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“Of course,” Principal Irvine says. “Would you like St Augustus to give a statement to any press outlets that approach us?”
“I think that might be for the best,” Carson says. “Perhaps you could inform them that Carrigan and Tallulah are still hopeful that their parents will be returned to them safe and well, but that in the meantime they will be processing their grief at this tragic situation in the privacy of their family home.”
“I’ll be praying for your family girls,” Principal Irvine says, as Carson guides me out of the office and down the corridor.
No one says a word as we traverse the hallways and make our way out of the main school entrance. When we pause on the steps, I pull away from Carson and move to my sister, pulling her to me and hugging her tightly, burying my face in her neck to hide my expression from the camera’s I know are pointed on us right now.
She wraps her arms tightly around me and we just stand there hugging, framed by the impressive school buildings behind us, and the guys at our side, offering their inconsolable women silent support. The image is picture perfect.
“Do you think that’s long enough?” Tallulah whispers.
“I think so. Let’s go back to the guys and get out of here,” I whisper back. Pulling away from her I move straight back into Carson’s arms, as Arlo scoops Tallulah off the floor and cradles her to his chest.
Carson, holds me to him, hurrying me down the steps and across the lot to Arlo’s range rover. When we climb inside, the guys in the front, Tallulah and I partially hidden in the back, I scoot over right next to my sister and rest my head dramatically against her shoulder, keeping my expression heartbroken as Arlo pulls out of the lot and onto the highway.
I stay silent for almost a mile, until I just can’t hold the laughter in anymore. “Oh my god,” I cry, my body shaking as the giggles I’ve managed to hold in burst from me.
The others all follow suit and the entire car is laughing. “Jesus Carrie, I had no idea you were such a good actress, your face was a fucking picture,” Arlo cries.
“And when you guys reached out and held hands. That was fucking perfect, like an after school special,” Carson says, slapping his thigh and turning in his seat to beam at us.
“Are we going straight to the house?” I ask, anticipation flowing through me.
“We need to give it a couple of hours for our guy to circulate the photographs, then we’ll go over there,” Arlo says, amusement still lacing his voice as he turns the car towards his house.
* * *
Devastated twins Carrigan and Tallulah Archibald console one another after receiving the news that their parents Vanessa and Frederic Archibald are missing and presumed dead, after the yacht they were sailing around the Caribbean in fails to arrive at their scheduled stop.
“Boom,” Olly says loudly, miming a drop the mike action as he points at the news article that shows Tallulah and I hugging each other tightly on the steps of St Augustus while the guys look on, worry etched across both of their faces.
“Seven hours is how long it took us to convince the world that your parents are dead. I don’t know if there’s a world record for this kind of thing but if there is, I reckon we just smashed it,” Wats crows, nodding his head.
“I can’t believe it really worked,” I say, feeling shock settle in as I stare at the screen. When I suggested we do this, I think a part of me assumed no one would believe us, but it worked and I’m looking at an article on a real news site that says they’re dead. Of course, I know they’re absolutely fine, that they’re sunning themselves in a palatial mansion in Marrakesh, but still they’re gone, essentially dead to me and Tallulah, and they did it without a thought to the children they walked away from.
“Are we going then?” my sister asks excitedly. “I can’t wait to get into that godforsaken place.”
“Are you ready?” Carson whispers against my ear, only loud enough for me to hear.
I nod tentatively.
“We don’t have to do this. You never have to set foot in that place again if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m fine. I want to, there are things there that I want, if they’re still there anyway.”
“Then let’s go,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me up from the sofa.
The car journey seems to fly by in the blink of an eye and before I can really prepare myself, we’re approaching the gates that block the entrance into my family home. We’re all in Olly’s family’s limo and as the driver reaches the intercom, he rolls down the window and presses the buzzer.
“Hello,” a fuzzy sounding female voice answers.
“Could you open the gates please, I have the Miss Archibalds with me,” the driver confidently announces.
“I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Archibald have advised me that no one is to have access to the property without their prior consent,” the female voice replies.
“Could I recommend you turn on the tv to channel 32, the Archibalds are missing, presumed dead and their children would like access to their home while they coordinate the search and rescue teams.”
For a moment only fuzzy static fills the silence, as we wait for the housekeeper to say something. “Please wait,” she eventually says, her voice shaky. The familiar beeping sound of the gates being opened echoes around us and the imposing entrance slowly creeps open.
