A policewoman crouched beside me and draped a blanket over my shoulders. ‘You poor thing,’ she said in a soothing voice. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
I opened my mouth, but the words huddled inside, terrified, trapped.
They thought it was shock. ‘Her voice will come back,’ they reassured Mum. ‘Give her time.’
But there was nothing.
The police took a written statement from me. I told them that Hana had done it as a dare, that she’d been showing off. I kept everything else locked inside, along with my voice.
The pain still steals my breath away. I struggle for a few moments, almost hyperventilating.
My phone buzzes. Jasmine! But it’s from a number I don’t recognise. I stare at the words. They’re fluttering around like insects, not settling anywhere.
You told her! I tried to warn her off, but you’ve ruined everything. She can’t be allowed to talk.
I call the number straight back, but there’s no answer.
Who the hell is this from? What do they think I’ve told Jasmine?
My hands are shaking so much I can barely use my phone. Come on! Faster! Eventually, it starts to ring Jasmine. Please, pick up. Don’t ignore me.
‘What do you want, Megan?’ Her voice is clipped, cold.
‘Jasmine! Where are you?’
She doesn’t answer straight away, as if she’s afraid to tell me exactly where she is. Then she says, ‘At the ridge.’
‘You need to leave. You’re in—’
‘Look. I’ve got to go. Luke’s here.’
‘JASMINE!’
But she’s already hung up.
Luke? Why is Luke there? What’s going on? If Luke’s with her, does that mean … he’s the one who sent that text? She must’ve told him what I said about Hana. But it can’t be Luke. The message sounded so sinister, threatening. What does She can’t be allowed to talk mean? What’s he going to do to her?
My hands are slick with sweat as I hit redial. It rings and rings. No answer. I try again. Straight to voicemail.
She’s turned her phone off.
I’m going to lose everything again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When I get to the car park, there’s only one bike there: Luke’s. He must’ve given Jasmine a backie. God knows how he persuaded her to go with him!
I charge up the path that leads to the ridge, my legs trembling from the furious bike ride, my heart slamming, its beat thumping through my ears. The path is lined with stinging nettles, but I barely feel their prickle against my ankles.
I stare at the text again, searching for any clues that it really did come from Luke. It’s not his number. But didn’t he say something about getting a new number?
I tried to warn her off. So was it him sending the … But how could it be? How could the same guy who held my hand in the cinema be capable of those disgusting notes? The cat? The fire? This is the boy I’ve known since I was five. I just can’t connect it all. No. It can’t be him. I’m going to get there and he’ll explain everything, and I’ll be embarrassed for doubting him.
But there he is, at the top of the ridge, bellowing a stream of hate into Jasmine’s face. And everything I thought I knew dissolves within me. Jasmine has her back to the deadly drop, and she’s trying to inch away from Luke, but she’s getting closer and closer to the edge.
Why does he want to hurt Jasmine? Why is he so angry? I’ve never seen anyone so mad. He’s quivering with rage. His muscles are taut, his skin red. How could I not have known he was like this? I let him kiss me! And now I’ve put Jasmine in danger.
I try to move, but it’s like my legs have grown roots. Jasmine throws a glance over her shoulder, down into the ridge, and when she looks back, everything about her screams fear, from her horrified, bulging eyes to her colourless, clammy skin.
‘Get away from me!’ She raises her hands to try to push him away, but Luke is faster and grabs Jasmine’s wrists. ‘You couldn’t have just left Megan alone!’ he’s yelling. ‘Do you see what you’ve done?’
They start to grapple. Move, Megan, move! Do something! Don’t let her die like you let Hana die.
For a moment, it looks like Jasmine is winning, but then she loses her footing and stumbles back a couple of steps. She’s going to fall! My legs unlock and I fly forward. I try to shout, but there’s nothing except a guttural noise at the back of my throat. I try again, forcing the words out, beyond the blockade: ‘Luke, stop!’
Luke whips round. His mouth drops. ‘Y-you’re talking.’ He flips back to Jasmine, shakes her, flecks her face with spit as he yells, ‘I knew this would happen! This is because of you. All because of you. Now she’ll tell everyone.’
