Birdy (17 page)

I didn’t know she was going to end up dead. That wasn’t part of the plan.

I’d planned to search Pippa’s bag for the photos, the knickers, the note, all of it, then get her to try to torch the lot. The idea was that the smoke alarm would alert people to her little bonfire and when they came running, there she’d be, caught red-handed with a bucket of smouldering evidence. I knew just being caught with it wasn’t enough. I wanted her to be caught
getting rid
of it. The unquestionable sign of guilt. Bert and I would report our suspicions about the identity of Bert’s tormentor long before the rumours were out about what Pippa had been trying to burn, so when they sifted through the debris and found the traces of the photos, the charred knickers, all the rest, it’d fit together perfectly.

Pippa would probably be expelled, I thought. Both for the bullying and for starting a fire on school property. She’d protest her innocence but her explanation would sound half-baked. I have to admit, I have had doubts about the plan since that day but I hadn’t had long to put things into action. It was the best I could come up with at short notice. I mean, it wasn’t ideal that I ended up lighting the fire myself, for example. That wasn’t the plan. And I don’t know for sure what she would’ve said about the whole episode or how convincing she would’ve been. I’d only just convinced Bert of her guilt. It wouldn’t have taken much, I don’t think, for her to be persuaded back to the other side. It was all a bit risky, I admit. But what choice did I have? This was Bert we were talking about. I had to do
something
.

Anyway, none of it mattered in the end. We never had to find out how good a plan it was because Pippa was dead. Obviously I never set out to kill her. Things weren’t meant to get out of hand like that. I didn’t know there was a half-empty spray-paint can in the bin. I didn’t know that it was going to explode just as Pippa was leaning over the fire. I didn’t know that Pippa’s greasy hair was so full of hairspray and other gunk that she’d go up like a human candle. She died later that night. In a way I suppose it was for the best. She would’ve been horribly disfigured if she’d survived.

As I made my way back to Bert’s I kept going over and over that time in the playground at St Paul’s. All I’d wanted was one stupid chalk to play with. Was that too much to ask?

I was back at Bert’s within ten minutes. I crept in the back door and up to the den. Bert was on her feet at once and peppering me with questions.

‘What happened? What did Pippa say? Did she admit anything?’

I flopped down into the Egg. On the walk over I’d decided how much Bert needed to know. At this point, I hadn’t realised the extent of Pippa’s injuries so I decided I’d keep my version of events to what I’d planned to happen. I didn’t want Bert to get in a panic.

I explained about the photos, the knickers – all the undeniable proof.

‘My
knickers
,’ Bert said, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘When did she even get hold of them? God, when I think of all those times I let her in my bedroom … It must’ve been easy for her to root around, I suppose. To have a good rummage through my things …’

Bert did a little shudder and I felt myself do the same. It was the thought of Pippa hanging around Bert’s house like that. In her bedroom. In the Egg too, I imagined. When had ‘all those times’ been exactly? No one had ever mentioned them to me.

I just shrugged. ‘Didn’t ask.’

Bert stared out into the middle of the den. ‘God. So … she admitted everything …?’

I nodded and sat down beside her. ‘Yep.’ I rubbed my face with my hand. I could smell the smoke. ‘Pretty much.’

I gave Bert a minute to take this news in. I knew she hadn’t fully accepted things, not until that point. I guess it was a hard thing to come to terms with, realising that even now she was still such an iffy judge of character. I knew it wasn’t a time to be saying ‘I told you so,’ but I guess she was thinking it. I’d been right about Pippa all along.

Then I told Bert what had happened next, how Pippa had panicked and tried to persuade me to keep it all to myself.

‘It was so desperate,’ I said, laughing. ‘The tactics she was trying – she was even offering to get me in on the TV interview. Said I could take your place, if I promised not to mention anything about what I’d found. Mental.’ I laughed again and shook my head.

Then I told Bert how, in a last desperate attempt to cover up what she’d done, Pippa had frantically piled all the evidence into the bin and set fire to it. I explained that I’d made my exit at this point, that I hadn’t wanted to be caught hanging about when the teachers came sniffing around to see what was burning.

‘Yes,’ Bert said seriously. ‘Very sensible.’ She leant forward and rested her chin on her palm. ‘God,’ she said again. ‘I wonder what’ll happen to her.’

