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by Sarah Pinborough

  Twenty-Two

  It was last lesson on Wednesday afternoon and it was fair to say that no one, not even Jenny, who oddly loved English and was good at it, was paying attention much in Mr Garrick’s English class. As the afternoon slunk into darkness on the other side of the window, Emily was texting her boyfriend under the table and Becca was doodling designs for the stage. Mr Garrick had been late, slamming the door shut and muttering about exam papers and how it only used to be once a year and other stuff of absolutely no interest to them, before smiling his somewhat awkward smile and reaching for The Whitsun Weddings.

  Becca had hoped he was off sick and they’d be sent to the sixth form study area with some ‘work’. But no. Mr Garrick was the Exams Officer as well as their English teacher and he spent a lot of time bundling up coursework and sorting out resits and papers.

  As the hour finally drew to a close, the in-seat shuffling was becoming more pronounced. It was a big class for sixth form, about twenty of them, and at least that meant you could hide a little. Plus Mr Garrick wasn’t stupid. He knew last lesson of the day wasn’t the time to get the best work out of anyone. If there’d been a video he could show them, he would have. Becca wondered if she might persuade him to let them watch The Crucible. Maybe he would. He could be pretty cool like that. He was cool like Mr Jones and maybe a couple of years older, but there was something about him that was kind. Sweet. Like the classic bumbling professor only slightly better-looking. Yeah, maybe she’d ask, she thought idly. Even those not in the play wouldn’t mind. It would beat these boring poems, anyway.

  She thought about Tasha. Becca had kept their secret about Sunday and fully expected to be ignored back at school but that hadn’t been the case. They weren’t really hanging out but there were a few ‘hellos’ and waves in the corridors. Hannah noticed. She was a little bit rabbit-in-the-headlights about it, especially yesterday when Becca had lunch with Tasha to talk about the play. She’d looked hurt and Becca had pretended not to notice as she breezed off.

  They’d had the cast meeting on Monday – the list went up on the board at lunchtime to many squeals of delight – and as she’d predicted, the Barbies had done well. Tasha was the gorgeous, vital but vengeful Abigail, Jenny the somewhat skittish Mary Warren and Hayley had claimed the cool, calm Elizabeth Proctor. Becca didn’t feel bitter about any of it, partly because being on the stage had never appealed to her and partly because it was a strong cast. She’d watched Hayley and Jenny preen around Tasha when she got Abigail, as if she was by far the superior actress, but Becca knew that although she was good and would be good in it, Jenny was better, and she was pretty sure the Barbies knew that, too. But Jenny had to resit her Maths GCSE to get it up to a C and Mr Jones didn’t want to overload her. It was a good call, Becca thought. Plus, Mary Warren was a tricky part, harder than Abigail in a lot of ways.

  ‘This lesson is never going to end,’ Emily muttered, still holding her phone behind her open poetry book, fingers flying across the screen. Becca muttered agreement but she was distracted, studying Hayley and Jenny in front. The two Barbies were passing a scribbled-on piece of paper between them, back and forth in some conversation. They were right under Mr Garrick’s nose, too. Maybe he just chose to ignore them. Maybe he couldn’t be bothered with this lesson, either.

  Becca doodled some more. It was the first full read-through after school and she wanted to check the lighting rigs and stuff with Casey while she could. Casey had royally fucked up her exams and it was unlikely – despite Theatre Tech being one of her subjects – she could be full on with the play. Performances, yes, but rehearsals and prep, no. So it looked like Becca would only have Hannah to help, and Hannah was great when under direction but not exactly confident enough to be a self-starter. Becca hadn’t seen Tasha all day, and if she didn’t show up, Becca would probably have to read in for her as well and miss her technical-stuff time.

  ‘Thank fuck,’ Emily groaned as the bell finally rang. She and Becca were on their feet before it had even finished, Emily heading to the door with her bag already over her shoulder. ‘See you tomorrow, bitch.’

  ‘Back at ya, ho,’ Becca answered. She glanced at Hayley and Jenny, who were still packing up. Fuck it, she thought. Why should she be nervous of talking to them?

