by Serena Lyons
“Millie’s in heaven, God bless her soul.” She’d say whenever I tried to bring up what we could do to get justice. “You stay out of it now. I don’t want you getting hurt as well.”
I pull the letter out from its hiding spot underneath my socks. As ever, the familiar purple paper and gently looping handwriting makes my heart catch. Oh, Millie.
I stagger back downstairs, then silently hold it out to Nina. “Read this and then you’ll understand why I thought Callum was to blame.
Nina’s eyes widen and she slumps on the bed carefully unfolding the letter. Her gaze moves quickly as she reads it.
In my head, I echo the words that are tattooed on my brain.
Dear Faith,
I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I wish I was strong enough to stay, but everything hurts so much. I’m not good enough to stay alive, that’s what he says, and he’s right.
I’m ugly. Stupid. Unloveable. Callum will never love me the way I love him. He’s made that clear. I’ll never get into Westforde, or art school. There’s no point in me going on.
He’s given me pills. He says they won’t hurt. That I won’t feel a thing. He says no one will miss me. Maybe you will, but I know you’ll cope without me. I wish I was as strong as you.
I’ll watch over you,
Millie xoxo
“Oh my God,” Nina wipes a damp patch underneath her stricken eyes. “This is terrible.”
I nod, there’s an enormous lump in my throat that will dissolve into tears if I try to speak.
“And you showed this to the police? I can’t believe they didn’t look into it. Or her parents.” Nina’s voice bristles with indignation.
“I thought your family had persuaded them not to. Paid them off, or invoked some sort of elite code. That’s why I had to go after Callum myself.”
Nina looks down at her hands, she’s twisting them in her lap. Finally, she looks straight at me. “But the ‘he’ could be anyone, it’s not necessarily Callum.”
“She’s named him.” I grasp for the explanations I’ve thought of before to explain this note and the fact he was most definitely partying in Ibiza the night she died. “Maybe he gave her the pills before he left for Ibiza.”
“Or maybe there’s another him.”
“But she names Callum, right there.” I jab at the paper.
“In the middle paragraph, almost like she was talking about someone else before.” Nina reaches over and gently strokes my hand. “Look, I totally understand how you interpreted this as Callum giving her the pills, but I think that’s the wrong conclusion.”
I stare down at the note again, not that I need to, I’ve read it thousands of times. “But she doesn’t change the name of the ‘he’ who gave her pills. Callum could have given her something before he left, it’s not like he doesn’t know where to get pills from.”
Nina’s expression hardens, and she pulls her hand away from me. “My brother might be many things, but he’s not evil.”
“But—”
She cuts me off. “Let’s ask him, I promise you, I’ll be able to tell if he’s lying. Let’s go to the house right now and let him tell you once and for all.”
“Fine, but if he did have anything to do with it, I’ll go to the police. He can’t get away with this.”
Nina nods brusquely. “Whoever did this is not getting away with it, but I guarantee that person is not my brother.”
Weirdly, part of me longs for her to be right.
31: Callum
“Cal, where are you mate?” Rafe’s voice is too loud, like he’s already a few pints down.
I shouldn’t have answered. “Just at home, you know.” I can’t even think of a good excuse. I should’ve said I’m with a woman. He’d believe that. I could’ve implied it was someone important, who I couldn’t risk telling him about, nudge nudge, wink wink. Like last year with Professor Headley, or Racquel, as I’m supposed to call her in private.
“You’re staying in again?”
“I’m not feeling great. I don’t want to screw up the weekend’s match.”
“Man, what’s up with you? You’re getting boring these days.”
His dig is fair, since that stand-off with Faith and Nina, I’ve been going out much less. It just all seems so pointless and it’s fun having Nina staying with me here. We watch shit TV and have piano playing challenges with each other. There is no need to perform and pretend to enjoy the cool stuff. We can just be.
I haven’t even had a drink in nights, partly because I know that if I get wasted Nina will use it as the perfect time to sneak back to college and out of my protection.
“Just an annoying cold, mate. I’d be out if we weren’t up against Pembroke this weekend. No way they can beat us. I’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”
“Make sure you are, or else everyone will forget who you are.” He ends the call.
He ends it. I’m always the one who hangs up on him. Maybe he is right, I do need to get back out with my crew.
Even Nina’s out. She said she had a tutorial rescheduled for early evening. I’m not sure I believe her, but it’s only eight, I can’t really go chasing her like some worried grandad.
The piano will distract me. I flip the lid and pick a random note. It inspires my choice of song, Fix You by Coldplay. It makes me think of Millie, and how I hurt her when I should have helped her.
A noise at the front door breaks into my reverie. I pause, letting the chord play out long, but then the key turns in the lock. It’s just Nina coming back.
I return to playing. I hear the door to the room creak open, but I carry on. It takes a few more moments before I realise that something isn’t right, she’s just stood by the door looking at me. I turn to glance over my shoulder, but continue playing. I don’t need to look at the keys.
Nina’s not alone. I freeze.
