‘Why have you brought us here? Do you know what the kids at her school are putting on Facebook already? You’re making it look like Hannah’s done something wrong.’
Still casual, unreadable and calm, Kath speaks.
‘I have to inform you that, when we begin, what is said in this room will be recorded on DVD by that camera. And that my colleague is in the room next door watching the recording. I may leave the room to consult with her occasionally. This is standard procedure. We’re here to ask Hannah some more questions about the death of Katie Sewell. You’re not under arrest, however you can ask to see the duty solicitor if you wish. Do you both understand?’
My terror builds and my tears interfere with my composure. This is worse than any night terror I’ve ever had. I feel as though she already knows what happened and that she’s just going through the motions, playing the same game she must play with other criminals, day in and day out. But mum doesn’t know, so I have to hold it together and deny everything for her. If I go to prison, she’ll have no-one. But, on hearing all this, mum changes from being meek and confused to outraged and forceful.
‘You are not filming Katie without a solicitor present. We have been brought here under false pretences! You said it was for just a few more questions, not to interrogate her on camera. You will bring me a solicitor before we continue.’
Kath looks annoyed but not surprised. She must see this all the time; parents jumping to the defence of their guilty children and stalling for time. I’m so glad mum’s finally taking control.
‘Okay, that’s fine. The duty solicitor is currently with someone else so you’ll have to wait in reception until she’s free.’ Her attitude has changed, she’s no longer casual. We are marched back through the corridors to the front of the police station and left alone in this horrible reception area again. This time, I notice a camera filming in this room too. I expect we’ll be watched until the solicitor is free. As soon as Kath leaves, mum jumps on me with questions.
‘Hannah, is there anything I need to know? Should I ring your dad? Do you know who Katie was out with that day?’
I can’t breathe. I can’t bear these questions. I can’t bear her looking at me. She wants me to say no, she doesn’t want to believe I could be involved. And if I can avoid being found out then why should I admit anything? But then why would the police want to ask me more questions? Unless Katie’s dad has told them everything of course.
‘Mum, I’m so tired.’
Just then someone comes through the main entrance into the waiting area. He doesn’t ring for assistance, he just sits down opposite us. He’s wearing a track suit and trainers and has a carrier bag full of stuff with him, but he doesn’t look like a typical chav. The room is so small we can’t avoid eye contact with each other.
‘I’m meeting my probation officer here.’
I look away. I don’t want to know why he’s here.
‘What are you here for?’
My mum surprisingly answers him. ‘My daughter is being hassled by the police for no reason.’
The man nods his head in agreement, ‘Yeah, that’s what they’re good at. I’m a professional in this game. Do you need any advice?’
Before I can say no mum jumps in and actually answers him!
‘Yes, what happens if we say we don’t want to answer their questions?’
Her behaviour is alarming me. She would never normally talk to a convicted criminal. But I suppose he has experience of the legal system, and we don’t.
‘Depends,’ he says. ‘Has she been arrested yet?’
‘No.’
‘So why have they brought her in for questioning?’
Just then Kath bursts through the doorway between reception and the station.
‘You! Out of here.’ She says to the man. Then she turns to us, ‘He’s a journalist from the local paper. You really don’t want to be talking to him.’
As she talks, he takes a camera out of his carrier bag and manages to get one photo of us both. Then he legs it. The flash almost blinds me. I’m shocked. How did the paper know I was here and why are they interested? Things are moving too fast. This whole situation is completely out of hand and there’s nothing I can do about it.
‘Come on, you’re in luck. The duty solicitor’s free now.’
Mum pulls me up out of the hard seat and leads me along behind her. We’re taken to a different room this time. In this room, there are no sofas or coffee tables or fake niceties. There is one wooden desk with four chairs around it and a cassette recorder in the middle. I’ve entered a world where everything is minimalistic. I suppose it’s to prepare you for your cell. The solicitor is already sat down with a large A4 notebook in front of her turned to a brand-new page, and a pen in her hand. She asks to see me alone before the interview begins. Kath steps out of the room and waits for mum to follow.
‘I’m her mother, I need to be here.’
‘Yes, you will be once the interview begins but I need to speak to my new client alone for a few minutes first please.’
Looking dazed, mum steps out the room. I look at the solicitor. She’s probably about forty and has an expensive looking skirt suit on. Her make-up is pristine and her hair is deep red. Her appearance reassures me that she’s professional enough to help me.
‘Hannah, my name is Susan Maxwell. You need to know that I’m working in your interest. I’m here to advise you. I have twenty years experience so you need to do what I say. Your mum is here to look after you emotionally. I am here to look after you legally. Everything you tell me will be confidential. I am not allowed to tell the police or your mother what you tell me. However, I don’t want you to tell me anything that may stop me from being able to defend you. Do you understand?’
Not really. ‘I think so.’
‘We don’t have long so all I need to know for now is; do you know how your friend came to be at the bottom of the cliff?’
Her straightforwardness makes me answer without hesitation, ‘Yes.’
