I race through the village at top speed. I can hear the walker calling behind me. “Thera! Stop! Thera, sweetheart!”
I keep going as fast as my legs can in these stupid shoes with the squishy platforms, with my toes squidged uncomfortably in the toe parts, and my heels rocking around on the plastic. I run around the corner with the bridge over the river, and suddenly there is a group of men in orange suits and hardhats working on the road. I am still crying and red-faced and my hair’s all coming undone, and the road workers try to stop me, one after the other, these huge, scary men, reaching for me and shouting after me.
“Hey!”
“Are you all right?”
“Stop!”
One grabs my arm, and I scream. “STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!”
“What the—?” the road worker says, but I’m miles away from him already, my feet slapping the pavement.
I run onto the road leading to my primary school, but the bend of the corner is really tight, and as I turn I feel the soft platform heel of my sandals give. I stagger, spreading out my arms, and then crumple into a pile on the pavement. “Ow!” I moan, and then immediately shut up. A man and a woman are talking by a big jeep. I don’t want them to see me, so I try to stand, but my ankle really hurts, and instead I crawl into the hedge and tuck my legs right up to my chest.
I don’t have my binoculars with me, but I read in a Famous Five book that if you make binoculars with your hands, it works almost as well. I make binoculars and squint at the man and the lady. I knew it. It’s lame Mrs. A and creepy Mr. Kent.
I decide to get a little closer to hear what they are saying. The undergrowth continues on the other side of the small road, so, very slowly, like in Grandmother’s Footsteps, I cross the tarmac. If one of them turns they’ll see me, but I also know if I move too fast I’ll catch their eyes, so I take one tiny step at a time and steal across to the side of the road Mrs. Adamson is on. There I slink into the undergrowth, and then I climb through the fence into the Nelsons’ garden. They have loads of evergreen trees, so I can’t be seen here, and I can get really close to Mr. Kent and Mrs. Adamson. I sneak right up to the end of the garden, take off my backpack, and peer through the fence, listening intently.
“What do you think of me?” Mrs. Adamson is saying.
“…just a strange thing to say,” Mr. Kent replies.
“I don’t know,” she says, and lowers her head. She starts to speak in a sad, quiet tone. I can’t hear most of what she says now, just the occasional word. “Muh-muh-muh stressed, muh-muh some time off.”
“Summer holidays,” Mr. Kent says, like he’s agreeing with her. “Training finished now. Something something good for everyone.”
They must have been doing teacher training at school. Sometimes they do that in term time and we get days off. “Muh-muh not sure,” Mrs. Adamson says. “Muh-muh-muh career muh better somewhere else.”
“You’re considering something-y leaving? You seemed very settled here.”
“Oh well, muh says a change of scenery might be muh for us.”
“I thought you were thinking about children?”
Children? Is Mrs. A going to have a baby? I try to listen harder, but that’s a weird feeling because when I concentrate too hard on listening, my ear feels itchy. The itchiness makes it even more difficult to follow conversations, because I’m just thinking about how much I want to scratch it. The doctor told me you’re not supposed to put anything smaller than your fist in your ear. A finger is part of a fist so I guess that’s okay. I scratch some earwax out of my ear, then listen again.
“I am!” she suddenly exclaims. I raise my eyebrows. I heard that. “Muh-muh not helping me build a stable muh-muh need stability muh-muh considering moving nearer to his parents.”
Then Mr. Kent gets a bit grumbly too. “Oh, well, muh-muh-muh women muh-muh time muh-muh important.
Mrs. A puts her hand on the jeep door. “Muh-muh lift?” she says.
“No, I think I’ll walk home,” Mr. Kent says. “Don’t want to muh-muh jealous.”
They laugh, and then Mrs. A wipes at her face like she is wiping away a tear. “He’s like that,” Mrs. A says mysteriously.
I hear stompy footsteps, so I shrink back. Mr. Kent’s legs pass me. He’s so big, even bigger than Dad. His smell is really strong too, men’s-deodorant-type smell and bad breath. I think about his eyes on me in the cinema and shiver.
