13 Minutes (35 page)

So what is it she’s afraid I know?

Satisfied, the jumbled thoughts out of her head and on the paper, she let the pen drop. To anyone else it would look crazy. She knew that. But she also knew Natasha. The
real
Natasha, not just the charismatic veneer. She’d forgotten her for a while, for a long while, in her envy and desperate need to be back in the pack. And Natasha had hidden that part of herself away. But Becca
knew
her. Maybe that’s what Natasha was afraid of?

She thought of Aiden for the first time without wanting to spit nails in his eyes. Poor bastard. He was just another pawn like the rest of them.

She finished her cigarette but didn’t roll a fresh one. She left the window open, though, enjoying the cold breeze. The curtains fluttered and the bright moon shone in streaks across the ceiling. She stared at them, her mind both calm and whirring as she ran over and over events. She thought of Jenny in the psychiatric ward, or wherever they’d taken her. Hayley, broken and afraid and refusing to see her mother. No one listening to a word they said. Natasha, queen of the hive again with new Barbies in tow. Becca discarded, her purpose served.

It didn’t make sense yet – she knew that. And she knew she should go to sleep. She should at least try. But her heart was racing with adrenaline, her body willing morning to come around faster so she could move forward with these clues, so instead she just lay there, staring into the murky darkness and waiting for everything to become clear.

Fifty-Three

The dawn had brought clarity, and by six a.m. Becca was up and dressed and sitting at her computer, the house silent around her. She didn’t check her social media – Aiden and Natasha had both unfriended her on Facebook, and there was nothing else of any use. She’d seen all she needed to see – was maybe
meant
to see – anyway. And the rest of the hive could go and jump off a cliff like the lemmings they were for all she cared. She’d make her peace with Hannah her own way.

Her notes from the night before were on the desk beside her as she searched the Internet. She knew what she was looking for: newspaper articles relating to the case. More importantly, some hint of Hayley’s version of events. Everyone knew Tasha’s – Becca had heard it from the horse’s mouth – but in the whirl of Hannah’s death and Mr Garrick’s suicide, anything else had been drowned out. Maybe the papers weren’t even allowed to publish Hayley’s and Jenny’s versions of events? Maybe their lawyers had told them not to say anything? Maybe, in light of what happened with Hannah – and that was a massive sticking point for Becca, Hayley sabotaging the light – it was all considered pretty much a done deal.

Perhaps it was as simple as: no one cared about their side of things. It could wait until their trial.

Still, Becca scoured and trawled through the myriad local and national items. Some were short, just a paragraph, others longer. She hadn’t looked at the papers in the aftermath of it all. Her mum wouldn’t have them in the house, and as far as Becca was concerned, she’d lived through it – why would she want to read about it? It was strange to see her own tearful face staring back at her, captured by some press man outside Hannah’s funeral. Loads of photos of Tasha. None of Hayley or Jenny. Not even their names were mentioned. She scrolled and scrolled until the articles began to blur into one. The best she could find was a statement from a lawyer saying that the two teenagers charged would not be pleading guilty to either the murder or the attempted murder charges and neither had made a full confession.

She was about to give up entirely when, finally, it landed in her lap. She stared at the article from some local rag, written a few days after the arrests. Before Hannah’s funeral.

. . .
the mother of one of the teenage killers accused of the murder of Hannah Alderton and attempted murder of Natasha Howland, who for legal reasons cannot be named, posted the following status on Facebook (subsequently deleted) after her daughter’s arrest.

‘[Name redacted]’s version of events is very different and the truth will out and then you’ll be sorry. Yes they went to the woods but it wasn’t the way everyone’s saying. There was a film. It was blackmail. My little girl didn’t kill anyone and right or wrong she loved him. Screw all of you for believing that bitch. My baby is the real victim here.’

