Chapter 5

I didn’t expect to sleep.

But then again, nothing about my first full day in London had exactly been as I’d expected. Maybe my brain just needed to shutdown for a few hours to process everything, because I just couldn’t fight the urge to sleep, no matter how hard I clutched onto the video..

And then I heard Andre.

‘Time to go Bliss,’ he chirped. ‘We’re leaving in twenty.’

Mornings were not my thing. I staggered around, searching for a light switch before I finally replied.

‘What happened to the Sun?’ I asked, groaning loudly.

‘You can be our little beam of California sunshine,’ said Andre. ‘See you in the kitchen.’

I grunted as I made my way into the shower. There was no point in even trying to think before I had been blasted back into life.

I slumped against the shower cubicle, remembering snatches of my dreams. As I shampooed my hair I slowly began to regain my focus.

It wasn’t as though I had never wondered about my Dad. I mean, somebody had to be responsible for the red hair. And even though most of the kids at school seemed to treat their Dads like walking ATMs, a part of me knew that I was missing out on the total family experience. But by the age of five I had learned to stop asking questions. Mom always cried and her answer was always the same – she always said that he was dead. Talk about stonewalling!

And even though I never really gave the subject much thought, I guess a part of me always knew she was lying. I mean, where were the photos, where was the grave?

It was definitely no accident that Mom had never told me anything about shooting a movie in England the year before I was born. She had obviously met my Dad on that set …

But there was no time for daydreaming, I had to get to school.

By the time I arrived downstairs into the kitchen I was actually smiling. This was pretty extreme and unexpected behaviour from me on a regular morning and given the mitigating circumstances of the uniform and the miserable darkness, the fact of my smiling was, frankly, utterly freakish. And if anyone had taken the time to look they would have guessed that I was up to something serious. But everyone was either too busy or too nervous about causing another uniform-related incident to even look in my direction.

I sucked down a smoothie and stuffed a pack of Oreo cookies into the pocket of my jacket.

Of course it was a mistake to let Andre take me to school that first morning. London roads were nothing like the open freeways of LA. And then there was the added complication of the weather. But the opportunity to ride in the flashy little VW Beetle that Andre had arranged for his own use in London was not to be missed when the only alternative was the limo that taxied Mom around everywhere. The new Jayne Drew would be an inconspicuous new arrival. If I ever got there…. I swear it took Andre at least fifteen minutes to clear the windscreen of a thick layer of ice. And by the time that the doors to our private courtyard were finally opened, I was so knocked out by the heaters that were working full blast that I almost forgot to dive in order to avoid the paparazzi that were already camped out on our doorstep.

By the time I looked up for air and remembered that we were driving on the wrong side of the road for a reason, we were already lost. Andre’s poor sense of direction was matched only by his total lack of concentration. In the end it was more luck than talent that finally delivered us to the gates of ‘St Saviour’s School for Young Ladies’ in one piece and just about on time.

I knew that I had to act fast to shake myself free of Andre’s concerned clutches.

He looked up at the big old Victorian entrance to the school with an expression that was clearly worried. On a dark rainy morning it was not exactly what you could call inviting. But I knew that if I showed any sign of crumbling then Andre would have insisted on accompanying me to the Principal’s office and I was sure that nothing as loud as his shirt had been seen behind those walls since the last royal visit.

‘Sweetie, have you thought about home-schooling?’ he asked.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ I replied darkly, ‘it’s either this or some Celebrity-Spawn boarding school.’

I shot him the sort of withering look that I always used in sticky situations. But that wasn’t enough to stop him from grabbing my hand before I could make a quick exit.

‘Hold your head up high in there,’ he said in the sort of high-pitched voice that usually came before tears. But he managed to get it together just enough to make a typical Andre joke. ‘I mean if they are going to make you wear those clothes, the least you can do is to work them with a little attitude.’

And so I made my way to the huge wooden entrance doors in the knowledge that Andre would have to navigate his way back home with some very puffy eyes.

But before I could think too much about it, I was swept inside the building on a sea of particularly ugly green jackets. It was only on the ear-splitting ringing of what sounded like a fire alarm, but was in fact the school bell, that my tummy started to do backflips. Suddenly the dark wooden corridors emptied and I became painfully aware of the alien environment that was my new school. What was I doing there? Just for a second my fingers brushed against the cell phone in my pocket. It wasn’t too late to call in the cavalry. Andre was probably still trying to navigate his way around the many roundabouts that had littered our route to school.

But before I could bolt I had my first encounter with a member of staff. At least I figured that a middle-aged woman wearing the sort of black cape that would have been strictly limited to Halloween back home, must have been a teacher. Frankly the woman was dizzy. With clothes and hair that looked as though she had only just rolled out of bed, she broke the cardinal rule of school corridors around the world – she was running.

