13 Minutes-9780575097407

by Sarah Pinborough

  The door opened behind them and Hannah bustled in, clutching a thick ring-binder to her flat chest, a flustered flurry of normality.

  ‘Hey, there you are,’ she said. ‘God, I am so not up for Geography next. I’m sure he’s trying to bore us to death. Why is everything so much harder at A Level? Looking forward to the rehearsal later, though. I’ve had a few ideas about the set, wanted to run them by you—’ She stopped her rushed speaking and her eyes darted from Becca to Jenny and back again. Prey not hunter. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘We’re good,’ Becca said, voice hard.

  Hannah looked at Jenny. ‘You sure, Jen? You look upset.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jenny said, either regaining some control or whatever she’d snorted in the toilet was kicking in and giving her confidence. She smiled at Hannah. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘All right, as long as you’re okay.’

  Becca wondered why Hannah was even the slighted bit concerned. When had the Barbies ever been on her radar? They lived in different worlds and Hannah was just a bug under their shoes. Surely she must know that?

  Jenny nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s nothing. See you at rehearsals.’ She pushed past Becca as if she wasn’t there, and then she was gone.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘I don’t know. She was like that when I came in.’

  ‘Well, you could have been nicer to her. Poor thing.’

  ‘What do you mean, poor thing?’ The idea that Hannah, a damp dishrag of a girl, could feel sorry for someone as glorious as Jenny was beyond Becca’s comprehension. And Jenny would be mortified if she knew. Becca thought she might add it to her arsenal in case she needed it. It would make Jenny crumple. Jenny who might have done something to hurt Tasha, who might even have tried to kill her, being pitied by Hannah Alderton.

  ‘I just feel a bit sorry for her, that’s all,’ Hannah said. ‘She’s had a shitty time of it. Her dad wasn’t very nice at all, from what my mum says.’

  ‘What would your mum know about it?’

  ‘She used to work at the doctor’s surgery down by the Gleberow Estate. She’d see them coming in. Jenny and her mum. Before Jenny’s dad ran off. She heard stories from the doctors.’

  ‘Like what?’ Becca was intrigued.

  ‘Like the sort of thing I promised never to repeat.’

  ‘Not even to me? Oh, come on.’ Hannah was so middle-aged. Who kept stuff like that secret? They were best friends, weren’t they? She felt a stab of shame at that thought. Becca hadn’t been acting much like a best friend recently and Hannah was many things, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew.

  ‘Even to you. She really shouldn’t have told me in the first place.’ Hannah locked herself in a cubicle, ending the conversation. ‘But enough to know that Jenny’s turned out pretty well, all things considered.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Becca muttered, irritated.

  ‘And if you must know, she’s the nicest of the lot of them as far as I’m concerned. She seems quite kind to me. Gentle, underneath it all.’

  Becca wondered how much time Hannah had spent studying Jenny. Had she been aching with envy and creating this little fantasy about who the soft beauty really was? What a load of bullshit. She’d expected more of Hannah.

  ‘What were you doing at lunch, anyway?’ Hannah asked as they emerged for the afternoon’s lessons.

  ‘Oh, nothing, really,’ Becca said, keeping her eyes on the scuffed lino of the school corridor. ‘I got trapped talking to Tasha and couldn’t get away. She bought me a Starbucks and there was a queue, so it took longer to get back to school than I expected.’ She tried not to think about how easily the lie came. What was I doing at lunchtime? Oh, just the usual. You know, trying to figure out if a couple of girls nearly killed their friend the other week. Same old.

  ‘I figured it must be something like that,’ Hannah said, quietly. ‘You two are getting pretty matey again. I still think you should be wary of her. She can be mean. I was in Year One with her. Even then, she was a bully. Let me tell you what happened with the class ham—’

  ‘What are you, my bodyguard?’ Becca snapped, cutting her off. ‘And maybe she’s just growing up. She’s not been mean to me recently. She bought me an expensive chess set as a thank you for visiting her. What am I supposed to do? Ignore her?’ She realised how defensive she sounded and tried to rein it in. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t put it quite like that – matey. She’s just being normal. Does it matter?’

