‘I don’t deal, OK? I just pick it up from some guys from London and bring it here.’
‘So, you’re, like, a mule,’ Ravi offered.
‘They give me weed for free,’ Robin’s voice rose defensively.
‘Wow, you’re quite the businessman,’ Pip said. ‘So, someone’s groomed you into carrying drugs across county lines.’
‘No, fuck off, I’m not groomed.’ He looked down at his phone again, the panic reaching his eyes, swirling in the dark of his pupils. ‘Please, he’ll be here any minute. He’s already pissed off this week ’cause someone skipped out on him; nine hundred pounds he’ll never get back or something. You have to go.’
And as soon as the last word left Robin’s throat, they all heard it: the sound of wheels crackling against the gravel, the low hum of a car pulling in and cutting out, the after-tick of its engine puncturing the night.
‘Someone’s here,’ Connor said needlessly.
‘Ah shit,’ Robin said, stubbing out his joint on the bin beneath him. But Pip was already turning, passing between Connor and Cara, down the hall to the gaping front door. She stood there at the threshold, one foot curled over the ledge and into the night. She squinted, trying to sculpt the darkness into recognizable shapes. A car had pulled up in front of Robin’s, a lighter coloured car but –
And then Pip couldn’t see anything at all, blinded by the fierce white of the car’s full beams.
She covered her eyes with her hands as the engine revved – and then the car sped off down Sycamore Road, disappearing in a cloud of dust and scattering pebbles.
‘Guys!’ Pip called to the others. ‘My car. Now. Run!’
She was already moving, flying across the grass and into the swirling dust of the road. Ravi overtook her on the corner.
‘Keys,’ he shouted, and Pip dug them out of her jacket pocket, throwing them into Ravi’s hand. He unlocked the Beetle and threw himself into the passenger side. When Pip slammed into the driver’s side, climbing in, Ravi already had the keys in the ignition waiting for her. She turned them and flicked on the headlights, lighting up Cara and Connor as they sprinted over.
They flung themselves inside and Pip pulled away, accelerating before Cara had even slammed the door behind her.
‘What did you see?’ Ravi asked as Pip rounded the corner, chasing after the car.
‘Nothing.’ She pressed down on the pedal, hearing gravel kick up, dinging off the sides of her car. ‘But he must have spotted me in the doorway. And now he’s running.’
‘Why would he run?’ Connor asked, his hands gripped around Ravi’s headrest.
‘Don’t know.’ Pip sped up as the road dropped down a hill. ‘But running is something that guilty people do. Are those his tail lights?’ She squinted into the distance.
‘Yeah,’ Ravi said. ‘God he’s going fast, you need to speed up.’
‘I’m already doing forty-five,’ Pip said, biting her lip and pushing her foot down a little harder.
‘Left, he turned left there.’ Ravi pointed.
Pip swung around the corner, into another narrow country lane.
‘Go, go, go,’ said Connor.
And Pip was gaining on him, the white body of his car now visible against the dark hedgerows at the side of the road.
‘Need to get close enough to read his number plate,’ Pip said.
‘He’s speeding up again,’ Cara said, face wedged between Pip and Ravi’s seats.
Pip accelerated, the speedometer needling over fifty and up and up, closing the gap between the cars.
‘Right!’ Ravi said. ‘He went right.’
The turn was sharp. Pip took her foot off the pedal and pulled at the steering wheel. They flew around the corner, but something was wrong.
Pip felt the steering wheel escape from her, slipping through her hands.
They were skidding.
She tried to turn into it, to correct it.
But the car was going too fast and it went. Someone was yelling but she couldn’t tell who over the screaming of the wheels. They slid, left then right, before spinning in a full circle.
They were all yelling as the car skidded to a stop, coming to rest facing the wrong way, the bonnet half embedded in the brambles that bordered the road.
‘Fuck,’ Pip said, hitting her fist against the steering wheel, the car horn blaring for a split second. ‘Is everyone OK?’
