Cruel Summer

by James Dawson

  However, as soon as he heard Alisha shout, ‘I can’t take this any more,’ he and Greg sprang to attention.

  ‘Is that Lish?’ Greg rubbed his eyes.

  ‘What is she doing?’ They rolled off the bed, Greg searching for the nearest pair of pants. He selected some Hollister sweat shorts and hoisted them on, almost collapsing to the floor in the process. Ryan was way ahead of him. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Alisha hauling her suitcase across the lounge, collecting the things she’d left scattered down there. ‘Alisha, what are you doing?’

  She turned to face him, her nostrils flared. ‘I don’t know why I’ve listened to you, Ryan, but I’m not playing the sassy brown sidekick in your weird little soap opera any more. I’m going home and I’m calling the police. I’m confessing!’

  He reached her position and tried to snatch the suitcase from her, but she yanked it back. Greg hovered behind him, while Ben looked on in shock from the kitchen. ‘Alisha, you can’t! Don’t you understand? We got away with it. Whoever killed Rox isn’t going to say anything – and neither are we.’

  ‘But what about the writing on the wall, Ryan? We’re never gonna be safe until we tell the truth. It’s the only way.’

  ‘Alisha, please. For me,’ Greg appealed.

  ‘Nice try, Greg. I’m not listening to you any more. This time you’re wrong and I’m right. I’m calling the police and you can’t stop me.’

  There were footsteps behind them as Katie trotted down the stairs in her plimsolls. She wore a grave expression.

  ‘What’s up?’ Ryan asked. ‘You look awful.’

  Alisha’s babbling stopped in a heartbeat and Ryan realised it had been an act – a convincing one, at that. She was good.

  Alisha, in her normal voice, said, ‘Have you done it?’

  Katie nodded. A very slight nod because her neck and jaw seemed to be deadlocked.

  ‘What? What have you done?’ demanded Greg.

  ‘The police are on their way.’ Katie walked right past them all and slid the patio doors shut before locking them.

  Ryan realised that Alisha’s performance had been nothing more than a diversion to get him and Greg out of the master bedroom, so that Katie could reach the phone. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ His voice shot up about three octaves. She was locking them in and the police were on their way. They were screwed.

  ‘No.’ Alisha went to Katie’s side. ‘We know who did it.’

  ‘We found Roxanne’s evidence,’ Katie added.

  Ryan looked to his left, waiting for Greg to explode, steeling himself against the inevitable blast. But Greg failed to detonate. He started giggling instead; it was more than a little creepy.

  ‘Brilliant. We’re all going to jail,’ Greg chuckled.

  Ryan turned to his friends. If Greg wasn’t gonna say something, he bloody well was. ‘Have you lost your minds? What were you thinking? We had this under control!’

  ‘We know everything,’ Katie said calmly. ‘Who killed Janey. Who killed Roxanne. When the police get here, we just need to give them the evidence.’

  ‘When will they be here?’ Ryan demanded. ‘How long have we got?’ The sky was falling. This was the end of the world as he knew it. For the first time, Ryan felt more than justified in his drama-queenery.

  ‘I don’t know. They said they’d be here as soon as possible. Before nightfall, I guess,’ Katie replied.

  Ben cleared his throat and Ryan looked up to see that his friend’s skin had turned a sickly green. ‘What did you find?’ Ben asked.

  ‘As if we’re gonna tell you!’ Alisha snapped, eyes wild.

  Ryan clutched at his hair. ‘Oh, my God. We’re screwed. We’re actually screwed.’

  ‘Only one of us is guilty.’ Katie looked almost apologetic. ‘I’ve locked all the doors, so none of us is going anywhere until the police arrive.’

  ‘So, what?’ Ryan spat. ‘We just sit and wait to get arrested?’ His T-shirt was soaked with sweat but his mouth was bone-dry.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Katie held her head high. ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drink. Anyone care to join me?’ She crossed the kitchen to the fridge and pulled out the jug of sangria.

  Was she tripping? ‘Oh, yeah! Why don’t we all sit around and have cocktails? It’s only the end of the world . . . Let’s get nibbles, too!’

  Katie pulled glasses out of the top cabinet. ‘Ryan,’ she said pointedly, ‘you’ll be fine. Relax.’

