13 Minutes-9780575097407

by Sarah Pinborough

  ‘I don’t know,’ I muttered, stamping my feet to ward off the cold.

  ‘You brought me here,’ Becca pointed out. ‘There must be part of you that thinks they’re involved somehow.’

  ‘But what about Nicola Munroe?’

  ‘What about her?’ Becca straightened up, thinking it through again. ‘She was found in the river. That’s not proof that what happened to you is linked; she might have gone in the river up by Maypoole and washed down here. Aiden is the only other connection at the moment, and he didn’t even really know her, and he didn’t do anything wrong.’ It was sweet to see the defiant lift of Becca’s chin as she said that. She doesn’t have to convince me, though. I believe her. I know Aiden’s innocent. ‘And it’s not like he’s been stalking you or anything, has he?’ she finished.

  She tried to make the question sound like a confident statement but I heard the insecurity in it – her need for some reassurance.

  ‘Of course not. I’d kind of forgotten all about him.’ I chose my words so carefully. Even if I really don’t get it, he’s Becca’s whole world. I don’t want to upset her or alienate her. I need her.

  ‘So what happened to her and what happened to you are probably entirely separate events,’ Becca concluded, glancing around her again. ‘Maybe you should call that Bennett woman. Tell her about this.’ She looked at me. ‘I can’t do it – she’ll think I’m just trying to get Aiden out of trouble.’ She needs me, too, I realised.

  ‘But what does any of this prove?’ I shrugged, helplessly. ‘Nothing. Just that at some point recently we were all here. Or they could claim they were here without me and one of them ate the chocolate. Or that someone entirely not them just happened to be dog-walking through the woods. There’s nothing here to prove we were here that night.’ She knew I was right. This was flimsy at best. And they’re my friends. I don’t want to go to the police and accuse them of something without being sure. I mean, shit . . . what if this is just my head being mental? They’ve probably done nothing.

  Becca pocketed the stub of her own cigarette – no doubt not wanting to contaminate the scene – and then lit another. Her eyes were narrow. She was thinking hard.

  ‘We need to draw them out,’ she said. ‘Test them.’

  My face prickled with the cold and the start of the buzz of excitement.

  ‘Pretend you’re beginning to remember,’ Becca said, her face alive with the hatching of a plan. ‘Nothing solid – just say you’re getting vague images you don’t understand. Be a bit cautious with them. That kind of thing.’

  ‘What then?’ I knew where she was going but I wanted to hear her say it.

  ‘See how they react. What they do.’ She was shivering now and we started to walk back, quiet in single file through the trees to the narrow path I know so well, and then out to the river and onto the main road. When we could walk comfortably side by side, I slipped my arm through hers, like she was my boyfriend or something. It’d been a long time since we last walked like that. It was comforting. I’ve missed Becca and it surprised me to realise that.

  ‘I’ll text you to come and have lunch with us tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it then. That way we can both see how they react.’

  Becca didn’t ask to bring Hannah along, which was a relief. I really don’t want to be seen having lunch with Hannah. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Poor Hannah, she’s so easily dumped.

  But Becca was still talking, working it out. ‘Something happened in that time you don’t remember,’ she said. ‘It must have. Something that led to you meeting them in the middle of the night and then ending up nearly dead.’ She was speaking quietly, as if it was too horrible to say aloud.

  But what could have happened? Mum says I was at home in my room on Thursday night and Friday was school as normal. From what everyone else tells me, it was a perfectly ordinary day.

  ‘From the outside, maybe,’ Becca observed. ‘But, like, who really knows? My mum doesn’t know what I do. If she was asked what I did last Friday, her answer wouldn’t involve drugs and fucking my boyfriend’s brains out.’

  ‘What if they don’t do anything? What if they’re pleased for me?’ I said.

  ‘Then you can go back to being Barbies together and—’ It stopped me cold and I stared at her for a long moment.

  ‘Barbies?’ I said. ‘Even you call us that?’

  Her arm stiffened right up in mine. ‘Sometimes. It’s just a name. I’m the one who first said it about you guys. Years ago.’ She paused. ‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment at the time.’