I did wonder if they were in league. That would give him access to the stuff in her car, and even more access to Billie, because Billie and Mrs. A always got on. When I hear the car engine start, I jump, even though I’m sat on my bum. I curl up and watch Mrs. A’s jeep drive past. The police said they were looking for a jeep, on TV ages ago. Lots of people have jeeps around my village because it’s the countryside. Farmer Rawley has a Land Rover, which looks like a jeep. There are always a few jeeps and Land Rovers in the pub parking lot. Creepy Mr. Kent doesn’t have a jeep, but he could have just used Mrs. A’s. She invited him in it just now!
Mr. Kent might have borrowed her jeep, and then he might have driven it to the woods. He could say to Billie, “Come with me, Billie,” and she would have to, because he is older than us and in charge of us. He could lead her to the copse and do perverted things to her. Of course, she would know him. She would be able to tell the police what happened, so instead of letting her go he would kill her, and drive away from the crime in the knowledge that no one would be able to find out, cunningly disguised in Mrs. Adamson’s jeep.
I look at my watch. The time is half past four. Mum and Dad will both be home in about half an hour. I think for a moment, but I know what I have to do. I hope he hasn’t had too much of a head start. Mr. Kent lives up the lane, in the next village. I leap over the fence—my ankle still hurts, so I take my shoes off—and I start to limp-run to catch up to him. It’s not until later that I realize I left my backpack in the Nelsons’ garden.
The village is emptier now. The road workers have disappeared—maybe they’re taking a break—and so has the walker. I’ve put my shoes back on and have been trailing Mr. Kent through the village, back to near my part of it. He is only a little way ahead of me now, so I am just dawdling, when a car pulls up next to me and stops with its engine still running. “Hello, Thera,” someone says. I look up.
“Oh! Hi, Mr. Brooke!”
“Hi! How are you doing?”
“I’m good. I’m just…walking.”
“Do you want driving home at all? It’s so nice to see you. It’s been…” He trails off.
“About three weeks, yeah,” I say.
Billie’s dad has a shaved head, and is very big and pale, and a lot older than Dad. “It would be nice to have a chat. I’m sorry about what Rebecca said when we were in the woods. She’s just upset.”
I wriggle uncomfortably. “Yeah, that’s understandable.”
“Do you want to get in?” He gestures to the passenger’s seat.
“Um…” I look down the road. I think about lying, because I would to all other adults, but I take a chance on Mr. Brooke, because he has the same priorities I do. I bet he’s out looking for Billie’s killer too. “I can’t right now, I’m trailing someone.”
“Oh, okay.”
I tap my nose. “Got a lead.”
“Right.”
“I’ll see you another time,” I say conspiratorially (Granddad word).
“That will be nice,” he says, and he smiles at me. I start to walk off after Mr. Kent. I look back. Mr. Brooke is still watching me with the window down. He waves. I wave back and carry on down the lane. I get a way up, then happen to trip over something in my stupid shoes, which makes me look behind me. That’s funny. Mr. Brooke has moved his car closer now. He’s still watching me with his window down. He waves again. I frown and wave back. I turn around and keep walking, up and over the hill. Across the field, the police ca
r on the top is moving toward the road. I keep an eye on them, and see them turn my way. I hop off the road and hide in the bushes, squatting down, waiting for them to go past. Mr. Kent is just reaching the crest of the next hill, on the road.
For a minute nothing happens, but then I hear a car engine. The pitch sounds like it’s getting slower, and it begins to rumble, and then it stops close by.
I squat down even lower. I hear footsteps through the grass. I look down. A trick of hiding is that, if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. Although thinking about it now…is that right? I’ve always assumed—“Gah!”
A big black boot is right in front of me.
“Thera Wilde?”
I look up. It’s a police officer. I frown. “Poopsticks.”
