‘But I’ve already told you everything,’ Jess whines.
‘I know, but I’ve asked your social worker to come in, Jess. Gail Thompson. And, uh, the police.’
Jess looks up. ‘The police?’ God, she didn’t think this through at all. She assumed that she’d tell Mr Pearson, and that would be it. He’d deal with it from then on. She can’t talk to the police. She’ll die of a heart attack before doing that.
‘Yes, well, they are already involved,’ Mr Pearson explains. ‘It’s a serious allegation, you see, so we informed the police yesterday, when Tuesday afternoon’s incident first came to light. And I think they will really want to hear what you have to say first-hand.’
‘Can’t you tell them,’ Jess begs weakly. ‘Please.’
Understanding wafts across his face. Of course he’ll know about her past, her mum. ‘I’m very sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. That’s why I asked Gail to come along. Someone familiar to support you.’
Jess bites her lip until it hurts. Gail is their official stand-in mother but in reality, she’s useless. Lou – their foster mum – is much nicer, but even she isn’t great. Jess and Amber have been living with Lou and Justin for four years, so she should feel like a real mum by now. Especially as she’s the mumsy type. But there’s something so unreal about it all. She’s too nice; too kind; too try-hard. Most of the time it’s easier to take advantage of her good nature and not think too hard about it.
They wait in silence. Jess wants to get her phone out, scroll through Instagram (that cow Gail won’t let her have TikTok yet), but she daren’t risk it in front of her head teacher. So she tries to think about nothing, but that doesn’t work either. Not with the police on their way.
Her memories about the night her mum died start vague. Lying in bed in the darkness, Amber asleep next to her, or at least pretending to be. The TV on loud in the living room, crackling with cheering crowds and shouty sports commentators. At first her mum and Tyler sounded happy; they even sang when the national anthem played. Glass bottles clinked and thudded on the carpet. But then things shifted. Tyler’s voice became angry, her mum’s grew cagey. There was shouting, a few slaps, wailing. Then a loud smack and thud. A moment later, the front door banged, and it was silent.
That’s when Jess got out of bed, even though she’d been told never to do that when her mum and Tyler were fighting. She wanted to check her mum was okay.
Jacqui was lying close to the table. There was blood coming out of her head. It was the worst thing Jess had ever seen in her life but also mesmerising. The stain spreading like spilled Ribena. Jess thinks that’s why she froze. Seconds, minutes. In the five and a half years since, she’s not been able to work that out. But she hopes it was seconds. That there was nothing she could have done.
It was the noise outside that made her move again. She thought it was Tyler, coming back, so she ran into her room and scrambled into bed. But it wasn’t Tyler. The neighbours had called the police, and there they suddenly were, more and more of them, and all of them scary in their black uniforms and clomping boots. In her rush to get into bed, she hadn’t shut the door properly and over the years, counsellors and social workers have made a thing of that. She’s never once told anyone the truth of it.
Some muffled conversation in the corridor brings Jess back. Someone knocks on the door.
‘Come in,’ Mr Pearson calls out, not hiding his relief at the arrival of suited backup.
Jess turns to see Gail walk in the room, followed by a man and woman in dull clothing. Detectives. Mr Pearson gestures to some chairs lined up against the back wall and they all dutifully pick one up and place it closer to his desk – as though he’s their head teacher. Gail draws her chair closest to Jess and reaches for her hand. But Jess reacts in time, pulling it away and sliding both her hands between her knees. Everyone pretends not to notice, even though everybody does.
‘So, Jess,’ Mr Pearson starts. ‘Obviously you know Gail. And this is DS Sawyer and DC Blake.’ He gestures towards the woman, then the man. ‘They’re investigating the incident. I just want you to tell them everything you’ve told me this morning.’
Jess tries to pull her face into a smile, but it doesn’t work.
‘Hi, Jess,’ DS Sawyer says, spotting her terror in a nanosecond. She’s got red hair too, and a translucent complexion, although no freckles.