  ‘No shit.’ It was my turn to take a moment. ‘Barbies,’ I said again. ‘You came up with that. Man, you bitch.’ I could almost feel the heat coming from the painful blush on Becca’s face, and suddenly I was laughing. I was laughing so hard I had to stop walking. Becca looked at me like I was crazy and then she was laughing, too, until we were both wheezing for breath and crying between fits of uncontrollable giggles. Barbies. It was her insult that we took and owned. We were proud of being called that, my posse of three. The Barbies. I saw us as Bex saw us. Empty, plastic, beautiful people. I was still proud of it. I can’t help it. I am the Barbies.

  Eventually we stopped laughing and the cold gripped us again. I wiped the last tears from my aching face and said, ‘Okay. Let’s plan this. Properly.’ And as we talked, the laughter drained away with the seriousness of why we were doing it.

  We will lead the horses to water and see if they drink. I like plans. I like details. I’m not a wing it girl. But we both play chess. If anyone can set a good trap, we can.

  Twenty-Six

  Aiden was hunched over his phone as Jamie put their coffees down, and at first he presumed the teenager was locked in conversation with his girlfriend, but there were no beeps or buzzes. Curious, and under the guise of reaching for another amp lead, he leaned across the desk where Aiden was sitting. The kid barely noticed. His shoulders were hunched and tight – too tight to make anything he’d played thus far in this session usable – and he was absently chewing his bottom lip. The phone was open on a Google search pane: Brackston CCTV streets.

  ‘Coffee’s there,’ Jamie said. Why would the kid want to know where the street cameras were? And why look so worried? Was this to do with the police? Surely he’d want the police to know where he’d been? Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted to make sure they could track his movements after he dropped Becca off that night. That must be it.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Have a smoke and then let’s try and get this track right or we may as well call it a day.’

  ‘Sure. Cool.’ Still distracted, Aiden reluctantly put his phone down and went over to the balcony. He was never overly talkative, but normally the two of them shared a relaxed quiet, not this tense, stilted atmosphere. Aiden was physically present, but mentally somewhere else entirely.

  Jamie snatched a quick look at the screen before it went blank. From what he could glean in that moment or two, his back blocking Aiden’s view of him in case he turned around, there was nothing for the boy to worry about. Brackston wasn’t short of speed cameras or CCTV around the main roads. If the police checked, he’d be fine.

  This would all blow over, he was sure of it. Biscuit thumped his tail in his basket as if he was agreeing with his master’s thoughts. Yeah, Jamie thought. It will all be nothing. But he hoped it turned out that way before this work needed to be delivered. Having to use another guitarist at this stage would be a pain in the arse.

  Twenty-Seven

  It was a really clever plan, Becca thought, as she tried to look casual and relaxed in the Barbie corner of the sixth form common room, even if she said so herself. She sipped her cappuccino, harvested from the Starbucks around the corner in the first five minutes of lunch, but didn’t eat anything. She was tentative with her drink, too. She didn’t have coffee that often and it tended to make her jittery and queasy, but that’s what
Tasha was drinking and she’d found herself ordering it too.

  ‘Just relax,’ Tasha said, sitting opposite. ‘They’ll be here.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Becca said. ‘I just hate the waiting.’ That was kind of true. She was also a bit worried – she couldn’t help it – that Hannah was going to come in and see her all cosy with Tasha and know that she hadn’t been invited. Again. There were only so many times Becca could blame ditching Hannah for Tasha on the play, especially as Hannah was also involved with that. This time she hadn’t even made an excuse, just chickened out and not answered Hannah’s text about lunch. Becca’s last lesson had been Art so she hoped Hannah would go and look for her there. Sometimes she stayed longer to finish up. God, this was ridiculous. Why was she even worried? It wasn’t like Hannah was her boyfriend or anything, so why was she feeling guilty about not having lunch with her a couple of times?

  ‘Here they come,’ Tasha muttered quietly, her head bent over her salad.

