Wednesday 1st May
Jess
There’s a Co-op linked to the petrol station in the village, and as Jess pushes on the door, a man comes out; suited and booted, car keys and a packet of mints in one hand, a phone in the other, clamped against his ear. Their shoulders catch for a moment and Jess comes off worse, getting knocked a few centimetres to the side. She waits for the apology, but the bloke just sails past, oblivious.
‘Fucking dick,’ she murmurs. What is it about her? She’s tall, her hair is bright ginger, and her face is covered in freckles. And yet people still act like she’s not there. Like being in foster care is an invisibility disease.
She pulls her shoulders back and strides into the store. But her swagger wilts instantly. Because she doesn’t really know why she’s there. She’s 15 years old. She shouldn’t be running to the sweet shop just because someone’s given her a bit of cash. But she’s got time on her hands, and what else is there to do in this village?
Amber had wanted to see Caden, and that meant Jess covering for her to Molly and Bill. They convinced the older couple to let them go to the park (they’re not usually allowed out on a Wednesday night) and then Caden turned up in his beat-up car – he bought it on loan from the garage he works at apparently – and took Amber off. But before she left, she gave Jess a tenner. She called it a thank-you for keeping her secret, but to Jess it felt humiliating. Like Amber was patting her on the head and telling her to fuck off at the same time.
Although Jess supposes some time on her own might give her a chance to get her head around Amber being with Caden. It’s weird that she hadn’t talked about him before Sunday, because since then, she hasn’t stopped. How he’s nearly 18, not much younger than Sean. And that he called her the most beautiful girl he’s ever dated. (Jess wasn’t surprised about that; Amber is beautiful.) How he was at Lord Fred’s for a while, but left after Year 9 because his mum’s Catholic or something. And now he works for a car mechanic in Thame. The only time Amber became tight-lipped was when Jess asked where they’d met, just saying ‘around’. That made Jess suspicious, but it doesn’t really matter. Amber and Caden are together, and she’s got two hours to kill with nowhere to go.
She picks up a bag of Skittles and joins the queue for the cashier. There are some self-checkouts in the store now, but she doesn’t have a bank card and the machine always spits the cash back out whatever angle you slide it in at. That’s another reason to get a bank account, but Colleen says they need to earn it, whatever that means. She’s turning out to be just as bad as their last social worker. As much as Molly and Bill cut them slack, Colleen does the opposite, expecting them to rise above their challenging circumstances and make something of themselves. Heartless bitch.
Eventually she gets to the front of the queue, and a minute later she’s back outside, walking down Oakley Road and ripping open the Skittles. Mollie cooked pork chops and boiled potatoes for tea. Amber shovelled it down – clearly desperate to get out – but the smell was enough to put Jess off, so she slid her plateful into the bin when Molly wasn’t looking. She doesn’t diet like some girls do, but she’s not really a fan of meals. That’s why she’s lean. Flat-chested. Not that she likes her figure. She wishes she was shorter, smaller in general. She might not have any fat on her, but she inherited her dad’s broad Scottish frame instead of her mum’s petite one (Amber got that).
Sweets do give her spots though, so she has been trying to avoid them lately. But there’s no point in even doing that anymore. Not now she doesn’t have anyone to impress. It’s ironic really. Just as Amber’s love life takes off, her own comes crashing down. She shouldn’t be surprised. It was early days, and it’s not like anything ever goes right for her. I made a mistake. Sorry. She’s just glad she hadn’t got around to telling Amber about him, so at least she’s saved one humiliation.
She takes a right down Station Road, walks past the primary school, and pushes open the gate to the playground. Even though the weather is decent, the place is empty, so she drops onto a swing and stares aimlessly at the playing fields where a personal trainer is barking orders at a group of misfits in Lycra in the distance.
God she’s bored.
She wonders whether Amber really is shagging Caden, or if that comment was just to make Sean jealous. Amber might only be 14 and small, but she looks older, all curvy and pouty, and has done other things with boys that Jess hasn’t got the stomach for yet. Sometimes Jess wonders if there’s more to it than Amber having a good body to show off. That her sister says yes to boys because she thinks it’s the way to make them want her, just like their mum did. Jess wonders if that’s why she resists. A fear of falling in love with someone like Tyler.
Not that her caution has done her any favours so far. She’s the one who’s single after all.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, opens Snapchat, and clicks into her saved message history with the boy she thought was her boyfriend. Should she have read the situation earlier? He didn’t give any hint that he was going to dump her before that final, devastating message, but of course the circumstances themselves were a clue. A glaring red flag that she’d ignored. She feels her eyes start to burn, so she quickly shuts the app down and stares at her home screen instead.
And that’s when an idea starts to form. A way to lessen the boredom.