‘Then follow my lead,’ she stands up and opens the door. ‘You can come in now.’
Chapter 7
After Susan told the police I was too emotionally traumatised to give an interview at that time, due to attending the grave of my best friend that very day, they agreed I could come back in two days, with my solicitor. I never thought I’d have my own solicitor. Susan said that the police like to strike whilst people are knackered and emotional, because they’re more likely to break down and confess to things. Plus, people don’t usually know their rights so they just go along with it. She told mum to take me home and not let anyone speak to me until after my police interview.
We got home from the police station just after six. I went straight to bed, without changing out of my clothes, and somehow managed to sleep completely undisturbed until eleven this morning. If I dreamt, my mind is withholding any memory of the dreams, which is fine by me. The good thing about getting all that sleep is that I feel more able to function normally. I’m thinking more clearly. But the bad thing about getting all that sleep is that I’m thinking more clearly. There’s no denying this is all real now. It’s hard to believe I was in a police station yesterday, about to be interviewed about the murder of my best friend. Yet today I’m at home, in my bedroom like none of it happened. All the things that were here before Katie’s death are still here. They feel out of place. Or is it me who no longer fits? My old Twilight posters, my school books, and my old teddies from when I was a kid. They’re all strangers to me now. They belonged to a different version of me. One that I’ll never be again. What a horrible feeling.
I’m kneeling on my bed looking out of my window onto our street. Mum’s just brought me some toast and, as I’ve hardly eaten anything, I get through it fast. It seems weird that things can continue as normal for everyone else whilst this is happening. The postman is walking passed our house and down next door’s driveway. No mail for me today then. A cat is sneakily crossing the road. A delivery man pul
ls up opposite to deliver to that house. All of them are completely oblivious to what I’m going through. None of them are affected by it. I would give anything to be that delivery driver right now. I would get in the van and drive all the way to Scotland. And if that wasn’t far enough I would get on a plane to America and get lost amongst the millions of people over there. No-one would know who I was or what had brought me there.
Katie and I used to fantasize about running away to America and becoming celebrities in LA. She said we didn’t need acting abilities because these days it was all about reality TV. Katie could have made it as a proper movie actress, she was good at it. She roped me into attending drama class after school on Tuesdays. We used to have such a laugh! She was great at comedy because she had really good comic timing and a wicked sense of humour. We pretended that we would go to LA so that she could be the new Kim Kardashian and I could be her personal assistant. Then she would marry Robert Pattinson who would introduce me to Taylor Lautner and we’d all live happily ever after without that stroppy Kristen Stewart anywhere to be seen. God, we were so immature. It’s embarrassing when I think about it now, but at the time it was funny. After a while her dad made her stop going to drama because he saw her walking home with Patrick. Patrick was just making sure she got home okay because it was winter and dark, plus he probably thought she’d get off with him. But when they got to her house her dad blew up at him and scared him off for a while. Katie was mortified. I stopped going to drama a few weeks after she stopped. We both had other friends at school, for the lessons that we weren’t in together, so I had other friends in drama I could sit with. But it wasn’t as fun once she stopped coming. There was no-one else there who could think up stories quickly or who could make everyone laugh in the right places.
That’s how we became friends. In primary school one day I was tripped up by Steven Hammond in the playground. Along came Katie, running over to me and pushing Steven onto his back and rucksack, and then she called him a woodlice because it took him ages to get up. It made me stop crying and start laughing. From then on, we always sat next to each other in school. It helped that my mum was a teaching assistant in our first two years so she arranged it for our seats and trays to be next to each other. Our teachers always called us the terrible twins. But what’s one twin supposed to do without the other?
Just then, I spot my dad pulling up outside. He gets out of the car and looks up at my window. He waves but doesn’t smile. In fact, he looks angry. His greying hair is messy and he’s not ironed his T-shirt. Mum must have phoned him. Normally I only see him at Christmas, on my birthday and when we occasionally bump into each other in town. He lives twelve miles away from us and has a new wife and child. A boy called Harry, who’s ten. Thank God he hasn’t brought them with him. Harry’s cute but his wife is a right bitch. Katie met her once and couldn’t stop laughing at her bad make up. Dad phoned mum when he heard about Katie’s death, but it was when I wasn’t really conscious, so I didn’t speak to him. I don’t think he came to visit. He’s not a very good dad, he doesn’t know anything about me. But we pretend. It’s just easier.
I get off my bed and go downstairs. Once mum has let him in he rushes over to me and surprisingly gives me a big bear hug. Sympathy always makes me cry, and today is no different. I must be all cried out though because it doesn’t last long.
‘Hannah, Jackie; what the hell is going on?’
Mum asks him how he found out.
‘Because one of Gina’s friends read it in the bloody paper this morning! Why didn’t you call me? It would’ve been nice to be forewarned! Harry’s friends are asking him if his step-sister is a murderer!’
‘What do you mean in the paper?’ I ask. Surely they’re not allowed to do that? I’m only fifteen.