  What was that supposed to mean? He knew he hadn’t killed anyone, and now Katie apparently did, too. His mind whirred. What had been in Roxanne’s possession, and, more importantly, how had he missed it in his search? ‘What do you mean, I’ll be fine?’ Ryan asked.

  Katie ignored Ryan’s question and carried the jug through to the lounge. As she set it down on the coffee table, a wave of the red liquid sloshed over the rim and onto the wood. She wiped it away with a hand so it wouldn’t stain. Even in their final hour, Katie Grant still wanted things to be perfect. Ryan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘Is everyone having some?’ Katie offered.

  ‘Last supper,’ Greg muttered, staring into space. ‘Why not? I could use a drink.’

  Katie poured out five glasses. Ben waited by the patio doors, leaning up against them. He was a sad silhouette, drowning in satsuma-coloured light. ‘I don’t understand. Where did you find it?’ He sounded like a man with nothing left. Ryan stared at him in disbelief – surely not Ben?

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Katie handed out the drinks. As she gave one to Ben, she stroked his hand. ‘What matters is that all of this will be over.’

  Ryan practically snatched a glass from her and took a gulp of sangria.

  Alisha sniffed hers experimentally. ‘I’m sorry, Ryan,’ she said, ‘but you were dead wrong, mate. There was no way we’d have got away with this. Like, no chance in Hell. It would have been with us until the day we died. Graduation, weddings, babies, their graduations. It would always be there. There’s no way I’m living like that. We had to call the police.’

  It was so unbearably hot. The peachy evening light cooked them through the windows as if they were ants under a magnifying glass. Ryan swigged another mouthful of the sangria and held the glass to his face, allowing the condensation to trickle down his cheek.

  Ben pushed away from the window and sat in the armchair. He sipped his drink and closed his eyes. He had given up. Surely not Ben . . .

  ‘Wait.’ Ryan gulped at his drink with a shaking hand. ‘I bloody well know I didn’t have anything to do with Janey’s death or Roxanne’s. You two wouldn’t have called the police if it had been either of you, so that just leaves Greg and Ben.’

  Katie remained silent, avoiding eye-contact. Alisha stared into her glass, also saying nothing.

  ‘Why would I have killed Janey?’ Greg couldn’t muster the passion to rant and rave. He looked exhausted. Ryan still couldn’t bring himself to ‘out’ him. He wanted to point out that Janey could well have seen the video of them, but that seemed like paranoia (and Ryan was pretty sure Janey would have said something to him had she seen it), so that only left . . .

  ‘Ben?’ The word only just managed to crawl out of Ryan’s mouth.

  Ben didn’t open his eyes. He sat with his head back on the chair. A tear had run over his cheek and into the corner of his mouth.

  Ryan fought back tears, too. He could handle Greg being a killer – he understood it in a way – but not his oldest friend. ‘Ben, look at me. What did you do?’

  Ben’s eyes opened and another tear ran down his cheek. ‘I,’ Ben started. His voice broke. He sat forward and rested his glass on his knee. ‘OK. You have to believe me. This is what happened . . .’

  FLASHBACK – LAST YEAR (BEN)

  Ben tugged at the bow tie around his neck. The bloody thing was choking him like a leash. He undid his top button and finished the last of his beer, pitching the bottle at the bin. It bounced off the rim and missed. Typical.
Everything about this night had been an epic miss. He messed up his hair, trying to get rid of the itchy gel. Who was he kidding? Trying to be a good, clean Head Boy – Cambridge material, boyfriend material.

  He was neither. Ben always felt like he was being stalked by failure. All the flukes and strokes of luck, all the popularity contests he had no idea how he won. It was like the devil was on his back sometimes, waiting for him to put a foot wrong, ready to claim his payment. Now, sitting alone on the bench outside Janey’s house, it felt like his luck had finally run out. He’d cheated on his girlfriend. And he’d been caught.

  He retrieved his phone. It had survived being flung at him. He’d texted Katie about an hour ago, as soon as Janey had stormed out of the gymnasium. The text he’d sent had read: Janey knows about us. What do you want me to do? He knew better than to send text-speak to Katie; it was her pet hate.

