The priest’s collar was too tight, the flesh of his neck bunching over it as he read out the sermon. Pip looked beyond him, at the small grey headstone she’d picked out. A man with four different names, but Stanley Forbes was the one he chose, the life he’d wanted, the one who was trying. So that was the name engraved over him, forever.
Stanley Forbes
June 7th 1988 – May 4th 2018
You Were Better
‘And before we say our final prayer, Pip, you wanted to say a few words?’
The sound of her name caught her off-guard and she winced, her heart spiking, and suddenly her hands were wet but it didn’t feel like sweat, it was blood, it was blood, it was blood . . .
‘Pip?’ Ravi whispered to her, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. And no, there was no blood, she’d only imagined it.
‘Yes,’ she said, coughing to clear her voice. ‘Yes. Um, I wanted to say thank you, everyone for coming. And to you, Father Renton, for the service.’ If Ravi wasn’t holding her hand still, it would be shaking, fluttering on the wind. ‘I didn’t know Stanley all that well. But I think, in the last hour of his life, I got to know who he truly was. He –’
Pip stopped. There was a sound, carrying on the breeze. A shout. It came again, louder this time. Closer.
‘Murderer!’
Her eyes shot up and her chest tightened. There was a group of about fifteen people, marching past the church towards them. Painted signs held up in their hands.
‘You’re mourning a killer!’ a man yelled.
‘I-I-I . . .’ Pip stuttered, and she felt the scream again, growing in her stomach, burning her inside out.
‘Keep going, pickle.’ Her dad was behind her, his warm hand on her shoulder. ‘You’re doing so well. I’ll go talk to them.’
The group was nearing, and Pip could recognize a few faces among them now: Leslie from the shop, and Mary Scythe from the Kilton Mail, and was that . . . was that Ant’s dad, Mr Lowe in the middle?
‘Um,’ she said, shakily, watching her dad hurrying away up the path towards them. Cara gave her an encouraging smile, and Jamie nodded. ‘Um. Stanley, he . . . when he knew his own life was in danger, his first thought was to protect me and –’
‘Burn in hell!’
She tightened her hands into fists. ‘And he faced his own death with bravery and –’
‘Scum!’
She dropped Ravi’s hand and she was gone.
‘No, Pip!’ Ravi tried to hold on to her but she slipped out of his grasp and away, pounding up the grass. Her mum was calling her name, but that wasn’t her right now. Her teeth bared as she flew down the pathway, her black dress flailing behind her knees as she took on the wind. Her eyes flickered across their signs painted in red, dripping letters:
Killer Spawn
Monster of Little Kilton
Charlie Green = HERO
Child Brunswick Rot in Hell
Not in OUR town!
Her dad looked back and tried to catch her as she passed but she was too fast, and that burning inside her too strong.
She collided into the group, shoving Leslie hard, her cardboard sign clattering to the floor.
‘He’s dead!’ she screamed at them all, pushing them back. ‘Leave him alone, he’s dead!’
‘He shouldn’t be buried here. This is our town,’ Mary said, pushing her sign towards Pip, blocking her sight.
‘He was your friend!’ Pip snatched the sign out of Mary’s hands. ‘He was your friend!’ she roared, bringing the poster board down with all her strength against her knee. It broke cleanly in two and she threw the pieces at Mary. ‘LEAVE HIM ALONE!’
She started towards Mr Lowe, who flinched away from her. But she didn’t make it. Her dad had grabbed her from behind, pulled her arms back. Pip reeled up against him, her feet kicking out towards them, but they were all backing away from her. Something new on their faces. Fear maybe, as she was dragged away.
Her eyes blurred with angry tears as she looked up, arms locked behind her, her dad’s calming voice in her ear. The sky was a pale and creamy blue, pockets of soft clouds floating across. A pretty sky for today. Stanley would have liked that, she thought, as she screamed up into it.
SATURDAY
6 DAYS LATER
Forty-Three
The sun climbed up her legs in leaf-like patches, reaching through the tall willow tree in the Reynoldses’ garden.
The day was warm, but the stone step she sat on was cool through the back of her new jeans. Pip blinked against the shifting beams of light, watching them all.
