The weight of the box in my hand was suddenly more apparent. I clutched it tighter to my chest. It was too late; the voices were closer now. If I stood nearer the shadows, they might not see me, but the crunch of my wellies on the pebbled driveway gave me away.
Mum called out. Beyond her, I could just make out the face of another, scowling, as though she already knew what I had done.
I made my excuses and made a run for it. Inside the house, I raced to the top floor, into my bedroom and shut the door. I knew I only had a few minutes. I pulled down the old suitcase on the top of my wardrobe, which was already half full of old Jackie magazines. I buried the box beneath them, zipped the suitcase back up and carefully placed it back on top of the wardrobe. I was shaking and could feel something pressing against my body in my back pocket. I pulled it out and held it in my hand. I had forgotten it was there. A key on an ivory-skull keyring. I shuddered at the presence of it here in my bedroom, but it was too late to return it now. I stuffed it into the bottom of my old dressing-up box that had been neglected for over a year now.
I sat back down on my bed.
Four words on repeat in my mind.
What have I done?
3 Tsilivi, Greece, May 2009
Four months until the wedding
The warm water laps at my ankles as my feet sink into the sand. I look across towards the horizon where the sky is alight with fiery golds and reds as the sun begins its descent. A pleasant wave of goosebumps tickles over my arms, and I pull my light shawl tighter across my shoulders. The sultry beat from the DJ is getting louder, nudging me to go back to the party, to join my friends. I turn and walk a few feet back up the shore, scooping up my sandals from the sand, the hem of my cotton skirt clinging to my damp, salty skin. A loud laugh explodes from the terrace, and I look up at the beach bar and watch my best friend from afar, from the sidelines where I feel, perhaps, I’ve always been: a spectator to her life, never wholly integrated.
Tonight, she is the life and soul of the party, which isn’t unusual for Caitlin Anderton. She oozes a confidence that I have been trying to develop for decades. Caitlin is the type of person that men and women flock to. Tonight, she looks particularly dazzling in a long, white strappy dress that hangs across her shapely tanned body. Her hair, which she now wears rusty-coloured and short, is swept back off her face and held with some sort of product. Freckles have erupted across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks; I know she hates the look of them, but they are what makes her perfectly unique to me. A small group has gathered around her. Some are the handful of girls that have come away with us, others we met this evening.
It’s the final night of the break to Tsilivi, Greece. The hen week. The hen week that isn’t a hen week. As soon as she became engaged to Chuck a month ago in April, Caitlin demanded a holiday. But even though it was the prelude to the wedding, the few girls who had been selected to come away with Caitlin had been told in no uncertain terms that we were not to refer to this break as a ‘hen holiday’. Caitlin is not one for tradition and was already making sure that there was nothing in the wedding that vaguely resembled a cliché. I was dubbed the bridesmaid, that was allowed at least, but it was only because I needed a job title for all the effort I was putting into making Caitlin’s wedding perfect. But I embraced the role. I felt I owed her. More so now than ever. Even though I can’t imagine Caitlin doing the same for me: stepping up to the post, putting all her spare time aside to book flights, sort out venues, flowers and all the other endless little jobs that needed doing to ensure a smooth-running and memorable wedding. But that is just one of the many and major differences between us. To be honest, I am not sure how we have even made it this far as friends.
Yet imagining a world without Caitlin in it is impossible. We have been friends for so long and when were kids, it was always Sasha and Caitlin, Caitlin and Sasha; two peas in a pod. I have tried many times to envisage my world carrying on without Caitlin in it, but that vision has yet to sit comfortably with me.
Today had been the hottest day so far and we had spent the whole day on the beach, but now we are gathered in the local beach bar, the heat that had been stinging my skin earlier still lingers in the air, teasing my arms and legs. The perfect end to the perfect day. And I am about to shatter it all.
I have run the scenario over and over in my head; when would be the best time to tell Caitlin? How will I tell her? But there is no point thinking it through any longer; I know I have to do it and I know the time is now.
My childhood friend, who I have known since I was
