by C. J. Skuse
‘Uh, OK, two minutes,’ I called back, as we scrabbled away the books quickly, the aroma of home-made lasagne and garlic bread wafting under the door.
‘We say nothing, OK? Nothing.’
Fallon helped me neaten the shelves and put the Quality Street tin back in the wardrobe. ‘My mum was right. All this time. That’s why Jess stepped in front of that bus. She couldn’t take any more. Maybe she found out what he’d done to you as well and she…’
‘If she found out what he did and she didn’t say anything then I’m glad she’s dead!’
I might as well have hit her across the face, from the look she gave me. I shoved on my trainers and walked to the door.
‘Come on.’
‘What if he’s out there now, doing it to some other poor girl?’
‘He’s not,’ I said weakly.
‘How do you know that?’ she sobbed. ‘You didn’t know about Jessica. Poor Jessica. You said Shelby had two little sisters. What about them? What if he hurts my baby?’
‘Don’t ever say that. Don’t even think that. I won’t let that happen.’
‘How can you stop it? You couldn’t stop him doing it to you. How old were you when it started?’ She had a snot trail and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand to wipe it away, but I stopped her hand just in time.
‘No, you can’t.’
‘We can’t ignore this, Ella,’ she said, cupping her nose. ‘I can’t.’
‘If you say one word to him, I’ll never speak to you again. I mean it.’
*
Max went to check the bedroom and make sure there was nothing out of place while we dished up. As far as Fallon and I were concerned, nothing was out of place, but over lunch he was definitely acting oddly. He was definitely fractious and all one-word answers. Corey didn’t exactly help matters – he wouldn’t stop crowing on about beating him at Call of Duty.
‘Literally pulverised him. Like, you just couldn’t catch a break could you? I’ve never beaten anyone as easily as that.’
‘Yeah, stop going on and on about it,’ Max spat. ‘Well done, champion of the world. You whooped my ass. Gimme a minute and I’ll whittle you a trophy from my awe.’
‘Up for a rematch after lunch?’ Corey grinned.
He shrugged. ‘If you like.’ A little while later, his fork clattered to his plate and he got up. ‘I’m going out for a smoke.’
‘I only beat him by one game,’ said Corey. ‘What can I say? I’m just gifted at digital warfare.’
‘I don’t think it’s that, Corey,’ I told him. ‘I think he’s just stressed at the moment.’
‘Why?’
My brain fumbled for an explanation. The best it came up with was ‘Oh just stuff.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, gobbling up the last of his garlic bread.
When Max came back in, out of nothing, Fallon asked him, ‘Did Jessica give you anything? Before she died?’
‘What?’ he said, mid-chew.
‘She gave me her books, all her Famous Five books and a couple of Secret Sevens. Did she leave you with anything?’
‘Fallon, don’t ask things like that,’ I started to say, but Max cut in.
‘No, she didn’t. Why do you ask?’
‘I just wondered,’ said Fallon, and I knew she was carefully avoiding my stare.
‘She gave me something,’ Corey piped up. ‘Her Time-Turner necklace. I treasure it. It’s in my mini safe at home. Max, you can have it back if you want.’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ said Max, a look of puzzled wonder on his face. ‘She gave you it the last time you saw her?’
Corey nodded, his mouth full of pasta.
‘She didn’t give me anything,’ I said, as though that would stop Max’s thought train in its tracks. ‘Or you.’
‘No,’ said Max, a little frown appearing above his searching eyes.
Thankfully, Corey changed the subject completely, seemingly oblivious to the hideousness in the air above the dining table. ‘Hey, why don’t we go down to the beach after lunch? It’s nice and sunny now. We could…’
‘We have to go home,’ said Fallon, who’d only eaten a quarter of her lasagne and none of her potato wedges. ‘Mum wants to see the baby before she goes out.’
Corey didn’t hide his disappointment. It was like the cheeky little boy inside him had been shot dead by the responsible adult. ‘Yeah. We should go. I’ve got some ironing to do.’
‘You don’t have to go straight away, do you?’ I said, looking at Fallon, my eyes pleading for some sign that she wasn’t going to tell anyone what we had found out.