“We’ll be escorting you home today, young madam,” he says. He looks almost like the blonde policeman who interviewed me the night Billie went missing, but he’s a bit lankier and has light brown hair. I stand up and the policeman picks a leaf out of my hair. “If that’s all right with you.”
“I guess it’ll fucking have to be, won’t it?” I say, swearing ’cause I’m annoyed. I clap my hand over my mouth immediately afterward. Grr. That stupid walker must have called them, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. As I walk over to the police car and get in the back seat, flanked by the two officers so I can’t escape, I look down the lane. Mr. Kent has disappeared. He isn’t on the road. I wonder where he went. Then I look up the lane, toward the village. Mr. Brooke’s car isn’t there anymore.
The police drop me home. The tallest man walks me to the door, his hand on the back of my neck, pushing me forward. I get the impression that, if I try to run, he will clamp his hand around my neck and threaten to break it. When we get to the door, he reaches over me and knocks.
Dad opens the door.
“It’s your most annoying child,” I say. “Feel free to shout at me.”
“Thank you, officer,” Dad says calmly, and they shake hands.
The officer pushes me a bit and I walk inside, then he leaves, and Dad shuts the door. We regard each other. I flick my eyes in the direction of the front door then back to Dad, and fold my arms. “Collusion. That’s another word Granddad taught me.”
“I’m going to ban that mad old man from teaching you those words.”
“I bet you would.”
“That’s it, Thee,” he smiles. “No more long words! Problem solved.”
“Nazi,” I say, and his smile goes.
“Come in the kitchen,” he says.
I follow him in and my guard is up immediately, but I try not to show it. Mum is sat there, with Billie’s dad. I thought there was something funny about him trailing me. I remember how kids have better intuition than adults and I squint to see blood on his aura, which is this blurry color that goes around everyone like an outline and if you’re sad it’s blue, and if you’re jealous it’s green, and if it’s red you’re in love or you’ve just murdered somebody. Or both. I read about it in the Ouija book. It talks about changes to the aura when you are being haunted by a ghost because you did something bad to them. I was thinking about it when I was with the walker, but I couldn’t see anything weird about his aura. It was a nice blue color. If the walker isn’t the murderer, someone else must be. And if there’s blood on Mr. Brooke’s aura, I tell myself, then he’s killed Billie and I have to scream and run.
But I can’t see any fresh blood on his aura. I can smell death, though. Lots of it. He stands up slowly. It’s like I can see it above him, a big, heavy, dark gray cloud.
“Hello, Thera.” Billie’s dad’s voice is always really soft. “It was nice to see you today.”
“Um, you too,” I say.
“You can come and visit us any time you like,” he says. “You can play in Billie’s room.” His voice catches like he was going to say something more but decided not to, and he looks down into a plastic bag that he has. Both the handles are wrapped around his big hands, and he pulls it up onto the table and pulls the handles apart.
He rubs his eyes and Mum says, “Oh, Paul,” and puts her hand on his back for a moment.
“I thought…Billie’s mum and I thought you might like some things of Billie’s. Some things you two used to play with.” He pulls out Billie’s neon yellow art pencil case with all her felt-tips, and puts it on the table.
“Cool. Thanks.” I look at Mum and Dad and they both nod.
Billie’s dad takes out more things and puts them on the table. Her OshKosh coat, which is really cool and comes from America, in Florida, where Billie went on holiday last year. The board game Dream Phone, which she got for her birthday in May. Our friendship bracelet kit, which we bought together. I don’t point out that it’s half mine anyway.
“Her Sylvanian Families? Are you sure? Billie really liked these.”
“I think she would want them to have a nice home with you, don’t you think? We don’t have any other children. They’ll just get dusty. I think Billie would hate that. She didn’t like them to be alone even for a few days when we went on holiday.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll play with them and keep them not dusty. They do get lonely.”
Billie’s dad nods. He pulls out the book I lent Billie, Mystery Stories by Enid Blyton, and Double Act by Jacqueline Wilson too.
“That’s the book that inspired us to write diaries!” I exclaim.