“What the hell is she doing with you?” I glare at Faith who’s staring defiantly at me, like she has every right to be inside my house.
“We all need to talk, Cal, it’s important.” Nina gestures for Faith to sit down on the sofa.
Faith looks at it, then me and I know we’re both remembering the two nights when she came apart under me there. Stupid idiot, that was all an act.
“You’ve got five minutes,” I bark.
“Okay, first of all I’m going to ask you a question you’re not going to like.” Nina’s eyes are filled with guilt as she looks at me. “Did you ever give Millie any pills?”
“What? Of course not. She wasn’t into that stuff, at least nothing more than a bit of weed. I wouldn’t give her anything stronger.”
“Okay, I think that Faith’s right, I think someone else was involved with Millie’s death.” I haven’t seen my sister like this in years. Her voice is unwavering and her posture is straight for once.
“What? Come on, Nina, you’re not that stupid—” I start.
“No Cal, look. She got this from Millie. It explains everything. Why she thought someone else was involved and why she assumed it was you.” Nina waves an envelope that’s the exact same shade of lavender that Millie sent her love notes on.
“It doesn’t mean anything. Anyone could forge a letter.”
“Check the handwriting,” Faith glares at me. “That will prove it.”
I swivel on my stool and read the note, my body sinking lower with every line I read.
I don’t speak for a few minutes after I finish reading. My head whirrs. Could this be true?
If it is, then who the hell would have bullied Millie like that? The things in the letter are horrific. She must’ve been in so much pain. Which I didn’t help by constantly cancelling on her, dropping her at the last minute, avoiding her calls when I couldn’t face another long session where she’d demand I tell her how special she was. Guilt curdles in my stomach.
“Where the hell did you get this and how do you know Millie, anyway?”
“We grew up in the same village. My gran works for their family, she
’s their cook.” Faith hugs herself with her arms, like she’s cold, even though our underfloor heating has been on all evening and I’m only wearing a t-shirt. It’s sadness, not the temperature making her hug herself. If I trusted her, I go over and hold her hand. try to make her feel better.
I stay exactly where I am. “And Lady Charrington was happy with her beloved daughter hanging out with the servant’s kid?” Not likely to me.
“Of course not.” Faith rolls her eyes and speaks in a voice thick with contempt. Seems we finally agree on something—Millie’s mother being a snobby bitch. “We were best friends even though her stuck-up mother forbid us from hanging out with each other.”
I stifle a smile. “And the letter?”
“My gran found it in her apron a few days after Millie…. Well, you know,” her face whitens.
My hand twitches. On some level I want to go over and comfort her. “Why didn’t you show it to anyone?”
“Of course I showed it to people. Do you think I’m stupid? They didn’t believe me, or they didn’t want to. I don’t know why, her mum said the handwriting looked off, and the police just thought I was some crazy attention seeker.”
I lift the purple paper of Millie’s note again. From what I remember it’s identical to the notes Millie used to send me, but there is one way to find out.
I move over to my desk. The one Faith rifled through that night and open the little cubbyhole where I put all of Millie’s letters. I’ve never saved stuff from other girlfriends. Clean start after every break up, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw away Millie’s words when I knew she never write anything else ever again.
There’s a pile of maybe thirty letters. The boys at boarding school always teased me about them. ‘There goes your little stalker-lover again.’
I liked Millie’s letters at first. There was something charmingly old-fashioned about them, like some of the early Beatles songs, but then they got more and more needy. Demanding that I explain just how much I liked her, wanting me to promise that I’d never leave her, that I wanted us to be together forever. The more she clung on to me, the more I felt myself desperate to run away from her.
“Here,” I pass them to Nina. I still don’t want to get too close to Faith.
“If it’s a fake, whoever did it should work for a criminal mastermind or MI5,” Nina exclaims comparing the notes. “What do you think it means? Do you believe Faith now?”
“I don’t see why you assumed it was me.”
“Oh, come on,” Faith snaps. “‘He tells me I’ll never be good enough for him’.” She repeats lines from the note, Millie’s note. “How about ‘he says that I don’t deserve anyone’s love?’ Sounds like emotionally abusive boyfriend 101 to me.”
“You sound like you still think I goaded her, but that letter makes it pretty clear she was with someone in the country. I’ve told you a thousand times I was away when she died at a closing party in Ibiza.” Just saying the words makes a shiver of guilt rise up my spine. I was happily getting my dick sucked by a slutty stranger, while my girlfriend died.
“Having lots of fun with other women from the articles I saw.” Faith snaps, and I hear the judgement in her voice. She looks me up and down and I can see the contempt in her eyes. “Yeah, carry on with the loving boyfriend defence, all your behaviour completely backs it up.”
“You still don’t believe me, do you?” The anger burns in my chest.
Faith flicks her hair over her shoulder and those deep brown eyes fix on mine. Those brown eyes flashing with wit, fury and judgement of me. “I’m keeping an open mind for my friend. I know you hurt her.”
The anger flames into something incandescent. Who is she to judge me like this? “Get the fuck out of my house!”