A get-together, Joanna Reynolds’ message had read, but Jamie joked it was a Surprise, I’m not dead barbecue. Pip had found that funny. She hadn’t found much funny the last few weeks, but that had done it.
The dads were hovering around the barbecue, and Pip could see her dad was eyeing the unflipped burgers, itching to take over from Arthur Reynolds. Mohan Singh was laughing, tilting his head back to drink his beer, the sunlight making the bottle glow.
Joanna was leaning over the picnic table nearby, removing cling film from the tops of bowls: pasta salad and potato salad and actual salad. Dropping serving spoons into each one. On the other side of the garden, Cara stood talking with Ravi, Connor and Zach. Ravi was intermittently kicking a tennis ball, for Josh to chase.
Pip watched her brother, whooping as he cartwheeled after the ball. A smile on his face that was pure and unknowing. Ten years old, the same age Child Brunswick was when . . . Stanley’s dying face flashed into her mind. Pip screwed her eyes shut, but that never took him away. She breathed, three deep breaths, like her mum told her to do, and re-opened them. She shifted her gaze and took a shaky sip of water, her hand sweating against the glass.
Nisha Singh and Pip’s mum were standing with Naomi Ward, Nat da Silva and Zoe Reynolds, words unheard passing from one to another, smiles following along behind them. It was nice to see Nat smiling, Pip thought. It changed her, somehow.
And Jamie Reynolds, he was walking towards her, wrinkling his freckled nose. He sat down on the step beside her, his knee grazing hers as he settled.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked, running his finger over the rim of his beer bottle.
Pip didn’t answer the question. ‘How are you?’ she said, instead.
‘I’m good.’ Jamie looked at her, a smile stretching into his pink-tinged cheeks. ‘Good but . . . I can’t stop thinking about him.’ The smile flickered out.
‘I know,’ said Pip.
‘He wasn’t what people expected,’ Jamie said quietly. ‘You know, he tried to fit a whole mattress through the gap in the toilet door, so I would be comfortable. And he asked me every day what I’d like to eat for dinner, despite still being scared of me. Of what I almost did.’
‘You wouldn’t have killed him,’ Pip said. ‘I know.’
‘No,’ Jamie sniffed, looking down at the smashed Fitbit still on his wrist. He’d said he would never take it off; he wanted it there, as a reminder. ‘I knew I couldn’t do it, even when the knife was in my hand. And I was so scared. But that doesn’t make it any better. I told the police everything. But, without Stanley, they don’t have enough to charge me. Doesn’t feel right, somehow.’
‘Doesn’t feel right that we’re both here and he’s not,’ Pip said, her chest tightening, filling her head with the sound of cracking ribs. ‘We both led Charlie to him, in a way. And we’re alive and he’s not.’
‘I’m alive because of you,’ Jamie said, not looking at her. ‘You and Ravi and Connor. If Charlie had worked out it was Stanley before that night, he might have killed me too. I mean, he set a building on fire with you inside.’
‘Yeah,’ Pip said, the word she used when no other would fit.
‘They’re going to find him eventually,’ he said. ‘Charlie Green, and Flora. They can’t run forever. The police will catch them.’
That’s what Hawkins had said to her that night: We will get him. But one day had turned into two had
turned into three weeks.
‘Yeah,’ she said again.
‘Has my mum stopped hugging you yet?’ Jamie asked, trying to bring her out of her thoughts.
‘Not yet,’ she said.
‘She hasn’t stopped hugging me either,’ he laughed.
Pip’s eyes followed Joanna as she handed a plate to Arthur at the barbecue.
‘Your dad loves you, you know,’ Pip said. ‘I know he doesn’t always show it in the right way, but I saw him, the moment he thought he’d lost you forever. And he loves you, Jamie. A lot.’
Jamie’s eyes filled, sparkling in the dappled sunlight. ‘I know,’ he said, over a new lump in his throat. He coughed it down.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Pip said, turning to face him. ‘All Stanley wanted was a quiet life, to learn to be better, to try do some good with it. And he doesn’t get to do that any more. But we’re still here, we’re alive.’ She paused, meeting Jamie’s eyes. ‘Can you promise me something? Can you promise me you’ll live a good life? A full life, a happy one. Live well, and do it for him, because he can’t any more.’
