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Love,
Barbra
We fell about crying with laughter, blushing, imagining, half-wishing someone would deliver them and he’d just finally pick one of us.
It would be one of us, wouldn’t it? None of his girlfriends lasted more than a month. All the girls in his year were so serious and frumpy. He liked hanging out with us.
That summer I had felt unbreakable. Life was going to be so bright, so happy.
And then…
And then on the hottest day: a party with the parents. In the huge grounds, we had snuck off to investigate the derelict barn and then Don and Princess had gone back to the house to find snacks.
The walls were made from nodules of flint, browns and greys with splodges of white chalk. Inside were a few rotting beams, no floor, no roof. Pigeons roosted on one of the joists, the ground below turned white.
‘They’re taking for-ev-errrrrr,’ whined Spanish, going back outside and scuffing about the short stubble left from a harvested crop.
‘Should we go back?’ I said, following her.
‘Don said he wanted to sit on top drinking stolen champagne and I think that sounds rather nice,’ said Whip, leaning against a wall.
‘There’s not even anywhere to sit,’ I said, kicking a rock which hit the wall with a sharp crack.
Whip started hoisting herself up the wall. ‘Not down there,’ she said.
‘I’ll just run back and check on them,’ I said, and started jogging. It was too hot though, and once past the hedge I settled back to walking.
I had heard my parents arguing the night before and I wasn’t really feeling like drinking stolen champagne and pretending to be happy, but I supposed it was better than being in the house. I wondered how my parents did it – be all smiles when last night they’d been shouting and crying and Dad’s favourite mug had smashed.
I pushed through the gate, into the orchard, and that’s when I found Princess, curled under a pear tree, crying.
I ran over, dropping to the ground beside her. ‘What’s wrong?’ I put my arms around her, but she hauled herself away, standing up. Her cheeks were red and wet like an angry baby.
‘Huh?’ I said. ‘What happened?’ I stood too and reached for her again.
She shoved me with both hands and I stumbled back. My mouth fell open in shock. She balled her fists and then a wave of anger passed over her face and she stepped towards me and shoved me again, hard, and I fell, knocking my head against the tree trunk as she ran away.
I knew immediately that everything had changed: this was the end.
22
NOW
Found something? A hair clip? A body? My heart is going to break out of my chest.
I want to headbutt the steering wheel but instead I slip my hand inside my handbag and press the tip of the clipper file reassuringly under the nail of my index finger.
I swing the car around, heading back to the school again, going as fast as I dare round tight bends that sometimes open up to reveal tractors or a herd of sheep.
I’m gasping for air as I push into the security hut. Mr Whitlow gives me a small smile and security, a middle-aged man who I remember is called Argus, nods. Mr Whitlow and I stand over him and watch his screen.
It shows the corridor on the ground floor, outside the canteen. Today’s date and the time blink in the top left corner. It would have been lunch break. The footage is slightly grainy, jerky; pupils mill about with bags and phones and crisp packets. Then I see Jenna, slightly hunched, headphones on, her thumbs tucked into the straps of her red backpack. She comes out of the stairwell and walks into Rose, tall, elegant, her green backpack slung on one shoulder.
They stand, lips moving, students jostling past. Then Jenna grabs Rose’s backpack and dumps it out – books, pencil case, lip balm, everything. I can see that they’re shouting now and then Jenna throws the empty bag back at her, walks off. Ash and Ava come out of the canteen and go after her.
My heart is pounding. I have never ever seen my baby girl do anything like this. She’s usually so happy, calm, gentle. Isn’t she?
Then I realise something else. Ash and Ava saw this argument. They didn’t tell me.