‘Come, come,’ she gasped, ‘we mustn’t be late for assembly.’

I got the distinct impression that she was talking to herself as much as to me. She took a deep breath before she opened one of the many doors that lined the corridor.

‘Oh dear, Mrs Butler-Masterson has already started,’ she said as she ushered me inside.

And so I found myself standing at the back of a huge hall that was packed full of girls, each one looking like some badly-dressed clone. All eyes were focused straight ahead towards the source of a voice that managed to deliver the refined tones of the Queen’s English with the full force of a Marine Corps Sergeant. Mrs Butler-Masterson looked like a demented Brownie leader with some very serious control issues. She was obviously mid-flow.

‘…I should not have to remind anyone here that a St Saviour’s girl must always conduct herself like a lady. Cavorting with the young men of Saint Ignatius Loyola does not approach my clear code of acceptable ladylike behaviour. So long as you appear in public wearing the respected uniform of St Saviours’, you must consider yourself to be a representative of this establishment. Anyone found outside these premises during school hours, without my prior approval will be suspended.’

The total silence that followed this threat was only broken by the amateurish attempts of my dizzy teacher friend to mount the stage where all of the other teachers were assembled without attracting the attention of the world’s scariest principal. Her noisy entrance was met with an icy glare.

‘Good morning Miss Moore,’ said Mrs Butler-Masterson, ‘perhaps you would care to lead us in our school anthem.’

The giggling of some girls next to me gave some clue that Miss Moore’s gifts were not exactly in the musical department. She looked as though she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole as she approached the podium.

My Mom has always told me that you need to be at least a little nervous before you perform – it keeps you on your toes. Frankly, if all you needed was anxiety then Miss Moore would have been a sensation. But what she delivered in stage-fright she clearly lacked in talent.

It was embarrassing; although, to be fair, she wasn’t exactly working with quality material. If the St Saviours song was any indication of things to come then things were looking pretty grim. Thankfully, Miss Moore’s painful solo was rescued (after only one verse) by the intervention of a piano and the voices of all of the other girls in the huge hall. And although the effect was almost angelic it was a painful reminder to me that I was an outsider and a very long way from home.

It was only when the singing ended and the hall began to empty that I remembered that I still had no clue where I was supposed to be. Seizing the opportunity, I pushed myself against the tide of exiting girls and towards the formidable figure of Mrs Butler-Masterson.

Worried that she would exit stage left before I could reach her, I called out to her. ‘Excuse me, Principal.’

The effect was immediate; everyone in the vicinity just froze. Something told me that I had gotten off to a pretty bad start as Mrs Butler-Masterson came sweeping towards me.

But I had no intention of being a victim to anyone. I stood my ground. Andre always said that confidence is something that you have got to fake until you feel. So I drew myself up to my full height and took a deep breath. Let me tell you though, it’s hard to make a good impression when you are practically talking to somebody’s knees. Mrs Butler-Masterson was made of the same huge proportions as Bob, and standing on that stage gave her at least another two feet advantage.

‘I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,’ she said.

I decided to ignore the sarcastic tone.

‘The name is Jayne Drew, Principal. I’m just starting here today.’

‘Ah yes,’ she said, ‘the American girl.’

Trust me, she was definitely not thrilled to meet me. And as she examined me with a mixture of suspicion and disgust, I became aware that our little production had gathered quite an audience. This was so not the low-key introduction that I had planned.

‘There are three things that you need to understand Miss Drew, if you are to be a student of St Saviours,’ she hissed. ‘Firstly, there has never been a Principal of this establishment in the four hundred years since it was founded. I am the headmistress. Secondly, no student of this school – even an American student – is permitted to raise her voice, particularly when they are addressing me. And thirdly, you will familiarise yourself with our rules and our code of conduct as you will find that I make no exceptions – even for you.’

I swear she was this close to blowing my cover. I had to speak up fast.

‘It won’t happen again headmistress.’

I tried to sound cool without being disrespectful. Somehow, I must have struck the right note because she suddenly turned her attention to one of her underlings.

‘Have this girl inducted,’ she said in a voice that seemed to suggest that I had been lucky to avoid a firing squad.

So this was the last thing standing between me and some boarding school for rich brats? I took a deep breath and tried to remember if I had learned any useful coping tips from Dr Black; none sprang to mind.

Something told me that I would have trouble in keeping out of trouble in St Saviours.


Three Alternative Careers for Mrs Butler-Masterson

1 Prison Warden
2 Marine Corps Sergeant
3 Personal Assistant to my Mom