Agnes House extract

Agnes House

Part One

Living

Agnes House is a place where children go to die. It's not like they write that on the brochure or anything, I mean, that's not very child friendly it it? Hi, welcome to Agnes House. There's a toy room, a computer room, a swimming pool, a bike shed and children die here. Still, it's not exactly a secret either. I was eight when I first saw the room they take the dead children to. I'm not even sure why they call it the rainbow room, there's nothing reminiscent of bright colours, a pot of gold or a leprechaun in the entire suite. There's just a bed that they lay the kid out on and an old air conditioning unit that rattles more than it pumps air.

Agnes house is deaths waiting room for children and that's exactly what I'd said when my dad suggested sending my sister, Pippa, to live their full time. If he'd listened to me I wouldn't be where I was now.

“Come in, Imogen,” my guidance counsellor Miss Booth called through the thin wooden door. I'm a regular visitor to this room, so it doesn't surprise me to see Miss Tyne sat at her desk, laptop open and ready, shoes slipped off under the desk, and two chocolate moose yoghurt's ready and waiting in front of her when I enter. I've spent a lot of the last six months of my school life in this small box office, above the music room, talking through my feelings with Miss Booth. Ever since the incident – as she calls it – I've been forced into these daily hour long sessions just to make sure I'm coping.

The free chocolate moose is infinitely better than P.E.

“How are you today?” she asks as I sit. Her hair's mousy brown and falling loose from her bun, her glasses large and thick rimmed. She's slim and inoffensive and probably experimented when she was at University. She's been single for a year now, which isn't exactly surprising considering her lack of effort with her appearance and her plain features. Miss Booth would probably end up marrying someone as equally inoffensive as herself and they'd live in a homely yet messy house and have the appropriate two and a half children.

At least she isn't shy.

“Got a spoon?” I reply, peeling the lid of my moose and ignoring her question.

She hunts around her desk, lifting folders and staplers until she finds the spoons. “Knew they were here somewhere,” she says, passing me one. It's as though she expects me to clap her achievement. “Now then, let's get started shall we?” I take a mouthful of moose. “How did you sleep last night?”

Are the deep shadows under my eyes not enough to answer her question? Did my pale, puffy skin and lank, greasy blonde hair not scream the answer to her as soon as I entered the room? “There was a party,” I tell her. Honesty is the best way to go in this room. Miss Booth deserves to know the ramifications of the choice the school, my father and herself forced on me.

“What time did this party finish?”

“Finish? I'm pretty sure they’re still going strong.”

“Who were you with?”

“Dunno. People.”

“Where were you?”

“Places.”

She stops eating her moose to type, no doubt filling her laptop in on my 'wild' behaviour. Wild, like I'm an animal. Wild, like I have no self control. Wild, like I'm a lost cause.

And it's all their fault, but I'm the one with the problem.

That's the story of my life. When I die they'll probably write that on my headstone.

“Was there alcohol involved?” She's typing as she asks, as though if she doesn't rush her thoughts out they will become lost within the scrabble of her mind. “Drugs?”

“I'm sure there was.”

She stops, fingers still hovering over keys, looks at me. “You know what I mean.”

I finish the last mouthful of my moose, knowing there are plenty more where that one came from. Miss Booth keeps a good stock of them in the small fridge in her stock room. They're her addiction, not mine. “You should ask me directly if I have been drinking or doing drugs. You should know by now I don't respond well to sneaky people. I've never lied to you before, have I?”

“I don't know, have you?”

“There was both drink and drugs in abundance, and yes, I tried both,” I said. “More than tried, actually. It was a party after all.” I laugh even though nothing;s funny.

“What drugs?”

I look around the messy office, wonder if Miss Booth realises she is wasting her life in this room that is nothing more than a coffin really. I bet she was a needy child who rarely played outdoors. No one who appreciated space could work in this room. “Cocaine. Vodka. Jack Daniels. Some shots – I'm not sure what was in those.”

“Is this the first time you've taken cocaine?”

“Yeah. I won't do it again either. It just made me tell a house full of strangers all the thoughts I don't like to admit to myself. It wasn't fun.”

She turns her attention back to the laptop so I allow my thoughts to drift. It's too quite in this room. The music class must be empty because there's no distracting loud noise booming through the floor. I hate the silence. My ears ring.

“Have you seen her yet?”

The question catches me so off guard that I almost answer. Then realisation kicks in and I'm angry. She knows that's off limits.

“I also fooled around with a guy last night. Might want to add slut to the list of words you and my dad use to describe me.”

“This isn't a conspiracy, Imogen. We want to help you.”

“I was fine.”

She gives me a look of pity. I narrow my eyes at her. There's a moment of pregnant looks exchanged between us both. She thinks I'm not coping. She's worried I'm taking too long to adjust. I don't know what she expects. She is one of the main conspirators behind a decision that has irrevocably changed my life, how does she expect me to react? I don't want to cope.

“Your father tells me your sister is settling in well. He also tells me you still haven't visited her.”

I know she isn't accusing me of being a bad sister, not really, but my brain automatically goes into defensive mode. I am a bad sister. I should visit her. It's not like I don't know that, it's just hard. They've made it hard.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“It might help.”

“It wont.”

“Imogen...” She stops talking, taps away at her keyboard once more.