We had a lovely dinner that evening – another takeaway. Charlie and Gen were busy so we were allowed to eat on our own, up in the den. Bert was a bit quiet. I figured she was worn out from the drama of the last few days. But I imagined she was relieved as well. It was all over at last. I was pretty pleased too. I’d done well, I thought. It hadn’t gone exactly as I’d planned, but Pippa had been taught a lesson. Whatever happened to her now, whatever trouble she got in, Bert wouldn’t go near her again.

The next morning, a text from Bert woke me up.

School’s closed! Final show is cancelled! Come over.

I was slightly surprised – it seemed like a bit of an overreaction really, closing school and cancelling the final performance just because a few of the costumes had been singed – couldn’t they just get hold of a few replacements? I was also dreading what Bert was going to be like – whining and wailing about missing out on her big TV moment. Still, I only had to get through today, I thought. After that we could say goodbye to the stupid show forever.

I didn’t bother telling Nan about school being closed. No need to lumber myself with a bunch of questions about where I was going and what I was doing. I just put on my school uniform as normal and left the house, ditching my school jumper in favour of my blue Christmas one on the way to Bert’s.

Bert opened the door. Her parents seemed to be sleeping late so we didn’t have to deal with them, which I was glad about.

‘Have you heard?’ she said straight away.

I stepped past her into the hall. ‘What do you mean? Only what you told me. School’s closed.’

‘There’s been a
death
,’ Bert said in a low, dramatic voice.

‘What?’

But Bert just shook her head. ‘Not here,’ she whispered, looking up the stairs towards her parents’ bedroom.

Once we were in the den, Bert dragged her laptop over.

‘Look,’ she said, perching it on her lap. ‘I heard it on the radio first, but then I looked it up here. It’s on the school website.’

I peered over her shoulder.

Urgent announcement:

School closed today (Thursday 16th May)

Due to a death on-site, Whistle Down Academy will be closed all day today. Further details to follow. Check here for updates.

‘See! A death!’ Bert cried. ‘Is it Pippa, do you think? I texted her, but got no reply. I was thinking, you don’t think she’d do anything stupid, do you? Because she realised she’d been caught …’ She picked up her phone and tipped the screen to face her, but I snatched it away.

‘Bert!’ I said, trying to keep my voice down but not really succeeding. ‘What are you doing texting her? After everything she’s done?’

‘I know, I know,’ Bert said, reaching out to take her phone back. ‘I just wanted to check she was alive! Do you think I should just ring her house?’

I sighed and sat down next to Bert. ‘Of course she’s alive,’ I said. ‘Pippa Brookman’s hardly the type to top herself. It’ll just be some alcoholic tramp who’s crawled in to get warm and then choked on his own sick or something. At worst, it’ll be some builder, doing work up high and falling. That kind of thing is always happening.’

‘Really?’ Bert said, looking down at her phone again. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘For sure. So let’s … let’s just enjoy a free day off!’

Then I remembered: I needed to be sensitive here. ‘Oh, but your show!’ I said, pulling my face into an expression of concern. ‘The last performance cancelled. And your TV interview too. You must be so disappointed.’

Bert just shrugged and looked down. ‘It’s OK. It doesn’t seem important now.’

We went out for the morning, killed a few hours down by the river, skimming stones and making daisy chains and doing other wholesome activities. I was having a hard time keeping Bert buoyed up; she kept mooning about, drifting off into her own thoughts. She must’ve checked her phone at least twenty-five times. Then suddenly it started to ring. I jumped, and tried to get a look at the screen. I really thought it would be Pippa, phoning Bert to grovel, to persuade Bert to take her back.

‘Oh, hi, Mum,’ Bert said.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Just by the river. Yes. OK, but why? What’s happened? OK. Yes. OK. Bye.’

Bert ended the call and looked up at me. ‘That was Mum. She says I’ve got to come home. Something’s happened. I don’t know what.’

Charlie and Genevieve were sitting at the kitchen table with the laptop in front of them. As soon as we went in, Genevieve came over to us.

She put an arm around each of us. ‘Come and sit down, girls.’

We let ourselves be led to the table and sat down side by side. Genevieve and Charlie sat opposite.

‘I’m afraid there’s been some bad news, from your school,’ Genevieve said gently.

Neither of us said anything. We just kept looking at her.