Luke doesn’t let go of Jasmine, but looks back at me. ‘We agreed to keep it a secret,’ he snarls. ‘You promised!’
I nod, remembering the state Luke was in when he came to my house the day after Hana’s death. As soon as he said we had to keep it between ourselves, I knew I’d sabotaged that rope. But Luke was going to protect me, keep my secret.
‘What did you tell her, Megan? She said you told her the truth about Hana. What exactly did you tell her?’
Nothing, I want to say. But my tongue seems to swell. The words are choking me.
‘She didn’t say anything, Luke!’ Jasmine shrieks. ‘She just said it was her fault that Hana died.’
Luke frowns. ‘Her fault? What are you talking about?’ He turns on me. ‘Why are you lying?’
I shake my head. I’m not. We both know it was my fault.
‘I tried to stop this, Megan. I knew it would happen if you got close to someone. Knew you’d start to blab. I’ve seen the way you look at her.’
When he looks at Jasmine, Luke’s face is contorted with hatred.
Jasmine’s so close to the edge, the back of her shoe keeps slipping, dislodging pieces of the verge.
I run at Luke, try to wrestle him away, but he pushes me back with one hand. His eyes are bloodshot, almost feral.
‘I sent the notes because I wanted her to leave you alone. But she didn’t listen. I had to make her listen. Don’t you see? Then you told me her parents had moved house to protect their precious princess from being bullied.’
I swallow heavily. Why had I told him that? I shouldn’t have told him.
‘I thought if things got more serious, they’d move again. Leave us alone. And things could go back to the way they were before. I liked you, Megan. Just like I liked Hana.’
Drops of sweat are gathering at Luke’s temples, slicking his messed-up hair to his face. ‘And now I don’t know what to do,’ he says softly.
Jasmine’s literally teetering on the edge. Luke is the only thing stopping her from plummeting over. ‘What do I do?’ he screams at her.
‘Let me go! Just let me go!’ she wails.
‘But it’s gone too far,’ he mutters. ‘She knows too much.’
‘Megan!’ Jasmine screams.
I lunge forward, grab Jasmine’s sleeve, try to pull her towards me. Luke lets go of Jasmine and wrenches my hand away. Then I realise – to my horror – that neither of us is holding her.
Jasmine pitches backwards, arms flailing.
‘No!’ I gasp, reaching out.
But I’m too late.
She’s gone.
I sink down. There’s this tiny, bald patch of earth by my knees. The dry dirt crumbles beneath my trembling touch. Its scent rises up: earth, dust, death.
She can’t be gone.
She is. She’s gone.
But she died thinking I’m a killer. I never got to explain.
Now she’ll never know. And I’ll never touch her again, kiss her, feel the smooth skin of her hand wrapped around mine, tuck one of her curls behind her ear, curve my arm around her waist and draw her towards me, where she belongs.
Belonged.
No. God, Jasmine, no!
I rake my fingers through the dirt, barely aware of what I’m doing. I’m losing myself. I can’t
hold on. There’s nothing left but a surge of grief, guilt, anguish, anger, fear. The dam has broken. I’m flooded with it all, tossed around like a fishing boat in a mighty storm. It’s tearing me to pieces. I’m breaking, shattering, splintering.
Someone’s calling out to me. A tiny voice. ‘Megan!’
I open my eyes.
‘Megan, help!’
Jasmine? I peer over the edge, release something that’s half-laugh, half-cry. Jasmine! She’s there! I can see her!
She’s fallen about ten metres down the slope. Her body has been caught by a bush, but it’s not going to hold her for long. Some of the roots have already been pulled out of the ground, and it’s leaning dangerously to the side. Once it gives, there will be nothing to stop her from crashing to the bottom.
‘Megan, help!’ Jasmine cries. ‘My ankle. It’s killing me!’
Behind me, Luke’s crouched low to the ground, cradling his head in his hands, convulsing with sobs.
I shake the fug from my head, think quickly. The ridge is so, so steep. The only way to reach Jasmine is to slide on my stomach.
I start to wriggle down. With my chest pressed against the ground, I can barely breathe. My palms scratch against stones and twigs. I can taste soil and sweat, but I don’t care. I can see her. She’s alive.