  ‘No,’ Hannah said, her chin lifting defiantly. ‘I suppose it doesn’t.’ They reached the fork in their journeys. ‘I’ll see you at rehearsals,’ she finished, and without even looking at Becca, she strode away. For a moment, Becca felt stung – who was Hannah to get shitty with her? – and then remembered how many times she’d wished Hannah would grow a backbone. She couldn’t have it both ways. Hannah was a bit protective, that was all, and Becca had bitten her head off for it. And you lied, she added. You lied to your friend for a girl who dumped you on your arse. She turned back around to call after her, but Hannah had caught up with a girl Becca didn’t recognise and they were already heads together and talking. She watched as Hannah laughed at something the girl said. That stung, too. Maybe Hannah did have some other friends after all. Becca wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

  Stop being such a bitch, she told herself as she headed to Theatre Tech. You’re in danger of becoming like the Barbies. The Barbies. Whatever the fuck they were.

  Twenty-Eight

  14.10

  Hayley

  Why did you fuck off like that? Leave me there?

  14.11

  Jenny

  Felt sick. Tasha’s remembering!!! Saw Becca in the bathroom. She’s a bitch. I bet she knows!:-(

  14.12

  Hayley

  Don’t think so. She’d

  have said something???

  Don’t know what Tasha remembers anyway.

  If anything. Didn’t say

  much when alone.

  Just looked at me funny.

  14.12

  Jenny

  She said we’d had a fight! She remembers that! I want to be sick. Feel like I can’t breathe.

  14.13

  Hayley

  Don’t think she really remembers. She’d say.

  14.13

  Jenny

  How do u know? U always think u know everything.

  14.13

  Hayley

  I don’t! Just trying

  to be calm.

  14.14

  Jenny

  Seriously thinking of running away. Never stopping.

  14.15

  Hayley

  You’ve got no money.

  You think he’d give you money??? You don’t want to go.

  14.15

  Jenny

  I can’t think straight.

  14.16

  Hayley

  That’s cos you’re never straight! (;-)) Maybe I’ll be nicer to Becca? Used to be friends. See if I can figure out if she knows whatever Tasha knows? Don’t get why they’re so friendly again.

  14.16

  Jenny

  She’s gonna remember everything soon:-((

  14.16

  Hayley

  She doesn’t yet. Time to figure something out.

  14.16

  Jenny

  I just want to get off my face. Forget all about it.

  14.17

  Hayley

  :-((

  14.17

  Jenny

  Sorry I’m snappy. Don’t mean it. Just scared.

  14.17

  Hayley

  I know. Xx BFF. Ha! ;-)

  14.18

  Jenny

  BFF ;-) now delete. (Beat ya!)

&n
bsp; Twenty-Nine

  Taken from DI Caitlin Bennett’s files:

  Extract from Natasha Howland’s notebook

  As it turned out, we didn’t do much reading at the rehearsal. Mr Jones told us it’s a character play at heart. These people were real. John Proctor died because he couldn’t give up his reputation. He couldn’t confess to something he hadn’t done to save himself because of what his name meant to him.

  I think John Proctor should have thought about that before he stuck his dick into a teenage servant girl.

  Mr Jones paced up and down as he spoke and all the other girls were rapt, mouths half-open – subconsciously ready for his cock or something (god, I’m getting cruder since I died), gazing at him like he was some Hollywood heart-throb. Even the boys were hooked. Mr Jones has what they want. All that confidence. That ease. The play is sexually charged and the room was humming with it. Sometimes I think schools are filled with more sexual tension than any other place. Even I feel it sometimes. Like there in the theatre.