‘Yeah,’ Connor said, his breath heavy and his face flushed.
Ravi looked over his shoulder, exchanging a look with a shaken Cara before passing it on to Pip. And she knew what was in their eyes, the secret the three of them knew that Connor never could: that Cara’s sister and Max Hastings had been involved in a car accident when they were this age, Max convincing his friends to leave a severely injured man on the road. And that had really been the start of it all, how Ravi’s brother was eventually murdered.
And they’d just come recklessly close to something like that.
‘That was stupid,’ Pip said, that thing in her gut stretching out to take more of her with it. It was guilt, wasn’t it? Or shame. She wasn’t supposed to be like this this time, losing herself again. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s my fault.’ Ravi tucked his fingers around hers. ‘I told you to go faster. I’m sorry.’
‘Did anyone see the number plate?’ Connor asked. ‘All I saw was the first letter and it was either an N or an H.’
‘Didn’t see,’ Cara said. ‘But it was a sports car. A white sports car.’
‘A BMW,’ Ravi added, and Pip tensed, right down to the fingers gripping his hand. He turned to her. ‘What?’
‘I . . . I know someone with that car,’ she said quietly.
‘Well, yeah, so do I,’ he replied. ‘More than one someone probably.’
‘Yeah,’ Pip exhaled. ‘But the one I know is Nat da Silva’s new boyfriend.’
THURSDAY
6 DAYS MISSING
Twenty-Seven
A yawn split her face as she stared down at the toast in front of her. Not hungry.
‘Why are you so tired this morning?’ her mum asked, watching her over a mug of tea.
Pip shrugged, flicking the toast around her plate. Josh was sitting opposite her, humming as he shovelled Coco Pops into his mouth, swinging his legs out under the table and kicking her accidentally on purpose. She didn’t react, pulling her knees up to sit cross-legged on the chair instead. The radio was on in the background, tuned to BBC Three Counties, as always. The song was just ending, the hosts talking over the fading drums.
‘Are you taking too much on with this Jamie thing?’ her mum said.
‘It’s not a thing, Mum,’ Pip said, and she could feel herself growing irritable, wearing it like a layer beneath her skin, warm and unstable. ‘It’s his life. I can be tired for that.’
‘OK, OK,’ her mum said, taking the empty bowl away from Josh. ‘I’m allowed to worry about you.’
Pip wished she wouldn’t. She didn’t need anyone’s worry; Jamie did.
A text lit up Pip’s phone, from Ravi. Just leaving for court to wait for deliberation. How are you? X
Pip stood and scooped up her phone, grabbing her plate with the other hand and sliding the toast into the bin. She felt her mum’s eyes on her. ‘Not hungry yet,’ she explained. ‘I’ll take a cereal bar into school.’
She had only taken a few steps down the hall when her mum called her back.
‘I’m just going to the toilet!’ she replied.
‘Pip, get in here now!’ her mum shouted. And it was a real shout, a sound Pip rarely heard from her, rough and panicked.
Pip felt instantly cold, all feeling draining from her face. She spun back, socks sliding on the oak floor as she sprinted into the kitchen.
‘What, what, what?’ she said quickly, eyes darting from a confused-looking Josh to her mum, who was reaching over to the radio, turning up the volume.
‘Listen,’ she said.
‘. . . a dog walker discove
red the body at about six a.m. yesterday morning in the woodland beside the A413, between Little Kilton and Amersham. Officers are still at the scene. The deceased is as yet unidentified but has been described as a white male in his early twenties. The cause of death is currently unknown. A spokesperson for Thames Valley Police has said –’
‘No.’ The word must have come from her, but she didn’t remember saying it. Didn’t remember moving her lips, nor the scrape of the word against her narrowing throat. ‘No no nonono.’ She didn’t feel anything except numb, her feet a solid weight sinking into the ground, her hands detaching from her finger by finger.
‘P . . . i . . . p?’
Everything around her moved too slowly, like the room was floating, because it was right there with her in the eye of the panic.
