end of Ethan’s sentence as she pressed the red circle that thankfully she’d not touched ten minutes earlier.
Twenty-two minutes was the average amount of time that it took Edie and Lizzie to get to school from their meeting point, allowing three minutes to grab books from their lockers, deposit unwanted coats and be seated in class ready for register.
They often cut it fine but never quite as bad as this. With only fifteen minutes to complete the journey, most of which was uphill, the two girls had to run up Shepherd’s Hill, stopping only for the traffic lights at Archway Road. Lizzie was pretty enraged throughout. With a minute to go, they bombed through the front gates, disregarded their lockers until after assembly, legged it up the stairs to the form room and grabbed their seats as Miss Watson, head of the art department, paused from completing the register – a task she was doing for the absent Mr Hollister. The girls’ laboured breathing was evident to all.
‘Edie, are you okay?’ asked Miss Watson. ‘You look a bit … well … peaky.’
‘Just been running, Miss. My fault, not Lizzie’s. Sorry to be late.’
‘All right then, just calm down. You too, Lizzie.’
After completing the register, Miss Watson had news: ‘I’m afraid that Thursday’s trip to Cambridge, to visit the History of Science Museum, has had to be cancelled. They’ve had to do some emergency renovations. Shame, I know.’
‘Can’t we do something else that day, Miss?’ asked Allegra from the front row. ‘It’s like … well … everybody’s been looking forwards to that trip. Getting out of school for the day, seeing something interesting, doing something different.’ A background hum of soft ‘yeahs’ indicated general assent.
‘It’s very hard, Allegra, to organise these things at the last minute, without much preparation.’ The teacher paused then recalibrated: ‘Unless someone has a good idea, that is.’
‘What about Chessington?’ joked the good-looking, self-assured Callum. ‘Chessington World of Adventures.’ A chorus of laughter and approval greeted his suggestion.
‘It’s not a holiday, Callum. Any other suggestions?’
Edie’s mind ticked over rapidly. Just before Miss Watson moved things on, she announced: ‘We could visit one of those pharmaceutical companies … drug companies … where they, you know, make medicines and do research on new drugs.’ Then Edie lied for effect: ‘My dad, who’s a doctor, says it’s really interesting.’
‘Not a bad idea, Edie, but that kind of thing does need some planning.’
The teacher had barely finished her sentence before Edie jumped in: ‘There’s one company I’ve heard about that does school trips. It’s located near Cambridge, I think, so would be the same distance for the coach.’
Although the idea didn’t garner universal endorsement from the class, there certainly wasn’t any disagreement, and Miss Watson responded favourably. ‘Nice suggestion, Edie. I’ll look into it.’
And she did.
The school day drifted by in something of a haze. Plant photosynthesis in biology, more strange adventures of the Cazorla family in Spanish, followed by double history in which they were learning about how public health laws were passed in the Victorian era to improve sewage and sanitation and keep the streets clean, which in turn reduced mortality from infections.
Fatigue was taking its toll, compounded by the thought of an extended day because of detention. All Edie wanted to do was go back home to bed. She chose pea soup and chicken pie for lunch but ate little and, during the afternoon, fell momentarily asleep as Mr Bowling was explaining simultaneous equations. Ethan’s comments sat in the back of her mind and she noticed two missed calls on her iPhone from unknown numbers.
By quarter past four, as school began to empty, Edie felt completely exhausted.
‘I hope it goes okay,’ said Lizzie in reference to the detention. The morning’s irritation seemed temporarily forgotten in the face of Edie’s obvious discomfort.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Edie replied. ‘Thank you. See you tomorrow.’
Edie watched through the classroom window on the third floor of Building C as pupils dispersed into the courtyard below. Heads were shielded from the drizzle and Edie was envious that they’d soon be in the warm in front of the TV. It was extraordinary how quickly the school emptied, from a sea of noise to almost devoid of life, all in a matter of minutes. Occasionally a teacher crossed the courtyard, and Edie spied the head, Mr Pennant, eating a biscuit on the go. She looked again at the clue, which intuition told her must be connected with music, but her mind wasn’t clear enough to engage.
At twenty-five past four, Edie descended the three flights of stairs, entered the main quadrangle and, in an archway between courtyards, slammed straight into an adult coming from the opposite direction.
‘Watch out, young lady,’ came a vaguely familiar voice. ‘Steady as she goes.’
Winded, Edie leant her hands on her knees.