‘Hi.’
‘Thanks for talking to us. Mr Pearson said that you witnessed the assault on Sean Russo on Tuesday afternoon. That must have been shocking.’
The detective’s being nice, Jess thinks. Is this because she’s a 13-year-old kid or is it standard behaviour for the police? A way to catch people off guard? She sighs and looks down at her lap. God, why did she decide to stay behind for art club on Tuesday? And then spill water on her painting – her watercolour, of course – and skulk out because she was too embarrassed to clean it up. More importantly, why did she then go home and tell Amber what had happened? She knows that Amber is basically in love with Sean, even though he’s five years older than her. Of course she’d make Jess talk to Mr Pearson.
‘Um, yes,’ she starts. ‘From outside. Through the window.’
‘Sorry, Jess, could you hold on a sec,’ DC Blake interrupts, unfolding his laptop. ‘I’m just going to type up your statement, and then you can sign it at the end, okay?’
Jess has never signed a document before. The thought makes her skin itch, but she gives him a small nod.
‘Great. So you saw Mr Rose strike Sean Russo on Wednesday at about 4.45 p.m.?’
‘What? Um. I’m not sure what time it was,’ Jess says, panic really setting in. ‘I just saw the punch, through the window.’
The red-haired detective gives her colleague an annoyed look. ‘Sorry, Jess; you tell us in your own words. Let’s start with why you were still at school at that time.’
‘I’d been at art club,’ Jess starts. ‘But I was feeling a bit sick, so I decided to leave early. I went to the loo, and then headed for the school gates, which meant walking across the courtyard. I suppose it was about 4.45 p.m.’ Jess pauses, but no one says anything, just looks at her expectantly, so she carries on. ‘The English classrooms run across the back, and I saw Sean in the middle one. I don’t think I knew his surname was Russo.’
‘But you do know him, then?’ DS Sawyer pushes. It’s gentle, but Jess still wonders if the detective thinks she’s lying. Which isn’t fair. For one, she’s not friends with Sean. And for two, she would not put herself through this horror show for the sake of friendship even if they were. This is only about doing the right thing.
‘I know of him more than know him,’ she says, which feels like a good answer, and almost the truth. ‘He’s way older than me.’
‘Jess is in Year Eight,’ Mr Pearson pipes up. ‘While, as you know, Sean Russo is resitting his maths and English GCSEs, so he’s effectively in Year Twelve.’
‘Thank you for clarifying.’ The detective smiles at the head teacher then turns back to Jess. ‘You saw Sean,’ she prompts.
‘Yeah. He was at the front of the classroom, standing up, by the desk. I couldn’t hear anything, but he looked like he was shouting.’
‘At Mr Rose?’ DC Blake interrupts again, and then looks embarrassed when the woman detective gives him another one of her looks.
‘I don’t know because I didn’t recognise the man with him; he doesn’t take any of my lessons,’ Jess explains. She’s feeling a bit bolder now. ‘I guessed he was a teacher because he was old and wearing a suit. But really, he looked more like a boxer. Although not a very good one because when Sean pushed him in the chest, not even that hard, he stumbled. I couldn’t see him then – I guess he fell over – and when he came back, his fist was clenched, his left, I think, and he just swung it at Sean, smashing him in the face.’
‘So Sean pushed him,’ DS Sawyer repeats. ‘And the teacher retaliated by punching Sean in the face. What happened after that?’
Jess squints her eyes in concentration. ‘The teacher pulled his arm back again, as though he was going to hit Sean a second time. But Sean ducked down. He had his hands over his eye like this.’ Jess cradles her right cheekbone in her cupped palms. ‘I think he grabbed a bag from the floor and left. The teacher kind of slumped down and I lost sight of him again.’
DS Sawyer leans back against the plastic chair. ‘Thank you, Jess. You’ve been really helpful.’
Jess gives her a half-smile and then signs a shaky squiggle on DC Blake’s screen.
TWO YEARS, TWO MONTHS BEFORE