“Guys, guys, come on,” Nina glances from me to Faith like the child of an ugly divorce, her posture back to its normal slouch. “This is stupid, we need to work together.”
I look at my sister, bowed down by our arguing and my resolve softens.
The Faith flicks her hair and stares at me with that judgement again. I can almost hear her thoughts: he got a blowjob will his girlfriend was dying. My pulse races and shame curdles inside me.
“No. I want her the fuck out of my house.”
32: Faith
I slam the door as I leave.
Fucking idiot. The way he looked at me made it clear that he doesn’t trust me. But is it because he’s telling the truth, or because he really did something to Millie?
I kick the rotting leaves that litter the street. “Goddammit!” I yell, louder than I need to when my toe connects with an uneven paving slab. Every tiny little thing seems to be against me at the moment.
And I let the one person who’s willing to listen to me down. Nina shrunk in front of us as Callum and I bickered. Some way to repay the only person on my side. I trust her, wholeheartedly, but wouldn’t anyone have a blind spot with their adored older brother?
The ten-minute walk back to college calms me slightly, but I’m still a jangle of energy when I open the door to my room. I can’t stay here, my emotions are too much, I need to get them out of me. I change into my running leggings, I’ll take my frustration out on the pavements.
No podcasts tonight though, I don’t want to think. I want to lose myself in the mindless bliss of pushing my energy while heavy beats fill my head and make it impossible for me to think.
I start with a lap of the city centre, but there’s too many people on the streets getting in my way. They make a totally out of proportion annoyance flare inside me and it takes all my willpower not to scream that they’re idiots. I turn down the long high street, it’ll be quieter there, it has fewer colleges so less idiotic drunken students wandering about.
Finally, I sink into a comfortable rhythm easily able to dodge the lone shift workers walking to the bus stops. Before I know it, I’m soaring over Magdalen Bridge, the river barely visible in the dark. At the roundabout, I choose to punish myself with the long hill up towards Oxford Brookes.
That’s when I sense it. Someone following me. I press pause on my music. There’s no sound of footsteps, but the feeling that I’m being watched won’t go away. I want to look back, but if I do, and someone’s following me, they’ll know I’ve spotted them.
Carry on. I urge myself, but the sensation of being watched becomes physical: my skin itches and my muscles scream to turn around and look
Fuck it, I can’t wait any longer. I quickly glance over my shoulder. There’s a hooded figure on a bike, keeping a steady distance behind me.
You’re being stupid, it’s just someone cycling slowly up the hill.
Still, every fibre of my body is telling me to sprint away from them.
The hill flattens out slightly, and I will them to soar past me, prove that I’m overreacting. I can tell they’re still keeping pace though. Fuck, there’s only one reason for that.
Nerves jangling, I look back again. The cyclist is even closer to me now, but pedalling much too slowly for that to be anything other than intentional. Maybe it’s a mugger. Then it hits me, it’s not just a hoody, it’s exactly the same black hoody that the person who attacked me by the river was wearing.
Adrenalin surges through me. He left me for dead last time. It was just luck that Callum found me. Something tells me I won’t be so lucky if he catches me again.
Think Faith. The long street rising ahead of us is empty. I could bang on a door, but would anyone come to help me? Could I even get there before he hits me over the head again? Panic makes my breath get even shorter, like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
There’s no point in me sprinting away, because he’ll easily catch up to me on his bike. I am screwed.
The street might be quiet, but that could quickly change, I’m better staying here, where it’ll be more risky for him to attack than running off to a quieter back street.
“You might as well stop running.” My pursuer speaks, his voice somehow soft and threatening all at once
.
I shiver, but keep on moving. My legs are spent, but I can’t stop. If I stop, he’s got me.
“Give it up, Faith.” So this definitely isn’t a random attack. There’s something familiar about his voice, but I can’t put my finger on it.
It’s definitely not Callum’s though. I quash the thought down before it distracts me. Survival has to be my focus.
“I will get you; you can’t run forever.” The voice gets colder. Behind me the pedals turn faster, the clink of every revolution coming faster and faster.
What the fuck do I do? If he catches up, he might hit me from the bike. Once I’m on the ground, I’m screwed.
As if by magic, two people emerge from one of the terraced houses just ahead of us, casting a beacon of light out into the dark street.
“Help me!” I scream, moving into a sprint now. I think the guy on the bike curses, but I don’t delay to check. My hands won’t work as I fumble with the gate to the front garden the couple are walking through.
A couple in their early twenties stand halfway down the path to a front door, stunned expressions on their faces. I must look like a mad woman.
The man speaks first, “Are you okay?” He has kind eyes and a bushy beard.
“He was chasing me,” I stammer. “He wanted to hurt me.”
“Shit.” He steps towards me and opens the gate. “Should we call the police?”
“No.” I can’t face more questions from patronising police pricks. I just want to curl up somewhere safe.
The girl stomps past us and looks both ways along the road. “I don’t see anyone who was ‘chasing you’.” She makes quote marks in the air around chasing you.