‘I don’t feel too well at all actually.’ She semi-smiled, like she didn’t want to worry us. ‘Mum said I’ve been overdoing it lately. I think I just need to take it easy this afternoon.’
‘You can take it easy here,’ said Corey. ‘We were only going to hang out, we weren’t going to climb Brynstan Hill again or anything.’
‘I just want to go home, Corey!’ she said, standing up and throwing her napkin into her seat. And without another word, she marched out to the hallway to get their coats. Max paid for a taxi to take them back to Cloud.
‘Maybe we’ll meet you tomorrow lunch at Subway or something?’ said Corey, folding himself inside the taxi, completely oblivious to Fallon’s mood. ‘Foot-long chicken and bacon ranch melts all round, on me.’
‘Yeah, said Max, closing the door behind. ‘Whatever. Text me later.’
The look Fallon gave me as the taxi drove away told me what I needed to know. We weren’t going to see her tomorrow.
And the look Max gave me as we walked back inside told me we weren’t right either.
*
I wore this dress for my older brother’s wedding – a black satin fifties-style number with bronze flowers all over it. It was the only dress I had and the invite said to wear posh so I had to go with it. Half a ton of foundation, chemically straightened hair and a carefully hairsprayed fringe later, and I could pretend the girl in my dad’s full-length mirror was someone half comfortable with wearing it, despite my miserable face. My body yearned to go back into my room and put my joggers on over my tights.
‘Hey, look at you!’ said a voice. I hadn’t heard Dad’s footsteps on the stairs.
Tears pricked my eyes. ‘Yeah. Look at me.’
‘Don’t often see you in a dress. You look wonderful.’
‘Despite my Avatar nose?’ I said.
He’d swallowed my lamp-post story too. ‘Of course. But then, you are my daughter, so you carry the Newhall gene for good looks.’ I smiled at his Dad-joke. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Max’s cousin Shelby’s eighteenth at Michaelmas Manor,’ I said, redoing some grips in my hair. ‘I don’t want to go.’
‘No, you’ve never been one for parties, have you. You take after me. Much rather stay home, have a nice meal and watch a bit of telly.’ He held out both his fists in front of me. I tapped the left one, and that bloody teddy bear necklace fell out of it onto my palm. ‘It’s been through the wash, I’m afraid. Came out of your running trousers.’
‘Oh right, yeah. Thanks,’ I said, chucking it on my dressing table.
‘Aren’t you going to wear it?’
‘Not tonight.’
‘Everything all right with you and Max, is it?’
‘Yeah,’ I mewled. Nothing was right. He wasn’t texting me as much as he used to and though he hadn’t said as much, I had a horrible feeling he knew what was in those notebooks.
‘Are Neil and Jo going as well?’
‘Yeah,’ I said again, with a sigh. ‘His whole family are going. And a load of other people I’ve never even clapped eyes on.’
‘I saw Neil in The Wallflower at lunchtime.’
‘Oh?’ Dad often ran into Neil at the pub when he was grabbing his pie and pint and a read of the paper on a Friday lunchtime. It was one of his ‘Dad routines’, along with tea and toast at the Porthole Café on a Monday, and Tesco and a stroll along the front
on a Sunday.
‘Yeah, Neil said he’s so pleased with your progress in training, I think he’ll be happy to sponsor you right the way through.’
‘Thrills,’ I said, and Dad’s eyebrows jumped. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t like the guy. I’ll be polite, but don’t expect me not to bitch behind his back. It’s not going to happen.’
‘All right, all right. Do you want me to call and say you’re not coming?’ He put his arm around my shoulder and looked at us both in the mirror. I was a clear half a foot taller than him in heels – it almost made me happy about wearing them. ‘Perhaps you could stay home and help me chop the veg for my herb-crusted lamb cutlets with black olive and pine nut stuffing? And hey, Foyle’s War’s on later. A whole two hours of wartime sleuthing.’
‘No, you’re all right,’ I said. ‘Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.’
He winked as he grabbed his glasses from his bedside table. ‘There you are, then.’ He seemed happier than usual. I wondered if Celestina was coming round to gnaw on his cutlets.
I checked the contents of my bag, slipping the supersize bottle of Laxolot between the folds, like it was a gun and I was about to rob a bank. Not give one hundred and fifty people chronic diarrhoea.
