Why is she so completely still?
Oh God, what have I done?
My hand is still in the air, I realise, Grandpa’s torch from his shed still clenched between my fingers. It starts to shake. I think it’s the effort, the burden of fighting gravity, but it doesn’t stop when I lower it. My other arm starts to shake too, then my legs; my chest goes into spasm.
Is she dead?
Should I check?
It’s dark, I can’t see. But that’s stupid. I’m holding a torch. It takes five attempts to press the small rubbery button, but eventually I do it.
Light.
The bluebells are covered in blood. Amber’s eyes are glassy, unseeing. I stare at her chest. Will it to rise and fall.
It doesn’t.
I replay it in my head. Lifting the torch, swinging it at her head, hearing the thud, watching her fall.
But she deserved it, I remind myself. Mocking Lucy, bullying her for months, slashing her with that broken bottle. Stealing our letter.
On the day I left Chinnor, I kissed you. You kissed me back … The truth is
(wow, if you could see me blushing right now) it felt totally right for me.
That we can be best friends and something more – without it being an either/or.
But the blood coming out of the back of her head; I didn’t do that.
That was an accident.
Except the police won’t see it that way. I’ve seen enough true crime programmes to know that.
Except nobody knows I’m here. I didn’t tell Lucy I was visiting for the weekend because I wanted to surprise her. But then she snapped me about her meeting with Amber while we were on the motorway. When she said it was at 10 p.m., I thought I could join her. Two against one. But then the traffic got bad, and we were late arriving, so I didn’t make it in time. I raced to the railway track as quickly as I could, but Amber and Lucy were already there, arguing, fighting, so I hid in the bushes. Then Amber lunged at Lucy with that broken bottle, and Lucy folded so fast it was like she disappeared. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to help Lucy, but I was angry. Too angry. So I followed Amber up to the Ridgeway. I thought I could message Lucy, check on her, but she didn’t open my snap. It scared me, her not responding, but now I’m glad. Because it means I can delete it, and she won’t find out where I am.
I heard the man’s voice before anyone saw me, so I had the chance to hide. Him asking why Amber had ignored his messages, her appeasing him, saying how cool it was for them to hang out off grid together. Then the sister turned up, hiding too, and things got wild. But I waited, and eventually got Amber to myself.
It was my chance to teach her a lesson. Show her that Lucy has friends too.
But Amber wasn’t sorry, or scared. She kept mocking our kiss, calling us freaks. Laughing at my detective work. Telling me that Lucy was too scared, too worried about her dad, to ever use the information I’d given her.
And now this.
There’s a flash of light in the distance. A torch? Has someone seen me, called the police? I need to get away.
A noise in the trees. Was that human? Or animal?
But there’s something I need to do before I can leave. I lower the torch, away from Amber’s face, down to her jeans.
‘Amber, I fucking know you’re here!’ A different man’s voice, angry, close. ‘And I know what you’ve been doing to me!’
I need to hurry up.
I pull the sleeve of my sweater over my hand, slide my fingers into Amber’s jean pocket. There it is. The letter; crumpled but whole. A love letter. A motive.
On my third fake profile on Instagram, Amber finally dropped her guard and accepted my follow request … A picture of Jess in a school uniform that wasn’t Lord Fred’s … I zoomed in on the crest … another photo on her grid – of an older boy holding his palm up to the lens … #sean #russ0 in the comments … and the hashtag #cutarose
I pull the letter out, scrunch it between my fingers, and run.
Gripped by The Night She Dies? Don’t miss The Ski Trip, another unputdownable thriller from Sarah Clarke. Available now!
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A Letter from Sarah Clarke
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The Night She Dies. I really hope you enjoyed it. Before you carry on reading this letter, I want to warn you that there are spoilers.
The Night She Dies was in part inspired by my own daughter becoming an adult, and a realisation that every stage of parenting brings its own set of questions and challenges. I wanted to build this uncertainty into Rachel’s character.
