How to Fall (27 page)

Petra opened the door, and I turned round in time to see his face when he saw me. He stopped dead.

‘Well?’ I put my hands on my hips.

‘It’s uncanny.’ Will was staring, taking in every detail. ‘Freya wouldn’t stand like that, though. Too confrontational.’

I folded my hands in front of me and he grinned.

‘Too demure. She wasn’t Jane Eyre.’

‘I’ll aim for somewhere in the middle, then.’ I had put the pendant on a new chain and now I picked it up to put it on, struggling slightly with the fiddly clasp. It was Petra who came to help me, not Will, and I couldn’t help being disappointed. Will had returned to his seat at Freya’s desk and was staring at her wall of pictures, including the photograph of his hands. I wondered if he was thinking about Freya and how much she had liked him. I wondered if he was even thinking about me a little bit.

‘Are you going to wear your hair down?’ Petra asked. I had it tied up in a ponytail and she tweaked it, making my hair swish.

This was the moment I’d been dreading, which was why I’d left it until the end. I made myself sound very cheerful indeed. ‘In a way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s the last thing I need to do to look like Freya did when she died.’

‘You’re not going to cut your hair.’ Petra took two steps away from me. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘It will make all the difference to whether Natasha believes I’m her or not.’ I went over to my bag and took out a pair of kitchen scissors. I held them out to her. ‘I brought these.’

‘I’m not doing it.’ She shook her head. ‘No way.’

‘You have to. I can’t do it myself. It won’t look right.’ And I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to do it. ‘You know how long Freya’s hair was when she died. I don’t.’

‘I can’t.’ Petra’s eyes glittered as tears filled them. She was shaking. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to.’

I could tell she meant it too. There was nothing I could say to persuade her to help. I turned and looked at Will.

‘No.’

‘Please.’

He didn’t move.

‘OK, then.’ I turned to the mirror and looked at myself as me for the last time. ‘It’s only hair, people. It’ll grow again.’

I turned sideways so I could see what I was doing. With a deep breath, I lifted my arms. Cutting my own hair was going to be incredibly awkward. My main concern was chopping off a chunk of ear by mistake as I tried to decide where to make the first cut.

‘Stop.’ Will stood up. ‘Give me the scissors.’

I held onto them. ‘I’ve got to do this.’

‘If you say so.’ He pushed the chair towards me. ‘Sit down and hand them over.’

I did as I was told. He turned the seat round so I was facing away from the mirror and crouched in front of
me
, looking up into my face. ‘One last time, before I do this. Are you sure?’

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He ran his hand down the length of my hair, once, for no particular reason, then took a firm hold of it near the top. ‘Hold still.’

It was the sound that was the worst of it as he cut through the thick ponytail, a sound like a hundred locusts devouring dry leaves. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it as the scissors bit down. I could feel Will’s breath on my skin, and the cold steel of the blades when they touched my neck now and then, and the sudden warmth when his hands brushed against me. I was aware of every movement he made and how close he was to me, and how much he was concentrating on what he was doing. It hadn’t been fair, really. I knew he couldn’t stand to see something done badly when it might be done well. I’d known as soon as I saw him sitting in Freya’s room that he would end up cutting my hair. I just couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.

The whole time none of us said anything, including Petra. It really wasn’t a what-are-you-doing-for-your-holidays sort of haircut so I could understand the silence, but I’d have welcomed some distraction. It took a surprisingly long time to cut it all, and I only
knew
Will was finished when I heard him step away and put the scissors down on top of the chest of drawers.

I opened my eyes. ‘How is it?’

Petra had her hands up to shield her eyes and now she peeked through her fingers. ‘Oh my God. It’s exactly right. That’s exactly how she looked. Will, you’re amazing. Have a look, Jess.’

I turned to see myself in the mirror and couldn’t quite believe the change it had made. The shorter hair fell around my face in a ragged sort of bob. My eyes looked huge. My head felt light and somehow untethered, as if it was going to float away. I had never realized how heavy my hair was until it was gone. I reached up a hand to explore the back of it, feeling the unfamiliar ends sticking out at all angles. It felt . . . short.

