Cruel Summer

by James Dawson

  Suddenly, she heard a clatter. At first, Katie thought she’d kicked the soup off her legs somehow, but then she realised it was plates smashing and cutlery chiming against the kitchen floor. Her eyes flew open. ‘Gran?’ she called shakily.

  She heard her name in response, but her gran’s voice was weak and breathless. What was going on? Her muscles aching, Katie moved the tray to one side and swung her legs out from under the covers. As she rose to her feet, her vision swam and the room zoomed in and out of focus. ‘Gran?’ she repeated.

  Using the walls for support, Katie ventured onto the landing and over to the top of the stairs. More crashing noises came from the kitchen. ‘Gran, are you OK?’ she called, slowly making her way downstairs. Every step felt like it was lurching up at her; she clung to the bannister with both hands.

  ‘Oh, Katie.’ Her gran was sitting on the kitchen floor, her right arm clutching her left. ‘There are people in the garden. Call the police.’

  ‘What?’ The walls slid in and out like a shrinking room in a funhouse. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘In the garden.’ Gran’s lips were white. ‘Katie, I need my tablets. They’re in my handbag.’

  Unsure which way to turn, Katie first ran to the kitchen window. Figures darted across the lawn. They wore something on their heads, like bags or masks. Whoever they were, they were making a getaway.

  Katie charged towards the front door. What had they done to Gran? Fury burned off the effects of her fever.

  ‘Katie, don’t, it’s not safe! Katie, I need my tablets.’

  But Katie wasn’t listening. There was no way they were getting away with this. It was bound to be some morons from school. She threw open the front door. Beyond the gate was a limousine – just like the one she was meant to be riding in tonight. She spied a red dress slipping into the back seat . . . Janey. This didn’t make sense. Had her friends come to pick her up? Hadn’t they heard she was sick?

  But then she saw the mask. Horrible. Nightmarish. Worn by Ben. He pulled it off his head and clambered after Janey into the back of the car, the mask somehow falling to the ground and landing in a puddle on the uneven drive.

  Katie stumbled out of the door, but by the time she had reached the gate, the car was already speeding away, kicking up gravel and dirt. She staggered back to the house, her addled brain struggling to make sense of the events – her friends . . . her grandmother . . .

  ‘Katie!’ Her gran’s voice was weaker now. Katie slammed the door and sprinted back to the kitchen. Gran was slumped over, her eyes half-closed and her mouth hanging open as if all the strength had left her body.

  ‘Gran!’ Katie cried, as her grandmother’s eyes fluttered shut. ‘Gran, don’t leave me . . .’

  ‘So there you go,’ Katie concluded. ‘You killed my gran. You literally scared her to death.’

  A moment’s silence followed this revelation.

  ‘Your grandma was Mrs Finching?’ Alisha was agog. She cowered against the far wall, arms hugging her legs. ‘You never said.’

  Katie looked at Alisha like she was the scum of the earth. It was refreshing to give up the good-girl act. Being Saint Katie had been bloody hard work. ‘Does that make a difference? Would you have let her off if you’d known? Do you only kill old ladies if they’re strangers? Not that she was a stranger. You all knew her.’

  ‘But . . . we didn’t know,’ Ryan said in a pathetic voice.

  ‘I don’t care!’ Katie snapped. ‘When I started school she told me not to tell people I was her granddaughter because she knew I’d get all kinds of grief for it. She knew what people thought of her. But that isn’t what matters. What matters is that you gave her a heart attack.’

  ‘It was just a joke,’ Greg breathed. He wasn’t looking too healthy. Gems of sweat shone on his forehead.

  ‘Oh, yeah, bloody hysterical. I especially liked the bit where the police wouldn’t investigate because she died of “natural causes”. Between that – and Janey’s vanishing act being so much more important than a sick old woman – you all got away with murder.’

  ‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ Greg said – only about a year too late. ‘We didn’t know she had heart trouble.’

  ‘You knew she was an old woman. What did you think was gonna happen?’