‘They’ve reported on your friend’s death and then said that you were spotted being taken away by police. It’s got a photo of you both in the cop shop for Christ’s Sake! Hannah, do you know what happened to your friend?’
My legs have given way yet again. I have to sit down on the stairs. This is awful. Everyone will be talking about me. Josh will read it. I really am going to prison.
‘Leave her alone, Gary. She’s under so much stress at the moment.’
‘Aren’t we all? And why? That’s what I want to know. If she’s protecting some boyfriend of theirs by not saying anything, then she needs to snap out of it before she gets arrested!’
‘But she wasn’t there, she was at home with a migraine that day.’
‘I need the bathroom.’
I run upstairs but not in time. I’m sick all over the bathroom floor. I can’t believe my dad thinks I’m going to be arrested. I can’t bear this. I look around the bathroom for some razors, but mum’s still not put them back. There’s nothing sharp in here at all! I don’t even know where all the sleeping tablets are anymore. I crumble to the floor and hit myself in frustration. There’s no way out of this mess. I don’t think I would have the guts to do it even if there were razors in here. I’m a coward. The biggest coward in the world. And I’m going to be arrested. But at least if I am, I can stop pretending. The thought of that makes me feel better for about three seconds, so I think about it some more. If I’m arrested and I admit to everything, I can be myself again. I can stop thinking about all of this. I can stop lying. I can let everyone else deal with it while I’m locked away in a room on my own. I can tell them about Katie’s dad and maybe help Katie rest in peace.
For the first time in ages, I feel calmer and at ease. It’s like I’ve just smoked a joint. My muscles are relaxing and my head feels lifted. On my hands and knees on the bathroom floor, amongst my sick, I decide I can’t do this anymore. I just want all of this to be over. Even if that means people knowing what I did. At least then I can stop the pretence and start moving towards some kind of resolution. I should never have let myself think I could have some kind of relationship with the brother of the person I killed. I can’t stay in this constant state of terror and guilt. I just want to get it all over with so I can move on in some way. I should never have left Katie there. If I’d have phoned for an ambulance straight away she could still be alive and I wouldn’t be suspected of murder. This whole situation is so overwhelming. I’m not strong enough to deal with it on my own. I need the release of telling someone who can take over and figure things out for me. I can’t confide in Josh, because I wouldn’t be able to bear the way he would look at me. But I also can’t go on wondering if I’ll get caught and whether I’ll go to prison, I’m just going around in never ending circles.
It’s no good, I’m going to have to tell the police everything and take whatever consequences there are. That’s my only option now. Just making that decision brings me so much relief. I feel like I’ve lost weight and my forehead relaxes. I want this feeling to last as long as possible. So I’ll deal with the fear another day. I go to my room and pick up my mobile. I have a text from Josh.
Everything ok?
I text back; It will be soon. Please don’t hate me.x
I turn my mobile off before he can reply. Dad leaves without coming to say goodbye to me. Probably because he’s been arguing with mum downstairs about how she should be dealing with this whole messed up situation. I’d be well pissed off if I were her, cheeky git. Who is he to give her advice on parenting? After cleaning up my sick in the bathroom, she spends the rest of the day avoiding me. I hear her vacuuming and then baking in the kitchen, which is her Sunday ritual. She hasn’t done it for a couple of weeks. Maybe she’s trying to get back to normal.
A bit later the smell of apple crumble enters my room. The warm apples and cinnamon smell amazing but I don’t go down to get some, I don’t deserve it. I don’t want to feel comforted. Not with tomorrow looming over me. We sit together at dinner time and eat chicken stir fry. But we don’t say anything to each other. Afterwards I come back to my room and she sits in front of the TV. I actually want to be downstairs with her. I’d love to just breezily walk into the living
room and slouch on the sofa all night. I hate all this time alone. But I feel paralysed, like I’m unable to leave my room. So instead I spend the evening listening to the radio and Googling young offenders’ institutes until what I read makes me so depressed that I just lie back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I’m surprised I haven’t burnt a hole in it by now.
Later, when I hear mum go to bed I wait half an hour and then slip downstairs to find some booze. But there isn’t any. She’s finished it off. I don’t blame her. I notice the apple crumble in the fridge and fight the urge to put some in a bowl. If tomorrow goes okay I’ll have some then. But who am I kidding?
Susan meets us outside the police station for a quick debrief.
‘I don’t know what questions they’re going to ask you, or why, so follow my lead in your reactions. I’ll tell you whether or not to answer each question. Got it?’
I nod yes but I’m not going to do what she says. I want her and mum to be there when I tell the police the truth, but I have a feeling neither of them can save me from what will happen next. A week ago, this would have terrified me but today I’m confident in my decision. My body is still betraying me; quivering at the mere thought of telling the police and not keeping food down. But I feel like I’m about to do the right thing, so surely that will save me? I make a mental note to Google religion after today’s interview. Maybe the church would forgive me, if no-one else. I wonder if we get internet access in prison.
The Girl Who Died: A Young Adult Novel Page 7
