I wonder if I should do something about Becca. Something final. The thought feels less extreme after what happened with Hannah. In for a penny, in for a pound, after all. But I decide against it. Not yet, anyway. I’ve made Becca a joke. No one takes her seriously. And I’m not sure what her intentions are yet – she may not know anything at all. And if I’m honest, I’m quite enjoying her occasional unpredictability.
I go to the bathroom and put some drops in my eyes before heading down for dinner. It doesn’t ease their tired burn. I need to stop being afraid to sleep. I need to stop being afraid of whatever is waiting for me in the darkness. Being afraid was never part of my plan. Being afraid is not who I am.
Fifty-Five
This time Becca left the house before her mum was even awake. It was just gone seven a.m. but she’d been up, pacing and thinking, for hours. She’d sent Aiden one text at about two in the morning – Be careful – but didn’t hear back. He might have told Tasha about it, and fine by her if he did. This was no longer about Aiden, and she found that her anger and hurt were melting away to nothing. She just felt a bit sorry for him. He was being used exactly like she had been.
She needed to do two things before school. The first was the hardest, but she had to do it if she was going to understand what happened with those two mobile phones.
‘What do you want?’
Hayley’s mum was up but she looked like death.
‘Who is it?’ Hayley’s dad loomed large in the background before coming into view. ‘Oh. You.’
Becca’s heart thumped hard and her face burned, but she forced herself to speak. ‘I’m sorry, I just need to ask you something. It’s important. It might help Hayley.’
‘You’ve done a great job so far.’ His voice held so much disdain for her – he couldn’t even muster hate. She must look pathetic. Some little puppy dog of Natasha’s who’d helped put their daughter in prison. And they were right.
‘Did Natasha ever come here?’ She pushed on, not wanting to give them time to slam the door in her face before she asked her question. ‘After she was found in the river. On her own?’
They stared at her for a moment, and then Hayley’s mum sighed. ‘No. No, she didn’t. She didn’t even come here with Hayley. She was your friend by then. She hadn’t been here for a while before her accident. Only Jenny.’
Becca felt a surge of disappointment. If Tasha hadn’t come here, then it was stalemate, and maybe she was just on some major paranoia jag.
‘You’re sure?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Hayley’s mum repeated. ‘Now fuck off.’ The words, tired and loaded with grief, were like a heavyweight punch in the solar plexus and Becca instantly took two steps back. You didn’t hear those words from someone’s mum. Not in Becca’s nice middle-class life.
‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. I’m sorry.’
‘Leave us alone,’ Hayley’s dad grumbled, and he leaned across his wife to close the door. ‘You’ve done enough damage already.’
‘Wait.’
The word was barely more than a breath.
‘Wait,’ Hayley’s mum said again. She looked at Becca; a fragile, fluttering broken bird.
‘There was one time. When she brought the bracelet. Hayley was still at school and I was here on my own.’
Becca’s heart leapt; a dog tugging at a leash with excitement. ‘Did she give it to you?’
‘No.’ The woman’s eyes crinkled as she remembered. ‘No, I stayed downstairs. She went up to Hayley’s bedroom and left the gift box on her pillow. I remember thinking how sweet it was.’
Becca grinned. She couldn’t help it. She must have looked crazy, standing there in the face of all their heartache smiling like a loon. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She turned and left them staring after her, hurrying down the street. It wasn’t a stalemate at all. In fact, the pieces were nearly in place for the endgame.
‘Why does it matter?’ Mrs Gallagher shouted after her. ‘What difference does it make?’ Becca didn’t answer. Maybe they’d figure it out for themselves. First she needed to prove it.
*
DI Bennett was no use. Becca got a bus into town and was at the Police Station by eight a.m., and waited fifteen minutes before Bennett arrived. She came in clutching a take-away coffee and looking like she hadn’t slept much.
‘Rebecca? What are you doing here?’
‘I need to talk to you. About the CCTV footage.’
The detective frowned, confused. ‘Why? I’m working on another case now. Everything has gone to the prosecution services.’
‘Did you just look at cameras in the phone shop? Did you follow the girl out? Or check Primark’s cameras?’
‘Rebecca, is this because Natasha is seeing Aiden now? I know it hurts, but—’
‘It’s got nothing to do with that!’ Becca wanted to thump her and her faux sympathy just to get her to listen. ‘It’s about the coat. You said it yourself: it was a cheap coat. There were hundreds of them. How can you be absolutely sure it was Jenny wearing it? How do you know someone else didn’t buy it in Primark and wear it to look like Jenny? Hayley, Jenny and Natasha are all blondes. Could you tell them apart from a distance? In a grainy camera shot? Honestly?’
‘Look, the case is closed,’ Bennett said. ‘And with no small thanks to you. Let it go. Get on with your life.’
‘Hayley might not have been the last person to touch the light that killed Hannah,’ Becca said, defiant. ‘We had lessons but Natasha had a free. She said she’d take the tools back, so we left her there. We left Natasha by the light with the tools and the ladder.’