  ‘B-but . . .’ Alisha chipped in, looking terrified, ‘I heard about Mrs Finching’s death. It happened months later – like, in the autumn, after you’d all left. There was an assembly at school.’

  That was the wrong thing to say. That was exactly what the police had said. Katie kicked the coffee table halfway across the lounge. ‘I DON’T CARE!’ she screamed, the noise tearing at her throat. ‘She never left the hospital after that night. She never got better. IT WAS YOU.’

  ‘She was ill . . .’ Ryan started.

  ‘It was you.’ Katie composed herself, pushing the burning hate as far down as she could.

  ‘We never meant to hurt anyone.’ Ben gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles white.

  Katie tilted her head, unsure whether to pity his ignorance or scratch his eyes out for being so blind. ‘Well, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? You don’t think. Any of you. For ten years I’ve watched you play out these self-important little soap operas. You’re each at the centre of a personal galaxy and, if something doesn’t affect you directly, then you don’t even notice it exists.’ Ben was about to protest, but Katie ploughed on. ‘“Ooh, I’m secretly gay”, “Boohoo, my mum and dad prefer my brother”, “Wah, my dad’s cheating on my mum”. The world revolves around you. Everyone else is just a bit part. You left Janey to fall off a cliff. Roxanne died and all you could think about was what would happen to you. You killed my grandma and you didn’t even stop to realise what you’d done. You were all too busy with your own precious lives.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Ben blinked, like he couldn’t see straight.

  ‘Isn’t it? At least Ryan knows TV’s messed up his head. You’re all such sodding stereotypes – screwed-up rich kids with too much time on their hands. You’d think from your constant moaning that you knew real pain, real suffering. You’ve never known anything about it! Not until now, anyway.’

  ‘What about you? You’re no different. People die all the time, Katie – what makes you so effing special?’ Ryan hissed through gritted teeth.

  Katie laughed. ‘Oh, I’m the biggest stereotype of all,’ she said. ‘Good girl gone bad.’

  ‘What are you going to do with us?’ Ben asked, resting his heavy head on the back of the armchair.

  Katie sighed; all this talk was giving her a sore throat. ‘Why aren’t you people dead yet? I knew I should have mixed it stronger.’

  ‘Tell us!’ Greg demanded. ‘We have a right to know.’

  The anger flared up, blinding white and noisy. Katie flew across the room and seized Greg’s face in her hands, squeezing his skull. ‘You killed my gran. You don’t have rights, you self-centred bastard!’ That wasn’t going to help. She immediately cooled herself mentally and smoothed down her T-shirt. ‘We’re gonna have one last barbecue tonight.’

  Ryan’s face fell. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s kind of clever, actually. I get to piss off my stepmum by torching her beloved villa and you lot get fried. As I understand it, it’s pretty hard to detect traces of poison in crispy ashes.’ Now they all looked really scared. Good. ‘Luckily, I’ll somehow escape to tell the tale.’ Katie turned to see Ben, not sobbing like the others, but instead coolly regarding her through heavy eyelids. ‘What?’ she snapped.

  ‘This isn’t you. I know you. You’re sick. Grief can totally mess with your head. We can get you help, Katie.’

  ‘That’d be convenient, wouldn’t it? If I’d lost my mind or gone mad or something. Well, sorry, you’re shit out of luck. This is about justice – except for poor Roxanne. I wasn’t actually planning on killing her when I did. I was going to poison you all together but, given her amazing blackmail plot, I had to speed things up.’ She looked at Alisha. ‘
You know that photo Rox had of me and my mum? That was from my gran’s house. Her bloody uncle only bought the farm after Gran died. Roxanne was all up on Facebook telling me how she knew who I really was – Mrs Finching’s grandaughter.’

  ‘That’s why you invited her.’ Ryan’s face was now the same sticky, sweaty grey as Greg’s.

