The Glimpse Read Free Page B

looked ordinary.
    Lake pinched her nose, let out a huff of air, then sank back in her seat.
    *
    The saloon puled up outside an eighteenth-century Queen Anne house, which served as the Hampstead Community Hal. Six girls in pastel dresses clumped outside the entrance like tame varieties of roadside flowers. Ana felt a pang of regret for the scarf. Without it, her forget-me-not blue dress looked the same as al the others – strappy shoulders and a long straight-down skirt. Al of the girls wore their hair up in chignons and French twists.
    ‘Do you want me to wait with you?’ Lake asked. She was slumped back in the leather car seat, with clearly no intention of moving.
    Ana glanced at the mothers and joining planners standing on the sidelines. Then back at the girls. They al seemed to know each other, which wasn’t surprising. Most to know each other, which wasn’t surprising. Most eligible Pures chose to attend the binding ceremony in their own Community Hal.
    ‘I’l be fine,’ she said.
    Nick rounded the car and popped open the back passen-16
    ger door. He offered Ana a hand. She took it, at the same time puling free the centre pin holding up her French rol with her other hand. Soft, straight hair splashed across her shoulders.
    ‘Or you could wear it down,’ Lake muttered.
    ‘Sorry,’ Ana said, picking out the remaining hairpins.
    Lake had spent an hour brushing and roling, but stil, Ana felt instantly better. Just because people paid attention to her for the wrong reasons, didn’t mean she wanted to blend in. Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she stepped on to the pavement. Sun seeped through a gauze of cloud but it was freezing. She wondered about the bleeding girl. The Hampstead Whittington, only ten minutes from the pond, would be the closest hospital. But the girl wouldn’t be alowed through the Hampstead Community checkpoint. She’d have to walk around. A forty- or fifty-minute detour.
    ‘Nick,’ she said, as her father’s chauffeur ducked into the driver’s seat. ‘Could you go back and have a look for that girl?’
    ‘Only if you promise not to pul another stunt like that.’
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘I promise.’
    Nick cocked his eyebrow, pretending to decide whether he could trust her. For the last year he’d driven Ana to her piano lessons at the Royal Academy of Music in the heart of London. Seven months ago, just after Ana’s best friend Tamsin mysteriously vanished, Ana had gone through a stage of appropriating funds from her father’s ilegal wads of cash and handing them out to teenage girls who looked 17
    like they hadn’t eaten for weeks. Nick had grown accustomed to her odd requests.
    He smiled at her before getting back into the car. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘I’l see you tonight. Your father’s asked me to pick you up from the concert hal, after the celebrations.’
    Ana waved goodbye. Behind her the huddle of chattering girls grew tense and silent. A lady in a brown suit opened the wrought-iron gates and beckoned them forwards.
    Mothers kissed their daughters goodbye. Joining planners made last-minute tucks of hair and sweeps of lip gloss. Ana was the first up the paving stone path to the listed Queen Anne house. She imagined the superintendent registrar would have said something if they were missing a male binding participant. But then the woman had barely looked at the girls, so maybe she wouldn’t know if the count was off. They paused at the black front door, alowing the others to catch up. Ana focused on inhaling and exhaling but she felt as though she’d forgotten how to breathe.
    ‘We wil now proceed to the music room,’ the registrar said as the last two girls tottered up. Breathe, bend leg said as the last two girls tottered up. Breathe, bend leg at knee, lift foot, bend other leg. Thank goodness her heart continued to beat on its own, even if it was way too fast.
    Ana folowed the registrar into the halway and first left.
    The music room lay at the front of the