by Lisa Jewell
She squeezed Grace’s hand, tenderly. Rubbed her thumb up and down the back of it. Turned it over and traced a circle on the palm of her hand with her fingertip.
Around and around the garden, like a teddy bear.
How Grace had loved that game.
She tried to think of something else to say. But she couldn’t. All she could think, suddenly and fiercely, was: Chris, I need you.
26
The flat had the slightly awkward air that homes often have when one returns after some time away: an uncomfortable loss of familiarity.
Clare went straight to her room to pack.
Pip meanwhile wandered from room to room, trying to find her way back into the flat. There were still hints of Grace’s party here and there. The balloons tied to the chairs on the patio bobbed in and out of view through the back window; her cards sat on display on the dining table along with her presents. Pip touched things gently as she passed them, trying to assimilate them into herself. She heard her mum going through the wardrobe in her room, the jangle of her coat hangers knocking together. “Choose yourself a fresh outfit, Pip,” her mum called out to her. “And a spare for me to pack. And be quick! Really quick!”
She went into her own room. Here were the loudest suggestions of the hours before Saturday night. Grace’s original outfit discarded to the floor where she’d changed into her new clothes. Her makeup piled on the floor around the mirror. The wrapping paper from Dylan’s gift to her. The one she’d squirreled away in here, not wanting to open it in front of the others. Pip went through the room, trying to find the gift, wondering if it contained a clue as to what had happened to her. But there was nothing, just the gift tag upon which he’d written:
13!
xxxxx
Like thirteen was really old or something. Like thirteen meant something.
She went into the kitchen and peered through the window. It half amazed her to see people out there. Just getting on with their lives.
“Pip! Hurry up!”
She could see Catkin out there. She was reading. For a moment Pip was tempted to stride out there and shout into Catkin’s face: How can you sit there reading a book when my sister’s in a coma and it was probably your weird father who put her into it?
She looked away from Catkin and toward the block at the top of the hill, squinting to see if she could make out the form of Rhea sitting on her balcony. But there was no one there. Then she looked up at the tiny pinprick eyes of the attic flat above the Howeses. Was Dylan in there? Had he taken the day off school in the aftermath of his “girlfriend” being in a coma? Or was he at school mucking about with his posh mates as if today was just a normal day? Did he even care?
And then she looked right, toward Tyler’s block of flats. Tyler with her scratched-up arms and her hard-girl façade. What did she know about Leo? About Grace?
“Pip! Come on, darling, we need to get back to the hospital. Grace might be waking up!”
Pip was about to turn and join her mother in the hallway when she saw a flash of red hair, a streak of milky leg, a blaze of orange fluorescence as a ball arced across the park.
Max.
She ran across the lawn, catching him by the walls of the Secret Garden, where he was leaning to pick up his ball. He saw her and immediately walked away.
“Max,” she said, sharply, because in this new disordered world of hers, sharp was something she was allowed to be.
He pretended not to hear.
“Max,” she said, louder. She caught up to him and grabbed his arm.
He shook his arm free of her hold and looked at her crossly. “What?”
“You know what,” she said.
“I don’t know anything.”
“You do. When I saw you on the hill—you’d seen something. You know you had. What was it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t see anything. Just your sister. Like that.”
“So,” she said, “why didn’t you get help? Why didn’t you do something?”
“I was going to,” he said. “I was going to. And then you came.”
Pip narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you see Leo?”
“What?”
“Leo. The girls’ dad? Did you see him?”
He looked at her incredulously. “No-oo.”
Her shoulders slumped. She believed him. “Then tell me what you did see. My sister’s in a coma. In an actual coma. Someone gave her a drug overdose. This is so serious. And you saw her. Which means you’re a witness, Max. The police are going to talk to you. You may as well tell me.”
She saw him hollow out, his thin chest go concave. He was losing his resolve.
He sighed. “I didn’t see anything. I just heard stuff.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“Fighting. Arguing.”
“Whose voices were they?”
“I don’t know. Kids’ voices.”
“And what were they saying?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t listening, I was just looking for my ball.” He stared down at the ball in his hands, rolling it fondly between his fingertips as if it reminded him of better times.
“How many voices?”
“A few. A lot.”
“Boys? Girls?”
“Both. I don’t know. And then there were other noises. Footsteps. Running.”
“Was she . . . ? When you found Grace, was she dressed?”
Max’s moon-face flushed pink. He stared resolutely down at his ball. “Kind of.”
“What? Kind of what?”
“She was kind of half-dressed, half-undressed.” He looked up at her, appalled. “I tried talking to her. But she was out cold.” He stared into Pip’s eyes. “I was coming. When I saw you. I was coming to tell people. Honestly. I was.”
“Who do you think it was?” she asked, softer now. “In the Rose Garden? Who was arguing?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I swear. I don’t remember anything else.”
“Okay.” She patted his arm, reassuringly. “Thank you, Max.”
“I hope she’s okay,” he said, awkwardly.
