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by Sarah Pinborough

  But it was beautiful, each piece so delicately carved and yet solid in her hand. She liked the size and weight of them. At school they’d always played with small sets and somehow they never felt right to Becca. Each move in chess was important. These pieces reflected that.

  ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’ her dad said as they set the board up on a small coffee table. She had to agree. They were.

  There was a fizz in the pit of her stomach and she realised, partly in horror, that what she felt was excitement. Maybe Natasha was going to be her friend again. Maybe they’d play chess in the long winter nights like they used to, cross-legged on the floor and munching junk food. It was a stupid thought. They were too old for that shit. Life was too busy. Still, there was a little spark of firefly light buzzing around inside that she couldn’t spit out.

  You’re not a Barbie, a voice from the shadows inside her whispered. Remember that. Remember how they treated you. But still, as she wrote out the thank-you card her mum said she’d drop round the next day, Becca was almost looking forward to Natasha coming back to school.

  That feeling lasted until about 9.05 on Thursday when, while she was unloading her scarf and gloves into her locker, the hive buzz reached her. Oh my god, did you see Hayley’s and Jenny’s bracelets? Aren’t they beautiful? It was another couple of hours before she saw them herself – at break time. She didn’t exactly see them, just the flash of silver accompanied by the jangle of charms and coos of Oh, that’s so lovely, Forever Friends. So sweet! God, you must be so happy she’s okay. You three are so close . . .

  Becca zoned it all out after that. Forever Friends on their charm bracelets. Maybe Natasha actually meant it with those two. She bit her tongue and turned away rather than spitting out that Natasha had once been her best friend forever and look how well that turned out. She didn’t want anyone to see she cared. She didn’t care. Why should she? It was a long time ago. The chess set seemed clunky and stupid now, though. She sure as shit had no intention of using it.

  She snapped at Hannah throughout lunch and then blamed an imaginary period for it when she saw her friend trying to hide her upset. At the end of the day, when the relief of the final bell came at three-fifteen, she went straight to Aiden’s and got massively stoned before having giggly, drowsy sex, trying to keep quiet while his mum cooked tea in the next room. It wasn’t great sex – she wasn’t sure she knew what great sex was yet – but it was warm and close and she enjoyed the sound of his breath getting faster and faster in her ear. It was like she was making him lose control. Her. Becca. Not a Barbie. Just a grungy girl. That made her hotter than any of the rest of it.

  When they were done, he had to go back to Mr McMahon’s to work, even though he’d been there all day, but he drove her home first, the freezing cold air straightening her out a little before she had to deal with her own stiff parents.

  ‘So, Tasha will be at school tomorrow, then,’ he said as the car pulled up.

  She nodded.

  ‘At least everything can get back to normal now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, staring through the windscreen at the snow and ice and clear, dark sky. The glass had barely defrosted on their short trip to her house and ice still cracked the surface where the heaters didn’t touch it properly, framing her view. She wondered how it must have felt to plunge into black freezing water. Like tumbling out into space, your breath slowly being sucked from you. For the first time, she properly wondered what had actually happened to Tasha that night. The police didn’t seem bothered – she hadn’t seen that DI Bennett again – but at the same time, it was still a mystery. Natasha. Always the centre of attention. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s what matters.’

  She thought about smashing the chess set.

  *

  ‘Hey.’

  Becca had not been looking forward to the auditions and almost didn’t go, only Mr Jones had bumped into her in the corridor at lunchtime, grinning and waving a schedule under her nose and that had been that. Why shouldn’t she go, anyway? She actually liked working on the set and the lighting and making sure everything went smoothly, and this year she’d get to run it. Mr Jones was right. Those things could make or break a show.

  Friday of week one in the school’s two-week timetable was her best day. A double free in the morning meant she got a lie-in, and then she had a free lesson in the afternoon, too. Not having really given the play any thought, she used this to find a quiet corner by a radiator and skimmed through the text, jotting down ideas for how the stark and powerful piece could be presented. Something simple was right. Maybe stick to black and white to fit thematically and match the costume of the Puritans.