‘Pip!’
And everything snapped back into focus, into time, and she could hear her heart battering in her ears. She looked up at her mum, who mirrored back her terrified eyes.
‘Go,’ her mum said, hurrying over and turning Pip by her shoulders. ‘Go! I’ll call school and tell them you’ll be in late.’
‘Up next, one of my favourite songs from the eighties, we have Sweet Dreams . . . ’
‘He, he c-can’t be—’
‘Go,’ her mum said, pushing her down the hall, just as Pip’s phone started buzzing with an incoming call from Connor.
It was Connor who opened the door to her, his eyes rubbed red and a twitch in his upper lip.
Pip stepped inside without a word. She gripped his arm, above the elbow, for a long, silent second. And then she let go, saying, ‘Where’s your mum?’
‘Here.’ His voice was just a croak as he led Pip into the cold living room. The daylight was wrong in here, too harsh, too bright, too alive. And Joanna was huddled against it, wrapped in an old blanket on the sofa, her face buried inside a tissue.
‘Pip’s here,’ Connor said in barely more than a whisper.
Joanna glanced up. Her eyes were swollen and she looked different, like something beneath her face had broken.
She didn’t speak, just held out her arms, and Pip stumbled forward to lower herself on to the sofa. Joanna wrapped her arms around her and Pip held her back, feeling Joanna’s racing heart in her own chest.
‘We need to call Detective Hawkins at the police station in Amersham,’ Pip said, pulling back. ‘Ask if they’ve identified the –’
‘Arthur’s on the phone to them now.’ Joanna shuffled over to clear a space between them for Connor. And once Connor had settled, his leg pressing into hers, Pip could hear the sound of Arthur’s voice, growing louder as he left the kitchen and walked towards them.
‘Yes,’ he said, entering the room with the phone to his ear, blinking as his gaze settled on Pip. His face looked grey, mouth in a tense line. ‘Jamie Reynolds. No, Reynolds, with an R. Yes. Case number? Um . . .’ His eyes darted over to Joanna. She began to push up from the sofa but Pip cut in.
‘Four nine zero,’ she said, Arthur repeating the numbers after her, into the phone. ‘Zero one five. Two nine three.’
Arthur nodded at her. ‘Yes. Missing since last Friday night.’ He chewed his thumb. ‘The body found by the A413, do you know who it is yet? No. No, don’t put me on hold aga—’
He leaned against the door, closing it, his head resting against one finger, pushing his skin into folds. Waiting.
And waiting.
It was the worst wait Pip had ever had in her life. Her chest so tight she had to force the air through and out of her nose. And with every breath she thought she might be sick, swallowing down the bile.
Please, she kept thinking, no idea who she was thinking it to. Just someone. Anyone. Please please don’t let it be Jamie. Please. She’d promised Connor. She’d promised she’d find his brother. She promised she’d save him. Please. Please, not him.
Her eyes slipped from Arthur back to Connor beside her.
‘Should I be here?’ she mouthed silently.
But Connor nodded and took her hand, their palms clammy, sticking together. She saw him take his mother’s hand, too, on the other side.
Waiting.
Arthur’s eyes were closed, the fingers on his free hand pressing into his eyelids, so hard it must have hurt, his chest rising in stuttering movements.
Waiting.
Until . . .
‘Yes?’ Arthur said, his eyes snapping open.
Pip’s heartbeat was so loud, so fast, it felt like that was all she was: a heart and the empty skin around it.
‘Hello detective,’ said Arthur. ‘Yes, that’s what I’m calling about. Yes.’
Connor gripped Pip’s hand even tighter, crushing her bones together.
‘Yes, I understand. So, is –’ Arthur’s hand was shaking at his side. ‘Yes, I understand that.’
He went quiet, listening to the other end of the phone. And then his face dropped.
Cracked in two.
He doubled forward, the phone going limp in his fingers. Other hand up to his face as he bawled into it. A high, inhuman sound that wracked his entire body.