Bennett stared at her in shocked disbelief. ‘Are you trying to tell me you think Natasha bought the phones, and that Natasha killed Hannah?’
‘That’s exactly what I think.’
They stared at each other for a long moment in the hubbub of the desk sergeant’s reception area. Bennett hadn’t even invited her inside to talk. She clearly saw Becca as a nuisance.
‘When is your next appointment with Doctor Harvey?’ the policewoman said, eventually, and Becca burst into frustrated laughter.
‘I know what you think. You think this is because of Aiden. That I’m angry and jealous and crazy, and maybe I am all of those things, a little bit. I know I’ve made myself look really stupid. But this . . . it isn’t that.’
‘Go to school, Rebecca.’ Bennett was getting impatient. ‘Don’t make things worse for yourself.’
Becca smiled at her bitterly and shrugged, starting to walk away. She hadn’t really expected anything different. ‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ she said over her shoulder before the woman could disappear through the main doors and into the hub of the building.
‘What?’
‘How neat it all was? The receipt in the locker? The phones in their bedrooms, still with all those texts on them? The evidence might as well have been wrapped up in a bow and given as a gift. It basically was. And I delivered it. And don’t you find those texts odd? I bet they stopped immediately after the night Natasha went in the river. Nothing more after that? Don’t you think that’s weird?’ She stared at the policewoman but got no reaction.
Bennett said nothing for a long moment and then repeated, ‘Go to school, Becca,’ and let the door close. Becca stood outside in the sunshine and rolled a cigarette.
So that hadn’t worked. It was time for Plan B.
The evidence Bennett didn’t have.
The film Jenny’s mum talked about in that deleted status update.
That was the key.
They said the police hadn’t found it, and for a while Becca had thought Tasha must have got rid of it somehow. But then she remembered the box of mementos under Tasha’s bed, full of stuff from years gone by. Natasha kept things. She would have kept that film somewhere, whatever it was. Kept it for insuranc
e against Hayley and Jenny speaking up if nothing else. And having spent the whole night lying awake thinking about it, Becca was pretty sure she knew where it was hidden.
She smiled. She was excited, she couldn’t help it. In some ways, she was glad Bennett hadn’t taken her seriously. That would have been the sensible route. But this way, she’d be able to play her own game. Time to get even, Tasha, she thought. This time it’s definitely my move.
She checked her watch. She had a lot to do today.
Fifty-Six
Excerpt of consultation between Dr Annabel Harvey and patient Rebecca Crisp, Monday 04/04, 15.30
DR HARVEY: And what feelings do these Facebook and social media postings bring up in you? Do they make you angry?
REBECCA: They did. A bit. I haven’t really thought about it much these past few days.
I’ve been distracted.
DR HARVEY: What by?
REBECCA: (Pause)
What’s the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath?
DR HARVEY: What makes you ask that?
REBECCA: I’ve been thinking about motivations. Why people do things to each other.
DR HARVEY: Is this about Hayley and Jenny?
REBECCA: What’s the difference between the two?
DR HARVEY: The simplest way I can put it is: a psychopath has no morals or ethics. A sociopath has morals, but their moral compass is very definitely skewed. They are both manipulators. Both can be charming.
REBECCA: Do you think you could spot one?
DR HARVEY: Which one?
REBECCA: Either.
DR HARVEY: Perhaps. Not always.
REBECCA: Why do they hurt people?
DR HARVEY: They don’t always.
REBECCA: But the ones that do?
DR HARVEY: I don’t believe that either Hayley or Jenny suffers from either of those disorders.
REBECCA: You assumed I was talking about them – I didn’t say that. I’m just curious.
DR HARVEY: A psychopath might not need a reason. It may be just for a sense of power. The enjoyment of another’s pain. A sociopath would have a reason, albeit perhaps not one that would make someone without the disorder go to such an extreme. Something that might just irritate or annoy you or me could make them want to harm a person. Each case is unique, though.
(Long pause)
Have you deleted your Facebook again? Are you feeling angry towards your peers, perhaps?
REBECCA: (Laughter)
Don’t worry, I’m not planning to go all Carrie on my school. I’m just trying to figure out how someone like that would think.
DR HARVEY: Both psychopaths and sociopaths are, by the nature of their condition, essentially entirely selfish. Only selfish motivations make sense to them.
REBECCA: I see.
DR HARVEY: I’m not sure this is a healthy interest for you at the moment. Have you thought any more about trying some physical outdoor pursuits? I can recommend several residential camps for young people with PTSD.
REBECCA: I really don’t have that.
DR HARVEY: It’s my assessment that you do.
REBECCA: (Pause)
To be honest, Doctor Harvey, I haven’t got that much faith in your assessments right now. But thank you – this time you have been helpful.
(Rustling)
DR HARVEY: We still have twenty-five minutes left of the session.
REBECCA: I’m going to take your advice and get some fresh air.
