Page 16 of Cruel Shame

“My parents are in London,” he muttered. “Mother watches that show whenever she’s in the UK. She called, asking if I knew any of the people involved.”

“Oh.” I turned to Orlando, hoping he was satisfied with that reply. Right now, I didn’t want my sort-of boyfriend arguing with my best friend.

“Thanks Adewale,” said Maxwell. “We’ll take Lilah to the police station.”

“Shall I come and meet you?” Gideon asked.

“Thanks for telling me, but no,” I replied. “Try to enjoy your weekend.”

Gideon said goodbye and hung up, leaving me staring at Kendrick from the other side of the dining table. He stared down into his smartphone and scrolled down the screen with his thumb.

The entire left side of my head pounded so hard that I had to squeeze an eye shut to process the pain. Right now, I couldn’t face reading through tweets about those false and disgusting accusations.

“Any more news?” I asked.

“Security staff has locked up the headmaster’s house, pending investigation,” he said without looking up. “Mrs. Campbell is confining everyone to their rooms right now. It looks like she wants to hold an emergency staff meeting.”

Orlando helped me back onto the dining chair and rubbed my tense shoulders. Maxwell sat beside me and took my hand. Even Kendrick glanced up to offer me an apologetic wince. I wanted to make a rousing speech, saying we’ll destroy the Liddells and life will return back to normal, but it won’t. Even if they found out Elizabeth was making it all up, accusations like this have a way of sticking.

My mind rolled back to a guy in Richley, who lived on the same road as my junior school. Everyone called him a flasher, and people used to throw crap at his front door for sport. Two older girls said they caught him wanking off in the park, and from that moment he was branded a pervert. What did they call him again?.

Dirty Des.

Years later, the girls fell out, and one of them told the truth. They’d broken into his house to steal weed and walked in on him wanking in his own living room. The truth didn’t matter, because the lie was more salacious, the name still stuck.

Because of the Liddell’s, people will always wonder if there was a grain of truth in the accusations against Mr. Burgh.

There’s no smoke without weed, as everyone said in Richley.

“When did he leave with the police?” I asked Kendrick.

“Just now.”

“Let’s get there before they arrive, then.”

* * *

The boys convinced me to take more painkillers so I could get through the next few hours. Only the strongest drugs could take away what was going on inside my head. The medicine doctors prescribed me was a step above the over-the-counter bullshit that could only smooth out the sharp edges.

It left me with a hot and dull and pounding concussion, even after choking down that garlic bread and drinking tons of water. But at least I could finally face the world.

Even though the police station was only a ten-minute walk from the hotel, the boys took the limo. We arrived outside its glass exterior, finding its waiting room already crammed full.

Maxwell opened the door, and the shouts and roars of the crowd engulfed my senses. Most of the people taking up the space were dressed in club wear, looking like they all came out from either a nightclub or a concert hall. Fresh pain flared across the left side of my head, causing me to stumble back into Orlando.

“Are you alright?” He held me around the waist again.

“I can’t go in there.” My insides cringed as I said the words. I’ve faced murderous dogs, dining rooms full of mean girls, and squared up to drug lords. A boisterous room shouldn’t turn me into a trembling mess.

Orlando flicked his head. I guess that was a silent sign for the twins to go inside and tell the police I wanted to see Mr. Burgh.

My heart sank as he walked me back to the limo, opened the door, and tucked me inside like I was made of thin glass. To anyone watching, this looked like I was scared to face my demons or there might be some truth in the allegations. The Liddells’ shit had nothing to do with my current state. It was that bloody concussion and a skin-prickling sensation that someone was out there, aiming a gun and this time, wouldn’t miss.

“Are you alright?” Orlando rubbed my hands between his. “You’re freezing.”

“Crap painkillers,” I muttered.

“You know that none of us will stand for what’s happened to Mr. Burgh, right?” He pulled me against his chest and ran his warm hand up and down my forearm. “What we said about helping you with the Liddells also applies to your granddad.”