Page 38 of Serenity Falls

‘Your mum loved you very much, Sadie.’

‘So why did she leave?’

‘Do you think she’s still alive – Davey’s mum?’ she asks.

A look crosses Miller’s face. Sadness. Displeasure. It’s there and gone so quickly it’s hard to say. ‘I really don’t know. Perhaps you should talk to Ellis’s father. He’s the font of all knowledge on the history of Serenity – and he does love to share it.’

Ellis rolls her eyes. ‘That’s the truth.’

‘And now,’ Miller continues, ‘much as it’s nice to have some young people show interest in the cemetery, I have a sermon I must finish writing … and Serenity has many other beautiful sights.’

‘We were just going to meet my dad for lunch,’ Ellis says.

‘Well, that sounds like an excellent plan.’ Miller smiles, hand clasped patiently. Their cue to go. But Sadie can’t quite leave it.

‘What was his mum’s name?’

Miller watches her with those strange, mismatched eyes. For a moment, she thinks he isn’t going to answer. And then he says curtly: ‘Serena.’

Serena

I’m not ready to talk about Davey. Not yet. But if we’re going there, then you need to know the whole story. You need to know how it started. Because, believe me, the end is harsh. No happy ever after. No handsome prince or fairy godmother to save the day. If you think about it – most fairy tales are really horror stories.

All my life, I’ve been the face of Serenity. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed mascot. The perfect face of the perfect town. Every anniversary, every damn birthday I’d get wheeled out to cut a cake, wear a party hat, pose in some stupid dress, decorate an Easter egg or carve a fucking pumpkin. All the while, smiling till I wanted to puke.

I’m Serenity’s most famous daughter. People think they know me. Just like people think they know Serenity Falls. But they don’t. Not really. They only see the surface. Serenity and me, we’re like the original ugly sisters, pretending to be Cinderella, trying to force our crusty old feet into that delicate glass slipper. Chopping off our toes and crushing our bones to keep up the illusion of perfection.

But nothing in life is that perfect.

The other kids hated me, for a start. Let’s face it, there’s nothing kids hate more than someone who gets special treatment, who thinks they’re better than everyone else. I’d like to say I didn’t, not really. But maybe I did, a little. When people tell you you’re wonderful often enough, it kind of soaks in whether you want it to or not.

I sure as hell got the special treatment at school. Shunned, mocked, pushed and shoved in the corridors, backpack spilled, books trashed, sneakers stolen so I had to walk home, feet burning on the hot tarmac.

‘You think you’re so perfect?’

‘You’re not better than us.’

‘Eat shit, princess.’

I tried to be humble, kind, anything but a princess. But most lunchtimes and breaks I’d hide in the toilets or find a bench in a far corner of the playground and eat my lunch alone, hoping no one would walk past and knock it to the ground.

Until one day, another kid joined me.

I’d vaguely seen him around. He was a lanky, pale kid. Patch over one eye (lazy eye, I guessed) and thick glasses. One of those kids who was too pathetic even for the bullies. One of the ‘Whatshisname’ kids. They drift through school, and no one remembers them. They’ve become so good at blending into the background it’s like they barely exist.

‘Hey,’ Whatshisname said.

I didn’t glance up. He sat, without asking, and nodded at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. ‘You like that?’

My first instinct was to respond, Of course, idiot. That’s why my mom packs it for my lunch every day. But the truth was, I didn’t. I hated peanut butter, but whenever I tried to tell my mom she would just smile and say: ‘Nonsense. It’s a good all-American lunch for my good all-American girl.’

Most days I threw half of it away.

‘Not really,’ I said, and flushed, like my mom could hear me.

‘Yeah – I see you chuck it in the trash every day.’

I stared at him. ‘You watch me.’