Sophie Hannah - A Game for All the Family

Unfortunately—and Bascom and Sorrel did not foresee this when they made their grand plan for three children—the Perrine compromise led only to constant foiling for both of them. Each parent was enough in charge of policy to feel frustrated at not being able to be more in charge. Surely you can understand this? “My thing ruined” is a far more upsetting prospect than “Not my thing.”

It is therefore no surprise at all that Perrine Ingrey was the problem child. Her character was fatally damaged by two disgruntled parents who felt constantly impeded. Anyone in that situation might grow up to be a monster. (I’m not sure if Perrine was a monster, or whether she was sick in the head. Is there a difference between the two? No one is sure to this day.)

Malachy Dodd’s regular visits were another compromise between Bascom and Sorrel Ingrey. They were for Perrine’s sake, to cheer her up. That was the only reason they happened every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, regular as clockwork. Bascom and Sorrel didn’t even like Mr. and Mrs. Dodd. They found them trivially suburban and unimaginative—the kind of people who buy each other cards with “Darling Wife” and “Darling Husband” printed on them by the card manufacturer, and who would rather buy an ugly house with storage space and a double garage than a beautiful dilapidated palace with a ballroom and secret passageways hidden behind bookcases but no off-road parking.

Still, if it would make Perrine less sullen, Bascom and Sorrel decided that they could put up with the company of the Dodds twice a week. They thought that perhaps Lisette and Allisande, being so close in age and such a devoted pair of sisters, made Perrine feel excluded. Malachy Dodd and Perrine were also very close in age. At the time of Malachy’s murder, they were both thirteen years old. Malachy’s family lived nearby, and so the plan involving these twice-weekly visits was hatched.

Perrine hated Malachy Dodd more and more with each visit. “How can you hate him?” Bascom (who believed passionately in rational discussion) asked his youngest daughter. “He seems good-natured and harmless to me. What’s wrong with him?”

“He always makes me cry!” Perrine complained. “Me and only me!” It was true that Lisette and Allisande both adored Malachy, which wasn’t fair because they didn’t need to be made any happier. Also, Malachy seemed to like them far more than he liked Perrine. This made Perrine jealous. Her envy was the beginning of her downfall. If she hadn’t been jealous, she wouldn’t have ended up becoming a murderer, and if she hadn’t been a murderer, she wouldn’t have gotten murdered.

Perrine wanted Malachy to love her even though she hated him—this is an illustration of how warped a child she was. The fateful visit, the one that included the sadistic untimely death of Malachy, was to be the last, Bascom and Sorrel Ingrey had decided, unless some remarkable improvement occurred.

I think we can all agree that splattering all over a terrace and dying in agony is not an improvement. The friendship between the Dodds and the Ingreys, such as it was, ended on that day.

How, you might be wondering, was Perrine’s jealousy to blame for all the misfortune that befell her? Well, she would never have risked murdering Malachy if the two of them had not been alone in her bedroom together, and they were alone up there for one reason and one reason only: Bascom Ingrey agreed with Perrine that Malachy preferred Lisette and Allisande to her, and decreed that he should not be given yet another chance to ignore Perrine in favor of her more appealing sisters. Sorrel disagreed with her husband and didn’t like the idea of trying to force a bond between Perrine and Malachy if it wasn’t happening naturally. “Wouldn’t it be a better idea to cancel the Dodds’ next visit and never invite them again?” she suggested. Bascom said, “Yes. That will be an excellent idea, once we know for sure that there’s no way of making it work. Let’s try it my way first, and then, if that fails, we’ll put your plan into action.”

“Why is it always your way first?” Sorrel asked. “I’ve noticed that in any situation where we take turns, your turn always comes before mine.”

“You’re right,” said Bascom, who was a little nonplussed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It must be because you’re a man,” said Sorrel. “It’s the unavoidable sexism of everyday life.”

“No, dear, it is not,” said Bascom. “It’s that I’m a person who prefers to take action, and you are a person who prefers to let things happen. It stands to reason that someone with my personality type would be keen to act, and would therefore go first, while someone with your personality type would never be in a hurry about anything.”

“True,” Sorrel agreed. “Though in this case, I’m keen to prevent yet another tooth-grindingly awful afternoon with the Dodds from taking place.”

“Yes,” said her husband. “But I’m afraid that here once again, we have to let me have my turn first. The other way around would be scientifically impossible. We can’t cancel the Dodds, never invite them again, and then, next time they come, arrange for Perrine and Malachy to spend some time alone together—because there wouldn’t be a next time, would there?”

Sorrel admitted that he was right. “There will, however, be a next time that we disagree about what to do and how to do it,” she said. “And whenever that is, whatever the subject of disagreement, it’s my turn first.”

“Absolutely,” Bascom agreed.

And that’s how it was decided that on the fateful day of the Dodds’ final visit to the Ingreys’ house, Perrine and Malachy should be sent up to Perrine’s bedroom together, so that they could properly get to know each other. But as we know, no bonding took place that day, only the crunch of bone and the seeping of blood on the terrace beside the fountain.

3

I knew Beaconwood was the right school for Ellen before I’d set foot inside it. The building is a former manor house, longer and deeper than it is tall. It’s painted pink on the outside, with elaborate pargeting all over the front wall. There are beautiful formal gardens of the sort that wouldn’t look out of place outside a stately home, as well as a wildflower meadow and acres of rolling green lawns for the children to make use of. The first time we came here, while we were waiting to meet the head, Alex whispered to me, “Keep an open mind, okay? We’re not going to send Ellen here just because the grounds and the building are stunning.”

“Not just because of that, no,” I said. “And not just because I went to a secondary school that looked and felt like a high-security prison, but maybe a bit because of those things.”

My mind was open enough; if we’d walked into Beaconwood and found sadists in billowing black capes cackling as they whipped the children, I’d have thought twice. Instead, Alex and I found Lesley Griffiths, the head, wearing blue plastic carrier bags over her shoes to protect them from mud while she watered plants in the flowerbeds outside her office. I knew at once that I was in the right place.

I lean against the car and draft a text to Alex, telling him I need to talk to him as soon as possible. Then I button up the coat I still own because I haven’t donated it to a friend in need, and walk up the long path to the school’s front door. Ellen leapt out of the car, mumbled, “See you later,” and ran away before I’d turned the engine off. She wants no part of what I’m about to do, even though I’m doing it to help her best friend in the whole world.

“Justine!” a woman’s voice calls out.

I turn around. It’s Kendra Squires, the young Canadian teaching assistant who inflicts extra one-to-one maths sessions on those children like Ellen who hate the subject most. Despite this regular torture, Kendra is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. If she were an actress, she would be endlessly cast as the good-hearted innocent who dies tragically young.