Chapter Text
Lucy Carlyle stepped through the gates of the Fittes Performing Arts Academy to a silent, deserted campus. She cursed under her breath. The train from her small town had been delayed so that she missed her connection in Newcastle and now she was two hours late for the start of the prestigious Fittes Summer Programme.
To Lucy’s eye, the campus was lovely. Large trees shaded grassy lawns and lavender bushes grew along the sides of old brick buildings. Pulling her suitcase and lugging her horn in its case, she followed a curving path between two buildings and came out into a large open courtyard.
Ahead was a large building that immediately drew Lucy’s eye. It was the famous Fittes auditorium, the largest performing arts centre exclusively for young people in the country. Lucy searched around for clues as to where she ought to go, but all she could see were a couple of deserted folding tables in the centre of the courtyard. Whoever was meant to be directing new arrivals had clearly abandoned their post long ago.
Lucy listened. She thought she heard a faint voice, but as she turned her head this way and that to catch the sound she found she couldn’t pinpoint it. Must be bouncing off the brick buildings, she thought. She looked around and spotted a sign pointing to the front office on the other side of the courtyard. She walked toward it and was feet from the door when she suddenly heard the rising noise of many voices echoing through the courtyard.
Like a rolling tide, a mass of bodies poured out of the auditorium, spreading across the courtyard and spilling its way along the colonnades. The wall of noise that hit Lucy was enough to make her flinch. Watching her fellow students, all teenagers from 12 to 18, chattering, slinking and skipping their way across the courtyard made her freeze up. They all looked so confident, so cheerful.
Lucy suddenly felt small and alone, standing there with her luggage in hand, dressed in her second best wool skirt and tights with a simple black jumper, jacket and boots. Should she follow them? They seemed to be heading in many directions all at once. Finally she spied a group of adults exiting the auditorium. The finely dressed woman at the front must be the head of the Academy, Lucy thought, Miss Penleope Fittes. She was the granddaughter of the Academy’s founder, Marissa Fittes, and a former West End actress herself.
The group was halfway across the courtyard when Lucy realised they were headed right for her. She hastily moved to the side of the door, so as not to block passage. The adults walked past Lucy through the double doors into the building. Lucy looked down as they passed, watching them covertly through her eyelashes, regretting the scuffs on her boots and noticing a small run in her tights.
“Miss Carlyle?” Lucy’s head snapped up. A scowling woman stood in front of her, middle aged she thought, dressed in a navy business suit, with curling red hair and a clipboard. Her name tag read ‘Ms. Wade.’
“Y- yes, I’m Lucy Carlyle,” Lucy managed.
“Miss Fittes wants to see you, girl,” the woman said curtly. Lucy swallowed and followed the woman into the building.
Ms. Wade ushered Lucy through the foyer, lined with large flower-filled vases and plush carpets, into a large, stylishly furnished office. She had Lucy place her bags outside the door and sit on a fancy, modern sofa that looked quite uncomfortable and proved to be very uncomfortable. She gave her a large packet with her name across the front and left her there.
Lucy skimmed through the papers inside, intrigued by a thick sheaf of sheet music. She read through the programme overview and rules, and had just begun to leaf through the music when a side door opened and Penelope Fittes entered. She was a tall woman, striking, with large eyes and a strong jaw. Lucy thought these must have served her well on the stage, allowing her to emote to the back of a packed theatre. Her raven hair fell like a soft waterfall over a creamy white blouse and high waisted navy suit trousers. Lucy felt quite shabby in her faded jacket and well-worn skirt.
“Miss Carlyle is it? Ms. Wade said you called ahead to say your train was delayed.” Penelope Fittes’s voice was melodious and deep. It reminded Lucy of an ancient bronze bell.
“Yes ma’am,” Lucy said.
“There’s no need to call me ma’am. Miss Fittes is perfectly fine.” Penelope smiled, sitting across from her, perching elegantly on a high backed chair. “ Of course I would know who you were even if Ms. Wade had not told me. Your audition tape made quite an impression on Mr. Barnes, our orchestra director. He argued most vociferously for your scholarship application.” Penelope’s smile seemed sharp, Lucy thought. Like a shark’s.
“That was… very kind of him,” Lucy said, uncertainly.
“Kindness has nothing to do with it. Your tape was very impressive and we did not have another horn player with your abilities. I do hope you are able to live up to his expectations.” Lucy sensed that it was not Barnes’ expectations she needed to meet. This woman clearly kept a close watch on all her charges and their talents. It was what made her academy the most prestigious of its kind in England.
“Since you were late you missed the orientation presentation. Most of the information you will need is in that packet. However, I want to impress upon you a few key points. First, you are not to leave the premises of the academy during weekdays without permission. Since you are 16 years of age you may go into the city on the weekends but you must sign in and out. Any rule breaking will result in that privilege being revoked. Second, There is no alcohol allowed on campus. No fighting, and no sex. Curfew is at 10pm. You must be back in your room by then.”
