I put my sandwich plate onto the sofa and excuse myself with my mouth full. “Back in a minute.”
I follow Mum upstairs, quietly, and slip into her room. She sits at her makeup table, looking sad. “Mummy?”
“Oh, hi, big baby,” she says. That’s another of my nicknames, but only Mum says that one. She turns around and opens her arms, and I climb right onto her lap for a cuddle. “My lovely, lovely girl,” she says. “My wild girl.”
I smile. But then I frown again. “Mummy, why did Daddy lie about being violent?”
She doesn’t say anything. Just cuddles me.
“Do you think he could be the killer?” I whisper.
“Oh God,” she pulls me back and looks into my face. “No, Thera, no. Your dad is always going to be…around to protect and love you. And he loved Billie too. And he’s so sorry she died. There is a big difference between shouting loudly and waving your fists sometimes, and the violence it takes to”—her voice goes soft—“kill someone. Sometimes men…” She sighs deeply. “Men are bigger than women, so it looks scary when they throw their fists about. And it’s part of…It’s sort of a male thing, to get into fights. Dad doesn’t like fighting, but sometimes he loses his temper and acts stupidly.” She cuddles me. “Maybe your generation will be better.”
“Is that why you argue all the time?”
“No, Thera.” She pushes me off her and walks out, saying, “Sometimes we don’t see eye to eye, that’s all.” I hear her feet on the stairs.
I gulp, thinking about other men. If Dad smashes lamps, and he’s much better than them, what kinds of things do other men do? What did Mum mean? Mr. Kent. Billie’s dad. The chief of police. Farmer Rawley. Nathan’s dad. There are loads more too, that live in the village, and in Eastcastle. Men are everywhere. If I ran away from here, there would be more men all over the world, men who punch and rape and kill girls like me. Or, at least, pretty girls. I look at my own reflection in the mirror. There is nowhere to hide.
I take Mum’s nail scissors off her table, and I raise them to my hair. One good chop is all it would take to make me really ugly. I stare harder. I have a fierce look on my face when it’s in neutral that I can’t get rid of, and my eyes are intense and staring. If I’m not pretty, then I don’t have to worry about being raped. But on the other hand, if I cut my hair and make myself even more ugly, Nathan will like me less. Maybe everyone will like me less. What do I want to be? Pretty or ugly? I close the scissors on the strand of hair in front of my face, and it falls on the makeup table.
“Thera!” Dad is yelling up the stairs. “We’re off!”
Poopsticks. “Coming!” I yell. I turn back to my reflection. I’ve chopped off the front-left bit at chin length. With no time to chop off all my hair, I hold out the front-right bit and chop that off too. Now I look like Ginger Spice.
Sam was very specific about which candle he wanted to take to light at the memorial. He wanted it to smell like cinnamon, because it was one of Billie’s favorite smells. I said I didn’t remember her saying that, but he started crying and said she did so say that, so I hugged him better and Mum bought him the candle. He was just trying to do the right thing by her. I chose a purple candle. Billie’s favorite color. Tonight, when I take the cellophane off it, I realize it smells like lavender: Billie’s favorite plant. “I know you’re here with me,” I whisper, a tear running over my cheek.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Dad says. “We don’t want to be late.”
We walk through the village to the church. It’s 7:00 p.m. and still very light. We look very smart, and I am proud of us. Dad is wearing a suit, and so is Mum, except she has a skirt on, and Sam is wearing smart black pants with a shirt and a tie. I am wearing a purple velvet dress over a long-sleeved lacy white top. It’s quite warm, but Billie had the same thing and it was our favorite outfit. I also have new shoes I got just before Billie went missing. They are black, in canvas, and I begged Mum for them. She finally bought them for me because the platforms aren’t as high as the ones that broke Baby Spice’s ankle. I think she was worried that I couldn’t run in them. Now, with Billie gone, I realize why I might need to run well in all my shoes. An attacker could come at any time. I think Mum thinks it could easily have been me that was killed. I should tell her it couldn’t have been me, because Billie is prettier. Was. But really, still is. Even though she’s dead. Maybe Mum wouldn’t be so upset then.