  Mr Jones gave us group exercises to do, and of course I was to lead my dancing girls. The girls Abigail Williams takes out into the woods to cast a spell on poor Elizabeth Proctor. As we started to mull over how to improvise what they did, I wondered at the irony of it all and wanted to say, Oh, the subtext! to Jenny as she came over, as nervous and mousy as her character Mary Warren, hands twitching by her sides and her eyes downcast even though we weren’t acting yet, but I doubt Jenny knows what subtext is. I thought of that clearing in the woods – our clearing. The cigarette butts. The Crunchie wrapper. While I chatted to Maisie and Ella (Ruth Putnam and Mercy Lewis – both gushing at me and Jenny as if by getting these parts they were almost Barbies themselves), I bet Jenny was thinking about it, too. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Tears? Lack of sleep? Drugs? Knowing Jenny – and I know Jenny – it’s probably drugs, but maybe it was all three. Maybe I dream of the darkness and she dreams of the woods.

  I looked around for Hayley – count thirteen slim panels of wood on the wall as my eyes go by – she’s over on the other side of the room working with James Ensor. They had to improvise the unwritten scene of Elizabeth discovering Proctor’s affair with Abigail – moi. She looked up as if she could feel me staring at her, although I wondered if she’d been glancing my way often, and gave me a hesitant smile. Just for shits and giggles, I didn’t return it. She paled. Even from so far away I could see it.

  They’re my Barbies. I’m in control. Still.

  Becca was at a table out of the way, sketching plans on a large sheet of paper. Hannah wasn’t with her. She was in the back somewhere sorting through the costume cupboard and taking stock of the staging and panels. I heard her telling Becca that’s what she was going to do, anyway. I wondered if they’d argued. Hannah was trying to be tough but I know hurt feelings when I see them.

  Becca’s eyes darted upwards, no doubt to the curtains and the rigging and wondering what she can do with them. She’s actually quite creative in a very logistical way, and our theatre can cope with that. This is a Performing Arts school so the Music and Drama departments had a big influx of money. Local am-dram groups (and how tragic is that? Sad old wrecks of people clinging to dreams long gone) use the facilities for their summer shows when the school is shut.

  When we had a break, while the others huddled together, I went and joined her. I said it looked good, although I wasn’t really sure what I was looking at. She was sketching in charcoal and it was a bit like seeing a designer’s drawing of a dress and trying to picture the real thing.

  ‘I’m thinking of doing it in the round,’ she said, ‘with the audience on all sides. Then the main cast could be constantly onstage, observing from the sides when they’re not in a scene.’

  ‘That’s really cool,’ I said, and I meant it, too. It’s clever. It feeds into the theme of a community that’s always watching each other.

  She smiled. ‘Of course, Mr Jones still has to approve it.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  We both looked up to see Hayley. Her tone was curious, though, rather than snipey.

  ‘That bit, there,’ she said, stepping a little forward and pointing at a sketch in one corner of the stage.

  Becca explained, patiently, that it was the lighting rig. She darted a glance at me, a nod to our secret alliance. ‘It will need re-rigging for the square set-up. Shouldn’t be a problem – Casey can do it, she’s great with heights. And we can leave that first line of lights as they are – the Head might want to do something in here between now and the show.’

  Becca was on a roll, at ease with her own subject, but I could see Hayley was at a loss. She’s not really logistical. It was just scribbling on paper to her.

  ‘I was going to have a quick smoke?’ she said. ‘You want to come?’ She didn’t look at me, but bright pink spots appeared high on her cheeks.

  ‘Sure,’ Becca said, after a minute. ‘Why not?’

  She was good. She didn’t even glance back as they sauntered off. I looked over at Jenny. She’d locked eyes momentarily with Hayley.

  Everything was in the subtext, there in the noise of the theatre. The secrets hummed inside us.

  What web are you weaving? I wondered as I looked from one of my perfect Forever Friends to the other. Jenny, nervous Jenny, rabbit-in-the-headlights, looked my way. I dropped my head to examine Becca’s drawings again.

  ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ It was a voice like a leaking tap, wet and irritating. Hannah. I didn’t answer, just looked at her with disdain, let out a lazy sigh of a laugh and walked away. Hannah got her bag and left after that. I saw her texting someone. Probably telling Becca she was going. She was mad at me, but underneath it she was still Becca’s lapdog. She’s always been like that. Even since nursery. I remember her wetting her pants three times. She’d been that girl.

  *

  Finally rehearsals were done and our improvisations applauded. There was an excitement in the air, as if we all knew this play could be something special if we got it right. We had to be a team, Mr Jones said, but what he really meant is that we’re like a cheerleading pyramid. Those at the bottom must support those of us at the top.

  Once everyone had taken their turn to drink a private mouthful from the well of Mr Jones and he’d left the theatre, the group fractured. Jenny muttered something about lockers and disappeared towards the main school building, and me, Hayley and Becca wandered outside, our casual strolls belying our internal tensions.

  Becca was in the middle, a dark thorn between white roses, as we went out into the crisp night. It was gone half-five but it was still busy. Ours was not the only after-school activity and boys in dirty football kits climbed into the back of waiting 4x4s or headed off, laughing and jeering at each other, to the parade of shops where they would no doubt wolf down bags of greasy chips.

  My stomach rumbled. How wonderful to be a boy, to be able to eat like that. For eating like that to be a badge of pride rather than a crime.

  Someone called, ‘Natasha! Hayley!’ and a hand waved, and I frowned. I couldn’t make out the figure, only an outline against the glare of the headlights. A shape in the darkness. I wondered if it would whisper my name next. I didn’t count the line of cars. I knew it would be thirteen.

  ‘Is that your dad?’ Becca said. It was. Of course it was. I felt such a flood of relief and then silly for my momentary panic. I had nothing to panic about. (If Dr Harvey ever does read this, she’s really going to think I’m bonkers and will lock me up. I’d rather burn it first.)

  Then Hayley asked, happy, ‘What’s he doing here?’ I think maybe she has a little crush on my dad, gross as that sounds. We finally reached him, Hayley first, then me and then Becca, the awkward tag-along. He must have finished early so come by to give us a lift. We three came down the last few steps to the road to find him smiling. Pleased with his surprise.

  ‘I could have walke
d, Dad.’ I sounded bored. His smile didn’t falter, though. He was determined to feel good about this.

  ‘Well, I’m here now. And it’s cold,’ he said. ‘Hayley – you can come for dinner if you want. There’s always enough to feed an army.’ He finally saw Becca, the afterthought, who half-waved and then went back to texting. Hannah, no doubt. Making their peace once my dad’s surprise to see her reminded Becca she wasn’t a Barbie. Whatever she is, she’s not one of us.

  ‘I’m quite tired, actually,’ I said. ‘And I’ve got some work to do.’ I smiled at Hayley as if butter wouldn’t melt and she instantly said it was cool, although I know she was smarting with disappointment.

  ‘Do you want a lift? I can drop Tasha then drop you after? It’s only an extra five minutes.’ It dawned on me, in a horrific moment, that maybe my dad fancied Hayley a little bit, too, and I could sense her hesitancy. It was cold and the buses are crap during rush hour. I gave her no hint which way to go, my face impassive.

  ‘No, it’s okay, Gary,’ she said eventually, coming up with an excuse about meeting Jenny. The second she did, I offered Becca a lift – sticking the knife in and twisting it a little.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s fine. Honestly.’

  I didn’t argue. I actually wanted some quiet time in the car anyway, and it’s not as if me and Bex could talk about anything that mattered in front of my dad. He’d think we were crazy. What the hell does he know about anything, anyway? They think they understand us, but they don’t. We’re still children to them.

  I hoped Becca wasn’t seeing Aiden this evening. Maybe he’d be too busy worrying about being arrested to want to meet up. Maybe he’d even been arrested. No. He can’t have. I’d know – they’d have told me. I am the golden thirteen-minutes-dead girl. It irritates me that he comes first with Becca all the time, though. I mean, Aiden? I just don’t get it. This is important. This really is life or death. This is me.