  She had to admit, it was a great play. Shakespeare left her cold – it was too much hard work trying to dig through the poetry for the meaning – but Miller’s tale of hysteria, lies and truth sang to her. It was so full of emotions. Nothing to do with the romantic love they all chased, but about dark, consuming passions, and parts of the story made her almost hold her breath. The honest, hurt wife’s lie to try and save her husband. The protecting of reputations and all that was bound up in them. She saw herself as Elizabeth, no shining Abigail or timid Mary Warren or any of the others out dancing to Tituba’s spell. Those were the Barbies. It was going to be challenging to get right, but Mr Jones had picked the ideal play for that bunch of spiteful bitches.

  For a while she’d actually started to feel enthusiastic about it, but then the final bell rang and her nerves jangled again. If Hannah – her trusty assistant – hadn’t met her to go to the theatre together, she might have bailed. Made an excuse to miss this, if nothing else. Given her slack timetable, she hadn’t seen Natasha all day and she and Hannah had spent lunch curled up by the Science corridor radiators, hiding, although neither of them would say so. The hive was too noisy and alive, and there was a swarm around Natasha, Hayley and Jenny today. Becca could survive without seeing them until all the fuss died down.

  She arrived at the auditions early, knowing the others would be at their lockers or having a quick cigarette before turning up. The Barbies would saunter in ten minutes late to make an entrance anyway. Mr Jones was already there and she took her seat next to him, facing out from the front. It should have made her feel powerful. It didn’t. It just made her feel exposed. She kept her head down, rustling through papers but not really seeing them, and when Hannah came over to talk about the new lighting rig, she snapped that it could wait until later. People had started to arrive, Year Elevens upwards, the occasional Year Ten, the talented leads-in-waiting as Mr Jones called them, all casual nonchalance, as if it didn’t matter who got the parts.

  Becca felt the Barbies’ arrival before she heard it. A surge of energy through the chilly room. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. She hadn’t cared for a long time.

  So why was she feeling so weird now?

  ‘Hey. Bex.’

  She looked up, and there was Natasha. Glowing with life. Whole. Well.

  ‘Hi,’ Becca said. Her neck was blotching with patches of sudden heat, she was sure of it. ‘Glad you’re okay. Thanks for the chess set.’ The words came out in a rushed mumble.

  ‘I’m so glad you like it!’ Tasha grinned. ‘My mum got Hayley and Jenny bracelets, but I thought you’d prefer the chess set. Not sure charm bracelets are really your thing.’

  For a moment, Becca’s blood rose thinking it was a dig, calling her a butch fat dyke or something, but there was nothing nasty in Natasha’s tone, and from the corner of her eye Becca saw the Barbies watching. She glanced their way. The small posse of girls deciding which chairs to take were staring over with disdain and disbelief and a touch of horror. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a wind-up. My mum got Hayley and Jenny bracelets. Natasha hadn’t chosen them herself.

  ‘Anyway, I’d better find a seat. Just wanted to say thanks for coming to the hospital and everything.’

  ‘It’s fine.’


  Mr Jones clapped his hands to get their attention.

  ‘Oh,’ Natasha said hurriedly, leaning forward. ‘There’s a party tonight if you want to come? I have to go to my stupid counselling session after this, but it won’t start till nine or ten anyway. At Mark Pritchard’s house.’ She turned Becca’s notebook round and scribbled down an address and a phone number, and tore the strip off, handing it over. ‘That’s where the party is and that’s my number until the police give my phone back. They won’t let me get a new sim yet. Fuck knows why.’ She pulled a face about the delay. ‘Be great if you could come, though.’

  Becca took the strip and nodded, not sure what to say, but was saved by Mr Jones launching into his pre-audition pep talk. Tasha hurried to her seat and as Becca watched her go, she caught Hayley’s eye. A cool, cold, appraising stare. Becca matched it. Bring it, bitch.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Hannah whispered, pulling up a chair just slightly behind Becca’s. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Just a party. Tonight.’

