Sophie Hannah - A Game for All the Family

For a moment, my mind is blank. Then I remember what I was on the point of asking.

I’ll sound crazy if the answer’s no.

On the other hand, the lingering traces of my sanity are making me stand out like a sore thumb around here.

“Has Anne Donbavand ever mentioned the name Ingrey?” I say.

Lesley fires questions at me for ten full minutes: “Whose name is that?” “Are you saying the Donbavands used to be called Ingrey?” “Why mention it in this context if it’s nothing to do with the Donbavands?” “Is Ingrey a real name?” “Oh—you’ve only seen the first three pages of the story? Why won’t Ellen show you the rest?”

It seems she’s suddenly acquired a wish to be privy to details.

“I’ve shared as much as I want to for the time being,” I say. It’s a line from The Good Wife . Lesley and Mr. Fisher are unlikely to be fans who know each episode by heart. Too busy storyboarding for their own series, The Dysfunctional School.

“You thought it was me, didn’t you? I was showing an interest in George Donbavand—an interest for which there was a perfectly reasonable explanation—but you decided I was the person Anne Donbavand and her family went into hiding to avoid. That’s why you lied to me.”

Lesley’s shoulders slump. “Lachlan convinced me it couldn’t be true. Told me he’d always had a good feeling about you, which reminded me that I had too. I decided to trust my instincts.”

“I knew you’d never hurt George or his family.” Lachlan Fisher fixes his solemn eyes on me, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Ellen would be distraught if any harm came to George. If she were distraught, you’d be distraught, therefore . . .” He finished with a shrug.

“Did Anne Donbavand ever say that I was the danger?” I ask Lesley.

“Never.”

“Then why assume the worst about me?”

“You have to remember, Justine: for years, I’d been hearing from Anne about nameless enemies hell-bent on wreaking their revenge on her via her children. I’d seen no evidence that what she was saying was true. No one seemed unduly interested in Fleur or George. Then suddenly Ellen comes along, and she and George are spending all their time together.”

“And you thought, ‘Aha, this fourteen-year-old girl must be the secret agent of destruction’?”

“Put yourself in my shoes. I was in an impossible situation. Long before Ellen turned up at Beaconwood, Anne had asked me to tell her if anyone got close to either of her children. For years, no one did. The teachers mostly liked George but the children didn’t know what to make of him, and, though they were friendly enough, they mostly kept their distance as far as politeness would allow. He’s an odd boy, George. Charming as anything, witty, incredibly erudite, but he could be blunt-verging-on-rude, too. And embarrassingly direct. Some people found his charm a shade too much and wondered if it was an act. He never really had a proper friend until Ellen turned up. She’s also very mature for her age, intellectually. The two of them were inseparable from the start.”

“You told Anne about Ellen, then?”

“No. I didn’t, and felt remiss about it. I couldn’t bear the prospect of her taking George out of Beaconwood and opting to homeschool him instead.”

“Did she threaten to do that if he ever made a friend?”

“No, but I know Anne,” says Lesley. “I could imagine the frenzied whisking away of children that would take place if I referred to George’s new best friend.”

“Friends weren’t allowed,” says Lachlan Fisher. “Neither were pets—Fleur would have loved a cat—she came to school crying one day because she’d been told in no uncertain terms that she could never have one. No phone calls, internet access, sweets, crisps or chocolates. No residential school trips, nothing that involved leaving the grounds of Beaconwood, even supervised by teachers—even when Anne was invited to come too, as a parent-helper, to check that everything was in order.”

“Well, she wasn’t interested in that, was she?” Lesley snorts. “Always too wrapped up in her work.”

“Tell me about the fake expulsion,” I say.

Lesley nods. “I didn’t tell Anne about George’s friendship with Ellen, but he must have given something away himself, or else Anne had other spies in school. She came in one day a couple of months ago, buzzing with rage and fear. Worst I’ve ever seen her. ‘Does George have some kind of special friend?’ she wanted to know. The way she said ‘special friend,’ as if it’s a terrible thing to have, a curse . . . Brrr. It gave me a chill.”

“What did you say?”

“At that point, asked a direct question, I couldn’t lie.”

“You told her about Ellen?”

“I had to.”

“What, exactly?”

“She wanted to know about the family. I told her Ellen’s father is a famous-ish opera singer, that you used to live in Muswell Hill in London. I’m sorry, Justine. I can see how upsetting this must be for you.”

“How did Anne react?”

“She went very quiet. It was peculiar. I was expecting a hysterical meltdown and got the opposite. Almost as if, now this was serious, she couldn’t afford the histrionics. She needed to keep a cool head, go away and plan . . . Or maybe that’s hindsight, in the light of what happened next.”

I wait.

“More than a month passed. Then Anne came in—again, very calm, uncharacteristically composed—and told me she was taking George out of the school. I’d dreaded and half-expected it, but I nearly dropped dead of shock when she ordered me to pretend to expel him. She told me about the coat Ellen had given him. She knew it was a gift, but explained to me how I could insist it was theft and use it as grounds for expulsion.”

“But . . . why?” I ask. If I had a large piece of paper and a pen to hand, I would write down that one word, so that I could keep holding it up. Why?

“Poor George,” Lachlan Fisher mutters.

Never mind sympathizing with him. How about doing something to help him?

“So that he wouldn’t hate his mother,” Lesley explains. “The way Anne tells it, Fleur has always been good as gold, but George never stops kicking against all the restrictions. He understands they’re to keep him safe, but he resents it. Anne begged me.”

And you should have told her to fuck off.

“Said she finds George nigh on impossible to control as it is, and he’d only get worse if he blamed her for taking him away from Beaconwood and Ellen. She asked me to play the villain of the piece. I know what you’re thinking, Justine, but it wasn’t only a desire to shift blame onto someone else. George is extremely bright, and he’s . . . spirited. Stubborn, some might say. If he thought we’d be happy to have him here, he would never have stopped trying to return. He’d have badgered his parents relentlessly and they’re at breaking point as it is. Horrible though it was, I could see Anne’s point of view. If it wasn’t safe for George to stay with us—and for that I had to take her word, since I didn’t know the facts myself—then it was probably easier all around if he believed that option wasn’t open to him.”

“No,” I blurt out, unable to keep a lid on my frustration any longer. “You’re telling me it’s better for a boy who’s done nothing wrong to think he’s been unfairly expelled? Better than for him to be told that, despite his wishes, his parents don’t think it’s safe for him to go to that school? What a load of bull! You don’t really believe that, Lesley. You made your decision based on your fear of George’s mother, not out of concern for George and what would be good for him.”

“You’re wrong.” Lesley sighs. “Did I make the right call? Who knows. Maybe not. But I was thinking of no one but George when I made it. Try to understand: I didn’t, in all honesty, have a clue if I believed Anne Donbavand or not. I tied myself up in knots trying to work it out, but . . . I had nothing solid on which to base my opinion. And in the meantime, while I wondered and debated—with myself and others—I had to choose how to interact with Anne. That couldn’t wait until the truth arrived, unfortunately. I needed a way of . . . being , in her company. In the end, I decided to behave as if I believed her, since . . . well, proceeding as if I didn’t wasn’t an option, really. I suppose I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt . . .” Lesley sounds uncertain. “It was inconceivable to me that she might have invented it all, really. It still is.”