We don’t use the cut when we walk to the memorial; instead we go the proper way, through the village. The police are all around us. They nod at us as we pass. Going the main roadway means I can see Nathan for ages before we get close to him. He is standing by the fence, but a little way away from the gate, because lots of people are going in. His arms are folded, and he is also looking quite smart. As we get closer I realize he is wearing his school uniform, but just the shirt and pants, without the sweater and tie. He doesn’t look like a murderer. He looks like a normal, really cute boy.
“Hi, Nathan,” I say as we approach.
“Hi,” he says. He looks at my dad warily.
“Are you coming in with us, Nathan?” Dad says. He told me he knows Nathan because he works in the open, out in the carpentry yard, and the village kids walk past it all the time.
“Um,” Nathan says, awkwardly. “Yeah, if it’s all right.”
“Of course.”
“This is my friend Nathan,” I tell Mum.
Mum smiles at him, but Nathan blushes and looks down. I nudge him and he says, “What?”
When we get into the church, I see there are hundreds of people there. Dad decides we will stay near the back. I nod quickly. Billie’s mum and dad are up front and I blush, thinking about what she said about it being my fault. I hope they don’t turn around and see me. I think about that Saturday, how I led Billie off to meet her killer. Possibly. Depending on if the pervert is the walker. I start to cry, silently, but then I brush my tears away. Like Hattie said, if Billie is haunting me it’s because she has unfinished business. That business could be that her killer is free. I have to try not to cry so I can focus on the people around me. On TV, the killer always comes back. Maybe he’s here right now. If I could just interview Billie properly, I could solve this thing. But her ghost hasn’t written to me since she wrote “Find me,” and I haven’t seen her since the playground. All I have is that message from Jenny.
We shuffle into one of the church pews and, just as I am getting in place, I look up, and there’s Billie. She is standing next to her mum, with her arm around her. Her blondey-brown hair falls in a long braid down her back, with wisps of curls coming out of it. Billie’s mum looks at Billie’s dad, and her face crinkles up with tears. Billie sticks her nose right between them, but they don’t notice. It must be so sad for Billie, that her mum and dad don’t see her, and so scary to be dead. Billie turns and looks straight at me. She makes a face, like “Oh poop.” In life, Billie never got really sad, or really mad, or anything negative. She would just say, “Oh poop” at things. Even when she was ill, she just told me, “I feel like a bum.” In death she is exactly the same: brave and funny and weird. As I’m watching her, Billie scans the crowd as if she is searching for someone, and then one of the four other dead girls walks out from another aisle. It’s the Asian one, with the long black hair. She walks toward me. I grab the end of the pew, wondering about running. She looks so pale and frightening. Behind her, Billie nods at me, and taps her nose with her pointer finger. She wants me to understand something. I look at the girl again, frowning, and then, as she gets near to me, suddenly she becomes a black dog and leaps for me. I jump, and then I feel Nathan’s hand on my arm.
“What’s wrong?”
The black dog is gone. I stare at him before I get myself together. “Nothing.”
Nathan’s hand slowly slips off my arm, but I can feel the grip even after it’s gone. He is stronger than he looks. I sense his boyishness. He has s
hort, choppy hair, because no one cares whether he is pretty or not. He has scabbed-over scratches on his knuckles. He smells different. Sweatier.
I look around us. There is no sign of the dog. Instead, along the pew behind Billie, I spy Farmer Rawley, who owns the fields around the copse where Billie was killed. Where was he that night? There is creepy Mr. Kent, stood next to Poppy’s mum and dad. Poppy’s mum darts a look at him. Is she frightened? I frown. She moves slightly away from him. I am the only one who notices. Poppy’s dad is a big man. He mends cars. Hattie’s mum’s boyfriend is a man. I don’t know what he does. Hattie’s sister’s new boyfriend is here too. He is seventeen and is much bigger than her. He could kill her while they were having sex easily. He could just put his hands around her neck and squeeze. I wonder if strangling kills you because the man squeezes your throat until there’s no hole for air to go through, or if, one by one, all the tiny thin bones in your neck break, and they all puncture the air hole until it can’t work anymore, and you die. I feel my neck. I look around. There are men literally everywhere.