‘It’s Pippa, darling.’ Genevieve reached forward and held her daughter’s hand. ‘There’s been an accident. She’s … passed away.’

Blimey, I thought. Dead. Pippa’s actually dead
.
I hadn’t seen that coming. I mean I’d wished it often enough, but now … I wasn’t sure what I felt.

I saw Bert swallow hard. ‘Is it definitely … her? And she’s definitely, definitely …’

She didn’t finish the question but Charlie nodded. ‘I’m afraid so, sweetheart.’

Genevieve spun the laptop round to face us. On the screen was the same page we’d looked at that morning, on the Whistle Down website.

Philippa Jane Brookman, 12th July 1998 – 15th May 2013

Below this, in smaller print, a second paragraph added:

On reading this my first thoughts were, Selfless? Hardly. Closely followed by, No school till Monday! But I knew that wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to say out loud at times like these. At the moment, Bert had forgotten what Pippa was like, what she’d done to her. People always did that when someone died – got carried away, virtually turning them into a saint. I knew I’d just have to wait it out.

Genevieve came around our side of the table. She bent down and kissed the top of Bert’s head. Then she put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was nice.

‘I’ll get a card,’ Genevieve said. ‘And some flowers for her mother. Poor,
poor
Vanessa …’

She sat back down at the table.

‘Have a quiet day today, girls,’ she said. ‘Look after each other.’

We hung about in the den for the afternoon, not doing anything or talking much. Bert put on some CD or other, some mournful-sounding music. It was peaceful up there. Hearing about Pippa had been a shock but I started to get used to the idea. Then I began to enjoy my own thoughts, having fantasies where school was cancelled forever, where I didn’t have to go home. Where Bert and I stayed in the den every day, no one in the world but us.

Bert’s phone kept ringing all day, but she didn’t answer it. Once I caught sight of the screen. Jac.

‘What’s
he
doing ringing you?’ I asked, trying hard to stop it sounding like an accusation.

Bert shrugged and cancelled the call. ‘People just want to … talk. You know. Offer sympathy. They all knew I was friends with her.’

Around half past three, Charlie brought up a tray of lemonade and some thick slices of ginger cake.

‘Keep the sugar up,’ he said. ‘It’s good for shock.’

I thanked him and started to cram the delicious cake into my mouth. Bert nibbled at hers without much interest.

‘There are some more details of … of what happened,’ Charlie said as he turned to leave. ‘Up on the
Echo
’s website. If it’ll make you feel better to know, that is. Only look if you want to.’

Bert nodded and Charlie closed the door. Bert pulled the laptop over to us and flipped it up.

The story was on the website’s front page.

Inspirational teen dies in bizarre backstage accident

I snorted, ‘Inspirational!’ But Bert shot me a sharp look so I was quiet while we read.

The article went on with more nauseating stuff about how wonderful Pippa was and everything she’d done ‘for the community’.

‘Hmm,’ I said, closing the laptop. ‘Don’t mention anything about what a cow she could be though, do they?’

I tried a smile but Bert didn’t return it.

‘Don’t,’ she said, slightly irritably. She turned away from me.

Later that afternoon, when an invitation to dinner wasn’t forthcoming, I headed home. I hadn’t planned to tell Nan about Pippa or the accident or anything. I thought if I didn’t mention that school was closed then I could head off as normal again tomorrow and have another full day with Bert, no questions asked. But Nan had found out all on her own.

‘I’ve seen the paper,’ she said as soon as I was in the door. ‘About your school and that girl.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah. That.’

‘Did you know her? The girl?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. Just seen her around.’

‘Stupid girl,’ Nan said. ‘Setting fire to herself.’

I nodded.

‘Still, no school tomorrow then. Good. You can help me clean the oven.’

‘OK.’ I sighed and headed up to my room.

When I was in bed that evening, I texted Bert to let her know I wouldn’t be able to go over tomorrow. We hadn’t made a formal arrangement but I think it was generally understood that we’d be spending these bonus free days together. But it didn’t matter anyway. Bert replied a few minutes later:

I’m going away tomorrow anyway. Parents taking me to my aunt’s cottage in New Forest to get over things. Back Sunday night. See you on Monday.

I smiled at that text. ‘To get over things.’ God love Bert and her penchant for melodrama. Still, I thought, leave her to it. Things would be back to normal soon enough.