It is believed that the 16-year-old’s mother developed issues with alcohol after the breakdown of her marriage, in which a local source claims both the accused and her mother were subjected to abuse. It is unknown whether this will form part of her defence. The girl, who also cannot be named for legal reasons, is currently being evaluated to ascertain if she is mentally fit to stand trial. A police source told this reporter that no film of a relevant nature was found in Natasha Howland’s possession.

Becca read it over and over until the article was burned into her mind and then she jotted down key phrases in her notes.

A film.

Blackmail.

It wasn’t the way everyone says.

She stared at that for a long time. Blackmail. A film. If events that night hadn’t gone as Natasha said, maybe that’s why Hayley and Jenny kept quiet. This film. Did Natasha have something on them? But what? And why didn’t the police find it? What could have happened during the time Natasha didn’t remember? She thought back to Hayley and Jenny in the hospital. Were they upset or nervous? She hadn’t spent long with them, and then they’d gone to collect some stuff for Tasha. Her mind whirred.
They went to Tasha’s house alone.
Had they really been looking for this film rather than wanting to fetch music and books?

She gathered up her stuff and put the computer to sleep, her head pounding. As the shower kicked on in her parents’ en suite, she ran downstairs yelling a goodbye and headed out into the fresh air to make her way towards school.

It still didn’t make any sense, though. How else could it have played out, if not the way Natasha claimed? How did Hannah fit in? It had so clearly been a second attempt to kill Natasha, after they’d convinced Jenny and Hayley that Tasha’s memory was coming back. They’d tried a second time because they were afraid she’d remember what they’d done to her, surely? It must have played out as Tasha said. It
must
have. They’d taunted her, drugged her, tied her up and then she’d nearly died. It was bullying gone badly wrong.

The pieces floated around her mind like a jigsaw, nothing slotting together properly. But if everything was exactly as Tasha said, why would Tasha worry about what Becca was thinking? Why set her up to go crazy after seeing her and Aiden together? And why couldn’t Becca stop thinking about that ruined green dress? When she got to school, she didn’t go to the sixth form room or whatever lesson she was supposed to be in, but went to the theatre instead.

She hadn’t been near the place since Hannah’s death and as she walked down the cool corridor she felt sick, her mouth drying and head spinning a little. She almost turned around and ran at one point, but she needed to see where it happened. She needed to remember clearly what happened to Hannah. If she couldn’t make sense of it then the bracelet lie and the green-dress memory and the
She used Becca, too
all meant jack shit. They were just leftover pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite put together and she’d be stuck forever with the feeling that everything was very, very wrong.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The space was empty. Mr Jones was teaching in a different room and with the play cancelled the theatre had the air of a place forgotten. People avoided booking it for anything, and events were being held in the Sports Hall instead. No one wanted to be reminded that a girl died in here. For a while it had been locked up while the police inspected the lights and the whole rig got a new safety check, and then to keep the ghoulish Year Sevens away, but kids’ interests moved on fast and, at some point, the Head must have decided the facility should be available for students and teachers to use. But of course they didn’t.

The ghosts of the past flickered like an old film in front of her as she stood in the doorway. The memories came in and out of focus.

Snapping at Hannah and then storming to the control box.

Natasha feeling sick. Hannah taking her place.

The light falling.

She could almost see her own face through the viewing glass of the control box, horror and shock registering as Hannah crumpled.

The shades of their past selves shifted backwards, to that lunchtime. Jenny snapping. Becca and Tasha locked in their pact to try and unnerve their two former friends. The light needing to be moved. Hayley shimmying up the ladder. Jenny, high and edgy, snapping at Hannah. The fight that ensued. Jenny telling Hannah that Becca had been at Tasha’s. Everything was exactly as she remembered it. There were no secrets to be revealed here. She turned to leave, half-afraid that Hannah’s ghost would materialise and beg her to stay because she was lonely, and then paused. It came to her then. Clear as day.

She hadn’t taken the caretaker’s ladder and tools back.

Natasha had.