“Yes,” said Pip. “So do I.”
“Leo,” Adele whispered urgently into her phone. “You need to come home.”
“What? Why?”
“Something’s happened. The police have been again and apparently they’ve had the test results back for Grace and she was overdosed.”
“What!”
“I know. But listen. They said it was sleeping pills and at first I said, well, we don’t have any sleeping pills, because we don’t. But then Gordon came in and started talking about his foot and I suddenly thought, Fuck—he had sleeping pills. So I pretended I wanted one and he went to get me one and they were gone.”
“Sorry—what were gone?”
“Gordon’s sleeping pills!” she replied exasperatedly. “He had half a pot and there were only two left.”
“Sorry, Adele. I don’t get it. What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that someone gave Grace an overdose of sleeping pills on Saturday night. And that nearly all of Gordon’s sleeping pills have gone. You have to come home, Leo. You have to come home now. We need to talk to the girls about this, before the police come tonight.”
“What—you think one of our girls gave Grace an overdose?”
“No!”
“Then—what?”
“I don’t know, Leo. But the police are going to be here in six hours, asking questions, and we need to talk to our children and you need to come home!”
“I can’t come home, Del. I’m on my way to a meeting that’s been in the diary since May.”
“Well, then, come home after. Please, Leo.”
“I will. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And in the meantime, go and talk to the neighbors. Because, hey, you never know, maybe some of them have got sleeping pills in their houses too.”
Adele waited until she heard the communal front door slam shut and then scooted to her bedroom win
dow to see if it was PC Michaelides leaving the building. She saw him stop on the pavement for a while, consult his notebook, and then turn right. Presumably, she thought, to Cece’s place. He wouldn’t find her at home, though.
“Wills,” she said, knocking gently at her daughter’s bedroom door, “I’m just popping out for a minute. Catkin’s in the park and Fern and Puppy are in the kitchen. Won’t be long.”
Willow smiled up at her from her book. “This book is shit,” she said in her customary jolly tone. “Do I have to read it?”
Adele sighed. It was Little Women. “Seriously?” she said.
“Yes. One hundred percent seriously. I still don’t know why Jacqueline Wilson isn’t on the national curriculum. It’s just totally ridiculous.” She threw Little Women down on the bed at her side, folded her arms, and huffed.
“Look, whatever. Read something else. Ask Fern to choose something for you. I have to go now. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
Fiona Maxwell-Reid’s tone over the intercom was tired and uneasy.
“It’s Adele. From downstairs. Mind if I come up for a word?”
She heard Fiona sigh and say, “Sure, come on up.”
Adele was breathless by the time she reached the top floor of the house. Fiona had left her door open and Adele could see her moving about near her kitchenette. “Come in,” she said. “Excuse the mess.”
Fiona was extraordinarily posh and extraordinarily poor. Robbie’s father had left her the flat but no cash. Her mother had left her a desolate house in Cumbria which she rented out to hikers. She worked part-time in the petrol station on the Finchley Road to pay her household bills and occasionally taught the flute to schoolchildren. And Dylan’s school fees were paid for by a partial bursary, the shortfall made up by Fiona’s father, who only did so because he was a snob about private schools and it made him feel better about having a mixed-race grandson.
Adele followed Fiona into her tiny living room with its claustrophobic eaved ceilings and piles of boxes and clothes and old newspapers and was surprised to see Dylan sitting on the sofa.
“Oh,” she said, “Dylan. Not at school today?”
He shook his head and when Adele looked at him she could see he’d been crying. Fiona looked from Dylan to Adele and gave her a wry look.
“Have you seen Grace?” he asked croakily.
“No, love. I haven’t. I can’t get through to Clare and I don’t like just to turn up. You know.”
He nodded, rubbing the side of his hand across the end of his nose.
“I feel really bad,” he said, looking at Adele with his startling green eyes. “I should have stayed with her.”
“What happened, Dylan?” she asked, trying to find somewhere to sit. Fiona moved a pile of papers from a chair and Adele sat down.
“I don’t know,” he said. “We’d all been at the top of the hill—you know, hanging out. And then Tyler and Fern went to the playground and it was just me and Grace and Robbie and Catkin, and Robbie said he wanted to come back indoors so I brought him back upstairs and then when I came out again everyone was in the playground except Grace, and her mum wasn’t at your house anymore so I just thought they’d all gone home. And I texted Grace to say good night and she didn’t reply and I thought, Well, maybe she’s already asleep. So I just texted her that I loved her”—his face flushed rose pink—“and then the next thing, Pip’s looking for her and then . . .” Fresh tears sprang to his eyes and he pressed them with the heels of his hands. Fiona rolled her eyes at Adele and passed her son another tissue.
“So,” said Adele, mentally trying to piece it all together. “When you came in with Robbie, you left Grace on the hill, on her own?”
“No. She was with Catkin.”
“And when you came back outside, Grace was gone. And Catkin was in the playground?”