‘Oh, it’s you, Edie,’ continued the out-of-place voice. She looked up.
‘Ah, Dr Martial,’ Edie said, surprised.
‘Yes, indeed,’ the GP affirmed, brushing himself off and adjusting his jacket and tie.
‘What are you doing here?’ Edie asked warily.
The doctor paused, momentarily uncertain over what to divulge, before deciding to grasp the opportunity. ‘Well, as you know, I’m the school doctor, so I come here from time to time. But this visit is actually about you, young lady.’
‘About me?’
‘Yes, indeed. You see, I’ve been to see your head teacher today, as a concerned physician and your doctor. I spoke to your dad beforehand, who also mentioned the concerns of a family therapist friend …’
‘You spoke to my dad about this?’ said Edie indignantly.
‘Naturally. My duty, as well as my responsibility to you, my dear.’
Edie’s anger was brewing as Dr Martial continued: ‘Anyway, I’ve been to see the head – confidentially, of course – to tell him of my concerns that you may have a psychiatric condition, a personality disorder, that has made it especially hard for you to cope with your mum’s death. And that your behaviour has become irrational and we may need to put you on medication or even admit you into hospital for a period …’
Edie couldn’t believe what she was hearing from the smarmy, so-called professional. But Dr Martial wasn’t finished. ‘And the school will be keeping a much closer eye on you – on what you’re allowed to do. Enhanced supervision … reduced time alone—’
Impulsively, Edie screamed in the doctor’s face: ‘You can’t do that to me! It’s a lie and you know it!’ She clenched her teeth. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me … you’re not even a proper doc—’
‘What exactly is going on here?’ intervened an assertive male voice.
‘Ah, Mr Pennant,’ said Dr Martial. ‘Just the man. As you can see, this is precisely what we are dealing with here …’
‘Well,’ responded the head teacher. ‘I’m not sure what this shows but—’
Edie had had enough: ‘It’s all lies …’ she shouted, then stormed off towards the school underpass that took her below busy Southwood Lane and to the art block where the detentions were held.
Inside the art department building, Edie stumbled through the first door available and collapsed onto a bench next to a large wooden table used for painting. She started bawling her eyes out, uncontrollable tears of exhaustion and distress, accompanied by loud groans of fury at a world that seemed stacked against her.
‘Is everything okay, Edie?’ asked a kind voice a minute later, as a hand gently touched her back.
After a moment, Edie looked over her left shoulder to see Miss Watson, who appeared genuinely concerned.
‘NO!’ Edie spluttered, cupping her face in her hands.
A further minute passed without a word, after which Miss Watson handed Edie a tissue, which she gladly accepted. ‘I can’t do detention,’ Edie mumbled whilst blowing her nose.
‘Don’t worry about that, Edie,’ the teacher replied. ‘It was only you today, in any case. Let’s get you home.’
‘Thanks,’ said Edie with surprise and gratitude. ‘I’ll get the bus back to Crouch End.’
‘No, you won’t,’ countered Miss Watson sensitively. ‘I’ll give you a lift in my car. I live near there anyway.’
Little was said in the small Fiat 500. Miss Watson opted for the narrow Highgate backstreets in an effort to avoid the clogged main roads, requiring her full concentration to slalom past cars heading in the opposite direction. Intermittently, she glanced over and gave Edie a comforting half-smile. At Archway Road they hit solid rush-hour traffic.
Edie leant forwards to turn on the radio, checking with the driver first who nodded, tried a few channels and settled on Heart FM. Edie closed her eyes and sat back in the seat. A combination of the music, in-car heating and purring of the engine helped Edie to calm down and relax. With her eyes closed and mind wandering on the edge of awareness, Edie wasn’t initially sure about the words she was hearing. But gradually they took a stronger form – lyrics from a familiar song about hanging out in the backyard with a boyfriend.