Fifty-Seven
I found myself keeping an eye out for Becca at school today. I half-expected her to appear around a corner and look at me knowingly, like in one of those old police detective shows my mum watches on Sunday afternoons. I didn’t see her, though. I went for coffee with my new Barbies after school and they asked me about Aiden, so I flirted with him a bit by text to keep them happy. They think I’m going to fuck him soon. They don’t know me at all. He’s hot for it, though.
I get home, throw my bag on the floor and grab some juice out of the fridge. Coffee makes me dry and feel a bit sick. I don’t even know why I drink it. I drain a glass of orange juice and pour a second to take upstairs with me. The house is quiet. For once, mum’s out rather than waiting for me to get in so she can cluck around me.
I think about how easy it is with boys. To get them hot. It doesn’t take much, does it? I told Aiden I’d thought about him putting his fingers inside me. Vicki screeched with laughter at that – and I’ve told her she’ll have to do something about that laugh if she wants to stay – and I blushed and smiled knowingly, rolling my eyes at her as if it was something I’d let so many boys do.
I have no intention of letting Aiden put his fingers inside me. The thought makes me squeeze my thighs together hard. Even though his kiss wasn’t so terrible, that’s as far as I’m willing to go in this charade. I wonder if maybe I should feign concern for Becca and end it before it’s really begun. It’s served its purpose now. Becca looks crazier than ever and sounds bitter and angry at everything.
Still, even if it has served its purpose, Becca’s recent behaviour makes me want to punish her.
I count as I walk up the stairs, happy when the number of steps I take rises above thirteen, and then go and flop on my bed. It’s only just half-five but I’m tired. I’m also bored. Whatever else, these past few months have been interesting. Even if only to me. Now I feel a bit disappointed. It was so very easy, all things considered. And now, well, it’s just ordinary again. There isn’t even the play to look forward to. If Hannah hadn’t been such a simpering idiot and stood under the light, at least it would probably have been recast and gone ahead.
I hear a buzz and look at my phone. Nothing. I sit up. After a few seconds, the buzz comes again. Definitely the sound of a text message. I rummage in my bag and there, at the bottom, snarled up with a lip gloss and some tissues, is a mobile phone. Another mobile phone.
I stare at it. It’s cheap and basic and it’s not mine. My heart races. I’m not sure if it’s fear or excitement, but life has suddenly got interesting again. I click on the text icon. The handset is a dinosaur but I know my way around it. It’s been carefully chosen. It’s exactly like the two I bought from the One Cell Shop.
Look at all the saved messages, the text tells me, black words against a green screen. Beyond retro. I scroll through the options and click again. I look at the incoming and then the outgoing messages. There is a whole conversation here, between this phone and the one sending the instructions. Nothing out of the ordinary, just chatter. I have a long sip of my juice as I take it in. I almost smile, although not quite. My heart thumps and another text arrives.
Easy to do, isn’t it?
And then another.
Guess where the receipt is?
I still don’t answer.
It’s in your locker. Amazing
how thin receipt paper is.
How easily it slides through
the gap around the hinges.
Becca’s little brain has been working overtime. Did her memory of the green dress spark all this? Or was it the lie? I guess it’s both. She enjoys puzzles, Becca. We’re similar like that.
I’m quite impressed. Gold star for fat little Rebecca Crisp. But it’s nothing real. She can hypothesise all she wants about phones and receipts. I’ll let her make her moves and then decide what to do. She’s always been an aggressive opener, but the game is won or lost in the closing moves. Time to reply:
You always did have an
overactive imagination
There’s no point pretending I don’t know who it is, even though there is nothing being admitted. I feel like we’re watching each other over a chessboard.
:-)
I look at the old-school smiley and for the first time I feel a nub of irritation.
What’s so funny?
/> A pause. I’m about to throw the phone into my bag in disgust when it buzzes again.
My imagination didn’t invent
this film I’m watching.
I stare at it. My skin chills. She couldn’t have it.
Anything missing from
home? ;-)
My breath is coming fast now with the shock and I race down to the kitchen. She can’t have it. That bitch couldn’t have found it. She couldn’t.
Fifty-Eight
Becca stared at the sleek Airbook with the New York sticker on the front and waited, her palms almost sweating with nerves, for the next text to arrive. She had no idea if the film was on the computer or not – her attempts to crack the password had locked her out – but it was the only place she could think of where Tasha might safely save it: her mum’s forgotten, unused laptop, sitting on the kitchen table.
Getting it had been relatively easy. She’d taken the keys from Tasha’s bag in the Barbie corner of the common room and then sneaked in when Alison Howland went out. She’d only had to wait for half an hour or so. Then she’d dropped the keys and the pay-as-you-go phone into Tasha’s bag during last lesson. It was Drama and she knew the Barbies didn’t lug everything down to the studio for that. Tasha didn’t, at any rate. Not when there was always an eager-to-please new Barbie’s bag she could stash her mobile and purse in.
And that was it. Done. Of course, now she’d find out if it was worth it. She waited, the seconds ticking away in the silence.
You’re not watching it.
Her heart dropped. Shit. Had she got it wrong?
You couldn’t break that
password. I changed it. It’s
completely random.
Becca grinned. The game was on. She typed back.
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