They’d all gone to lessons – everyone but Tasha. She’d hugged Becca and thanked her for being such a good friend and said she’d take the tools back.

She’d left Tasha alone with the light, and the ladder, and everything she’d need to loosen the bolts and take the safety chain off.

The only reason Hannah had been standing there was because Tasha said she felt sick and dizzy. Had Tasha
made sure
she wasn’t standing there? And then Hannah, sweet, eager-to-please Hannah stepped in. Maybe Tasha had wanted it to look like Hayley and Jenny had tried to hurt her – she hadn’t suggested leaving the scene for another day – but then Hannah put herself under the light and suddenly, just like that, it became much more serious.

It was only supposed to fall
, Becca thought, her legs trembling.
It was only supposed to look like they tried to hurt Tasha
.

But why?

She turned and let the heavy door slam shut behind her before leaning against it.
Why would Tasha frame them like that?
Tasha had lost her memory. At that point she didn’t remember about Jenny and Mr Garrick. She couldn’t remember anything from Thursday lunchtime onwards. And she
had
been pulled out of the freezing river, dead to all intents and purposes, and so lucky that Jamie McMahon had been there and found her.

Becca felt sick. Accidentally or not, she was convinced that Natasha had caused Hannah’s death. More pieces of this strange puzzle that didn’t fit. If they were pieces at all. Becca had no proof that Tasha moved the light. Maybe she didn’t. But that look on Tasha’s face through the Starbucks window kept coming back to her. As if Becca had done exactly what Tasha expected her to. For a moment, the veil slipped and someone else shone through. But that was hardly evidence. And evidence of what? What was Becca missing? What game was being played?

The bigger question was had
she
been played? Right from the start.

And then another question struck Becca, one that made her head spin some more.

When
had
it started?

The bell rang and she pushed her way through the sudden rush of students towards her English class. Emily didn’t sit with her any more, and as she walked into the small room, she could feel them all sniggering at her.

‘You need to get yourself a bit of pride,’ Emily said, voicing what everyone else was no doubt muttering. ‘What’s happened to you? Who does crazy stuff like stalking their exes? Get over it!’ A few giggles at that, but Emily wasn’t laughing. ‘You’re going to turn into one of those women who cuts her husband’s dick off.’

‘Oh, just fuck off,’ Becca muttered as the supply teacher, Miss Rudkin, came in. It wasn’t witty or clever, but it was the best she could do with a head full of much more serious things.

She slid into her seat and got out her folder of notes and the book of poems, but she also pulled out her brainstorm of recent ideas. As the class got started, she let herself drift into her own thinking. Miss Rudkin never asked her any questions anyway. She looked at her thoughts laid out before her, then picked up her pen to add to them.

There were two ways to look at this situation, Becca decided. Everything pointed to Natasha’s version of events being true.
Everything
fitted her version of events. Everything fitted really neatly, the evidence slotting together and pointing to Hayley and Jenny. They were pretty much wrapped up with a bow and handed to Bennett. Mainly by Becca herself. She groaned internally at that.

Because what if you flipped it over?

What if Hayley and Jenny were telling the truth and
Natasha
was lying? How much fitted together then?

She thought about the two mobile phones which held so much incriminating evidence. The CCTV of Jenny in the shop. DI Bennett playing that game with the coat in the Head’s office. Jenny’s expression on seeing it there. She’d looked genuinely surprised. Not guilty. Surprised. What had Hayley said? Something about Jenny’s coat having a burn on its sleeve? A blonde girl in a Primark coat bought those phones. CCTV didn’t catch her face. It could have been any blonde girl.

When did Tasha dye her hair blonde???

It was a good month or so before Christmas, that was for sure. Half term in the Autumn? October? It must have been around then. She scribbled as the thoughts came to her in a jumbled surge.

What if Tasha found out about Jenny and Mr Garrick’s affair
before
that Thursday? A long time before.

What if she waited? And planned?