Good Little Liars

by Sarah Clutton

  She tried Ben’s number.

  ‘Harriet?’

  Relief swamped her. ‘What do you know about this investigation into Jon?’

  ‘I… Nothing. Marlee mentioned it earlier. She was heading to her school reunion. She said her friend was with the police about Jonathan. She sounded worried for him. Something about a girl who died in their year at school. I presume it’s the one you told me about when we first met.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘She said her friend had been investigating things for a while now. She mentioned some evidence about Jon that had been dug up.’

  ‘What evidence?’

  ‘She didn’t say.’

  ‘Was that all?’

  ‘Yes, that’s all. Could it be true? It sounds crazy to think—’

  Harriet ended the call, cutting off his final words. Scarlett moved forward through the intersection then slowed down at a pedestrian crossing as an old lady stepped onto the road.

  ‘Mum, what investigation into Jon?’

  ‘Just drive, Scarlett. That woman’s far enough across now. Go.’ Harriet made a shooing motion towards the old lady.

  ‘Mum, you’re being really weird.’ Scarlett’s voice was quivering.

  The car in front of them slowed to a halt in front of a set of units and the passenger door opened underneath the streetlight.

  ‘Go around that car, he’s letting someone out on the street.’

  Scarlett put on her indicator and pulled around the car, torturously slowly.

  ‘Christ, Scarli, can you just go a bit faster! You’re being childish. There’s no bloody traffic.’

  Harriet felt the car jerk forward as her daughter put her foot down. They were nearly there now. Just through the lights at Ellery Way. It would all be fine when she got there to control things. To filter the flow of information to the police. Her heart hammered.

  The school grounds started up ahead on the opposite corner, but the grounds were huge and Jonathan’s house was a block further down. She glanced down at her phone again and redialled Jonathan’s number and held it to her ear, letting it ring as she looked up at the traffic lights ahead.

  ‘You’ll make that orange light, Scarli. Go.’

  Scarlett looked across at her, hesitation slowing her down.

  ‘Mum, you’re supposed to stop if you can.’ But Scarlett must have caught something in Harriet’s look and she kept going. The light hovered endlessly on orange as they approached the busy intersection of the main road. Then it turned red, just as Scarlett let her foot drop, a little too late, onto the accelerator. She didn’t commit to it though. You have to commit to a decision to get through an orange light.

  Harriet grasped her seat as the red light arrived, well before they’d nosed into the start of the intersection. Ahead she saw a bright green Ford Falcon with a thick black strip down the side of the car, waiting at the lights to go across in front of them. The driver was just a boy. He had his left arm out of the window resting on the car door, tapping the roof of the car in time to the thumping music that was coming directly out of his car speakers and into Harriet’s brain like the howls of a rabid dog.

  ‘Stop, Scarli.’ But Harriet’s words were strangled by the jolt of adrenalin that released itself into her system, as she recognised the pulsing rumble of the boy revving his engine, throbbing pools of testosterone belting down his leg, shooting through the rubber of his shoes and into the car accelerator, over and over, building and building to a powerful, pounding thrill. ROAR. ROAR. ROAR. Harriet’s words wouldn’t come out. Her voice was swallowed by the terror.

  Scarlett was speeding up, but it was too late. Far too late. The boy was letting go of the brake. Letting the accelerator have its head. His tyres screeched as he left behind a tail of black rubber marks on the road. They would have been such good, long ones too. Any other time. But this time they were cut short by the explosion, as his bonnet connected with Scarlett’s door, the white metal of Harriet’s BMW suddenly awash with bright green streaks of paint as the car door bucked and crumpled inwards. The screech of metal, the sound of glass shattering, a terrible hot cacophony that mixed inside Harriet’s head with the petrol fumes and the sickly-sweet smell of Scarlett’s blood as she and Harriet were pushed sideways and forwards and up and over in a tumbling crash.

  With a violent jolt, they mounted the curb and slammed against the fence, crashing through and finally jerking to a stop as they were swallowed by the cypress hedge at the north gate entrance to Denham House.