It was easy enough to get Lucy Rose’s phone number – Jess cornered a girl in Lucy’s tutor group in an empty classroom – but she and Amber haven’t done anything with it yet. Amber has been too wrapped up in her new boyfriend to think about anything else. But Jess doesn’t need her little sister’s approval, she can think for herself. With a flutter of excitement in her belly, she opens a new text message, finds Lucy’s contact, and starts to type.
Hey, guess who?
The three blinking dots shows that she’s replying. Jess is suddenly transfixed by her phone. She’s not sure why anticipating a message from a stuck-up crybaby is so thrilling.
Leave me alone
Jess giggles. The dumb cow has bitten.
Aw don’t be like that. Just wanna be friends. Wanna meet me in rec?
Jess stares at the phone, willing Lucy to keep the chat going. For a moment, she wishes that they were friends, that Lucy would say yes, and they could hang out in the rec together. Forget that one of them has been brought up by a normal family while the other one’s dad tried to top himself, and mum got beaten to death.
I’m blocking you. Stop messaging me.
Jess flicks her head back, away from the screen. She feels an urge to hurl her phone into the air, but of course she can’t. It’s not like she could go running to mummy or daddy and ask for a new one. She grips it tighter, then shoves it into her pocket, out of harm’s way. She pushes off the swing. What is she even doing in a playground? She stomps to the exit, swings open the gate, and walks back onto the road. She’s still got over an hour to kill before meeting up with Amber and she hates being by herself in public.
That’s when she spots the bottle of wine. This road is part of the original village before the estate was built and Jess imagines it’s the sort of street where everyone knows everyone’s business. Where a noisy party is complained about for weeks, but a hospital stay conjures up an assortment of cottage pies and home-baked cakes. There’s a card with the bottle, and Jess wonders if it’s someone’s birthday or just a thank-you present for some wholesome favour like mowing the lawn or feeding a cat.
She slips through the gate, swipes the wine, and is back on the pavement in seconds. It’s even a screw top. She smiles in triumph and turns back towards the park – the swing much more inviting now she’s got something age-appropriate to do on it.
‘You little toerag, I saw you pinch that bottle!’
Jess sighs, louder on the inside. Of course someone would see her. She’s the unluckiest person alive. She turns around, faces the bearded man in an army-green fleece gilet with his finger pointed at her. Wonders fleetingly if she should crack the bottle over his wrinkly head. ‘No, I didn’t.’ Because denial is always the best option. ‘You’re seeing things, Grandad. This is my bottle.’
‘You stop with Bill and Molly, don’t you?’ he says, narrowing his eyes and ignoring her claims of innocence. ‘I thought I recognised you. They are the salt of the earth, those two, and this is how you thank them?’
Suddenly she’s tired. Exhausted. ‘Oh, take your fucking wine,’ she says, thrusting the bottle into the old man’s hand. ‘Sounds like you’re more in need of getting loose than I am.’ Then she stalks off, towards Mill Lane, and another dead end.
AFTER
Tuesday 7th May
Rachel
‘Rachel?’
At the sound of my name, I snap back into focus. But I didn’t hear what came before it, so I have no idea what my manager – Hugh – is asking me. I was hoping a change of scene would take my mind off Amber Walsh, but even in this magnolia-walled open-plan office, her image is everywhere. Alive, and dead. Luckily Hugh scratches his greying beard and tries again. ‘I was just asking if you’re sure you’re going to be okay this week?’ His voice is deep, but gentle. ‘After the incident on Saturday?’
If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have told Hugh about finding Amber. I just want to put it behind me and get back to normal life. But with the job I do – making decisions that will affect society’s most vulnerable children – it would be unprofessional not to make my team aware. ‘Thank you, but I’m fine,’ I say. ‘It was a shock, and very sad, but it’s not like I’ve lost someone I know. The victim went to my daughters’ school, but she wasn’t in either of their years.’ I haven’t told anyone at work about Lucy being bullied – it’s always felt a bit too close to home – and I’m grateful for that now.
‘Such a tragedy,’ Elaine murmurs, shaking her head. ‘And so awful for you.’ Her sympathy makes me want to cry. Elaine is my job double – we divvy up cases based entirely on workload – but she’s so much wiser than me, and I’m always discussing my more nuanced cases with her. She gives inspired advice, and I wish I could confide in her now. Tell her everything – and ask why I feel guilty when no one in my family has done anything wrong. But that feels disloyal somehow, to my girls, so I just smile my gratitude and mouth thank you.
‘Is it right that she’s one of ours?’ Victoria asks, the newest member of the team, and only recently out of university. She’s impossibly glamorous, and I wonder why she makes so much effort for a team meeting when the rest of us are dressed in cheap suits from Next.
‘Yes and no,’ I say. ‘Amber Walsh was a looked-after child, so she was with the foster team upstairs.’
