“Mase . . .” said Luke, and he reached a hand to Mason’s elbow. “Come on, man. Take it easy.”
“No, Luke,” Mason said, pulling his arm free. “You of all people need to hear this.” And, as before, he faced me, Cora and Fash across the torchlight. “OK, fine,” he said. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? If you’ve had enough of playing games?” He moved to his left, and it was only just before he spoke again that I realized why. He was standing in front of the entranceway, blocking the rest of us inside.
And his face changed. Before, he’d been acting as though he was enjoying himself. As though it was all just a bit of a laugh. But now he looked the way he had so far only in flashes. As though whatever he’d been carrying around all knotted up inside him had finally come undone.
He bent down, and he picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels. He gripped it by the neck, and then he smashed it against the wall of the cave.
“So,” he said, turning, the broken bottle gleaming in his hand. “Which one of you killed her?”
FASH
I WAS LYING. Before. You were right. I mean, it’s all true, all the stuff I told you, except . . . except I didn’t tell you everything.
My mum, when I spoke to her, when I asked her what I should do . . . she got mad. I doubt she’ll ever not be mad at me ever again. She says I should have been honest with you from the beginning. And I realize that now, I do, but I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. Not Mason. Not the others.
Not Sadie.
And not myself either, I suppose.
But Mum made me realize it’s too late for any of that. So I’ll tell you, I will—I promised my mum I would. Except you have to believe me when I say to you, I had nothing to do with what happened to Sadie. I swear it. On my mother’s life. It’s just . . . I mean . . . the truth is, I may know a bit more about what happened than I made out.
And Mason. I knew a bit more about what he was doing, too. At least, I thought I did. But when he stood up in that cave, clasping that broken bottle, I realized I didn’t know as much as I’d assumed.
“What the hell, Mason?” said Luke, who had got to his feet first. None of the rest of us were very far behind. The whiskey had gone right to my head, so when I stood up I almost fell over again.
“This isn’t fucking funny, Mason,” said one of the girls. Cora, I think.
“Do you see me laughing?” said Mason, pointing the bottle like a gun. “Now answer me. Who was it? Was it you, Cora? Is that why you’ve been acting like such a bitch?”
“Was what me? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Sadie! As you well know!”
Cora made a sound like there was something caught in her throat. “You’re . . . what? You’re seriously suggesting that one of us killed her? That I did?”
“Or maybe it was you, Abi,” said Mason, turning. “Or you, Fash.”
“Me?” I said. “You think I had something to do with it? What happened to . . . to searching? To trying to find out the truth?”
“What the fuck do you think we’re doing right now?” he spat at me. “Although, while we’re on the subject, maybe you can explain why you were so eager to help me in the first place. Were you worried about what I’d find if I went without you? Is that why you walked straight past Sadie’s phone?”
“But I . . . I didn’t see it! Honestly, I . . .”
“Help him?” Cora said. “Help him do what? What the hell is Mason talking about, Fash?”
I was standing there shaking my head. I couldn’t believe what Mason was doing. “You lied to me,” I said to him. “You told me you wanted to search for Sadie! That’s why you had me round everybody up. To form a search party. That’s what you said!”
Because that’s the thing. That’s what I lied about before. One of the things I lied about, anyway. I told you the search party was my idea, that I hadn’t seen Mason since the day Sadie went missing. But that’s not true. He came to me, you see. On day three, I guess it was. After he’d been at the station with you lot all day, and people around town had started talking. More than talking. By that point, everyone had pretty much decided. You know, that Sadie was dead, and that Mason was the one who’d killed her. And his dad had accused him as well. Well, not accused him exactly. What he did was punch him in the stomach. He’d come home from the pub and apparently he’d been getting a load of grief from all the regulars, so come kicking-out time he’d stumbled home, and he’d dragged Mason from his bed, and he told him if he didn’t own up, he’d throttle him and chuck his body in the river—the way everyone was saying Mason had done to Sadie. And when Mason denied it, that’s when his dad put a fist in his gut. Which he’s done before when he’s been drunk, but this time, apparently, his dad had no intention of stopping there. He made to hit Mason again, with a poker this time, but according to Mason he was so far gone that when he raised the poker he staggered backward, and that’s how Mason got out of the house. He barged his way past, and out the front door, and he ran until he reached the river. And that night, when he was out there on his own, that’s when