  ‘She invited you?’ Hannah sounded incredulous and Becca wanted to turn around and slap her hard in the face. What the fuck did Hannah know, anyway? She’d never had many friends. Never a friend like Natasha was to her when they were kids. Maybe nearly dying had made Tasha remember that.

  ‘Yeah.’

  A long pause. Pete Cramer and Jenny were reading first. They were good, but Becca couldn’t concentrate. That short conversation was more than she and Tash had spoken in at least three years. Why did she feel excited? What was this? Was she now going to jump just because Natasha asked her to? No way. Why should she? She looked at Hayley and Jenny, all smug and perfect. It would really piss them off if Natasha started talking to Becca again. They wouldn’t know what to do.

  ‘I probably won’t go,’ she said, feeling the weight of Hannah’s anxious gaze. ‘I told Aiden I’d see him tonight.’ She didn’t look at Hannah as she whispered it. It was a lie. She probably would go, but she didn’t want to take Hannah. If she went, she’d go on her own. Maybe it would be shit and they’d be bitches, and if so she didn’t want Hannah’s sympathy. Also – and the thought was like an oil slick of guilt – if she took Hannah, then they really would be laughed at and end up sitting in a corner for the whole night wishing they were somewhere else. Becca wasn’t cool but she had her own thing going on. Hannah was just empty space in the social construct of the hive.

  ‘Be careful,’ Hannah said. ‘You know what they’re like.’

  Becca wasn’t sure if Hannah sounded disapproving or hurt. Probably both. She sounded victim.

  ‘Like I said, I probably won’t go.’ The paper was getting sweaty scrunched in her hand and she tucked it into her pocket.

  Natasha was reading with James Ensor, who was in line for the role of John Proctor. Tasha wanted to be Abigail, that was clear. She was pretty good, too – not as good as Jenny, but good – and she’d obviously practised the scenes she thought might come up. When she finished, the rest of the gathering gave her a round of applause, and she blushed and smiled. They hadn’t clapped for each other.

  ‘They’re applauding her just for being alive,’ Hannah muttered. ‘Like that was anything more than chance or fate.’

  Becca said nothing. Hannah was right, of course. But it was more than that. They were clapping because they wanted her approval. She was special now. They all wanted to be her friend, even more than they had before.

  *

  ‘You’re still coming over tomorrow, aren’t you?’ Hannah said as they headed for the gates once the auditions were done. Natasha hadn’t spoken to Becca again, but she did flash her a smile and mouth, See you tonight, over her shoulder as she left, flanked by the Barbies.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ She frowned. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

  ‘My mum’s birthday.’ Hannah looked hurt, all sad, myopic eyes in her pasty face which had never quite got past the teenage-spot stage, the occasional outbreaks on her chin leaving pink scars that never had time to heal before the next wave. ‘Going out for lunch?’

  ‘Sorry, yes.’ Becca said. Of course she remembered. It had just slipped for a moment. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there.’ Hannah beamed then and Becca suddenly felt a wave of affection for her. Hannah was her friend. She needed to remember that. Just because she didn’t shine like Natasha, and just because Becca sometimes got frustrated by her lack of spine, that didn’t mean she wasn’t a nice person. She was. And clever. And a good listener.

  Maybe she wouldn’t go to the party after all. Maybe she’d just go home and watch a movie.

  Maybe.

  Fifteen

  Excerpt of consultation between Dr Annabel Harvey and patient Natasha Howland, Friday 15/01, 18.30

  NATASHA: What were you expecting? That somehow just being at school and home again would make everything come rushing back?

  DR HARVEY: I had no expectations. Is that what you were expecting?

  NATASHA: God, you really are a shrink.

  (Giggle then pause)

  I think maybe my mum was. I think she wants to know how I ended up in the river more than I do.

  DR HARVEY: Don’t you want to know?

  NATASHA: No. Do you think that’s weird? No, don’t answer. You’re only going to say ‘But do you think that’s weird?’ Maybe it is a bit weird. But I feel okay. I wasn’t beaten up or raped or anything. The police aren’t bothered any more. And I mean, I could go crazy wondering about it, couldn’t I?