At a quarter to seven, the Rittmans’ shimmering black Porsche drew up outside, and I tottered downstairs to answer the door to Max who was wearing a tailored navy suit with brown brogues I hadn’t seen him in before. Amazingly, it complemented the navy sheen in my dress. We looked perfect together. Like two pieces of a puzzle clicked into place. Appearances count for nothing sometimes.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, coming up the path to greet me. He cupped my cheek, kissing my mouth. He smelled of too-strong woody aftershave.
‘What’s that scent?’
‘Dunno. It’s one of Dad’s.’
‘It’s vile.’
‘Thanks.’
Neil was sitting in the front passenger seat, and me and Jo were squished into the back seat, which was just a grey-leather ledge. If I’d been any taller, my head would have been through the back windscreen; as it was, I had to tilt it slightly.
‘Not an ideal family car, is it?’ said Jo, fully penned in behind bunches of flowers, presents and cards.
I smiled non-committally. The music blasted out as Max switched on the ignition. ‘But then we’re not the ideal family, are we?’ I muttered under my breath.
Both Max and Neil wearing that disgustingly spicy aftershave was nauseating in the close confines of the Porsche. I noted the cream and black-wrapped birthday present resting on Jo’s lap. She stroked the soft ribbon between her finger and thumb.
‘What did you get her?’ I asked.
Jo was about to answer when Neil butted in. ‘Some of that Jo Malone smelly stuff. Candles and perfume, you know.’ I waited. ‘Over three hundred quids’ worth.’
‘Of course,’ I muttered, pulling a crushed birthday card out from under my thigh.
Neil pulled down his visor and looked at me in his mirror. ‘What do you think of the wheels then? Ain’t she a beauty? Rides like a dream. Top speed two hundred miles an hour.’
‘Shame you can’t do more than thirty miles an hour round here, isn’t it?’ I could have sworn I’d seen a smile creep onto Jo’s face as she turned to look out her window.
‘Ah, that’s what you think,’ said Neil. ‘We’ll get on the back roads in a minute. Then we can open her up. Camera’s turned off around there. Ain’t that right, son?’
‘Yeah,’ said Max, as he crunched through the gears. ‘Hey, Ells, there’s a chocolate fountain on every table tonight.’
‘Cool,’ I said, looking out my window at the green fields rolling by. Neil was egging Max on to speed up through the gears. There didn’t seem to be a problem between them. Maybe Max hadn’t read the notebooks, hadn’t seen the drawing of Rat Man hanging. Maybe it was all in my mind him acting strangely over lunch. I wanted to believe it was anyway.
‘Max, there’s blind bends all along here,’ Jo mewled, loud enough for me to hear but no one else. Neil just whooped encouragingly. I clung to my seat and closed my eyes until I felt us start to slow, eventually turning onto the sweeping gravel drive of Michaelmas Manor.
Max parked up on a grassy patch in front of a box hedge. I couldn’t wait to get out into the cool evening air but Neil had to let me out and linger around the car as he did so; there were smokers outside watching and he wanted everyone to know whose car it was.
Michaelmas Manor was the dream place to have any sort of party. It was a sixteenth-century stately home and hotel complex on the eastern slope of Brynstan Hill, with acres of space – lawns, walled gardens, fishponds. There was even a flock of peacocks around, pecking at the gravel and making strange wailing noises every so often. There was something going on at Michaelmas most weekends. Weddings, proms, parties. I’d been a few times – first for Prom, then for Uncle Paul’s 50th and again last Christmas. It was always the same. No expense spared. Superstar DJ. Ice sculptures. And Neil always footed the bill.
We walked through the main entrance and Neil presented the invite to the guy on the door who looked like a giraffe in a suit. ‘The Rittmans and Estella Newhall, my good sir,’ he said proudly. ‘You’ll know her as our Volcano Girl, of course.’
There was a horrible silence as the giraffe guy studied my face. Then he said, ‘Oh yeah! I saw you in the papers.’
‘You did indeed,’ said Neil, his grin so Brie-sy I could have hit him. ‘She’s gonna be a big star one day. Blows Jessica Ennis out the water, she does.’
