4. Wren
CHAPTER FOUR
WREN
Tactics to keep calm: breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.
I’ve never done anything like this. None of us have.
Not that my opinion matters much. They’d have done this with or without me.
I’m the quiet one, the nervous one, the one who goes along with what the others want to do whether I like it or not.
I don’t mean to be so shy. Mum used to always push me in front of people at family gatherings and make a big fuss of how I never say a word, I need to be brave, but I’d just turn bright red and run away.
She hates that the others call me Wren, says they’re making fun of me.
She doesn’t understand. Dad said that wrens are braver than people think.
Well, that’s not me. He doesn’t understand either.
The park is our meeting point, next to the big oak tree.
I snuck out via the back door after Mum and Dad went to bed.
Then I hopped over the garden wall to the alley behind our house, the one I normally avoid because it looks like a serial killer’s dream.
I ducked past other people’s gardens, careful not to let any neighbors spot me, until I was out on the next street and on my way.
It’s surprisingly chilly considering the good weather earlier, and I’m glad for my hoodie.
Mum and Dad are sleeping soundly and have no idea their goody-two-shoes daughter is sneaking out instead of doing the same.
Not that I’d be sleeping even if I was at home.
The bags under my eyes don’t lie. I’m lucky if I get an hour or two most nights.
The insomnia started back when Mum and Dad used to argue long into the night, when I’d lie awake scared they’d come in and tell me they were getting a divorce.
They don’t argue anymore, but the restlessness hasn’t gone away.
It’s so silent out here. Something about it makes me slow my footsteps, take in my surroundings.
Some of the houses have their lights on even past midnight, but otherwise it’s as though time has stopped.
There is me, the breeze, and nothing else.
My mind returns to the goats Starling sent the video of.
If we weren’t here, what would these streets look like?
All fields and hills and animals roaming?
The moment those goats got the chance, they took it.
Fear was the only thing holding them back.
A noise in the distance makes me jump, fear proving it still has a grip on me at least. A cracking of a twig.
Someone is out there, in the darkness.
Every girl has the instinct, don’t they, of gripping their key between their fingers, hot in their palm, in case a man should strike?
Or holding their phone to their ear, pretending to talk to Dad, making sure to say it several times, explaining their precise location.
All the while dread encases their heart.
This is a mistake. Coming out. Meeting up in the park. Anything could happen between there and my house.
But then the source of the noise steps under a lamppost, and my breath leaves my body in relief. It’s Starling; I’d spot her ginger hair anywhere. She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t see me trying to signal her attention.
She walks, I follow. Copying her every move.
I suppose this is how it happens. A stranger encountering another; wrong place, wrong time, and that’s that.
If either of them had been walking a few minutes earlier or later, the meeting would never have occurred.
For all I know, someone is behind me as I walk, my own insidious shadow, waiting for Starling to disappear out of sight so they can make their move.
“Starling,” I call, because the feeling stirring my stomach is making me nauseous.
Somehow, this doesn’t startle her. There’s no jump in her shoulders, no gasp. She turns, face breaking into a smile at the sight of me.
“Wren,” she says. “Thank God. It’s bloody scary out here, isn’t it?”
“Yes!” I reach her and we walk in step together. “I was thinking—”
She cuts me off. “This reminds me of a podcast I was listening to the other night. There was this woman, out alone after a night clubbing, and her friends didn’t make sure she got home safely, and she was murdered in an alleyway near her house.”
“Oh.” I think of the alley I just ran through. “Not the best story to share while we’re literally out alone in the middle of the night?”
“But we’re not alone!” She links arms with me. “It got me wondering about the perfect murder. You know, what we were discussing with Miss White? It’d be perfect now, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“A night like this. To commit murder.”
“Planning on whacking me over the head and dumping me in the canal, are you?”
“Oh, be serious.” Her elbow nudges me in the ribs. “It would be though, wouldn’t it? No one is around, no one will be around for hours, and even then you might not be found for ages. If you live alone during lockdown, who’s going to miss you? You could be gone for weeks before someone realized.”
“Sure, I guess. It’s not nice to think about though.”