I hadn’t thought I would mind as much as I did.

I had been staring at myself but now I raised my eyes to Will’s reflection. His expression was hard. He held what had once been my hair in both hands, twisted into a bright rope that he pulled taut. I glanced at it once and then back at him, keeping my eyes trained on his face.

‘Thank you. You did a good job.’ I smiled, my face feeling stiff and my throat aching from the effort of not
crying
. ‘And it’s really going to cut down on the number of times I get dragged around by the hair in an average week. It happened more often than you’d expect when it was long.’

Will didn’t reply. His grim expression didn’t waver as he laid my hair down on the bed, then walked out of the room without another word.

‘I don’t know what he has to be angry about,’ I said to Petra, who looked sad and wise and pitying, all at the same time.

‘Don’t you?’

‘It’s
my
bloody hair,’ I snapped. ‘And I’m not flouncing around like tragedy in a frock.’

‘Yeah . . .’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think it’s that, actually.’

‘Then what is it?’

She smiled and didn’t say anything. On reflection, I was sort of glad she didn’t.

16

THERE WAS SOMETHING
unreal about walking through Port Sentinel in Freya’s footsteps. It had been a Friday night when she fell and it was Saturday now, but the feeling of weekend frivolity was probably the same. The pubs were busy, drinkers spilling out across the pavements, and I kept to the other side of the street as much as I could, staying in the shadows. I felt highly self-conscious with my ragged hair stuffed under a beanie hat, and my pale, pretty dress, and I pulled my jacket tightly around me although it was a mild evening.

Freya’s mood would have been very different. Freya was going to meet her dream lover – her Pale Knight. Freya would have run to the Angel Bridge with a light heart, full of excited anticipation, not dread. Freya had gone to her death happily, and I went to avenge her with a ball of fear like a stone in my stomach. I
dragged
my feet and it was only a little bit because of how much they hurt. (It was a little bit because of that, though. Those shoes were just not getting any more comfortable the longer I wore them.)

I had decided to start at the bridge and go from there, since that was what Freya had apparently done. It was easy to follow Petra’s directions – to take the upper road out of town and cut down to the woods via a narrow path that ran between a school and a housing estate. I wouldn’t have known where it led if it hadn’t been for Petra’s local knowledge. The sign indicating it was a public footpath didn’t mention the bridge, or the woods, or the view that could be yours if you were prepared to hike a mile uphill from it over rough ground. In stupid shoes. In the dark.

I had to be out of my mind.

I had been lucky enough to get a clear night again, the moon rising like a fat golden ball behind the trees. There was enough light to see the bridge from quite a long way off and I hurried towards it, feeling my heart knock in my chest as it registered that this was really happening, now. To stop the tension from spiralling into panic I concentrated on where I was, not why. It was a pretty little bridge, a small but elegant arch over a stream that didn’t really need a bridge, at least in summer. It was just a trickle, though I could see there
was
a wider track it had cut for itself in the soft forest floor. The wood was rough with age, and when I got close enough to run my hand over the railing I saw that it was carved with thousands of initials – big or small, fine or crudely done, but all in pairs. This was where you went to tell the world you were in love. What better place to meet the man of your dreams?

Or your worst nightmare, maybe?

I stopped in the middle of the bridge and listened. The water sang over the pebbles in the bed of the stream. A breath of wind stirred the trees to a sigh. Somewhere, a late bird twittered. Being a city girl I couldn’t pretend I knew what kind of bird it was. I was pretty much lost if it wasn’t a pigeon.

‘I am so far out of my comfort zone,’ I murmured, wanting to make my own contribution to the noises around me, just to be a part of it. ‘Give me Trafalgar Square any day.’

I took off the hat and stuffed it in my jacket pocket, running my fingers through my hair to try to make it look a bit less dishevelled. It felt strange, unfamiliar. Wrong.

‘But it
looks
right and that’s the main thing.’ It didn’t get sadder than trying to jolly yourself along after a traumatic haircut. As long as it worked, I didn’t care. If it didn’t work, I was totally getting extensions.