  Still no reply. He knew she was sick. She was probably asleep by now, but he lived in hope she might wake and pick up the message. He couldn’t do this by himself – he needed to know he had at least one friend left. His mum always said he was a people-pleaser and he was. He hated the idea of people being angry with him, but that hadn’t stopped him from playing with fire. The last few weeks felt as if they’d been lived by someone else while he’d been on the outside looking in. How else could his casual, breezy existence have gone so wrong?

  He’d hurt Janey and jeopardised his friendship with Katie. He loathed himself. He was worse than his cheating scumbag dad. The way he’d treated his mum was a disgrace, always had been, and even though Ben had spent all his life trying not to be his dad, here he was doing exactly the same thing. The sooner he got out of this dismal town, the better. He needed to escape from all of them: Mum, Dad, Janey, Katie. The college chapter of his life couldn’t have come at a better time.

  He dialled Janey’s mobile. He needed to man-up and explain, try to unpick the jumble of knots in his head. After a moment of static, it went straight to voicemail. The house behind him was pitch-dark, but he rang her landline regardless. He could hear the shrill tone through the window, but no one came to answer. God only knew where the rest of the Bradshaws were.

  He could think of only one other place to look for Janey: the beach. Her home was so near to the cliffs that she would often walk the dog there late at night to clear her head. That was how he knew there was more to Janey than people realised. Everyone thought they were a weird couple – he was so laid back he was practically horizontal, while Janey was pretty much the living definition of a Type A/control freak personality. Every once in a while, however, she’d say or do something – just a silly little thing – and he’d see the real her. When she wasn’t trying to be cool, Ben thought, Janey was pretty cool.

  But it wasn’t enough. It made him feel like shit, but when he was with Janey there was something missing: a hole. He knew, and had known all along, that the relationship wasn’t going to last. If only he’d had the balls to tell her that in the first place. If only he hadn’t kissed Katie. He’d made such a mess of everything, and now he had to clean it up. He would not be his father.

  Ben jammed his phone back in the pocket of his rented tux and raced across the coast road to the cliff path. A speeding cabby honked his horn as Ben crossed, even though he was nowhere near the vehicle. Ben screamed a curse at the taxi driver, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

  Janey lived opposite the kiosk and children’s play area that overlooked the sea. It was a beautiful summer night – so balmy it almost felt like being abroad – and he became more convinced of his beach theory. He ran across the middle of the play area and heard voices. ‘Janey?’ he called, before realising the voices were mainly male. One of them he recognised as belonging to Kyle Norton, who apparently hadn’t found Ryan’s doorstep deposit yet. God, those pranks felt like a million years ago.

  Kyle was drinking on the clifftop benches with what looked like the arty music crowd. Roxanne and Callum were engaged in a noisy public display of affection on a picnic table, with Rox moaning and groaning like a bad porn star.

  Ben looked around, but Janey wasn’t with them. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Has anyone seen Janey?’

  ‘Ooh, look who’s turned up.’ Roxanne pulled out of the kiss, her red lips smudged. ‘It’s notorious love rat, Ben Murdoch.’

  ‘Dude!’ said Callum. ‘You are a DOG!’

  Ben sighed. ‘Can we not do this right now, please? Also, Callum, you cheated on Alisha, you tool.’ Alisha Cole deserved ten times better than this cocky, greasy-haired turd.

  That knocked the smirk off Roxanne’s face. ‘Gotta say, I’m impressed,’ she snarled. ‘Didn’t think you had it in you, Benji. Quite the player!’

  ‘I’m not . . . I didn’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Roxanne.’

  ‘Are you looking for her so you can beg her to take you back?’ Roxanne asked in a sing-song voice. ‘I warned her about you. I said you were still in love with Katie, but, oh, no, Janey knows best!’

  Ben counted to five. Dear God, the next time Alisha wanted to punch this girl he’d be buying front-row seats. ‘Look. Have you seen her, or not?’

  ‘I have not.’ Roxanne smiled sweetly – the smile that, infuriatingly, seemed to convince teachers she wasn’t the spawn of Satan. ‘We only just got here from the ball.’

  Damn. He looked over the edge of the cliff. All that waited at the bottom was the surf creeping over the shingle. ‘Thanks for nothing.’