Comforted by the melody, Edie’s lips stretched into the beginnings of a smile as recognition of the song surfaced. Underneath the sweet-sounding tune was a sadness that Edie, and many others, found so engaging. The image from an album cover flashed across Edie’s mind: a beautiful young woman getting out of an old American car, long brown hair trailing across a pretty white summer top. Lyrics came to her, too: the woman’s boyfriend opening up a beer, calling her over and asking her to play a video game. Video game. ‘Video Games’ …
All of a sudden Edie’s heart thumped in her chest. She opened her eyes wide, reached into her school blazer, unzipped the inside pocket and pulled out the note. The answer was indeed music related. With a sense of what the answer might be, Edie turned away from Miss Watson and stared searchingly at the paper, willing the solution from the ink. Then it dawned on her: it didn’t have to be one number per letter: the first two numbers could provide the first letter. On her fingers Edie counted out the twelfth letter of the alphabet, ‘L’. The following two numbers provided a ‘K’ so that couldn’t be right, so she needed to interpret the clue more flexibly. If the next number, ‘1’, was a letter it would be ‘A’. Then, with fingers again, the next two letters meant ‘N’, followed by an ‘A’ again.
Together the letters spelled a word: ‘LANA’.
A tear appeared in the corner of Edie’s left eye, and she sped through the remainder of the cryptic sum to confirm that she’d solved the latest clue. With the traffic beginning to clear, Edie rested her head back and closed her eyes again.
And then Edie remembered when she and her mum had gone to see Lana Del Rey at the Camden Roundhouse just a few weeks before her mum’s death. As they exited the venue she’d teased her mum about calling it a ‘gig’ rather than a concert. Although it was late, her mum had wanted to show Edie one of her old haunts, so they’d walked down Chalk Farm Road to Marine Ices – open until midnight because of the live music – where Edie had chosen chocolate and pistachio and her mum had ordered hazelnut and melon.
Seated in the old-fashioned ice-cream parlour, they’d chatted intensely about the amazing gig: Lana’s effortless beauty, her cool name and silky, melancholic voice. As their bowls emptied, her mum had asked Edie what her favourite Lana song was, which was easy: ‘Blue Jeans’. When Edie had posed the same question back, she was surprised by her mum saying ‘Video Games’, so had asked her why.
Sitting in the car over a year later, with everything in her life so different, Edie recalled vividly her mum’s explanation, which had to do with the lyrics of the sad song: lyrics that her mum had sung quietly in Marine Ices, much to Edie’s embarrassment.
At first, Edie hadn’t understood why the lyrics made the song so special, so her mum had explained that, to her, the words were about what we give up for those we love. With her ice-cream spoon licked clean, Mum had said something to Edie which was still crystal clear: ‘The reason why I love the song so much is because of its poignancy. Love is what makes life worth living. It’s worth living if you’ve got somebody that you love and who loves you. That’s the magic of life. And I have that with you, Edie, and, quite extraordinarily, with Dad and Eli too.’ Then her mum had smiled before concluding: ‘Lana says the world is built for two, but I have three sets of those loving relationships! How lucky is that!’
Edie remembered feeling strangely unsettled at the time. The relationship she had with her mother was completely special, of that there was no question. Yet her mum’s comments had made Edie understand, for the very first time, that her mum also had truly special relationships with others – with Eli and Dad, in particular.
And as Miss Watson pulled up to the family home in Cecile Park, Edie realised – also for the very first time – that those two people were hurting, hurting deeply for their own loss, just as much as Edie was.
CHAPTER 11
THE PUBLIC’S HEALTH
Outside the house, Dad arrived home just as Edie got out of the car. The teacher and doctor exchanged pleasantries before Miss Watson drove off, then Dad told Edie that Eli had felt sick at school so Papa had picked him up.
At the open front door, Mama grabbed her precious granddaughter, pulling the youngster close: ‘So nice to see you again, Edie!’
Papa emerged from the lounge, babysitting duties now over. ‘I’m not sure I can watch Taken again,’ he joked, before turning to the grandson trailing behind him: ‘I have a very particular set of skills,’ Papa mimicked in jest. ‘I will look for you, I will find you and I will kill you!’
Eli replied with a poor imitation of an Eastern European accent, enhanced by a croaky, sore throat: ‘Good luck.’
‘Isn’t Liam Neeson about my age anyway?’ said Papa with a smile.
‘Thank you both so much for looking after Eli,’ Dad said to his in-laws, ‘and at such short notice. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
Mama replied earnestly: ‘You don’t have to, Mark. We’re always here for you. I hope you know that.’
Dad acknowledged their kindness and politely escorted them down the front path. The Honda Jazz was soon heading back to Hendon. In the lounge, Edie grabbed Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die CD from the rack, told her dad in passing that she was feeling exhausted, and withdrew upstairs. On her bed, Edie quickly opened the plastic case and, inside the coloured insert, found a piece of paper which she carefully unfolded and placed on her pillow, revealing a different kind of clue.