She fixes me with a pitying look. “Murder never is. And why are you wearing that, by the way?”
I am instantly self-conscious. “Wearing what?”
But she’s distracted as the park comes into view, and it’s a relief not to have to carry on talking.
I’m awkward enough when chatting with everyone all together, but one-on-ones always feel like so much pressure, much more expectation to contribute to the conversation and entertain.
At least when everyone else is around, I can fade into the background and adopt my favorite position: observer.
We agreed to dress all in black, and spotting the others up ahead, everyone has stuck to the plan.
We’re the last to arrive. Cuckoo gives us a wave as we approach, black dress and black tights and her school shoes on, hair swept up into a bun.
She’s as short as me but makes the biggest impression, and I’m a little terrified of her at times.
She knows this too, likes poking fun when she catches me in a vulnerable moment, though I realize she’s trying to be funny.
Goldie has her black fluffy jumper on and black jeans.
Cuckoo might capture a room’s attention on first glance, but Goldie steals it from her and holds it.
Effortlessly striking, it would be easy to hate her if she wasn’t such a good friend.
The bracelet from her dad she always wears glitters in the moonlight.
Crow, leaning against the tree, pales in comparison to the other two.
There’s nothing especially noticeable about her, with her plain dark hair and sensible clothes and serious disposition.
She’d have the spotlight if she could though.
I remember her face when I told her I got into Cambridge, the disbelief and disgust that quickly morphed into forced happiness.
I wonder what her face will look like when she finds out I’m going to withdraw my place. Head off to Japan, teach English, leave everyone behind.
Mum and Dad too. They’re going to be so mad. But I don’t care. Cambridge is their dream, not mine.
I realize what Starling’s comment meant as soon as we join them. I’m the only one wearing a mask, black to match my outfit.
Cuckoo, of course, homes in on it. “What are you wearing that for?”
“Um,” I say. “For safety?”
“We’re only going to be seeing each other for the next however long,” she says. “We’re outside. It’s fine!”
My face is burning underneath the mask. The others, even Crow, who I would have thought would definitely be wearing one, are laughing.
“Get rid of it, Wren,” Goldie says, surprisingly cold. “It’s depressing.”
I take it from my face and scrunch it into my pocket. “Sorry.” Though I don’t know why I’m apologizing. My cheeks are still hot.
“Anyway!” Cuckoo shouts, then puts a finger to her lips. “Oops. Promise I won’t be loud. We don’t want to be caught.”
“But if we do get caught, then what?” Crow asks, pessimistic as ever. “We’ll have a massive fine, our parents will find out, everything will be ruined.”
“Oh, bore off, Crow.” Cuckoo rolls her eyes. “If you don’t like it, don’t be here.”
“What are we going to be doing, anyway?” I ask nervously. “I mean . . . are we going to walk around the park?”
“Let’s see where the night takes us, shall we?” Cuckoo says. “We can do anything. We’re living outside the law, babes.”
“A bit dramatic,” Goldie says, “but I guess so.”
Cuckoo winks. “Come on, let’s go. The park is so creepy like this.”
It is eerie, walking along, whispering to each other in hushed voices as we jostle for space on the path.
I am pushed to the back, as I often am, but Goldie slows her pace and sticks beside me so I’m not left out.
The grass hasn’t been mowed, flanking us like small hedges, daisies and dandelions sprouting throughout.
Up ahead is the playground, accessed by a gate, and this is where Cuckoo takes us.
In the distance a group of trees create a border for the main road beyond it, standing together in a rigid line with only shadows visible between them.
There are shadows everywhere, actually. The streetlamps have turned off for the night and the grassy field where football is played and picnics are eaten is in complete darkness, stretching for what seems like forever.
Staring out is like staring into an abyss, a weird knowing and not knowing what is out there.
“Boo!” Cuckoo shouts, jerking my arm and making me squeal.
The others fall about laughing.
“Very funny,” I say, glad for the dark to hide my reheated cheeks.
“You’re so funny!” Cuckoo grins. “Utterly zonked out looking over there, no awareness of me circling back to you. You’re such an easy target.”