  ‘She was the only one who knew. It’s a shame – she had nothing to do with killing Gran, but I had to make sure no one could figure out what I’d done. Anyway, she was another one who thought she could do what she liked and get away with it. It wasn’t ideal, but I had to leave her body in the pool because Ben came down to the kitchen and I was worried he’d see me.’ She’d so nearly been spotted; the whole plan almost derailed in a split second. It had taken the best part of two days for her to get everything back on track. ‘The funny thing is,’ she went on, ‘I knew, I knew you’d never call the cops. I just stood back and watched – hell, I even begged you to call them. I knew you’d do anything to save your own skins . . . but Ben, you were the biggest disappointment.’

  ‘Why?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘Because I’m not the guy you thought I was?’

  ‘You can say that again. I mean, Ben, what are you supposed to think when you see your first ever boyfriend, someone you truly, truly loved, running away after he’s killed your grandma? Do you have any idea what that felt like? How much it hurt?’

  He held out a hand to her, which she took. His palm was cold and clammy. He stood to face her. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I loved you, too. Maybe we could still give it a go?’

  ‘Nice try, but it’s not James Bond; there isn’t an antidote.’ Katie could scream, she really could. Scream at herself for ever being suckered in by his dreamy eyes and welcoming arms. She had allowed herself to love him, but she saw love now for what it was – brain rot. She’d let him into her system and she’d lost a part of herself. ‘I thought you were pretty pathetic before you just confessed all about Janey, but, God, you didn’t even have the balls to save her!’

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be. I’m not a hero.’

  The sadness of it made Katie feel awkward. She hadn’t wanted any chat and yet it had become quite the dénouement. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘No need to cry about it.’

  Ben leaned in and touched her face. ‘You know, you can say what you like, but I really did love you.’

  She wanted to hate him, but those words cut right through her. No matter how much she tried to rid herself of him, he was still inside her heart. Flickering Instagram moments of the kiss on the cliffs played through her brain. She pushed them away, but they were surprisingly stubborn, refusing to leave her mind’s eye. ‘It’s too late, Ben.’

  He looked deep into her eyes, stroking her hair. ‘What about one more kiss for old times’ sake?’

  His breath brushed against her lips. She was so close she could almost taste him. What harm would a goodbye kiss do? It was the final curtain for Katie and Ben . . .

  His lips touched hers, and every other kiss they’d ever had replayed itself in her head. He was so gentle. It was white feathers in slow-motion.

  He kissed her harder, hungrily, but she caught his wrist. This didn’t make sense. He was dying and she was the one killing him. That only makes really specific people horny.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered. Ben gulped, guilt all over his face. ‘I said, what are you doing?’ she repeated fiercely.

  He held onto her, but she batted him away. He was barely strong enough to even hold himself up any more and he flopped back into the armchair. She turned her head and saw that Greg and Ryan had finally lost consciousness. They were slumped side by side on the sofa. She twisted the other way.

  ‘Shit!’ she hissed.

  Alisha had vanished.

  SCENE 37 – ALISHA

  Alisha was under the bed in the master bedroom. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her breathing. The faintest whistle down a nostril could get her killed. This was not a good hiding place. This was bound to be the first place Katie would look. Alisha had raced to the bedroom for the phone, but quickly discovered it had been ripped out of the wall.

  Katie has gone mad. I don’t want to die. Is Greg dead? I can’t get out. I want to go home. Panicky half-formed ideas and images ran through Alisha’s head. She wanted the world to go away, but it wouldn’t let up for a second. She was being deluged.

  She knew she didn’t have much time until Katie noticed she had gone. Ben’s delaying tactics would only work for so long. The front door and windows were all locked shut. The front windows, in typical bloody Spanish style, were covered with ornate iron bars. Katie had seen to it that they were trapped.

  Katie. Jesus Christ. Something in her head must have snapped. If the brain’s a machine, then a cog had definitely come loose. Katie had made a point of telling them all how sane she felt, but Alisha begged to differ. It was also too soon to let thoughts about Greg enter her head. She was going to feel so, so guilty. But not now. And Ben . . . oh God, she’d been so wrong about Ben.

  She’d never been so grateful for giving up drinking. Going tee-total had been a lot easier than she’d thought it would be. All those people who’d called her ‘alcoholic’ could stick that where the sun don’t shine.