Jasmine moans with relief when I reach her. I grab her, pull her to me, kissing her face, her hair, her neck. I trail my fingers over her cheeks, just to check that she’s really here, that she’s OK. I feel the pound of her heartbeat against mine, the shake of her shoulders as she cries.
‘I thought you were gone,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’
Jasmine wraps her arm round my shoulder and I heave her up, wincing at her cry of pain. She grits her teeth, sucks the air in through them. I hate that she’s hurting. Hate that this is all because of me.
We scramble up the slope, both crying and gasping. Every time I look up, it seems like we’re no closer.
‘Where is he? What’s he doing?’ Jasmine weeps.
I shake my head. I don’t know. Please let him be gone. Please, just let this be over.
We’re just steps away – so close – when Luke looms over the top, glaring down at us. Jasmine whimpers and we stumble back. My legs are aching so badly I don’t know how much longer I can hold both of us up.
We try to move to the side, but Luke moves with us. He looks feverish and is rocking slightly on his heels, saying the same words over and over again: ‘I never meant for her to die. I never meant for her to die. I never meant for her to die.’
‘I’m not dead!’ Jasmine says.
Luke’s eyes narrow. I brace myself, waiting for his fist to thump into Jasmine’s chest, plunging us to the bottom.
But he doesn’t move. ‘Not you,’ he says. ‘Hana.’
What? What’s he saying? He’s completely lost his mind! I have to get him to move, otherwise Jasmine and I are both dead. ‘Luke, listen, I …’
‘Luke?’
He flies round, his chest heaving.
There’s someone else at the top of the ridge. ‘What are you doing?’ they ask. ‘What’s going on?’
Luke looks back at us. His face twists. He lets out this raw, bestial cry and makes a dash for the tree that the rope swing had been hanging from.
Jasmine and I crest the ridge, then collapse, our trembling limbs entangled and our hands firmly clasped.
Sadie is a couple of feet away, her face pale and almost unfamiliar with no make-up. She looks from Jasmine and me to Luke, who is trying to climb the tree. His movements are frantic and uncoordinated, his back stained with a dark patch of sweat. I can see how much he’s shaking, even from here. He slips several times, but manages to reach the branch where the rope swing once hung. Luke fumbles in his pocket and draws something out. It glints in the sun.
My heart falls out of its ribcage. The penknife.
I’m on my feet in seconds. Sadie is two steps behind me, talking into her phone. ‘You need to get here now!’ she says. ‘He’s going to hurt himself.’
At the base of the tree, I make a grab for the sturdy trunk, battling a wave of dizziness.
Luke has stretched his body along the branch so he’s partially hanging over the drop. He stares at the blade, moving it back and forth as if he’s mesmerised by it.
‘It’s all right, Luke,’ Sadie says, in a voice that’s so not Sadie: a voice that’s gentle, calming. ‘Why don’t you come down and talk? Tell me what’s going on.’
Luke ignores her and looks me dead in the eyes. ‘I frayed the rope,’ he says.
I shake my head. He can’t have just said that, because it wasn’t him. It was me. I frayed the rope.
‘Did you know I’d asked Hana out, Megan? Did she tell you?’
‘What?’
He repeats himself, louder, saying each word as if I’m deaf. ‘I asked her out! Did you know?’
I shake my head.
‘She turned me down. For Owen. So I sabotaged his stupid swing. I wanted to embarrass him. I never meant for anyone to die. And not Hana. It was never supposed to be Hana.’
It was Luke? He messed with the swing. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault. But it’s been my truth for so long, it must be right. The guilt has infested my body, turned my thoughts to venom, imprisoned my voice, weighed down my every step, but none of it was real. It can’t be true. Please say it wasn’t all for nothing. Don’t tell me I didn’t deserve to be punished, because I did. I know I did!
‘It was me and Owen who moved the swing,’ Sadie says, tears pooling in her eyes.
‘But it was me who damaged the rope!’ Luke spits, waving the blade.
He looks straight at me. ‘I’m sorry.’
My breath stops. Sorry? Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it!
