‘And there was all that stuff about girls in care, wasn’t there? How they’re groomed by dodgy gangs. Isn’t it right that they’re way more likely to be victims of a crime compared to kids who live with their parents?’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘Well think about it then. Yeah, it’s awful that Amber’s dead, even if she was a bitch to Lucy, but it’s not completely shocking. She was only 14 and already selling drugs. It wasn’t her fault, more her shitty circumstances, but she did put herself in harm’s way, didn’t she?’
I envy Milla at moments like these. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’ I give her a sheepish, grateful smile and she repays me with a bright one of her own.
‘And anyway,’ she adds, curling her arm around my shoulder. ‘Can you really imagine my weedy little sister going full Mortal Kombat?’
I start to smile, then remember a child has died, and pull out of it. But Milla does have a point. I feel my shoulders relaxing. ‘By the way, I found the torch you left in the porch. It was filthy.’
‘Is that where I left it?’ she asks, removing her arm and shifting forwards on the sofa until I can only see her in profile. ‘I meant to put it back,’ she mumbles. ‘It must have got dirty when I fell asleep; it slipped out of my hands.’
‘I cleaned it, put it in the shed.’ I want to see her face, check whether her expression registers anything incriminating, but it’s hidden by her hair. And then my attention is drawn away as the door pushes open. I watch Lucy walk inside. ‘I thought you had photography club?’ I ask.
She sighs. ‘I couldn’t face it.’ Her skin looks even more pale than usual and there are dark circles under her eyes. I imagine I look the same. It’s hard to believe it was only this morning that Lucy was being quizzed in Aylesbury police station.
‘Why don’t you go for a bath,’ I suggest. ‘I’ll sort dinner. We’ve got stewed apple and ice-cream for dessert, then we can all have an early night.’ I see Milla turn around, open her mouth to protest. I lift my hand to ward it off. ‘No arguments.’
There’s a snuffling sound. Sniffing. I’ve always been a light sleeper, and I whip my eyes open, instantly alert. My watch is charging on its stand, and I check the time: 02.38. I don’t bother turning my bedside light on – the dim glow of streetlamps slipping under my curtains is enough to see by – just swing my legs out of bed and pad over to the door. When I step onto the landing, my eyes blinking as they adjust to the night-light we still turn on, I accept that the noise is crying. And it’s coming from Lucy’s room.
But before I get the chance to knock on her door, Milla appears on the landing too. ‘I’ll sort this,’ she says. ‘You go back to bed.’
I hesitate. Milla doesn’t normally show such concern for her sister, or even function at this time. ‘Really?’ I say, still hovering. I’m not sure if this is me not wanting to devolve my parenting role to anyone, or suspicion about Milla’s motives. ‘She might prefer me if she’s upset?’
‘You’ll be too dramatic. Go back to bed,’ Milla instructs.
I waver. When did Milla take over the reins? And how did I not notice it happening? I watch her push open Lucy’s door without knocking, then pull it closed behind her. It’s the natural progression of motherhood – slipping from omnipotent to impotent over a couple of decades – but it still hurts.
I know I won’t sleep so I perch on the bottom of my bed instead, staring at the closed door, listening intently in case I can pick up either of their voices. There’s only silence for the first ten minutes, but then a low buzz starts. Still a whispered conversation, but loud enough for me to realise they’re disagreeing about something. I’m about to investigate when my bedroom door flings open. My eyes connect with Lucy’s, and she bursts into tears.
Milla appears in the doorway behind her, a look of defeat on her face. She didn’t want to tell me, I think. Whatever this is, I’m only finding out because Milla lost the argument.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘Something bad has happened,’ Milla admits, looking down at the carpet. ‘Something you may not approve of.’
THE NIGHT SHE DIES
Friday 3rd May
Jess
Jess levers down the back door handle and pulls it towards her until it clicks into place. Maybe she doesn’t need to be this quiet – Bill and Molly have already gone to bed and they’re both half deaf – but why take the risk? She breathes in the cool night air and feels the fist of tension in her neck ease a bit. It’s not raining anymore, but she can still smell the dampness, and feel it on her skin.