Jamie held her eyes, a quiver in his lower lip. ‘I promise,’ he said. ‘And you too?’
‘I’ll try,’ she nodded, wiping her eyes with her sleeve just as Jamie did the same. They laughed.
Jamie took a quick sip of his beer. ‘Starting today,’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to apply to the ambulance service, to work as a trainee paramedic.’
Pip smiled at him. ‘That’s a good start.’
They watched the others for a moment, Arthur dropping a load of hot-dog buns and Josh rushing to pick them up, shouting ‘Five-second rule!’ Nat’s laugh, high and unguarded.
‘And,’ Jamie continued, ‘I suppose you’ve already told the whole world I’m in love with Nat da Silva. So, I guess I should tell her myself sometime. And if she doesn’t feel the same, I move on. Onwards and upwards. And no more strangers on the internet.’
He raised his beer bottle out towards her. ‘Live well,’ he said.
Pip lifted her glass of water and clinked it against Jamie’s bottle. ‘For him,’ she said.
Jamie hugged her, a quick, teetering hug, different from Connor’s clumsy hugs. Then he stood up and walked across the garden to Nat’s side. His eyes were different when he looked at her, fuller somehow. Brighter. A dimpled smile stretched across his face as she turned to him, the laugh still in her voice. And Pip swore, maybe just for a second, she could see the same look in Nat’s eyes.
She watched the two of them joking around with Jamie’s sister, and she didn’t even notice Ravi walking over. Not until he sat down, hooking one of his feet under her leg.
‘You OK, Sarge?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
‘You want to come over and join everyone?’
‘I’m fine here,’ she said.
‘But everyone is –’
‘I said I’m fine,’ Pip said, but it wasn’t her saying it, not really. She sighed, looked across at him. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s . . .’
‘I know,’ Ravi said, closing his hand over hers, sliding his fingers in between hers in that perfect way they slotted together. They still fit. ‘It will get better, I promise.’ He pulled her in closer. ‘And I’m here, whenever you need me.’
She didn’t deserve him. Not even one little bit. ‘I love you,’ she said, looking into his dark brown eyes, filling herself with them, pushing everything else out.
‘I love you too.’
Pip shuffled, leaning over to rest her head on Ravi’s shoulder as they watched the others. Everyone had now encircled Josh as he tried his best to teach them all how to floss, straight jerking arms and locking hips everywhere.
‘Oh god, Jamie, you’re so embarrassing,’ Connor giggled, as his brother somehow managed to hit himself in the groin, bending double. Nat and Cara clutched each other, falling to the grass with laughter.
‘Look at me, I can do it!’ Pip’s dad was saying, because of course he was. Even Arthur Reynolds was trying, still at the grill, thinking nobody could see him.
Pip laughed, watching how ridiculous they all looked, the sound a small croak in her throat. And it was OK, to be out here on the sidelines, with Ravi. Separate. A gap between everyone and here. A barricade around her. She would join them, when she was ready. But for now, she just wanted to sit, far back enough that she could see them all in one go.
It was evening. Her family had eaten too much at the Reynoldses’ house and were dozing downstairs. Pip’s room was dark, her face underlit by the ghostly white light of her laptop. She sat at her desk, staring at the screen. Studying for her exams, that’s what she’d told her parents. Because she lies now.
She finished typing in the search bar and pressed enter.
Most recent sightings of Charlie and Flora Green.
They’d been spotted nine days ago, security footage of them withdrawing money from an ATM in Portsmouth. The police had verified that one, she’d seen it on the news. But here – Pip clicked – someone had commented on an article posted to Facebook, claiming they’d seen the couple yesterday at a petrol station in Dover, driving a new car: a red Nissan Juke.
Pip ripped the top sheet from her pad of paper, screwed it up and threw it behind her. She hunched over, checking back to the screen as she scribbled the details down on a fresh page. Returned to her search.
‘We’re the same, you and me. You know it deep down,’ Charlie’s voice intruded, speaking inside her head. And the scariest thing was, Pip didn’t know if he was wrong. She couldn’t say how they were different. She just knew they were. It was a feeling beyond words. Or maybe, just maybe, that feeling was only hope.
