13 Minutes (32 page)

‘She says Jenny’s right.’ She was staring into some private hell, and Becca wondered if she was already drunk. Maybe. ‘She says it is all her fault. She shouldn’t have thought they could make it okay. And now Hannah and Peter Garrick are dead.’ Her words were barely more than a mewl. ‘And she won’t explain it to me. She just says no one will believe her. She won’t see anyone.’ The sobs came harder, tearing from a deep well. ‘And I’m so afraid she’ll die in there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Becca said again. She didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t sorry about Hayley, not really, but sorry for all this pain. She stayed where she was in her crouch, her legs starting to get pins and needles, until Mrs Gallagher’s tears slowed. She let out a long, raggedy breath and wiped her nose with the back of her hand before looking up. She was weary, as if this kind of emotional breakdown was happening too often these days.

‘I hated you,’ Hayley’s mum said, sitting back on her heels. ‘I think maybe I still do.’

Tears stung Becca’s eyes then. Adults didn’t hate teenagers. They weren’t supposed to. And Becca hadn’t done anything wrong.

‘She doesn’t, though.’ The woman hauled herself to her feet and Becca did the same, until they were facing each other once again. ‘She thinks about you more than she thinks about me.’

Becca shook the tears away. ‘What do you mean?’ Why would Hayley think about her? Was she planning some kind of revenge?

‘She won’t let me visit any more.’ The grief was threatening to overwhelm her again.

‘What does she say about me?’ Becca pressed.

Hayley’s mum started a slow shuffle back to the front door. She paused after a few feet and turned. ‘She just says,
She used Becca
, over and over.’ They stared at each other, and the woman shrugged before turning away again. ‘But maybe it’s the drugs,’ she said, the words drifting back. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. But I don’t want to think about you.’

Forty-Eight

She half-ran all the way home, her head on fire somewhere between anxiety and hurt. She needed a quiet, private space to think. Seeing Hayley’s mum like that had been horrible. She was more damaged than Amanda Alderton was at the funeral and her daughter was actually
dead
.

Hayley. The tree-climber. The ice-cool blonde. The killer. It sounded like she was going into a total meltdown wherever they had her locked up. Was it easy to get drugs in prison? Maybe. But why would Hayley lose it now? Becca remembered her so calmly climbing the ladder to adjust the stage light. No nerves then. Maybe none of it had felt real at that point. She thought of Miss Borders, quietly documenting the death of their friendships, and she felt a sharp pang for the simplicity of those early days at school. What had happened to stop Hayley defending her when Tasha replaced her with Jenny? Why had Hayley been reduced to sobbing in a corridor?

Why do you even care?
she asked herself.
It was all a long time ago.
You don’t need anyone. You’re fine on your own. Screw them.
The words were tough, and sometimes she half-believed them, but they were hollow. They were easier to believe when she had Hannah and Aiden, and when being in the cool gang was just a very distant memory. These days were different. She had fresh wounds to nurse. It was like being in Year Seven all over again, but way, way worse. But did she remember their childhood friendships as they really were? Miss Borders said they all just did as Tasha told them – is that how it was? Yes, Tasha had always been the central one, but how had Becca felt about her, really?

Her head started to throb. Her mouth was dry and she needed some water, but she didn’t want to risk bumping into her mum downstairs. Instead, she tugged a piece of gum from a crumpled packet in her pocket and chewed on it, then opened the window. In the drawer by her bed were the last of her Marlboro Lights, the straights she now saved for special occasions, and she took one out. The smoke tasted good, not the petrolly head-spin of the filterless roll-ups, just warm and woody. It reminded her of Aiden. She checked her phone again. Still no text.

Bastard.

The delicious cigarette in one hand, she went to her overcrowded and untidy shelves and yanked out her old photo albums, forgotten and almost falling down the back. She hadn’t looked at them in ages. But there was still something niggling at her, something half-remembered, and maybe a dip into the past would jolt it free. She turned the cardboard pages, the photos stuck to them behind cellophane. It was good to see proper photos that were hers alone, not shared with the world on Instagram and Facebook.