“I don’t trust them,” I whisper absentmindedly.
Next to me, Nathan leans in closer. “Who?” he murmurs.
“Men.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t. Especially if I were a girl.”
“I’ve seen Billie’s ghost. She’s with other dead girls. They’re haunting me.” I wait for his reaction. I tell him so I can see it, then maybe I’ll know whether he is the killer. He doesn’t look at me, but stares ahead at the service. “Nathan?”
Nathan wipes his forehead, and I notice it’s really sweaty. He keeps looking at the vicar. His skin has gone pale.
Nathan is silent all the way home from the memorial. When I quietly ask him if he’s all right, he nods his head but still doesn’t talk. He seems terrified, which could indicate that he feels guilty. I would imagine he would be just sad, like the rest of us. Hmm.
Sam was very brave in the memorial. I was proud of him when he went up all by himself to light his candle without crying, but he has been wiping tears off his cheeks all the way back. It makes me feel worse.
When we reach our house, Dad says he will walk Nathan home.
“Nah, I’ll be okay,” Nathan says uncomfortably.
“It’s after dark, son,” Dad says softly. “And the trailer park isn’t the safest place at the moment.”
“What trouble is Nathan going to get in?” I say, thinking about all the men at the service. “He’s a boy.”
There’s a pause where Mum, Dad, and Nathan all look at me funny, and then Dad puts his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “We’ll talk about this later, Thera. Come on, mate.”
They walk off together. Nathan doesn’t look happy. I don’t think he likes men either, from what he said in the church. He looks like he’s worried Dad might kill him. I hope Dad’s not bad. I watch through the glass panels in the door as he and Nathan walk away.
“That was a bit insensitive, Thera,” murmurs Mum, over my shoulder. She is leaning against the wall, patting underneath her eyes with a tissue.
I frown. “Why?”
“Oh!” Mum sniffs and walks into the kitchen. She leans over a chair at the kitchen table, like she’s about to collapse and needs the support. She shakes her head. “Just go to your room, sweetie, please.”
I do, because I hate it when Mummy cries. I crawl into bed, feeling tired already, but my mind doesn’t want to sleep. It’s going over everything from tonight, thinking.
Something was up. When Billie tapped her nose, she wanted me to know something about the other dead girl. Why are these ghosts in a group together? Why do they keep changing into black dogs? Are they doing it to protect themselves? In that case, maybe the pervert really is a serial killer. Maybe he has killed all of them, and now Billie too. I keep thinking back to what Hattie said about unfinished business. Two things are obvious:
She is still here, so she isn’t at peace.
She is giving me clues through the other dead girls. Their deaths are linked. But how?
When Dad gets back, he and Mum come into my room with supper. Sam and I always have the same supper: cheese on toast, and milk. Billie used to have it too. I sit in bed, holding my book I got from the library in town last weekend (How to Do Automatic Writing by Edain McCoy) inside another book (Leonardo DiCaprio: The Unauthorized Photobook) to disguise it. Mum puts the plate on the bedside table.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
She sits down on the end of my bed. “It’s okay to be sad. We all are.”
“I know.” I discreetly shut the book. “What’s up?” They never both come in my room. There must be something wrong. They look at each other, and Dad sighs.
“I walked Nathan home to make sure he got there safely, Thera.”
“Okay.”
“You seemed to think I didn’t need to.”
“Well. He’s a boy.”
“Boys get attacked too,” Dad says.
I frown. “By perverts?”
They exchange a glance.
“Don’t use that word,” says Dad.
“Nathan is only two years older than you, Thera,” Mum says. “You never know what might happen.”