She stayed there, clicking through for hours, jumping from article to article, comment to comment. And it was with her too, of course. It always was.
The gun.
It was here now, beating within her chest, knocking against her ribs. Aiming with her eyes. It was in nightmares, and crashing pans, and heavy breaths, and dropped pencils, and thunderstorms, and closing doors, and too loud, and too quiet, and alone and not, and the ruffle of pages, and the tapping of keys and every click and every creak.
The gun was always there.
It lived inside her now.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the best agent in the world, Sam Copeland. Thank you for always being there and for sharing in all of this with me: the lows and the many highs. And for answering all my ‘quick questions’ which are, in fact, eighteen paragraphs long.
To everyone at Egmont, for working against the clock and against all odds to bring this book to life. Thank you to the editorial team for helping me whip this sequel into shape: Lindsey Heaven, Ali Dougal and Lucy Courtenay. Thank you to Laura Bird, for the amazing cover design, and for indulging my incessant need for more blood spatter. Thank you to PR superstars Siobhan McDermott and Hilary Bell for all their incredible hard work and for always being so enthusiastic, even when they’ve heard me give the same answer in an interview a dozen times before. To Jas Bansal (who could give the genius behind the Wendy’s Twitter account a run for their money), thank you for always being such a joy to work with. I can’t wait to see some of the fun marketing things you’ve been plotting. And thank you to Todd Atticus and Kate Jennings! To the sales and rights teams, thank you for doing such an amazing job in getting Pip’s story out there and into the hands of readers. And a special thank you to Priscilla Coleman for the incredible courtroom sketch in this book; I’m still in awe!
A huge thank you to everyone who helped make A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder a success. It’s because of all of you that I have been able to continue Pip’s story. To the bloggers and reviewers who shouted about the book online, I could never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you to the booksellers around the country for your amazing support and enthusiasm for the first book; it has truly been a dream come true to be able to walk into a bookshop and see my own book on the shelves or
tables inside. And thank you to everyone who picked up the book and took it home with them; Pip and I are back because of you.
As Pip and Cara know, there ain’t nothing stronger than the friendship of teenage girls. So thank you to my friends, my flower-huns, who have been with me since I was a young teenage girl: Ellie Bailey, Lucy Brown, Camilla Bunney, Olivia Crossman, Alex Davis, Elspeth Fraser, Alice Revens and Hannah Turner. (Thanks for letting me steal parts of your names.) And to Emma Thwaites, my oldest friend, thanks for helping me hone my story-telling skills with all those terrible plays and songs we wrote throughout our childhood, and to Birgitta and Dominic too.
To my author friends for walking this (sometimes) very scary road with me. To Aisha Bushby, I’m not sure I could have gotten through the intense writing of this book without you there as my constant companion. Thank you to Katya Balen for all her copious, sharp-tongued wisdom, and the best damn cocktails. To Yasmin Rahman for always being there, and for your hot takes / deep dives into various TV shows. To Joseph Elliott for always seeing the bright side, and for being a killer companion in escape rooms and board games. To Sarah Juckes, firstly for having such great dungarees game, and for being so damn hard-working and inspiring. To Struan Murray for being annoyingly talented at everything, and for watching the same nerdy Youtube channels as me. To Savannah Brown for our writing dates, and for pausing them so I could actually write this book instead of just chatting. And to Lucy Powrie for all the amazing things you do for UKYA, and your excellent internet skills; Pip could learn a thing or two from you.
To Gaye, Peter and Katie Collis for again being among the very first readers of this new book and for always being such great cheerleaders. In an alternate universe, this book would have been called Good Girl, Bad Ass *wink face*.
Thanks to everyone in my family who read and supported the first book, with special shout-outs to Daisy and Ben Hay, and Isabella Young. Good to know murder enthusiasm runs in the family.
To my mum and dad for giving me everything, including my love of stories. Thank you for always believing in me, even when I didn’t. To my big sister, Amy, for all your support (and your cute kids), and my little sister, Olivia, for actually getting me out of the house while writing this book and probably keeping me sane. To Danielle and George – nope sorry, you’re still too young for this book. Try again in a few years.
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