Sebastian is still staring down at his wine.
‘Because it’s no bloody different,’ says Freya. ‘She’s in a position of power and that means that what she did was abuse. Abuse of Caleb and abuse of you – whether you think she “forced” you or not. The only person who’s done anything wrong here is her and she’s finally going to get what she deserves.’
She raises her glass and the other girl follows, and then, after a moment, Sebastian does too.
‘To revenge,’ says Zoe.
‘To justice,’ says Freya.
* * *
It’s obvious why Alex didn’t answer Nell’s knock. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed in her pyjamas, earphones in, staring at her laptop, making notes on a counsel’s pad. Her hair is straggly and she clearly hasn’t showered.
‘Alex,’ cries Nell, ‘for God’s sake, you’re not working? This is crazy – after everything the doctor said –’
Alex looks up. Her cheeks are flushed, but she doesn’t look unwell – she looks excited, wired.
‘Nell,’ she says, pulling out one earphone. But only one. ‘Sorry. I didn’t hear you.’
Her sister takes a step forward, her face grave. ‘What are you doing?’ She gestures at the laptop, the paper. ‘You’re on leave – you shouldn’t even be thinking about this stuff, never mind –’
Alex cuts across her. ‘I’m fine, Nell, really. And it’s not work. I promise.’
Nell frowns. ‘You should be taking it easy – resting. Remember what the doctor said?’
Alex smiles, placatory. ‘I know – and I’m fine. Really.’ Her hand is already poised to put her earphone back.
‘OK,’ says Nell with a sigh. She knows better than to argue with Alex when she gets in this mood. And at least there’s some colour in her cheeks now. ‘I’m popping out to the shops. I’ll only be half an hour. Ben’s downstairs if you need anything. And Gerry won’t be long.’
But Alex has already gone back to her programme.
Nell stands there for a few more moments, but her sister doesn’t even seem to register her presence. She’s paused the audio and is making another note, underlining something.
Nell reaches for the door and pulls it quietly closed.
* * *
9 July 2018, 9.25 p.m.
62a Shrivenham Close, Headington, Oxford
Despite the heat, she has the doors and windows closed, but it’s not making her feel safe, just even more paranoid. She’s scared all the time now. At home, in the street, on her own, near other people. All the time.
No wonder Amanda dumped her – it must have been like dating a double agent. If they’d known each other better, perhaps she could have told her, but she was too afraid of the look in her eyes, of what she’d say – what everyone would say if they knew. Her friends, her parents, Beth at work. They’d want to be sympathetic, they’d want to believe – of course they would – but the more she said, the more they’d wonder. The more she’d see the doubt in their eyes. Because, yes, something like this happened once before, and she was wrong about it then, and the guy she accused got no end of shit he didn’t deserve. And no, she can’t be totally sure this time either. She’s never seen his face, never really seen him, not properly. Just an impression, a quick movement, a silhouette, always just out of sight, always just out of reach. It’s all shadows and glimpses and bad vibes. Just like last time.
Only this time it’s different. Because this time it’s true.
If only she could believe it was Hugh Cleland. At least that would be logical, something she could explain. But she knows she would be kidding herself. This man – whoever he is – is thinner, slighter, nimbler. And in any case, he’s been stalking her for weeks. Long before it all blew up with the Clelands.
The ring on the doorbell makes her jump. She holds a hand to her chest for a moment, feeling the beat against the bone. For God’s sake, pull yourself together. Just see who it is, OK? You don’t have to open the door. Not unless you want to. Not unless you know them.
She takes a deep breath and goes down the hall, telling herself to walk with purpose, to get a grip. There’s a peephole in the panelling and she puts her hand to the wood, squinting into the glass. Then she straightens up and smiles a little see-you’re-just-overreacting-again smile.
She takes off the chain and opens the door.
* * *
It’s more like forty-five minutes in the end. The storm broke like Niagara while Nell was in the store and the months-dry roads are awash. Even at twenty miles an hour she can barely see where she’s going – the windscreen wipers just can’t work fast enough and the car’s steaming up inside. The sheer effort of driving in a straight line is making her eyes ache. When she finally turns into their road there’s a blur of red and blue lights up ahead. Up ahead, where they live. She frowns. Don’t be stupid, she tells herself sternly. It’s not us, of course it’s not us –
But it is. The ambulance is outside their house, it’s their front door that’s open.
There’s iron in her chest now – not one of the boys – please don’t let it be one of the boys –
She puts her foot down, loses control for a moment, slides sideways, and the car crunches metal.
Shit
Shit shit shit
She stops the car, throws open the door. Two paramedics are manoeuvring a stretcher down the path.
Not one of the boys. Not Gerry –
Alex.
She splashes down the pavement, soaked in seconds, rain running down her face.
The paramedics are lifting the stretcher now, sliding it into position. Alex’s face is white against the pillow, her eyes closed, an oxygen mask pushed over her nose and mouth.
One of the medics turns and sees her, frowns a little. ‘Are you the sister? She was asking for you.’
‘What happened?’ gasps Nell. ‘Is she OK?’
‘Her waters broke. All