Lucy blushed, looking down at her packet, tracing the silver unicorn emblem of the academy on the cover. “Yes ma’am… I mean, Miss Fittes,” she said quickly.
“We look for a certain degree of self-governance and discipline in those we accept at our academy. It is one of the things that makes our programme so successful. I fully expect you to be able to follow our rules and meet the standards we set for rehearsals and performances. Do these things and you will find no better success than with us. And of course,” she paused and Lucy looked up into her sharp but beautiful face. “...Have fun.”
–
Ms. Wade was waiting outside the office to direct Lucy to her dormitory. She left her within sight of the entrance telling her to hurry getting settled before the dinner hour ended. Lucy entered the dorm and searched in her packet, finding her room key. It was labelled ‘Portland Hall, Room 34.’ A plaque on the wall told her that was on the top floor and a quick glance around told her that there was no elevator. So she stuck her packet inside her rucksack and hauled her suitcase and horn up four flights of stairs.
The top floor consisted of a short hallway with three doors leading off it. Number 34 was on the left, directly across from 35. The far door appeared to be a bathroom. Lucy was sweating and huffing as she opened her own door and stumbled inside. The room was cosy, with heavy drapes and crisp linens on the two twin beds. A large old fashioned wardrobe, two chests of drawers and a pair of small desks filled the room.
One bed already had a small teddy bear and quilt placed upon it. Lucy dumped her things at the foot of the other bed and sat heavily on it. She looked up at the window and sighed at the fading light. It had been a very long day.
First she had felt compelled to say goodbye to Norrie. Lucy and her best friend had applied to the Fittes Summer Programme together. They had dreamed of taking the train down together, spending the summer swanning about London, flirting with boys, playing in the orchestra together. But while Norrie was a very competent flautist, it hadn’t been enough to earn her a scholarship. And without that there was no hope of her attending.
Lucy had seriously considered withdrawing her application when she had learned they wouldn’t be going together. But Norrie had told her that if she did that she would never speak to her again. This was an opportunity for her to get out of their shithole town for a whole six weeks and Lucy was not allowed to miss it. But it was a painful goodbye. Norrie said little, just giving Lucy a rough hug before turning away swiftly.
Then her mother’s car broke down and she had to call a cab to the station. After that she had to contend with the train delay, the missed connection, her first journey on the tube, and the walk to campus (she had already spent her cab money that morning). All dragging her beloved french horn, which she affectionately called Skully, and which seemed to grow heavier with every mile. At least it wasn’t a cello, she thought ruefully.
Lucy dearly wanted to collapse on the bed and go to sleep. But it was barely 7:30 and she hadn’t eaten anything since an apple and a sandwich around noon, not counting the watery cup of tea she had purchased on the train. So after a few minutes she hauled herself up to her feet with a groan and went out into the hallway. She was two steps down the hall when she realised she had left her roomkey on the bed. She turned back just as she heard the door click shut.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed loudly, letting her head fall against the closed door. She really was too tired to deal with this.
A sound behind her made her look up and turn her head. A pair of wide, dark eyes was staring at her out of wire framed glasses through the cracked door of Number 35. The boy had curly black hair and was wearing an over-large black t-shirt with baggy jeans.
“Are you a maid?” he asked in a thin, sardonic voice that Lucy found immediately off-putting.
“What?” Lucy said, taken aback.
“No, you’re much too young. And not very well dressed.” Lucy thought that was quite rich coming from him. “You must be the new neighbour,” he sighed. “Damn, I thought we were alone up here.”
“George, don’t be rude,” a smooth baritone called from within the room.
“She’s leaning against the opposite door, Lockwood,” George said to the voice in the room. “Do you think she’s planning to sleep out in the hall?”
“You know I can hear you,” Lucy snapped waspishly.
Just then a slender hand pulled the door open all the way and a second boy appeared in the doorway. This one was tall and slim, dressed in an immaculate white collared shirt with a skinny black tie. His hair was a lustrous brown and looked rakishly tousled and his eyes were as dark and velvety as chocolate. He looked Lucy right in the face and gave a slightly puzzled, polite smile.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Anthony Lockwood. This is George Karim. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Lucy was taken aback. The two boys made quite a strange pair. One tall, one short, one dapper, one scruffy, one polite, the other very rude.
“Lucy Carlyle,” she said, extending her hand to the tall, elegant boy. He took it in his and Lucy was surprised to find his pale hands were slightly calloused. She thought he must play a string instrument. She would have shook with the other boy, George, as well, but he had ducked back into the room out of sight.
“Is there a reason you’re loitering in our hallway?” Lockwood, asked. Lucy felt her brows furrow slightly at the implication that this was their hallway but let it slide.