  ‘Hey,’ she said, loitering close to their table. ‘Where’s Tasha today?’

  Hayley looked at her with disdain. ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘Hayley, can I have a word?’ Mr Garrick sounded nervous, cutting into the strained atmosphere between the three girls. Becca didn’t blame him.

  ‘Sure.’ Hayley looked at Jenny. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Garrick,’ Jenny said with a smile, and Becca muttered the same. Jenny pushed past her but Becca stayed close, waiting until they were out in the corridor and the two Barbies separated before she spoke again.

  ‘I just want to know whether it’s worth having the read-through today or not. If she’s not in school I’ll tell Mr Jones.’

  ‘I’ll tell Mr Jones,’ Jenny said. ‘What are you, like a nanny?’ She stared at Becca, her chest heaving for a few seconds before more words blurted out of her. ‘I don’t know what you think’s going on with you and Tasha but she dumped you before. Remember? She’ll do it again.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Becca snapped back. ‘She’s my friend so she can’t be yours?’ The last sentence came out in a sing-song whine and Jenny’s pretty, seductive face looked like it had been slapped. ‘Anyway, she was my friend first,’ Becca finished, knowing how childish she sounded. But it was true. She probably knew Tasha better than either of them except maybe Hayley. Who the fuck was Jenny, anyway? Some dumb council estate slut who just rocked up at school and happened to have the right look? She could fuck off.

  ‘Yes, she was,’ Jenny said, stepping in closer so her rosebud lips, slightly glossed, were only inches from Becca’s face. ‘So what? She telling you all her secrets now? Like what, Becca? What’s Tasha told you?’

  There was an edge of desperation in her voice and her eyes were wide and watery, gleaming with tears but still angry. Her pupils were full, Becca noticed as they faced each other in the corridor. Was Jenny high? In school? On what? Her eyes dropped immediately to Jenny’s nose. She had too much fire to be stoned.

  ‘Are you on something?’ she asked. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Becca,’ Jenny said, suddenly slumping a little. ‘Just fuck off.’

  ‘Rebecca?’

  She turned, and for a moment couldn’t place the woman calling her name. Familiar but not someone she knew. Someone she’d met, though. Someone—

  ‘Detective Inspector Bennett. We met at the hospital,’ the woman said. She glanced from girl to girl as Hayley joined them from Mr Garrick’s classroom. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Becca said. ‘We’re fine.’ Jenny nodded in reluctant agreement and that was enough for Bennett. She didn’t care about their squabbles.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you,’ the policewoman continued. For a moment, Becca presumed she meant the Barbies, but it was her name the woman had called and it was her she was looking at. Becca suddenly felt cold.

  ‘What about?’ What could a policewoman need to talk to her for? Jenny and Hayley moved away but not so far that they couldn’t listen in. Her panic must have showed because the DI smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s just some routine questions. Nothing to look so nervous about.’

  ‘Has Natasha been with you?’ Hayley asked. ‘Is this about her accident?’

  So they hadn’t known where Tasha was today, either, Becca realised. Pair of sneaky bitches. What was it with the constant putting her down? Why couldn’t they have just said?

  ‘Natasha’s gone to see her psychologist. She’ll be home soon,’ Bennett said, ignoring Hayley’s question. ‘It’s routine,’ she continued to Becca. ‘Let’s go to the Head
Teacher’s office. I’ll get someone to drop you home when we’re done.’

  ‘But we have play rehearsals,’ Becca said, feebly. There was something in the stern kindness of the woman’s face that terrified her. She didn’t want to go with her.

  ‘Rehearsals have been cancelled.’

  Twenty-Three

  Excerpt of consultation between Dr Annabel Harvey and patient Natasha Howland, Wednesday 20/01, 16.30

  NATASHA: There are thirteen leaves on your potted plant. Did you know that?

  (Pause)

  Well, there are. Look. Count them.

  DR HARVEY: Is that important?

  NATASHA: Thirteens. I keep seeing them. It’s like the number stands out to me. Thirteen peas left on my dad’s plate. Thirteen raindrops on the window. Thirteen people on the top deck of the bus. That number is everywhere.

