Free The Grey Girl by Eleanor Hawken Page B

book out of her satchel. A few of the other girls looked up but no one said anything as Lavinia marched towards Tilly and snatched the book clean out of her hands. ‘What do we have here then?’ Lavinia said spitefully, opening up the pages of Tilly’s book. ‘
The Complete Works of Tennyson
. What a bore you are, Tilly. Who reads poetry for fun? Just as well you can’t come outside – we’d beat you to death with our hockey sticks if we could.’ Then Lavinia threw the book at Tilly’s face and it hit her on the nose before falling onto the table. Lavinia swished her hair as she stormed off.
    Tilly scrambled about for her book and wiped the tears in her eyes. ‘Don’t cry,’ I whispered to her. ‘It’s what she wants; it’ll only make it worse.’ Then I had to leave with Lavinia so we didn’t miss Games.
    We have another late night meeting for the Rituals tonight. Sybil swears that her skin is clearing up. ‘Of course it is, the Goddess is finally listening to us,’ Lavinia snorted. But I can still see Sybil’s pimples when she stands in the sunlight. I don’t think the Goddess is listening at all. But I daren’t tell that to Lavinia. I wouldn’t want her to start throwing books at my face. Mind you, at least I wouldn’t cry, I know how to handle myself with Lavinia. And at least I have other friends. Tilly doesn’t have any one.
    Until I write again,
    Annabel

7
    I didn’t sleep that night. I sat by the foot of my bed until it was light outside. My eyes drifted between my notepad, the open curtains and the hair band on my pillow until I was nearly blind from the tears streaming down my numb cheeks. I could make no sense of anything. Exhausted, I eventually lay down and pulled the bed cover over myself. I lay at the tail end of the bed. I couldn’t bring myself to rest my head on the pillow. The pillow was where they had placed my hair band. Whoever ‘they’ were.
    As the night slowly gave way to the morning, I listened to the sound of the party guests downstairs. I could hear their suitcases thudding down the stairs, and their cars pulling away outside as they left. I waited until gone noon before I finally went downstairs. That way I could be sure that all the guests had left and it would just be my aunt, Toby and Nell left in the house. Still wearing the clothes I’d worn the day before, I walked down the winding stairs. I could hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner whirring away in one of the guest bedrooms, and in the cold light of day the staircase looked like it belonged in a different world from the night before. The spot where I’d found my notepad didn’t look sinister, and when I looked up towards the bright sunshine streaming through the glass-domed ceiling, and drew my gaze to the third-floor landing, nothing seemed strange or in any way frightening.
    Nell was in the kitchen. ‘Coffee?’ she asked, fiddling with the machine. ‘You look like you could use some.’
    â€˜No,’ I said. The last thing I wanted was the rank taste and heady rush of caffeine running through me. I still felt bruised from the night before, I needed something comforting. ‘Got any hot chocolate?’ I suddenly remembered that the last time I’d seen Nell I’d told her never to speak to me again. I looked down at the floor, feeling stupid; my teenage outburst felt so trivial compared to what had happened to me in the hours afterwards.
    â€˜One hot chocolate coming right up.’ Nell smiled. I sat down at the table and rubbed at my tired eyes as Nell pottered about. Every noise she made was like an assault to my senses – the boiling kettle, the tinkering of a teaspoon – I just wanted to thump my fists on the kitchen table and beg for silence.
    Nell put the mug of hot chocolate down in front of me wordlessly, much to my relief. She sat down opposite me and began to shuffle