Grinning childish faces – hers a lot rounder then than it was now, but also a lot happier. Terrible clothes. The three of them together. A day at the beach –
whose parents took them? –
she couldn’t recall, but she remembered the ten-penny machines they played and never won on. The gap in Hayley’s front teeth while she waited for ever for the new tooth to grow through. Becca’s sixth birthday party – not so smiley because she’d been forced to wear a purple dress she hated because her green dress got ruined and—

—and then she froze, her hand still touching the photo.
Her green dress.
How had she forgotten her perfect green dress?
It had got ruined. Natasha had ruined it and she’d blamed Hayley.

She felt sick and her head swam slightly as she sucked in more smoke. The green dress had been a long time ago. It couldn’t have any relevance to Tasha and Hayley now, surely? It was just Tasha being a spoilt child. But still. It was a jagged piece of jade lodged in her mind. It meant something. It wasn’t so much what Natasha had done back then, but
how
she had done it.

She looked at the beautiful soapstone chess pieces on the board pushed to the back of her small desk, patiently waiting for the next move in the unfinished game. They’d been evenly matched when Tasha stopped playing. Now their kings were almost forgotten, staring at each other from behind their defences.

Chess.

The itch at the back of her mind came back. The sense that she’d missed something important. Something right under her nose.
Chess.
She looked again at the frozen pieces, the worm of memory wriggling through the mud to reach the surface. The chess set. The funeral.

Suddenly it was there. Clear in her head. What she’d overheard.

Natasha chose them herself, you know? Those girls were her best friends.

Is that really what Mrs Howland said? Or was her memory playing tricks on her? There was only one way to find out.

She checked her watch. If she was fast she could get to the Howland house before Natasha finished school. She lobbed her cigarette through the open window without bothering to stub it out, then rummaged in her cupboard until she found the item she needed: a red cashmere sweater, bought for her by an aunt at Christmas and definitely a size or so too small. Perfect.

She was out through the front door before her mother had time to call her back and set off at a jog. She didn’t have a lot of time. Maybe Natasha had plans after school or maybe not. Becca wasn’t part of that circle any more.

Only when she’d rounded the corner onto Natasha’s street did she slow down. She couldn’t go in panting and dripping with sweat. She needed to look normal. Steady. She leaned against the cool brick wall by the front door for a few seconds until her breathing was back to normal, then stood tall and pressed the bell.

‘Rebecca!’ Always Rebecca, never Bex or Becca.

‘Hi, Mrs Howland.’

‘Come in, come in. Natasha’s not home yet.’ Alison Howland was back to her elegantly stylish self, perfectly made-up and colour-coordinated even though it was just an ordinary weekday afternoon and she’d probably only been to the supermarket, if that. Maybe she’d had lunch with friends. Becca imagined Alison Howland lived a perfect, perfumed life. Even the tragedy of Natasha’s fall into the river had turned out more tragic for others than for the Howlands.

Fresh magazines were piled up on top of the unused Airbook on the kitchen table but even that didn’t make the room untidy – the magazines were too high class for that. Instead it looked
styled
, like in those photoshoots of famous people’s homes. Relaxed rather than uptight, but still oozing with chic.

Becca held up the sweater. ‘I found this at home and thought it might be Tasha’s. It’s not mine.’

Alison took it and examined it. ‘I don’t think so. She doesn’t really like cashmere.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘It’s lovely, though.’

‘Oh,’ Becca said. ‘Maybe it was Hayley’s or Jenny’s.’

Alison’s face tightened then, and Becca almost hated herself for the sting of pain she’d clearly caused the woman. Maybe Alison still had wounds to heal after all.

‘You may as well burn it, then,’ Alison said, bitter. ‘They won’t be wearing anything other than prison uniforms for a very long time once the trial is done.’

Becca nodded, her hot face flushing again. Alison, who must have seen her awkwardness, squeezed her shoulder. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just . . . well, it’s been hard for everyone. I know Gary is hurt, too. He was very fond of them. Especially Hayley. And then they . . . they tried to . . . well. I’ve never seen him so upset and angry. It’s the
deception
. The lies.’

‘It’s such a shock,’ Becca muttered. She wanted to get to the subject of the bracelets but didn’t know how. Should she just blurt it out? Ask about them? ‘They were all so close.’