  Harriet felt a brutal thwunk as her head landed back against the headrest, then there was a jangling stillness. She forced her eyes open and words seemed to be spinning through her vision. She closed her eyes then opened them again. She realised the words were on a signboard they’d collected which was now jammed onto the windscreen by the dense hedge. Black lettering in swirling vintage font blared at her:

  Denham House School for Young Ladies

  Established 1898

  Please Use Main Entry via Buckingham Road.

  Harriet turned her head towards Scarlett and heard herself begin to scream.

  Thirty-Six

  Harriet

  25 November 1993

  She watched them go. Each step an obvious effort for Marleen as she leaned on Jonathan’s arm. Harriet wondered when she’d hurt her ankle. If it was during this debacle, she hoped Marleen had the wherewithal to come up with a believable explanation, preferably something implicating the music room steps. They’d been a hazard for decades.

  They disappeared behind the hedge, leaving Harriet alone, at the edge of the hole, with a serious problem on her hands. She should hurry, but she needed to think. Just a minute to think through the whole thing clearly, so it sounded plausible. Why was she around this way? What made her come inside the barrier?

  The bag, that was it. She came through the building barriers because she saw a bag inside them. It had worried her. She hurried back to the barrier and slipped through, picking up Tessa’s bag from the ground where it sat outside. She slid back through, lifting it overhead as she did.

  Now, where to place it so it was easily seen? She walked back over to the trench and placed it down carefully. The grass grew right to the edge, so footprints weren’t obvious where they’d stood. Her court shoes had square heels. They hadn’t pierced the grass, and if they were spotted, she could say she’d been here anyway. She had discovered the body, after all. She looked around carefully for other evidence that might place the others at the scene. There was none. She turned briefly back to the hole. Tessa’s vacant eyes made her flinch, reminding her of the uproar that would soon break. In the following weeks and months, it would be raised in conversation countless times. People would feign great sadness, but secretly they’d be desperate to turn the details of the Terrano girl’s strange death inside out over cups of coffee; to hear the reactions and details from a close insider. Harriet was a current mother, an old girl, the sister of a teacher, she discovered the body – there would be no escaping it.

  The face of Sabina Terrano popped into her head, ageing and immaculate. Tessa’s mother was an old girl too – like Harriet – except much older and covered with a thin skin of entitlement that sometimes grew on full fee-paying girls. Harriet could mix with that crowd easily enough, but she was never comfortable wallowing in their shared past. She’d spoken to Sabina only last week, at the leavers’ assembly. Sabina had pulled away from Enzo, who was himself pulling irritably at his collar and tie, and she congratulated Clementine on winning the art prize. Harriet must be so proud! Harriet had been momentarily mute, then she remembered that Tessa was head chorister, and she’d given a beautiful, eerie rendition of the Lord’s Prayer. Harriet had been pleased that she’d remembered to congratulate Sabina in return. Often she forgot to do things like that – compliments and so on. Poor Sabina would always have the memory of that song at least.

  Harriet squatted and unzipped Tessa’s backpack, checking for evidence of the photograph that Ma
rleen had talked about, or other incriminating items. But there were only some books, a huge heavy pencil case and a hair ribbon. She flicked through the pages of the books. Nothing.

  She dropped the bag in position and took one last look at Tessa. The hole reminded her of a grave, except it was larger. Much too large for poor Tessa’s small, crumpled frame. Her left leg splayed at a strange angle, and Harriet wondered if it was broken. A sudden movement made Harriet draw back with a start. A brief, shocking, flutter of the fingers in Tessa’s left hand. It was a tiny movement – almost unbelievable since the girl’s eyes were open in a death stare – but Harriet didn’t doubt that she’d seen it. She stood up, her thoughts racing. She knew a little about catastrophic head injuries. She’d done plenty of medical law and trauma cases. Perhaps the girl was in some sort of vegetative state. Perhaps there was still some brain function. Perhaps the girl… no, surely not. Various alternative prognoses presented themselves, and Harriet discarded each as they arrived. Could she possibly regain consciousness?