  DR HARVEY: Why is that?

  NATASHA: (Laughing)

  Seriously? Like you need to ask?

  DR HARVEY: You know that’s approximate, don’t you? They can’t be sure exactly how long you were in that condition for. It might have been fourteen minutes, it could have been twelve.

  NATASHA: But it was thirteen. I just wish it would leave me alone.

  DR HARVEY: Are you still having bad dreams?

  NATASHA: (Long pause)

  I wonder if she drowned there.

  DR HARVEY: Who?

  NATASHA: That girl from Maypoole. Nicola whatever.

  DR HARVEY: Nicola Munroe.

  NATASHA: Yeah, her. They think her death and mine might be linked.

  DR HARVEY: What do you think?

  NATASHA: I don’t remember anything.

  (Shuffles in chair)

  DR HARVEY: Is something bothering you?

  NATASHA: Even before the DI, Caitlin, came to talk to me, I was thinking about her. Since I saw it on the news. You know, about her being found in the river near me. It made me feel sick. I swallowed water she’d rotted in. She died there. I died there.

  DR HARVEY: You didn’t die. You should try not to see it that way.

  NATASHA: Easy for you to say. My heart stopped just like hers. I wasn’t breathing just like her. Maybe she’s the one in my dreams. In the darkness.

  DR HARVEY: Nicola’s body was only discovered on Sunday night – you were having these nightmares before that.

  NATASHA: Maybe she’s mad I didn’t die properly. Jealous.

  DR HARVEY: Nicola Munroe was dead long before you went in the river. She was not capable of any emotion. Perhaps you have survivor guilt. You lived and she died. Did you know Nicola Munroe?

  NATASHA: No.

  DR HARVEY: Then you can’t make assumptions about any feelings she might have. Even if she was capable of feeling now, surely it would be more natural for her to be pleased that one of you made it out of the water alive?

  NATASHA: (Laughter)

  DR HARVEY: Why is that amusing?

  NATASHA: Do you know anything about teenage girls?

  (Pause. Sniffing)

  (Quieter)

  I don’t think it’s got anything to do with him. I really don’t. Even if I can’t remember, I’m sure I would feel something, you know? When I saw him.

  Extract from DI Caitlin Bennett’s case report:

  20th January (copy also in case file

  Nicola Munroe)

  Given the extreme decomposition of Nicola Munroe’s body, it is still unknown whether she was drugged or under the influence of alcohol prior to her death. Samples have been sent for further testing. It is also unknown whether she was alive or dead when she went into the water. Beyond the comparable location of her body, it is difficult to draw comparisons with Natasha Howland’s case; however, there are the following similarities:

  1)Both women went into the water fully clothed, although Munroe wore several more layers than Howland, including a heavy coat and boots.

  2)Both women were in possession of their mobile phones.

  3)Neither woman shows any obvious signs of attack or rape – although in Munroe’s case, given the condition of the body, the medical examiner is unable to state for certain.

  4)Both women were white, middle class and mid- to late-teens.

  5)Both women were blonde.

  6)Both women knew Aiden Kennedy.

  Extract from DI Bennett’s notes

  (unofficial record) in interview with

  Natasha Howland and Rebecca Crisp 20/01.

  14.00/15.45 respectively. Both girls

  agreed that the Head Teacher,

  Christine Salisbury, would stand

  as responsible adult:

  Natasha Howland

  Howland clearly unsettled by discovery of Munroe’s body so close to the site of her own incident. Referred more than once to them both being in the water at the same time. Less collected than on previous conversations. I asked her routine questions. Brought up Aiden Kennedy. Both women were acquaintances of Kennedy.

  Howland has seen Aiden Kennedy twice since her accident: once at Jamie McMahon’s house when she and her mother went to thank him, then again when he picked Rebecca up from a party Friday night/Saturday morning held at student Mark Pritchard’s house. Confused by my questioning. Surprised to hear Aiden’s name mentioned. Has had nothing to do with him since he asked her out nearly two years ago. Embarrassed by this. Says she laughed at him. (Interesting.) His behaviour at McMahon’s was the same as normal towards her – says AK never looks her in the eye. (Shy? Guilt? Obsession?) Says to her knowledge his relationship with Rebecca Crisp is both serious and sexual, and that Crisp sems happy. She asks why we’re interested in Aiden. What he has to do with anything. Genuine surprise. No memory prompt. On completion of interview sent her to meet the doctor again. Need her memory back. Frustrating!