‘I don’t know how this happened … It was never supposed to get this far … God, what have I done? Oh, God, please …’ Luke’s speech unravels until he’s just gibbering, crying, pleading. Sadie and I try to talk to him, but I don’t think he can hear us any more. When Sadie starts to climb the tree, Luke snaps back to himself, shuffling further along the branch, which creaks and bends over the perilously steep decline.
Sadie backs away. Luke unwraps one arm from the branch, wobbles, almost falls, but catches himself. He raises a quivering hand to his wrist and places the blade against it.
‘No!’ Sadie and I both scream at the same time.
‘Luke,’ I gasp, ‘please come down.’
‘But it’s my f-f-f-fault!’ he cries, pressing the blade deeper.
‘You couldn’t have known that Sadie and Owen would move the swing,’ I say quietly. ‘Neither of us could. Just come down.’
There’s the crackle of a radio behind us and we all turn, looking past Jasmine to two police officers, breathing deeply after the sprint up to the ridge.
‘Stay away!’ Luke shouts, brandishing his knife. ‘I’ll do it!’
The officer nearest to us – a freckled guy with a mop of ginger hair – stops and tells his colleague not to move.
I hold out my hand to Luke, even though there’s no way I can reach him. My throat is clogged with all the words I want to say, but I have to get them out. ‘I know you. This isn’t you. This isn’t the same guy who used to swap the pickled onion crisps in his lunch box for my KitKat, or the guy who spent half an hour chasing my gerbil around the living room when it escaped. You’re still Luke.’
He stares at me for what seems like an age. Then he nods once. Luke’s face crumples and his hands tense into claws as he starts to wail. The knife falls through his fingers and hurtles into the ridge.
Seconds later, the ginger-haired policeman is deftly climbing the tree, all the time talking to Luke, reassuring him.
I stagger back to Jasmine.
‘What just happened?’ she asks. ‘What the hell just happened?’
As she starts to cry, I hold her, murmuring into her hair, telling her it’s OK, it’s over now, she’s safe.
> We don’t move for a long time. We just sit on the grass, clutching each other, listening to the wail of sirens in the distance. The other police officer – a doughy, middle-aged woman – comes to check if we’re all right. She says there’s more help on the way, then she returns to Luke, who’s sitting at the base of the tree, staring at nothing.
‘How did he get you up here?’ I ask Jasmine.
‘I was so stupid!’ she cries. ‘I bumped into him on my way home. I was in a state – completely in shock – and he was so nice. Said he’d tell me everything, the whole story, if I came here with him. I didn’t even think. I just got on the back of his bike. Such an idiot!’
‘Shhhh. You weren’t. It was my fault,’ I whisper. ‘I shouldn’t have let you leave without explaining properly.’
We hear the brush of grass against Sadie’s trainers as she approaches. She’s trying not to meet our eyes, but she doesn’t seem to know where else to look. Sadie wraps her arms around her waist. She looks so different today, in a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a black hoodie, her hair unstraightened and tied loosely in a ponytail.
Sadie sighs. ‘Well, that was … God, I don’t even know what to say.’
I frown, wondering – for the first time – what she’s doing here. She reads my expression and holds up a bunch of wilting flowers. ‘You don’t have the monopoly on guilt, Megan. If we hadn’t moved the stupid thing … Plus, I was the one who dared her to get on it. My so-called friends think I messed with the rope. Did you know that? They’re actually scared of me!’ She laughs without humour.
Jasmine and I just look at her.
Sadie glances at Luke. The police have handcuffed him, but wrapped him in a blanket, and they’re both talking to him earnestly. ‘I’m – er – sorry about Luke,’ Sadie mutters.
‘Thanks for … Well, thanks for distracting him,’ Jasmine says. ‘I think …’ She blinks several times, as if she’s only just imagined what might’ve happened if Sadie hadn’t arrived. ‘I think you might have saved us.’
Sadie kicks at a tuft of grass, picks a snapped flower head off the bunch, rolls it in her fingers, then lets it drop to the ground. ‘God, this is so messed up.’ She stares hard at the crushed flower. Her skin flares. ‘Um, listen, Megan. I found this in my room the other day. I … well … I hadn’t looked at it properly. How was I supposed to know who it was from? You should’ve just told me. Anyway. Sorry.’
Unspeakable Page 19