“Billie wrote in her diary every night the last week,” Billie’s dad says, but he says it weird, like he’s not talking to me anymore. “She really enjoyed that.” He pauses. “You were such a good friend to Billie, Thera. I will always be grateful she had you. I was always proud of how honest and straightforward Billie was. She wasn’t mean and she didn’t…grow up too fast. You were the same. Just two little girls, always having fun. You had so much fun together. She was always so happy. Whenever you were ’round, you two giggled constantly in Billie’s room. We could tell when Billie was coming home from yours because we could hear you both laughing out on the fields. Thank you for making my daughter’s life such a happy one.”
When he says all this, his voice is a tiny bit higher than before, and he doesn’t look at me, just looks in the bag, as if there is more in it. But there isn’t. It’s empty. I can tell.
Turns out Billie’s dad called the police. He had the number of the local ones, so the car on the top came straight to me. Seems like everyone wants to get in the way of my mission, including Mr. Brooke. After he gives me all Billie’s stuff, Mr. Brooke leaves with the empty bag. Mum shuts the door and then there is a big silence.
She walks through to the living room and sits down on the sofa. Dad gestures for us to follow her, so we do, and Dad sits in the armchair across from me. I keep looking at Mum. Her face is stony.
“Thera, I know your father and I have been arguing a lot. We haven’t kept an eye on you well enough, and that’s our fault. Mr. Brooke said you were following your head teacher.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Mum holds up her hand.
“Let me finish. The police told us they saw you earlier today by the woods, where we have expressly forbidden you to go. Things have to change,” Mum says, like she’s tired. “You are forbidden to wear makeup and dress like that, and you can give me that dress because I’m taking it back to wherever you got it from. You are forbidden to leave the house without an adult with you. There will be no more talk of murder in front of Sam. That is not a topic for little girls.”
“That’s funny. I thought it was a topic exclusively for little girls.”
“Don’t answer back to your mother,” Dad says immediately.
Mum raises her eyebrows. I fold my arms. “If you want to talk to us about Billie, you can ask and we can go into your room. You are absolutely forbidden to try and find Billie’s killer. Do you understand? You are”—Mum swallows, like she can’t get the words out—“risking your
life following strange men. We did not spend all our time and energy loving you, and caring for you, and making you eat your greens and read books and go to bed on time, to lose you to someone—” Mummy doesn’t finish her sentence. Instead she wipes tears from her cheeks. “If you break any of these rules, we will be really, really angry, Thera. Do you understand?”
I look at Dad, then back at Mum, and nod. “I’m sorry I made you upset, Mum.”
“You’ll be a good girl, now, won’t you, Thera?” Mum says, and I run into her arms for a cuddle. “Thera?” she says when I don’t reply. “You will, won’t you?”
I look into her big blue eyes. I love my mummy so much. I lower my head, and hope the dead girls aren’t nearby and don’t leave before I can explain myself. “Yes, I’ll be a good girl,” I whisper in her ear.
Mum looks at Dad. He nods and stands up.
“There’s something else we have to talk to you about, Thera. Sit down.”
“What is it?”
“You’ve probably been wondering why we have been arguing so much.”
“Erm. Well, not really. I’ve been thinking about Billie.” Mum and Dad exchange a look.
“Even so,” Dad says. “It’s not good that we argue, is it? Because it upsets you and Sam.”
I don’t reply. My body is suddenly tense all over. “Don’t you think, Thera?” Mum asks as if she wants me to agree.
I shrug. I feel like I’m being tricked but I don’t see why they are tricking me. “Yeah, I guess.”
“We don’t want to fight,” Dad says. “Mummy and I want to be friends. And we think…” He gives Mum another glance. “In order to do that, we should live apart.”
I frown in surprise. “What?”
“You and Mummy and Sam will live here, and I’m going to rent another house in Eastcastle, and you and Sam will live with Mum in the week, then come and stay with me on Saturday night and Sunday.”
Dead Girls Page 22