  The role of ‘hot mess’ had been brilliant when Alisha was fifteen. She’d loved the notoriety. She’d been a freaking rockstar at Longview High. But when all her friends had gone to university and Greg had moved to Brighton, everything changed. It wasn’t cool being drunk when there was no one to laugh with. More to the point, she couldn’t spend another year at home. She had to get out, so she had to be sober.

  Although there wouldn’t be another year anywhere if she didn’t get out of this nightmare.

  All week she’d been ditching drinks into the sand, pot plants, bushes, whatever was nearest. She had kept it a secret for two reasons. The first was the summer she’d decided to be a vegetarian. As soon as she’d declared it, people had started wafting bacon sandwiches under her nose – people are tools like that. The second was, if she was honest, she hadn’t trusted herself not to have a bad day (she’d come so close to drinking yesterday), and she’d figured that if she didn’t make grand statements about being sober, then she couldn’t possibly fail.

  Later on she might think about destiny or fate but, right now, Alisha had to survive. Katie wants me dead. I don’t want to die. I have to get out.

  Feet thundered up the stairs. Alisha’s time was up. Her hips and chest were pressed against cold, dusty tiles and, from where she lay, she could see only a section of the landing beyond the bedroom door. Night was falling fast, too. Only murky grey evening light filtered through the blinds.

  A door slammed into a wall – it must have been the bathroom door as Alisha could see the corners of the entrances to both other bedrooms. She heard the telltale shriek of the shower curtain scraping back along its rail. Another slam and a pair of Converse-clad feet padded from the bathroom into the room Alisha had shared with Katie. Thankfully, Katie seemed to be taking the rooms in order of proximity, not logic.

  How could Katie do this to them? They’d been friends forever. How can you kill people? It’s not like swatting flies! There must be things inside Katie that weren’t joined up right, otherwise she just wouldn’t be able to. Alisha knew she’d never be able to. That’s when it hit her: she might have to kill Katie. Her tears pooled on the tiles.

  There was more banging and crashing as Katie turned over their room. Wardrobe doors clattered and Alisha heard the mattress being yanked off the bedframe. Katie was like a bulldozer. Alisha slid further under the bed, her heart galloping. If Katie chose this room next, there was nowhere for her to go. She considered changing position – moving into the wardrobe or en suite – but both options felt like she’d be backing herself into an even smaller corner.

  Katie’s feet moved back onto the landing. She paused at the op
en door to the master bedroom. Alisha held her breath.

  Katie chose the closed door to Ryan and Ben’s room. This was it. Alisha had to move now. She rolled onto her back and found herself staring up at a knife. She had to blink to check she wasn’t hallucinating, but between the bed slats and the mattress was the dagger from the old shipwreck. Greg must have hidden it under the bed when the detective had visited that morning.

  Oh, this changes everything, Alisha thought. Game on.

  SCENE 38 – RYAN

  Ryan’s eyes opened. He must have drifted off. He remembered Alisha creeping for the stairs, but then he’d faded out. From upstairs, he heard the bang and clatter of furniture being overturned and wardrobe doors slamming: Katie searching for Alisha, he guessed.

  Of course the killer had been Katie. Ryan cursed himself for failing to see it coming. It’s always the second-least-likely person. If he was the least likely (as the main character) then Katie would have been the obvious choice. No one could be as sweet and innocent as she seemed. Even pretending it was telly didn’t make it better, and, anyway, Ryan couldn’t pretend any more. He loved Katie Grant and she was killing him. This was really happening. Katie’s vengeance was a real, raw red.

  Ryan slid off the sofa. Ben was lying on the floor. His long legs stuck out from behind the armchair. He must have tried to make a run for it, too. He’d not made it very far.

  Ryan’s head spun. It felt like being eighteenth-birthday drunk, or having a really bad fever, or maybe like going under anaesthetic at the hospital. It was all of those at the same time and all he wanted to do was sleep – but it wasn’t sleep, it was death. That’s what death is, Ryan realised: it comes to you disguised as sleep, it fools you. He fought to keep his eyes open.