‘And they were so sweet, so helpful afterwards – that’s what stings the most. I
cried
with them. They sat at the hospital with her, fetched things from her room for her so we didn’t have to leave her bedside. And all the time
they’d
been responsible? I still can’t get my head round it sometimes. Even now. Even with it all out there.’

Becca hadn’t seen the Howlands since Hannah’s funeral, and although Alison might be less upset now, none of the pain of what the girls had done had faded. She was still living in that moment when everything changed. She needed therapy more than Becca did. How would she have reacted to seeing Hayley’s mum weeping on the drive outside her house? Becca hoped she’d be kind, but the icy hate she could see in Alison made her think it wouldn’t have been a pretty scene. They damaged her perfect life. That wouldn’t be forgiven easily.
Like mother, like daughter.

‘And I want those bracelets back,’ Alison hissed. She wasn’t looking at Becca any more. ‘Natasha
chose
them. I told that policewoman to get them back for me but apparently I can’t have them yet.’

And there it was. Becca hadn’t even needed to ask. She
had
heard right at the funeral. Her face tingled and her breath caught. Tasha had said her mum chose them, but that wasn’t true. Natasha had chosen them. She glanced down at her watch.

‘I’d better be going,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a meeting with the counsellor in a bit.’ She didn’t but nor did she want to be hanging around here when Natasha came home. She’d look so
needy
. And she wanted to think.

It was only a small lie, after all. Maybe Tasha had just said her mum chose the bracelets because she didn’t want Becca to feel left out. But what other small lies might she have told?

‘Of course.’ Alison gave her a sudden, surprising hug, which Becca returned, too shocked to do anything different. ‘You were always the best of them, Rebecca. I was so sad when you all drifted apart.’

Becca said nothing, just muttered a goodbye and let herself out. She was feeling shaky. Alison Howland obviously had no idea they’d drifted apart all over again, or seen all the shit about Becca on the Internet. But then she didn’t go online, according to Tasha. Never used her brand-new computer. Becca herself was reaching the conclusion that it was the best way.

‘Bex?’

She looked up.
Oh, shit
.

‘What are you doing here?’ Tasha squinted in the low afternoon sun. It was hard to tell if she was annoyed or just struggling to see, but her tone was definitely displeased.

‘I brought this.’ She half-held up the jumper. ‘Found it and thought it might be yours.’

‘Really?’ Tasha raised an eyebrow. ‘That?’

Becca gritted her teeth. Tasha the bitch was back then. She had a point, though. There was a reason other than the size why Becca had never worn it. There was something middle-aged about it.

‘Yeah, I should have known. I guess I . . .’ She shuffled her feet and rounded her shoulders. ‘I just wanted to see you. Been ages since we’ve talked. Wanted to check you’re okay about everything.’ It was the best she could come up with. And wasn’t entirely untrue. It hurt that they weren’t friends any more. It hurt a lot.

‘I’m fine.’ Tasha softened. ‘I’m sorry about all that stuff on the Internet. Must be tough to have to delete all your shit.’

‘I don’t really care about that,’ she said, although she did. Despite being free of the trolling, it was like she’d cut an arm off. Much longer and she’d be setting up fake accounts just to feel like she wasn’t in an entirely different universe from the rest of the school. ‘I miss hanging out, that’s all. It was good being friends again.’

Tasha looked awkward, her eyes darting past Becca to her front door, seeking escape.

‘I just don’t feel ready, you know?’

‘Sure,’ Becca said. For the first time since all this started, Tasha looked insincere. ‘Sure, I get it.’

‘Thanks, Bex. Don’t think I don’t love you. I do. Without you, well, who knows how everything would be now?’

And how would that be?
Becca thought.
What exactly did I do for you, Tasha? Why does Hayley think you used me?

She shrugged. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Cool,’ Tasha said, relieved. ‘I’d better get in as well.’

Becca took about four steps away from her before turning back. ‘Tash,’ she called out.

‘What?’ The other girl was nearly at her door, moving fast.

‘Why did you tell me your mum picked those bracelets you gave Hayley and Jenny?’