“So at what age do boys stop getting attacked and start attacking people?”
“What?” Mum shakes her head. “Sweetheart, you have to stop fixating on these awful…Let’s think about Billie in a nice way. Let’s not think about what happened to her.”
“Someone has to.”
“Yes, but the police are doing that, darling. You just remember all the lovely times you had, playing together. That’s the right way to honor her memory. Okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur, but I’m not sure I agree with Mum. It honors Billie more to try to figure out what her ghost wants.
“Thee,” Dad says, “what did you tell Nathan about ghosts?”
“Uh…nothing. Why?”
“He was spooked on the way home. He said you said something about a ghost?”
“I can’t remember,” I lie, shrugging. “Guess it was an offhand comment or something.”
“We want to tell you something about Nathan, Thera.” Mum looks at Dad again, and he nods. “We’re really pleased you’ve made friends with him, but we want you to be sensitive. He doesn’t have a house like you, or nice things, or presents on his birthday.”
“Oh,” I say, confused. “Why doesn’t he have presents?”
Mum looks uncomfortable. “You are not to repeat this. Some children are really lucky to have lovely parents, like yours. Daddy and I both love you very much. Some children, like Nathan, aren’t so lucky. I think it would be good for you to be extra-nice to him, because he doesn’t get a lot of hugs and love like you do.”
“Hattie said his dad was in prison. He’s a bad man.”
“Yes, but Nathan is not his dad, is he?” Dad says. “So best not to judge.”
“Hattie said, ‘Like father, like son.’”
“Well, we don’t believe that kind of backward rhetoric, do we?”
Granddad taught me what “rhetoric” means. I nod. “We judge people on their actions.”
I nod again. But I don’t know what Nathan Nolan’s actions have been.
“Thera,” Mum cautions, “will you be careful with what you say around him?”
“Because he’s poorer than us, and his dad isn’t nice, and it might upset him?”
“Don’t say that to Nathan,” Mum says quickly.
“I know, Mummy, I’m not stupid.”
They kiss me goodnight, and both give me long hugs. After they leave, I hear them go through to Sam and ask him how he is feeling. Dad reads him a story. I fall asleep listening to Dad’s deep voice softly murmuring through the wall. I
want to get an early night, because I have something to do.
My watch beeps in the dark. I reach over quickly and turn off the alarm. It’s an Action Man watch, with a glow-in-the-dark face. They’re for boys, but I wanted one last Christmas. I guess maybe somewhere in my mind I was planning for just such an occasion as this. The time is twenty-five minutes past midnight. I reach under my bed and find my flashlight, flicking it on. I have to get up at a time when everyone in the house is asleep. Not even Sam can know about my plan. He is much too young.
I pull two pillows that I took from the spare room earlier out from under my bed and stick them under my duvet to look like me, and then I put my big china doll from my other nan on the top of them, and arrange the hair so it looks like I am asleep. Then I put on my hoodie, sneakers, and backpack, and sneak out of my door. Luckily it’s always left ajar so the hall light can get in. I’m a bit afraid of the dark. Or I used to be, but I am getting braver. I have to be, for Billie.
I let myself out the back door and climb over the fence. The moon and stars are quite bright tonight, so I can see my way across the fields. This also means that a murderer might be able to see me, so I keep low to the ground. It’s colder than in the day, but it’s still mild. The weather will probably break again soon, because it’s been so hot. I run up the hill and over the ridge. There is a police car a little way along, so I get off the road again and move away from them. There is another police car by the copse, with the light on inside it. I can see two police officers in there, a man and a woman, drinking something steaming from a flask. I decide to run farther on, through the trailer park, and enter the den from the other side of the copse. Some of the trailers still have their lights on. I wonder what they’re doing up at this hour. I can hear a TV when I go past one, and people laughing on it. Nathan lives in one of these. There are some small ones, and there are some that are longer, or have tents coming off them. I run through them, and over to the trees.
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