Dylan nodded, sniffed, rubbed his eyes again.
“So, what . . . ?” She pressed her fingertips into her temples. “I mean, how long were you gone for? With Robbie?”
He shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”
“You brought Robbie back at nine fifteen,” said Fiona. “I’d say you were here for about half an hour before you went back out.”
Adele looked questioningly at Dylan for confirmation. He nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“And did you go up the hill to look for Grace?” she asked.
“No. I could see everyone else in the playground so I went straight in there. And I asked where Grace was and nobody knew. And then I saw Leo on his terrace and I asked him if he’d seen Grace and he told me she’d been waiting for me by the gate. Said she must have given up and gone home.”
Fiona looked at Adele curiously. “They told you about the overdose, did they?” she said, her mottled arms folded across her heavy middle.
Adele nodded.
“And the alcohol?”
Adele nodded again.
“It was just some champagne!” said Dylan plaintively. “It was my present to her. That and a ring.”
Adele’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Where did you get champagne from, Dylan?”
“I can’t tell you.” His head hung almost between his knees.
“Did you tell the police?”
He nodded. Fiona stared at him with pursed lips. “You may as well tell her, Dylan. It’s not like it’s going to make any difference to anything.”
He looked up at her through wet lashes. “I gave Tyler five pounds to get it for me.”
“Get it?”
“Yes. Steal it.”
“Oh dear God.” Adele sat back in her chair.
“I know. I tried buying it myself but everyone asked me for ID. I even asked some of the older boys at school, but none of them would. So Tyler just said, ‘Give me a fiver and I’ll sort it out.’ ” He shrugged. “I didn’t think she meant she was going to nick it.”
Adele pulled herself straight. “Right, so,” she said. “You gave the champagne to Grace as a birthday gift. And then, when did you drink it?”
“Well, we took it to Tyler’s house. She said we could keep it in her fridge because her mum was out and wouldn’t find it. And then she’d bring it down later when it was dark and we could all share it, up on the hill.”
“Ah,” said Adele, pieces of the puzzle coming together in her head. “So that’s where you were going. I saw you both, sneaking off together.”
“It was supposed to be a really nice thing. You know. It’s not like Grace is the sort of girl to get drunk or whatever. She’s not like that. But I just thought, she was thirteen, it would be nice to do something a bit grown-up. And instead it’s turned into this really big horrible deal and now Tyler’s going to be in the shit and Grace is in a coma and I wish I’d never ever done it. I wish I’d just bought her chocolates instead.”
He started crying again. His mother passed him another tissue.
“Champagne,” she said drily. “At thirteen. Bloody ridiculous.”
“It was supposed to be romantic, Mum!” he shouted at her. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”
Fiona sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Who else had the champagne?” Adele asked.
“Just me, Tyler, Grace, and Catkin. Fern tasted a bit of Grace’s and didn’t like it. Willow wasn’t interested. Obviously Robbie didn’t want any.”
“So you had, what, a glass and a half each?”
He nodded. “Tyler probably had a bit more than that because she drank her first glass faster than us.”
Adele sighed. Even for such young kids it wasn’t all that much. Nothing to get worked up about. Quite sweet really. But then another thought occurred to her.
“What did you drink the champagne out of?”
“Plastic cups. You know, disposable ones.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Catkin brought them. From your house.”
“And who poured the champagne?”
“Me.”
Adele no
dded. She’d run out of questions. The champagne, as naughty as it was, appeared to have nothing whatsoever to do with the sleeping pills.
“You know, Dylan, that a tiny amount of alcohol like that wouldn’t have done Grace any harm?”
“The policeman said she was in a coma because of alcohol and drugs.”
“Well, that’s what was found in her system, yes, but you’d have to drink a lot more than a glass of champagne to end up in a coma, Dylan. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It was romantic. Misguided, yes, but romantic. Wish I’d had a boyfriend like you when I was thirteen.”
“No,” said Dylan, his eyes suddenly dark. “You don’t. Take my word for that. You don’t.”
27
Jo Mackie returned to the hospital three hours later. She took Clare back into the same room where they’d spoken before, lined up her paperwork on the table in front of her, and then looked at Clare.
Clare knew immediately that something had come up on the swabs. She could see it in the strained kindness of her expression.
“How was Grace?” asked Jo, peeling apart a sheaf of paper, looking for something in particular.
Clare stroked the sides of a paper coffee cup. “She looked better than I expected her to look. Last time I saw her she was covered in blood. I thought she had a brain injury. So, you know, it was kind of a relief.”
“Good,” said Jo Mackie, looking at her again with that fearsome look of compassion. “So, we rushed these through and, as I suspected, we found nothing untoward in the vaginal or rectal passages.”
Clare sat toward the edge of her seat, knowing that she’d heard the good news and that the bad news was on its way.
“Nothing on the breasts either. But . . .”
Clare swallowed, hard.
“We did find traces of semen.”
Clare’s stomach turned.
“In her mouth.”