  ‘Hey,’ Jenny said, sitting down. ‘What’s going on?’ Her voice was light, but Becca noticed her eyes, a little bloodshot, darting between Becca and Tasha. ‘You didn’t answer our texts.’

  ‘I thought I’d have lunch with Becca, that’s all,’ Tasha said. She toyed with her salad, her shoulders hunched over a little. She looked uncomfortable. Becca thought she was doing brilliantly. But then, Tasha was the actress of the two of them. Becca stayed quiet and sipped her bitter coffee as Hayley took the last chair. ‘Lucky you, Bex,’ she said dryly. ‘An audience with the queen. First lunch together in how many years?’

  Jenny flashed Hayley a hard look across the table. Hard or panicked? Becca couldn’t decide. Either way there was a reprimand in it.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Jenny said. ‘We’ve never really got to know each other.’ She smiled at Becca. A half-hearted, lopsided affair that somehow still managed to look pretty and endearing. Becca wondered how often she practised it. ‘Hayley doesn’t mean anything. She loves to play being a bitch for show.’

  Becca thought of the cigarette butts out in the woods, the Crunchie wrapper, the frayed piece of cut rope. How much is just for show? she wondered as she tried to smile back.

  ‘Look, if it’s a problem, I can go,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Natasha said, suddenly and almost fearfully. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Hayley frowned. ‘You’re being weird.’

  Natasha glanced up then, at her Forever Friends, evaluating them almost warily. Nervous. She looked down and picked at the skin around her fingernails. ‘I think I’m starting to remember some things. You know. From before my accident.’

  Becca felt it then. A tension as both Hayley and Jenny froze in their seats. A still uprightness that had no place in the energetic gesticulating babble of the school. All of that was shut out for now. The four of them were in a bubble of something else. Something not quite tangible. Becca thought that even if metaphorical pistols hadn’t been drawn, there was definitely a sense of hands hovering over guns.

  ‘Wow,’ Hayley said, after too long a moment. ‘That’s great.’ She didn’t look at Becca, her eyes focused on Natasha. She swallowed. Becca almost missed the telltale movement of her throat, but it was there. Nerves? Fear? Or just a natural reaction to the news?

  ‘Anything you can tell the police?’ Hayley added.

  ‘Not yet.’ Tasha pushed her salad away. ‘It’s just more flashes. Images. Nothing I’m ready to share. Not till I figure out what it means. If it means anything at all.’

  Jenny had begun tugging at a strand of hair, twirling and twisting it around her fingers. In another situation it might have looked sexy or flirtatious, but Becca thought she just looked scared. A rabbit in the headlights of her friends’ exchange.

  ‘Well, if you want to talk it through,’ Hayley said, ‘let us know. We can always come round to yours one evening, if you like.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Jenny said, jittery, over-excited. ‘My mum has a new boyfriend. They spend every night drinking and shagging.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s disgusting. The noises they make. Save me.’

  ‘Feels weird not having been round to yours since the thing happened.’ Hayley was the queen of cool, but the edge in her voice was clear. She was feeling excluded. Now she looked at Becca, almost accusatory. What did they know? Becca wondered. What do they suspect? Or were her own suspicions making her see guilt where there wasn’t any?

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Tasha was non-committal. ‘I don’t know. Things just feel weird.’ She looked up. ‘I feel like I need my own space. I don’t know why.’ She hesitated before the next words and the other three girls automatically leaned in slightly. ‘This might sound stupid,’ Tasha continued, ‘but did we argue that day? Why do I have the feeling we did?’

  ‘If you need your own space then why is Becca here?’ Hayley said.

  Jenny laughed. An almost hysterical titter. ‘Why would we fight?’

  ‘No,’ Hayley said. ‘No, we didn’t argue.’ She paused. ‘Maybe you should chill. Don’t force anything. Your brain might just be making shit up trying to fill the space. You know, that false-memory stuff.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tasha said. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Maybe you should try not thinking about it at all,’ Hayley added.

  You’d like that, Becca thought, wouldn’t you? If she never remembered?