  ‘PHOTO!’ screamed Kyle, waving his camera phone. Roxanne and Callum struck a pose.

  ‘Do I look sexy?’ Roxanne pouted. Ben rolled his eyes.

  ‘I’ll do another, wait a sec . . . Say “cheese”, bitches!’ This time another couple leapt into frame and much cackling and screaming ensued.

  Ben walked away. He aimed for the cliff stairs, the worn zigzag pathway that led all the way down to the beach. He held on to the rusty rail which felt tacky on his skin, like the sea salt was clinging to the iron. He was thinking about that when he saw her.

  She was further down the coast, next to the Overlook Hotel – just a red speck in the darkness, at the very, very edge of the drop. Janey had been wearing red. He prayed it wasn’t her. He prayed it was a plastic bag caught in the bushes . . . but he knew it wasn’t.

  He charged back up the cliff stairs, vaulting over the rails and onto the coastal walk which led all the way along the top of the cliffs. Some of the vintage deco lamps were broken, but they gave enough light for him to be able to make out a female form standing at the very edge of the rocks.

  There’s no way she’d be so stupid, he thought as he began to pant. She wouldn’t, would she? Maybe she would. This was his fault. He’d done this. He ran faster, his feet pounding the tarmac. It was a long time since he’d played any sort of sport and his chest burned, desperate for air. Flashes of pain shot up his shins, his legs unused to the punishment.

  Oh, God, she was going to jump. She swayed backwards and forwards, like she was being charmed over the edge by the lull of the wind. Her scarlet dress swished around her legs; her hair fluttered like a veil across her face. No, no, no! Oh, God, no! He’d never meant for this to happen. He just wanted everyone to get out of this town, this situation, unscathed. Ben wished he’d never kissed Katie, or that he’d never agreed to date Janey, or that he’d just never even been born.

  He wasn’t religious, but he suddenly got back in touch with God and pleaded. I’ll do anything, he thought. I’ll go to church every single weekend. Just, please, stop her.

  Clutching the railing, he bent over, gasping for air. He couldn’t go on. ‘Janey . . .’ he tried to cry out, but his chest was too tight. He leaned back, trying to haul as much air into his lungs as he could. He had to stop Janey. His calves and thighs were jelly, but he forced them on, ignoring the pain.

  He was getting closer. He could see Janey’s creamy-white skin behind her hair. He could see black tracks running down her cheeks where her make-up had been smudged by t
ears. He could see that she still wept, though her body was statue-still. At least she didn’t seem to be in a hurry, weighing up the vast drop before her.

  But she wasn’t safe. Her feet were right on the very edge. ‘Janey!’ Ben called. She didn’t seem to hear him. A sob shook his body. If she died, it would be all his fault.

  He reached the hotel car park. He was almost there. Janey momentarily vanished from view, blocked by the building. ‘Janey!’ He stumbled onto the lawns, almost tripping over his own feet. His girlfriend was now crouching on the grass, her skirts spilling around her.

  Janey finally heard him. She turned, the wind whipping her hair off her face. He’d never seen her so beautiful: the dress, the hair, her pale skin. She was so raw and wild. Her eyes burned with rage and hate.

  ‘Who’s there?’ She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Fumbling with her gown and unsteady on her heels, Janey rose to her feet. She scanned the plateau, worry creasing her brow.

  Ben realised he was standing in the shadows and she couldn’t see him. He stumbled forwards.

  Janey squinted in his direction. ‘I said, who’s there?’

  Ben staggered out of the shadows. He was sure it couldn’t be healthy for his heart to be racing like this, but he’d got to her in time.

  Janey’s face fell. ‘Oh, it’s you. Don’t come anywhere near me, I mean it. I don’t want to talk to you.’ That said, Ben saw a look of satisfaction in her eyes. She’d been waiting on his arrival, banking on him following her. This was his punishment. She took a step backwards, her heel only inches from the very edge of the cliff.

  He reached out towards her, offering her a hand away from the fall.

  ‘Stay away!’ she snapped.

  ‘Janey, please.’ He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What does it bloody look like?’

  ‘You do not want to kill yourself.’

  ‘How do you know? Do you know what this feels like? Has anyone ever ripped your heart out?’ she shrieked over the howling wind.