  Harriet brought her hand to her mouth, slowly. She knew Jonathan would never have tried anything on with this girl. It wasn’t his style. But what if there had been something? Something that she hadn’t been told about? Or what if she’d been seen in his cottage and she woke up and made up some story about it. Gave evidence about what the inside of his bedroom looked like. If she had a grudge against him for some reason – poor marks on a test, or Jonathan’s rejection of her – it would be easy to bring him down. A teary, articulate private school girl on the stand, imploring the judge and jury not to allow such a thing happen to anyone else. Even if Jonathan avoided a conviction, he’d never survive the scandal. No. Harriet couldn’t take that chance. She walked towards the barrier and slipped out of the crack and into the grounds, then she stopped and thought. She needed to leave the girl a little longer, just to be sure.

  She looked around, checked there was no one to see her, then she walked towards the main administration buildings, tracing the patterns of her thoughts. There was no room to doubt herself. Assuming the girl didn’t wake, she could spin the situation.

  After a few minutes, she reached the administration block and opened the office door. Old Moira Ryan sat behind the desk. Surely she was past retirement age by now? She hadn’t been all that young when Harriet had been at the school.

  ‘Hello, Harriet.’ Moira Ryan looked up from the desk that was covered in envelopes and folded letters. She smiled.

  ‘Hello, Miss Ryan.’

  ‘What can I do for you, dear?’

  ‘Well, probably nothing. But I just thought I’d mention it. There’s a school bag inside the construction site over near the cypress hedge at the north entrance gate. Thought it was a bit odd.’

  ‘Mmm. Yes, that is strange, dear.’

  ‘I didn’t want to go in and retrieve it. There were Keep Out signs everywhere. Probably a leaving prank or something.’

  ‘Alright. I’ll pop over in a bit and have a look. Thank you, Harriet. How is Clementine feeling about her last days of incarceration?’ Moira Ryan gave a small laugh. It made Harriet’s stomach turn uncomfortably.

  ‘Fine, I think. I’m just off to find her now. She was meant to meet me in the car park, but she’s probably in the art room, so I’ll check there first. That girl would forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Moira, smiling. ‘They say artistic types haven’t the same brains as the rest of us. Perhaps she’s destined for great things.’

  ‘Stranger things have happened I suppose,’ said Harriet. She waved as she walked out. ‘Goodbye, Miss Ryan.’

  ‘Goodbye, Harriet. And don’t you worry a jot. I’ll go and hunt down that bag and its owner in a moment and sort her out quick smart.’

  Thirty-Seven

  Emma

  Emma stepped out of the bathroom and picked up the blue floral dress. She turned it around on the hook. It was this or black pants and a cardigan. Definitely the dress. She wouldn’t be up-to-date in the fashion stakes, but she felt unaccountably happy with it. She pulled it on over her head and the stretchy fabric hugged her hips in a way that looked strangely okay. The colour suited her. Picked up something in her eyes. She twirled in front of the mirror, then stopped and stared at herself. She felt brave. Impressed with herself.

  As she’d stood on the pavement outside the police station earlier, her heart had been pummelling. She’d taken a few minutes to draw up her courage and as she’d stood staring at the entry doors to the police station through the dusky half-light, a woman in faded black jeans and a dirty white jumper with straggly long hair had stumbled out of them. She was followed by a giant of a man. His head was shaved and tattoos snaked up his neck and out the top of his black bomber jacket. The woman was thin and sick-looking and under the harsh fluorescent lights her skin was wrinkled and cratered with the tell-tale signs of cigarettes and drugs and booze. The man mumbled something to her. She whipped her head around towards him.

  ‘Don’t touch me, ya prick!’