There’s a sliver of space between Molly and Bill’s house and their neighbours’, so she sidesteps down it and then veers onto the neighbours’ tiny patch of front garden to avoid her shadow passing Molly and Bill’s bedroom window. Five minutes later she’s off the housing estate, and the only danger now is Molly checking on her. Discovering pillows shoved under the duvet instead of a human. But Jess doubts that will happen. They’ll go to sleep as soon as Amber texts them, and only a grade-A emergency would persuade them to get up.
She pulls out her phone and taps open Snapchat to message Amber, then freezes. There’s a new message from him. A warmth collects in the pit of her stomach, and her fingers start to tremble. Why is he contacting her now? She bites her lip. They only met just over a month ago, in the rec one Sunday when Amber was in Thame meeting up with Sean. But things moved quickly. She kissed him in the woods that afternoon. Then they started meeting by the disused train carriages whenever Jess could get away. They saw each other five times in total.
And then he lost interest.
But if he’s messaging Jess now, does that mean he’s having second thoughts about breaking up with her?
She opens the message.
Was supposed to be at that party tonight but can’t face it. Ex-girlfriend there. Want to meet up?
No apology for dropping her. Not even an acknowledgement that he had. She should tell him to go fuck himself.
Especially as she sneaked out to be with Amber. To help her deal with Lucy Rose. If she meets up with him instead, she’ll be leaving Amber to fend for herself. And of course she owes her sister much more than she owes him. Amber doesn’t call her a mistake and drop her in one stingy message.
But Amber isn’t exactly nice to Jess either. She wouldn’t tell her what she’d nicked from Lucy’s bag. And she didn’t seem at all bothered when Jess was banned from going out tonight. Or guilty, even though the only reason Jess was bored enough to nick that bottle of wine was because Amber wanted to see Caden. The guy she’s apparently getting bored of now. Jess looks back at the message, biting the inside of her cheek as she considers how to respond.
She couldn’t believe it when he first told her he liked her, and she never stopped half-expecting to appear in some joke meme on TikTok. But that didn’t happen. Yes, he finished with her. But he didn’t shame her. And when they spent time together, he treated her like an equal. It wasn’t true – he was better-looking, older, funnier – but she still loved him for pretending.
Fuck Amber. Where? she types back. She hopes that he reads her message quickly – which is a bit hypocritical because she’s realised that his own message came through thirty minutes ago, when she was too busy faking going to bed to check her phone. A second later, the description turns from ‘delivered’ to ‘opened’, but he doesn’t respond. She waits a couple of minutes, then types. Hello?
Still nothing. Jess shakes her head, exasperated. She’s hovering on the pavement near the petrol station, her plans for the evening now on hold until he responds. He made the first move, but now it’s her hanging around, waiting for another scrap of attention. She looks at the time on her phone. It’s 21.57. She’ll give him three more minutes and if he hasn’t messaged her by then, she’ll ignore him. Amber is meeting Lucy at ten by the double gates on the railway track, so she’ll only be five minutes late.
A message alert: 21.59. Her heart hammers. She clicks it open.
Soz. Ignore my last msg.
Headfuck moment.
Hot tears scald Jess’s eyes. She screws them closed. Of course he was going to say something like that. He’s already proven that he’s a heartless prick. Why was she even considering meeting up with him after what he’s done? God, she’s so pathetic. Her heart is still pounding, and she feels an urge to drop her phone on the pavement and stamp on it until it shatters. But that would mean him winning, taking even more from her, so instead – as calmly as she can with shaking fingers – she presses both side buttons, then slides the device into her pocket, and sets off towards the railway track.
Jess hears their voices before she can see them. Amber sounds like she always does around Lucy. A mix of teasing and threatening. But Lucy sounds different. Her usual teary whispers have gone, replaced by full-scale anger. She’s shouting about how she’s done with being bullied. And that Amber stealing her letter – is that what Amber took from Lucy’s bag? A letter? – isn’t going to work. She’s still going to tell everyone the truth.