I peered through the trees, trying to see if there was anything moving. No one behind me. No one in front of me. But there on the left was the Angel Tree. I recognized it in spite of my sniping. I could pick out the curve of the hip, the line of a shoulder, and the head was remarkably formed, looking like a long-haired woman. The tree was entirely rotten, hollowed out, and the other side of the trunk formed the wings in two towering spurs of wood.

‘It does remind me of an angel. I’ll give them that.’ I strode over to it and found a hole halfway up the trunk. It seemed to be mostly wildlife-free and I took off my jacket and rolled it and my hat into a tight ball. I slotted the bundle into the hole. At least I’d remember where I left my stuff.

The night air was cold on my skin where the halterneck dress didn’t cover me, which was altogether too many places. It was cut low at the front and across the back, and I missed my hair more than ever because I had nowhere to hide any more. Winter would be tough, I thought, setting off along the side of the stream. I was used to having long hair for insulation. There were a lot of hats in my future, even if I was planning to go to a real hairdresser some time and make it look like I’d meant to have it cut that way.

 . . .
and concentrate
 . . .

I was distracting myself from what I was doing because I was nervous about it, but I needed to start paying attention or I was going to miss something. Or fall over; that was the other possibility. While I was thinking that, at the same exact moment the thought crossed my mind, my foot skidded on some dry, dead leaves and I almost face-planted in the dirt.
Almost
being the key word, thankfully, because my dress would not have been the better for a roll on the ground. I had just managed to save myself by putting out a hand in time, catching hold of a useful tree trunk. The skin of my palm burned where I had rubbed it on the bark, but it wasn’t a serious injury.

Never mind. Forget about it. Forget the ache in your legs too. Forget the stitch that’s starting to pinch in your side. Forget the pain in your heels where Freya’s evil shoes are rubbing the skin away. Forget the shallow breaths that are all you can manage with your tight dress and the steep hill you’re climbing. Forget the fear that’s making your knees tremble. Forget the look on Will’s face when he saw you with short hair. Don’t even think about what your mother will say when she sees you. Now’s not the time to think about why she’s been avoiding you, either. Just keep going
.

I made it to the top of the hill in one piece, my breath ragged and loud in my ears. I stopped near the edge of the trees to get it under control and to check behind
me
again. Nothing. No one moved. Nothing stirred. I was feeling nervous again, but now for two reasons. Maybe it hadn’t worked, and maybe this had all been for nothing.

Strangely, it hadn’t occurred to me that she’d be there already, waiting. As I turned back to face the headland, a movement caught my attention, over to the right. Someone was standing under the trees, a slight figure with long hair. She was doing what I wanted her to do. My plan was working. She had come. I dug out my phone and set it to record, hoping it would pick up something over my heart pounding, and stuck it back into the bodice of the dress with hands that trembled very slightly.

Now for the hard part.

I stepped out from behind my tree and walked forward, into the open. The moon made my dress look white and bleached my skin to a ghostly pallor, exactly as I had wanted. I hadn’t really thought about how I was going to attract her attention, but a twig snapped under my foot and she whipped round. She felt as edgy as I did, I realized.

And she was completely the wrong person.

‘Coco?’ It came out quietly, almost not a sound at all. My throat was tight with tension so my voice was hoarse.

‘Oh my God. Freya?’ She backed away a couple of paces, her face clearly showing that she was terrified.

I wanted to ask what Coco was doing on the clifftop, but silence seemed to be a better response. I didn’t want to give myself away. I peered into the shadows, trying to see if she was alone. I couldn’t believe Natasha wasn’t there. I could just about believe that she wouldn’t come alone, so I shouldn’t have been that surprised to see Coco. I
was
surprised there was no sign of her demonic best friend.

Unless she was behind me.

With difficulty, I hid the shiver of fear that ghosted over me. With even more difficulty, I restrained myself from turning round and concentrated instead on the girl in front of me.

‘I’m so sorry about what happened. You have to believe me.’ Coco’s arms were wrapped around her body and as she spoke she was digging her nails into her skin, leaving marks I could see even in the moonlight. ‘I didn’t know what was going to happen at the bridge.’