  Rebecca Crisp

  Smart kid under the shell. Asks why talking to her not the other two girls. Teen dynamics interesting. Ask her about the night of the incident. She repeats she was with Aiden until he dropped her home at midnight. Did she speak to him later? She responds as per previous statement that she fell asleep watching TV on her computer. Asked where he went after that, she states home. Clear on questioning that she can’t be sure he did, but that’s what he said. Defensive here – realisation of something? Shaky. Angry. Scared. Says to check with Aiden’s mother. Then asks if we have already. Mention AK asking NH out on a date. How does he talk about her? Crisp outburst. Teary. They don’t talk about her. It was a long time ago. (Jealous? NH makes her feel insecure? Does he talk about NH?) Takes a moment to calm. Crisp confirms their relationship is sexual. Nothing abnormal. (She’s uncomfortable here. Not cocky. Maybe not giving everything sexually he wants? AK frustrated? Needs the fantasy of others?) Does AK see other girls? Has he ever cheated? Anger at this. No, they are in love. (Bless her!) Leave a moment. Write notes. She asks why I’m asking so many questions about AK. Defensive. (nervous?) I ask if she knew that Aiden knew Nicola Munroe, the Maypoole girl . . .

  Twenty-Four

  ‘What is she talking about?’ Becca knew she was shouting. She couldn’t help it. Her whole body had been shaking since the policewoman let her go. ‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’ She wanted to throw up now they were face to face. She’d run from school to his flat and then to Mr McMahon’s house and her anger hadn’t faded. Here he was. Shaken, pale and beautiful. He tried to hold her but she pulled away. She was too angry. Too angry and upset and suddenly terrified.

  ‘I don’t have my phone. They took it. I went and bought another one as soon as they let me go.’ He pulled a cheap handset from his pocket. ‘But I don’t have your number in it. I came here to see if it was on any of Jamie’s phone bills. I use his landline sometimes – you know how shit the reception is in this house.’

  ‘Why don’t we all calm down?’ Mr Mc
Mahon – Jamie – stood in the corner of the sitting room, awkward in his own home. His dog sat at his feet, whining occasionally, upset. ‘Whatever it is, it’s a misunderstanding.’

  ‘She says you knew her!’ Becca almost spat the words at Aiden and then, much to her own shame, burst into tears. Strong hands were on her shoulders, bigger than Aiden’s, and then she was being led to a sofa. She sank into it, heavy, the fight going out of her.

  ‘Hey.’ Jamie crouched beside her and handed her a tissue from his pocket. ‘It’s crumpled but it’s clean.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, hating herself for being so weak. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ His voice was soft. Kind. She wanted to cry all over again. Her world had been, if not pulled out from under her, then very severely shaken. ‘But you know that this will just be nothing, right?’

  Becca looked up at her boyfriend, who immediately rushed over and sat down. He smelled clean. Shampoo and soap and the unique scent of him underneath it all. She loved him so much she would break from it. Even now.

  ‘They said that Nicola Munroe had her phone contacts backed up on her MacBook.’ His voice was shaky. ‘My number was on there.’ The world shimmered around Becca a little, light refracting sharply from the edges of the coffee table as she stared at it, unable to look at him.

  ‘How?’ Becca asked. ‘How did she have your number?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Aiden shrugged helplessly and it made her want to hug him and punch him all at once. ‘I had hers, too. She was a muso. I go to gigs and people know I do some pro stuff. I guess we must have swapped numbers at something.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Swapped numbers. The words carried weight. It was something they giggled over in the girls’ changing rooms at school, or on the bus, or in McDonald’s. Swapped numbers. Private messaged. DM’d. All those things were the prelude to the first kiss. Everyone knew that.