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When she turns back she glances at Croft and nods.
‘What? Have they found something? At the school?’ I ask.
‘Sorry – no,’ says Bevan.
Croft clears his throat. ‘Ah, Frances, did you know Jenna was being bullied?’
Are they psychic or something? ‘I told you – I just found out today, from Ash and Ava, about Rose.’
‘Rose?’ Bevan asks, stepping towards me.
‘I – yes?’ I suddenly realise that if she’s no longer friends with Sylvie, Dinae and Devon, it’s likely that something went terribly wrong – that they don’t like her.
‘It looks like it’s a wider problem,’ says Bevan. ‘I’m sorry, but it seems most of sixth form has been involved. Apart from Rose.’
‘Ash and Ava said it was Rose,’ I say.
She nods. ‘We have conflicting information. We’d better speak your niece and nephew again. Looks like Miss Smith will have to wait a little longer.’
My stomach heaves. My daughter is being bullied. By people who were once her friends. I press hard against my thigh, swallowing a sour memory of cruel laughter in wooden halls.
I follow the police officers back downstairs, my skin crawling. I catch my reflection again in the glass of a painting, my face twisted, and I try to straighten it into a smile.
But smiling won’t help this time, will it? Perhaps it never has.
I thought my baby was happy. I allowed myself to think she was happy, because I couldn’t bear to find out why she no longer saw her other friends.
What else don’t I know?
40
NOW
I’m doing my best. I’ve always done my best. Surely she can’t be being bullied by the whole damn school. The Beaufort-Bradleys rule PES. But then… does it make sense that Jenna is being bullied? She walks around all hunched, hiding behind those headphones, making sure the whole world knows she doesn’t want them.
I try to get her to engage more – show off her beauty. But she throws it in my face. Cuts off her hair. Tosses her costume in the wardrobe.
I’ve done my best. She brings it on herself.
I stumble as I reach the bottom of the stairs. Bevan and Croft keep going. I’m so shocked by my thoughts that I have to sit with my head between my knees.
I’m a terrible mother. A terrible person.
How could I have ignored my daughter’s suffering for so long? Why do I pretend I think she’s happy? But what exactly is she suffering from? Did the bullying come before the eyeliner, or after?
Why do you cut yourself, Frances?
I run after Bevan and Croft. My family and Theo sit around the fire clasping mugs.
‘Still no lawyer?’ says Bevan.
‘Sadly not,’ says my father.
‘And no Dan.’ Bevan doesn’t look at me, and it isn’t a question.
I check my phone. It’s almost half eleven – where is he?
‘I’d like to speak to some of you again,’ she says. ‘Volunteers?’