  Her words were slurred and she pushed the man away, stumbled on the steps, then righted herself with an indignant swipe as he tried to catch her. She walked straight down the stairs towards Emma, brushing up against her as she stumbled again towards the road. The smell of the alcohol smacked through Emma’s thoughts, dissolving her righteous anger and confused emotions about Jon Brownley, and mixing them into a murky pool of guilt about the advantages she’d had in life – the loving home, the education, the money – not pots of it like some of the girls she’d grown up with, but she’d never gone without.

  She deflated as a heavy sadness sank through her – for this woman and the thousands like her who waded through life lurching from one crisis to the next, because of addiction, or lack of opportunity or abuse. Somehow it didn’t feel fair. She wondered if maybe the police had better things to do tonight than listen to her old story. More urgent problems to solve. Maybe she really should go to the reunion for a while and remind herself how lucky she was to live inside such a bubble of privilege. Maybe Tessa could wait for one more day. She would go home and appreciate what she had and find something to change into to celebrate with old friends.

  Emma watched the couple walk off down the darkening street, one behind the other, the woman weaving unsteadily. A taxi pulled up on the pavement a little way down the street and the decision had been made. And now, here she was, about to brave the school reunion on her own.

  She heard a distant wail of another siren, and hesitated as it became louder. It was the second one since she’d turned off the hairdryer. A different siren suddenly joined in, Wee-Wah Wee-Wah Wee-Wah. An ambulance on its way to some poor soul. Emma thought of Rosie in her hospital bed. She’d send a text to Phillip when her phone had charged to check how she was. The sounds got louder suddenly. Different sirens intermingling. Close by. Very close. She shivered. An accident in the boarding house? Someone in the neighbouring villas? She took a breath, tried to clear her mind, stop her thoughts spiralling. Mercifully, the sirens stopped.

  She pulled on her shoes and got her cardigan out of the cupboard and looked in the mirror. She’d washed her hair and dried it and had managed to tame the blond mess into waves, like the hairdresser did sometimes. They sat nicely on her shoulders, some flicking out, some flicking under. She put her sapphire studs in her ears and added a splash of pink lipstick. Her eyes looked sparkling blue with this dress. The overall effect was… pleasing.

  She pulled her phone off the charger and turned it on. There were four missed calls from Marlee and one from Clementine. Why would Marlee need her so badly? Perhaps she was together with Clementine at the reunion. They might be calling about her voicemail telling Marlee she was reporting Jonathan to police.

  Emma shivered. The window must be open. It was so cold. She pulled back the curtains to check. Across the other side of the school grounds, flashing coloured lights whirled in circular motions, red and blue bursts of light breaking into the black sky. Th
ey were too close. Right by Ellery Way. She closed the curtains and pulled on her coat. She would walk to the reunion. She’d been cooped up in the hospital for too long. She’d call Marlee as she walked. It always made her feel safer walking at night if she had someone on the phone, protecting her from the shadows.

  Outside her cottage the darkness hung like a thick, black blanket. She turned on the torch of her phone and scurried towards the main buildings, trying to keep to the pebbled paths. As she neared the office, new paths emerged out of the darkness, lit by the feeble security lights on the science block near the perimeter of the main buildings. Emma trod carefully as she cut through the music building slipway next to the library. She listened to the hum of traffic from the minor roads behind her. Ellery Way seemed strangely quiet. Turning off the phone torch, she wondered again about Marlee’s calls.

  She scrolled to find Marlee’s number in her phone, then pressed it to call, finding comfort in the idea that Marlee must be there at the reunion before her. As she rounded the corner near the north gate, urgent voices, some low, some loud, surprised her. She cancelled the call and let her hand fall down to her side. Red and blue strobe lights were crashing through and over the hedge like an eerie tsunami, illuminating a glowing shape in the hedge that didn’t seem to belong. Emma drew a sharp breath as she realised that the shape poking through the hedge was the corner of a car. She ran across the courtyard, and skirted the hedge, walking through to Ellery Way by the tradesman entrance.

  ‘Stop there.’ A policeman stood on the footpath, his hand raised towards her. ‘Don’t go any closer to the car. We have to close down this area. There’s a girl trapped.’