‘He liked the buzz.’
‘You killed him.’
‘He was a big boy; he knew what he was doing.’
‘He was fifteen!’ I suddenly feel an odd sense of calm enfold me. As if somewhere within all this astonishing madness, there may be peace. At last I am saying the words that I have only practised in my head for years. I think of my beloved Michael; of Lisa, Alistair, the poor, heartbroken Becky, and all the other unnamed victims. ‘Why do you do it, Desra?’
Her eyes are two flat discs. ‘I do it because I can.’
There is a sort of perverse tranquillity in her response. At least now I know I am dealing with a madwoman.
‘You’re finished,’ I say, trying to work out some way of getting past her without falling into the water.
‘I doubt that.’
‘What?’
‘Nobody likes a scandal, Kate.’ The look of triumph on her face is infuriating. ‘At this very moment, both Turner and Becky are seriously reconsidering their positions.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘After all,’ she smirks, ‘Turner did sneak into my room and sexually assault me.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sure the headmaster and the Board of Governors will understand that the trauma of it all meant that I couldn’t really speak about it until now.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘I really wouldn’t want to have to make a formal statement,’ says Desra, trying her hardest to look helpless. ‘After all, a rape charge will be bound to affect Turner’s university applications.’
My eyes widen in disbelief. ‘You really are crazy.’
Desra gives a little tut. ‘I’m not the one who travelled across the country to stalk someone she blames for her idiot son’s death!’
I clench my fists ready to punch. ‘You won’t get away with this.’
‘Of course I will. Do you think the headmaster and his little bunch of flunkies want a scandal of this calibre associated with Lennoxton?’ She makes an unsuccessful attempt to straighten her ruined dress. ‘Do you really think Becky’s rich mommy and daddy want a dirty little court case on their daughter’s Google profile? Trust me, they won’t.’ She smiles smugly. ‘And I’ll be speaking to my solicitor first thing tomorrow morning about little Becky’s scene this evening. Slander, defamation of character. I’m sure we can agree on a tidy out-of-court settlement.’
We stand facing each other, only inches apart.
‘I don’t care what you say. You won’t get away with this, I promise you that.’
‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Kate?’
‘On the headmaster’s desk right now is an envelope containing copies of the letters of complaint against you from Edgecombe Academy.’ Well, they will be there tomorrow. ‘There’s also a taped recording and transcript of my conversation with Lisa Edwards,’ I lie – anything to get this arrogant parasite off guard – ‘regarding your sexual relationship with Michael.’
Desra stares at me through heavy, drunken eyes. ‘Shame both your star witnesses are dead.’
I bend my knees slightly; plant my feet. ‘Alistair March isn’t.’ Even in the half-light I can see Desra’s expression change. ‘I found him. He’s agreed to make a statement to the police.’ Well, he’ll agree when he’s given a witness summons. ‘That will include, I’m certain, how you groomed, exploited and manipulated him into a sexual relationship. It’s called underage rape, Desra; minimum of two years in prison.’
There is a long pause as Desra’s inebriated brain attempts to process what I have just said. Then she does something so unexpected that I am completely unprepared. She gives a deep growl of anger that seems to swell up inside her until it emerges as a scream. Her eyes bulge and her lips pull back. She reminds me of a rabid dog.
‘You can’t do this,’ she screams. ‘I won’t let you!’
‘It’s too late, Desra. It’s done.’ I don’t feel triumphant, or even pleased with myself. Just very, very tired. I press my palms together and rest them against my lips. ‘Susan O’Neill, you are finished.’
My mention of her former name; her former life; seems to tip her over the edge, and suddenly she is running towards me.
‘I’m going to kill you!’ she screams, and before I know what is happening, she has me around the waist, and both of us are tumbling off the jetty and straight into Loch Haugh.
42
Hitting the water is a shock: not just the intense cold and darkness, but also the realisation that Desra is gripping me tightly as we plunge deeper and deeper. The impact takes my breath away and I force myself not to breathe. I know from my lifesaving training that it’s one of the most common causes of drowning – the cold and shock initiate an involuntary breath. Great when you need a firm supply of oxygen to your brain to stop passing out after a trauma, but not so good when you’re metres under water.
Water fills my nose, and my lungs are screaming. My mind races in panic. I need air. I begin twisting and turning, digging my nails into Desra’s exposed arms. Her grip loosens slightly, and I kick for the surface. There is a brief, desperate moment when I suck in a lungful of air before being pulled back under again.
‘Now’s not the time to give up, Mum.’
Michael?
‘You’ve come so far; worked so hard to find the truth. You can’t give up now.’
But I’m tired Michael. So tired. I just want to go to sleep.
‘I can’t let you do that, Mum; you know I can’t.’
It’s too hard, Michael. I can’t do it.
‘You can, Mum. You must.’
But we could be together again. Just let me sleep, Michael.
‘We can’t. I won’t let you. And besides, if I do, she wins.’
The thought of a gloating, triumphant Desra is too much to bear and I fight back. With precious little oxygen left in my lungs I find myself grappling for Desra’s face. I can feel her shoulders, her neck, the back of her head, and then suddenly her jaw line. I slide my hands upwards, past the cheekbones and to the bridge of her nose. With my last ounce of energy, I dig my