Connor’s hand went slack against Pip’s, his jaw falling open.
Arthur straightened up, tears spilling down into his bared mouth.
‘It’s not Jamie,’ he said.
‘What?’ Joanna stood up, clutching her face.
‘It’s not Jamie,’ Arthur said again, choking over a sob, placing his phone down. ‘It’s someone else. His family just identified him. It’s not Jamie.’
‘It’s not Jamie?’ Joanna said, like she didn’t dare believe it yet.
‘It’s not him,’ Arthur said, staggering forward to pull her into him, crying down in her hair. ‘It’s not our boy. Not Jamie.’
Connor unstuck from Pip, his cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, and he folded himself in around his parents. They held each other and they cried, and it was a cry of relief and grief and confusion. They’d lost him for a while. For a few minutes, in their heads and in hers, Jamie Reynolds had been dead.
But it wasn’t him.
Pip held the sleeve of her jumper to her eyes, tears falling hot, soaking into the fabric.
Thank you, she thought to that invisible person in her head. Thank you.
They had another chance.
She had one last chance.
Pip:
OK, recording. Are you OK?
Arthur:
Yes. I’m ready.
Pip:
So, why didn’t you want to be interviewed or involved before now?
Arthur:
Honestly? I was angry. In my head, I was convinced Jamie had run away again. And he knows how worried we were the first time he did that. I didn’t want to indulge Joanna and Connor’s idea that Jamie was really missing because I didn’t think he was. I didn’t want to believe something was wrong. Seems I preferred to be angry at Jamie instead. But I was wrong, I think. It’s been too long. And if he was out there, Jamie would’ve heard about your podcast by now. He would have come home if he could.
Pip:
And why did you think Jamie had run off again? Is it because you had a big argument, right before the memorial?
Arthur:
Yes. I don’t want to argue with him, I just want what’s best for him. Want to push him to make smart decisions for his life, to do something that he loves. I know he’s capable of that. But he’s seemed stuck the last few years. Maybe I go about it the wrong way. I just don’t know how to help him.
Pip:
And what were you arguing about last Friday?
Arthur:
It’s just . . . it had been simmering for a while. He’d recently asked me to borrow a load of money, and I don’t know, he just said something that set me off about money and responsibility and finding a career. Jamie didn’t want to hear it.
Pip:
When did he ask you to borrow money?
Arthur:
Oh, it was . . . Joanna was out at badminton so it must have been a Tue
sday. Yes, Tuesday 10th of April.
Pip:
Did he say what he wanted the money for?
Arthur:
No, that’s the thing. He wouldn’t tell me. Just said it was really important. So, of course, I told him no. It was a ridiculous amount.
Pip:
If you don’t mind me asking, how much did Jamie ask to borrow?
Arthur:
Nine hundred pounds.
Pip:
Nine hundred?
Arthur:
Yes.
Pip:
Nine hundred exactly?
Arthur:
Yes. Why? What’s wrong?
Pip:
It’s just . . . I’ve heard that exact figure recently, about someone else. A guy called Luke Eaton, he mentioned losing nine hundred pounds this week. And I think he’s involved in dr— You know what, I’ll look into it. So, after you left the pub Friday night, what time did you get back home?
Arthur:
I don’t remember looking at the time specifically, but it was definitely before eleven thirty. Maybe around twenty past.
Pip:
And the house was empty, right? You didn’t see Jamie?
Arthur:
No, I was alone. I went to bed but I heard Connor get in later.
Pip:
And there’s no way Jamie could’ve snuck in before then? Like, just after you got back?
Arthur:
Not possible. I was sitting here in the living room for a while. I would have heard the front door.
Pip:
We believe Jamie came back here, for his hoodie and the knife, so he must have arrived and left again before you got home. Do you know anything about the knife?
Arthur:
No. I didn’t even know it was missing until Joanna told me.
Pip:
So where were you all last weekend when Jamie was first missing? Connor mentioned you weren’t at home much.
Good Girl, Bad Blood Page 21