“I was just going out to dinner,” she said. “But I realised I left my key behind and then I was accosted by my neighbours. There, you’re all caught up,” she finished coolly. She expected the boy to back off but he laughed instead. Lucy supposed he must be used to dealing with abrasiveness, given who his roommate was.
“Well, you’re a bit late for dinner,” he said. “They were cleaning up when we left fifteen minutes ago.”
Lucy sighed. Christ, what a day. She sank down, back braced against her door. She supposed there was nothing to it but to wait and see if her mysterious roommate came back.
“Um…” Lockwood said, eyes still on her. “George stole a load of biscuits, I might even be able to persuade him to share. Come on, you can wait in our room. Much nicer than the hallway,” the smile he gave her was broad and infectious as he extended his hand to help her up.
Great, she thought, just what she needed. To be rescued by this posh prick and his weird roommate with zero social skills. Still, it didn’t seem likely she would get a better offer.
“Thanks,” she said, and held out her hand. He pulled her to her feet and gestured gallantly for her to enter their tiny dorm room.
“Let me give you the grand tour,” he said in his cultured voice. “This is my bed. That’s George’s. And that’s about it. Have a seat anywhere,” he said, throwing himself down on his bed.
Lucy looked around. George was sitting on his own bed with an open packet of biscuits crinkling in his hand as he loudly chewed. There was a suitcase open on one chair and the other had an apple core balanced on it. She opted for the chair with the apple core, removing it to a nearby desk that’s as covered with magazines.
She turned to see Lockwood and George having a furious conversation with their eyebrows. Finally George sighed and thrust the packet at her. Lockwood gave her a pleased smirk and waggled his eyebrows at her in victory. Lucy stifled a laugh at these antics and reached for a couple of biscuits.
“Lockwood!” George immediately whined.
“Oh stuff it, George,” he said. “She’s a guest.”
“What did I do?” Lucy asked, bewildered, one biscuit halfway to her mouth.
“Nothing,” Lockwood said quickly.
“The rule is you only take one biscuit at a time, in strict rotation! Everyone knows that!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that rule,” Lucy said carefully.
Lockwood sighed. “It keeps things fair,” he mumbled. “And quiet.”
“So did you two already know each other?” Lucy asked, changing the subject away from her biscuit faux pas as she began eating hers hungrily.
“Of course,” said George. “We were roommates last year.”
“Last year?” Lucy said, surprised. Whether it was because they seemed like such an unlikely pair or because it had never occurred to her that some people did this every year, she hadn’t decided yet.
Lockwood nodded in confirmation. “You’re new this year, aren’t you?” He asked.
“Yes,” she said. Then feeling she ought to say more said, “Mr. Jacobs, my band director up north, suggested I apply.” She stopped as she felt a twinge in her chest. He had suggested they both apply. But she didn’t want to explain that to these two.
“Nice of him,” Lockwood said.
“Mmm,” Lucy said. Nice really wasn’t how she would describe Mr. Jacobs. He was supportive in his own way, but mainly he was a jaded hard ass who was impossible to please. Lucy had been very surprised when he thought she might rate a place in the Fittes Programme.
“George here is our lead techie. Lights, sound, everything,” Lockwood said.
Lucy expected him to say more about himself and when he didn’t she felt compelled to ask, “And you?”
“Me?” Lockwood seems genuinely taken aback.
George laughed, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “You can’t expect everyone to know who you are, Lockwood,” he said. “I barely know, and we’re practically best friends.”
“I’m…” Lockwood started, then looked slightly bashful. “I don’t know how to say this modestly,” he confessed. That made Lucy’s eyebrows raise nearly into her hairline. He really did think he was God’s gift, this one. “I’m an actor,” he said finally. “I’m in the musical, just a minor role, but also playing Hamlet in, well, Hamlet.”
“You might have noticed him in the brochure,” George offered. For some reason this made Lockwood’s face darken and he looked away.
“Can’t say that I did,” Lucy said.
“Well you won’t be able to avoid seeing him,” George quipped. “He loves the spotlight. When he can find it.”
“I missed my light one time!” Lockwood complained.
“Twice. I just happened to anticipate it the second time.”
“That’s very hard to prove.”
George shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I know what I know.”
Lucy was quite glad that at this point they heard a noise in the hallway.
“Sounds like my roommate is back,” she said hastily. “Thanks for the biscuits!”
Lucy hopped off the chair and pulled the door open. She was almost through when Lockwood’s soft voice stopped her. “Lucy,” he said and she turned to see him holding out another biscuit to her. “Here, have mine. You must be starving.”
Lucy had a short furious internal battle between her pride and her stomach and her stomach won.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it and smiling at him. The glow of his return smile lingered with her far longer than the biscuit.