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Jenny said, suddenly rising to her feet. ‘I have to see Mr Garrick about my Maths exam. I’ve been carrying my mum’s cheque for the resit around for days. If I don’t give it to him it’ll end up bouncing – again – and she’ll kill me.’

  ‘You have to do that now?’ Hayley said.

  Jenny didn’t answer, just darted off, tossing her mane of hair to one side so the strap of her bag didn’t catch it. She wiggled as she went, apparently nonchalantly unaware of it, her body soft but tight. It wasn’t only the boys who watched her go – the girls did, too, and in their faces Becca could see their longing to be able to pull off the effortless gorgeousness that oozed from Jenny. The longing to have that Barbie magic.

  ‘This is like old times,’ Hayley said, looking from Becca to Tasha. ‘Except Becca’s half the size she used to be.’

  ‘Ha fucking ha,’ Becca said. ‘And you’ve got half the personality you used to have.’

  ‘It was a compliment,’ Hayley snapped. ‘Jesus, I don’t remember you being so touchy.’

  Becca’s phone buzzed. Hannah. Where are you? I’m by the radiator. Same old!

  ‘Speaking of personality,’ Hayley said.

  It stung. Becca couldn’t help it. The implication of social retardation was clear in Hayley’s disdain.

  ‘Don’t be a bitch,’ Tasha snapped, and Hayley’s eyes widened.

  ‘Seriously? Like you haven’t said worse?’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Becca said. Her heart was still racing from the cat-and-mouse game she and Tasha were playing, but she didn’t want to sit there while Hayley recounted all the bitchy things they’d said about her friend and left all the silences where they’d said bitchy things about her. And as much as Becca was starting to feel some shame about hanging around with Hannah, she was her friend. Also, maybe Tasha would learn more if she was alone with Hayley. She and Jenny were hiding something, that was for sure. But what? Could they really have pushed Tasha in the water? As much as she was starting to believe it – had definitely believed it last night out in the woods – it was a surreal idea when they were all sitting in the bright lights and normality of the common room.

  ‘I’ll text you later,’ she said to Tasha, enjoying the clearly irked look on Hayley’s face. ‘Don’t forget the rehearsal after school.’

  ‘We won’t,’ Hayley sniped.

  Becca left them alone, but cast a quick glance back when she reached the common room door. Neither of the girls was speaking. Hayley’s face was t
ense. Thoughtful. Becca gave Tasha a conspiratorial grin and was sure she got a quick dropped-lid wink in return.

  Sorry got caught up with something, she texted Hannah. Lost track of time. Need loo!

  See u there.

  Of course she would. Becca sighed internally. There was never an ok see you later can’t be arsed to move with Hannah. Hannah was always there for her.

  *

  There was only one cubicle occupied in the girls’ toilets and in the quiet Becca heard a snort coming from inside it, something being sucked up into a nostril, followed by two or three short sniffs. Then the door opened. It was Jenny. As she recoiled slightly, her hand flew instinctively to wipe her face, but not before Becca saw the flash of white powder.

  ‘What?’ She glared at Becca, twitching and defensive. ‘What are you staring at?’

  ‘There’s still powder around your nose.’ Becca didn’t know what else to say. She was stunned. A cigarette out the back of the school was one thing, but snorting coke or whatever else at lunchtime was a whole different world.

  ‘What the actual fuck, Jenny?’ she blurted out. ‘I mean, what is that shit?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ Jenny said, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. ‘What the fuck do you know about anything? You don’t understand.’

  ‘What don’t I understand?’

  Jenny hiccoughed then, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. ‘The joke is even if I told you, you still wouldn’t understand.’

  Becca’s heart raced, her pulse thumping in her ears. Was this it? Was this Jenny almost confessing? She thought of Lady Macbeth in their Year Ten English Literature play, driven to madness by guilt. Was Jenny getting high in an attempt to keep it together?

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Because you’re my friend, aren’t you? I see the way you look at me. Like I’m trash.’ She pushed past Becca to get to the sink. ‘You worry about your own shit, Bex. I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t need your pity.’