  DR HARVEY: How was school today?

  NATASHA: Fine. You know, everyone was looking at me but I can cope with that. We had the play auditions. That was good. Hayley and Jenny – they’re my best friends, I guess – they’re sticking to me like glue, which is also nice. I guess.

  DR HARVEY: You don’t sound convinced.

  NATASHA: No, it’s good. They’re great. They’re protecting me from everyone who wants to ask questions. Which is kind of funny. Like they don’t have questions.

  DR HARVEY: What kind of questions?

  NATASHA: Mainly what was it like.

  (Pause)

  The whole being dead thing.

  DR HARVEY: What do you tell them?

  NATASHA: What can I tell them? I don’t remember anything. They’re expecting me to say something about white lights and tunnels, I think.

  (Pause)

  I invited Becca to the party.

  DR HARVEY: Party?

  NATASHA: There’s one tonight. In my honour for still being alive. I invited Becca. I don’t even really know why.

  DR HARVEY: Should you be going to a party so soon?

  NATASHA: Ha. You’re more parental than my parents.

  DR HARVEY: They don’t mind you going?

  NATASHA: Oh, I’m sure they do. They won’t say so, though.

  DR HARVEY: Becca sounds significant to you.

  NATASHA: She used to be my best friend. A long time ago. I’ve just found myself thinking about her more since all this happened. It used to be me and her, then it was me, her and Hayley. Then it became me, Hayley and Jenny.

  Dr Harvey: Did you have an argument?

  NATASHA: No. Not really. Just, well . . . things change at school and stuff, don’t they?

  Different things become important. Who you hang around with. That stuff.

  DR HARVEY: But you’ve asked her to the party.

  NATASHA: Yes. She probably won’t come, though.

  DR HARVEY: So Becca was your first best friend? How old were you when you met?

  NATASHA: Maybe seven? I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve known her for ever.

  DR HARVEY: Perhaps she’s your security.

  NATASHA: What?

  DR HARVEY: There is always a child in all of us. You’re sixteen. You’re almost grown up. But this incident, the trauma you’ve just been through, might make you want the secu
rity of your childhood. Perhaps your parents don’t fully provide that. Perhaps you’re looking to Becca for it?

  NATASHA: (Laughs)

  I think you’re thinking too much about it.

  (Pause)

  Although I’m not sleeping well.

  DR HARVEY: Why is that?

  NATASHA: I don’t know.

  DR HARVEY: What’s preventing you from sleeping?

  NATASHA: Nothing. I’m in my room. Everything’s the same.

  DR HARVEY: Perhaps you’re not the same.

  NATASHA: (Quiet)

  It’s the dark. I’m afraid of the dark.

  DR HARVEY: What frightens you about it?

  NATASHA: (Long pause. Shuffling. A cough)

  I think there’s something in it. Something bad.

  Sixteen

  Becca didn’t dress up – not like the others would, anyway, just an off-one-shoulder black T over her jeans – but she put her full warpaint on, dark kohl shading all round her eyes tapering to Cleopatra points. She thought it made her look fierce. She was fierce. Though right until the moment she came to a stop outside the house that throbbed with music in the night, she hadn’t been sure she’d actually go.

  She’d told her mum that she was meeting a couple of other girls from school and that she might stay over, appeasing her clucking worry with Of course I’ll text when we’re home and then she texted Aiden and asked if he’d be around to pick her up at about one, maybe earlier, and that she had an all-night pass. That part had made her smile through her nerves.

  Mark Pritchard wasn’t as wealthy as Natasha but his house was big, with two downstairs living rooms, a large kitchen and a den at the back before the garden. At first, coming in from the cold, and with her stomach suddenly in knots of nerves, Becca felt almost disorientated. People were flashes of coloured clothes, milling everywhere. Faces she recognised but didn’t really know. A couple of boys who’d left the year before. Music thumped from the front room through the fabric of the building. She was never going to find Tasha here. Coming was the stupidest thing she’d ever done, she decided. Were they all going to laugh at her?