Oh God, kill me now, I thought, pretending to read the buffet menu by the door as Max headed straight for the food. Artisan pastries, breads and dipping oils, blocks of cheese, platters of sea bass, poached salmon, glazed hams and joints of pork so large they looked like they were on steroids. In a room to the right the walls were swathed with white silk so it looked like an igloo. There was a dance floor and all around were tables with complimentary wine and small chocolate fountains in the centres. The place was packed. Most were standing at the bar, around which hung silver and mauve banners and balloons.
‘Do you wanna go and find our table, princess?’ said Neil, his hand on my waist as he guided me towards the igloo room. Max didn’t see me shrink away from his touch as he was already talking to a couple of his football mates – local hottie Craig Wilkins, whose sister had been on my relay team, and some knob head called Nick Parsons. Jo was talking to a woman by the buffet, so Neil went to join her. I walked into the function room alone.
Shelby herself was on the door to the main function room, welcoming people in and handing cards and gifts to two large suited minions, Uncle Paul and some starter-kit-boy-bander with almost-stubble and pure white trainers, their tongues sticking up over his black suit trousers. Parcels were stacking up on the table behind her (parcels that I was going to demolish during the superstar DJ’s turn).
‘Thanks so much! Aww, thanks for coming – I’m so glad you could make it!’ she was saying to each person she greeted. ‘We’ve arranged some entertainment in one of the other function rooms for the kids, a clown and a juggler and a bit of a disco, so we’ll be taking them through in a minute. Aw, thanks so much, you’re so kind! Lovely to see you!’
I stood watching her, kindling my own internal flame and looking for weak spots – praying for her to trip over her dress. Hoping a waiter would spill a whole tray of drinks down her. Boys flittered around her like moths. She was so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at her, with her long braided blonde hair draped over one shoulder and her halter-neck pearl-beaded dress skimming her curves and fanning out like a fishtail. That dress cost over £600 – Neil had mentioned it loudly during Sunday lunch. A ‘pre-birthday present’ he said. This was the dress I was going to drop invisible ink spots on when no one was looking.
She smiled across at me.
I had to smile back.
I had wanted to destroy her. I had wanted to destroy her party. She’d lured
Max away from me with her big eyes, C-cup boobs and big lips. Big, red, wet lips. I reached into my handbag for the ink and held it tightly in my fist. I couldn’t do it.
I headed for an empty table in the far corner of the room, beside a potted monkey puzzle. Everyone not dancing on the large hardwood floor to the deafening ABBA medley was either at the bar or at the buffet. The sign on the table said ‘Neil, Jo and Max Rittman, plus Estella’. I sat down, took the lid off the ink and poured it into the soil of the monkey puzzle. Then I reached for one of the complimentary bottles of white wine and a glass.
The lighting was low and had a purple tinge to match the balloons so not only could I not hear or talk properly, I couldn’t see anything either. I needed to find the cake – this was the target for the liquid laxative, and then I needed to find the toilets – these I would block up once the speeches were underway. I was poised to do it – I could feel the super-size Laxolot bottle in my bag. I was going to do it. I just couldn’t find the will to actually get up and start.
My problem was that this wasn’t about Shelby. Shelby might have been a boyfriend-blowing bimbo, but she didn’t deserve the humiliation I had planned. I watched Max at the bar. He was talking to his football team crowd, miming headers. He looked like a stranger.
Neil appeared through the tables like a shark cutting through murky water, bringing over a plate of chopped fruit on long cocktail sticks. He set them down on our table.
‘Joelle’s met up with some of her WI lot,’ he said, with a smile. ‘You OK over here?’
‘Yeah,’ I said.
He sat down and we both watched the dancing. ‘You want anything from the buffet?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘I brought you some fruit for the chocolate fountain.’
I necked my glass of wine in one go.
‘Should you be drinking that? You’ve got training tomorrow, haven’t you?’
‘It’s my night off.’
I stared at the dance floor. Shelby had been dragged up there for a smooch with some lad. I caught her eye and instinctively looked away. I waited for Neil to say something else. To make some spine-chilling comment like the one he’d made the other day. But he didn’t. And when I looked back, he was gone, slinking into the crowd to play the benevolent host again.
