Chapter 1
One
IT’S HERE I COME unstuck, here I can barely type another word. Victoria.
Encore! Encore! I wait, applauding her brilliant performance – you had me there, made me think you were . . . Waiting for her to emerge from behind the curtain, queuing at the stage door. I’ll stand a few moments more. If I clap hard enough, she’s bound to . . .
What am I meant to tell you now? What am I meant to tell you?
She’s gone. V. And it’s all my fault. No, that’s not true.
She slipped. That’s what I tell them, the imagined column of jurors who file through my thoughts at night.
My blood sugar levels were low. Hers were low.
We were drunk. We were hungover. She startled at my touch, lost her footing.
I never pushed her. Just a hand on her shoulder.
My hearty congratulations. No, Your Honour.
I’m an actress, not a liar. It wasn’t me. She slipped . . .
I reached for my phone. No. I looked around.
Sweat, cold on my back. Breathing steady though.
In and out. Still breathing. Was she? Still breathing.
Down on my hands and knees. An animal. Meow, her cat-like smile.
Crawled to the edge. There. There she was.
V? Victoria? Her body slumped awkwardly against the boulder.
Neck lolling at a funny angle. Mud splattering her blue coat, like bullet wounds.
The blood – lots of blood – pooling behind her ears.
Dark, darker than you’d think. A scratch, a scratch.
Waiting for her to get up, for someone else to appear.
The helicopter. Pre-emptive. An emergency.
For her, surely. Limp as a doll. Her brilliant eyes.
Staring up at me. Losing their sparkle as the damage set in.
I stood and wiped the dirt from my hands. I could still feel the warmth of her, there on my palm. I looked around, listened for the helicopter again. Had it seen us? Had it seen—?
I threw up. Watery and yellow, like piss.
Last night’s wine and oh, you simply must have some champagne, darling.
The morning’s emptiness, splattered against my shoe.
I retched, strained, blood vessels bursting behind my eyes.
Her eyes. Her skull, cracked open like an egg.
I forgot to ask Jolly for eggs. No. Shaking.
Shaking myself back to life. Got to go. Before anyone – before the helicopter – need to tell Jolly – tell Jolly what exactly?
I started running, feet tripping down the hill, down and down and away from – had to keep moving – away from – a bad dream – a bad argument – too suspicious?
– no, not an argument – she was upset about last night – in a bad mood – Jolly’s argument – he wasn’t there though – it was just me – she was in a bad mood, a really foul one – we never argued though – we were best friends – that’s what she’d said, right?
– past tense – no, got to remember – still in the present – she walked on ahead – not a lie – she walked on ahead and I lost sight of her – she went the long way, the wrong way – we never usually go that way – me and my grandma – she passed away – my grandma, that is – I don’t know where Victoria is – she walked on ahead – I lost sight of her – I don’t know where she is –
I don’t know . . .
I . . .
‘I’M SURE SHE’LL BE fine,’ Jolly said airily, sliding a sleeve of bacon inside the fridge. ‘It’s me I’m worried about. Is she really pissed off?’
‘She seemed to be, yeah.’
‘I can’t believe I said all that to her last night. She must know I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘And she just stormed off?’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘Ugh, and she accuses me of being hot-headed.’ Jolly gestured at the bag of food on the counter. ‘So what are we meant to do about all this? I’m famished. I don’t know how long I can wait for her.’
I knew I wouldn’t be able to manage a single bite. I was still in my pyjamas, my back plastered with sweat. I tucked my sleeve inside my fist and shrugged. ‘We could have some toast or something. I’m sure she’ll find her way back down soon.’
Jolly let out a theatrical sigh. ‘Fine. But just one hour, mind.’
THE RAIN BEGAN SOON after. I thought of my vomit, her blood, wet puddles of the stuff, washed away, like new.
Thick droplets sliding down the window pane.
The bucket in the eaves, a rhythmic patter, fingertips tap, tap, tapping from the attic like a madwoman.
I could smell bacon frying, sausages. Oil crackling in the pan.
A yelp from Jolly as a bead of fat landed on his forearm.
I curled into a ball on the sofa and buried my face in a cushion.
The smells from the kitchen, my own sweat, turning my stomach over and over and over.
At two o’clock Jolly quizzed me again.
‘I can’t believe she’d just run off on her own like that.’ He leaned his forehead against the window pane and sipped his coffee. ‘She’ll be absolutely soaked.’
All I could do was make noises of agreement.
I didn’t trust myself to say much more. Keep it simple.
Don’t say too much. She insisted we go for a walk but she stormed ahead.
I saw her take a wrong turn, head off the long way.
I tried to catch up with her but I couldn’t see her.
I searched for a bit, but I was so hungry I came home.
‘I thought we might drive back to London today, but it’ll be dark soon.’ He turned his gaze on me. ‘You’re awfully quiet. Is everything OK?’
‘I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep.’
‘Hmm.’ This seemed to satisfy him. He returned to the window. ‘You don’t mind if we stay another night?’
‘Not at all.’
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. The rain intensified. Jolly craned his neck to the sky and shuddered. ‘I reckon I’ll sleep inside the house tonight.’
WHEN THE AFTERNOON GREW DARK, Jolly suggested we call someone.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, like the police, search and rescue, the fucking Salvation Army?’
I bit my lip. I didn’t want the police here, or search and rescue. What if one of them had been in the helicopter, what if they’d seen . . .?
‘I think it’s too early,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, playing the pragmatist, the concerned friend. ‘I think it has to be like twenty-four hours or something.’
‘But what if she’s slipped? You remember how much I fucked my ankle up two years ago, right? She could’ve fallen over somewhere and be lying, shivering in a ditch for all we know.’
At the mention of a ditch, my stomach tightened. I rubbed my eye with the heel of my palm and let out a groan of frustration. ‘So, what do you suggest we do?’
Jolly got up from the windowsill and retrieved his phone from the mantelpiece. He started dialling.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘999.’
‘No, Jol, it’s way too soon.’
I didn’t know why I was protesting; it wasn’t like I wanted to drag the moment out any longer than I had to.
But I remember having the feeling – silly, I know – that if we waited, if we just waited a little while longer, she was bound to find her way down from the moor, bound to come back to us – a little worse for wear, of course, but essentially still the same maddening Victoria we knew and loved, hated and adored.
I knew it was stupid, that I was delirious with exhaustion and hunger, guilt and fear, but I simply couldn’t face what came next: the search, the torches in the dark, the men barking orders, the dogs barking, slobbering, sniffing the wet ground for her, and then eventually a body, slippery with mud, with blood, zipped tight in plastic, spirited away from us and slid inside some terrible storage unit within the bowels of a hospital; and then what came after, telling everyone, finding the words, my parents, her parents, our friends, the school, everyone, everyone finding out that she wasn’t here any more, that she somehow wasn’t here.
Jolly looked at me. ‘We have to do something, Shannon. She’s our friend.’
His lip quivered and I felt something break inside me.
I nodded and closed my eyes.
I heard Jolly key in the number, heard the flat dialling tone, and then the woman’s voice, cheery and calm on the other end, asking, please, what’s your emergency.