Copyright © Joanne Ryan 2025

Tamarillas Press

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, businesses, organisations and situations in this publication are either a product of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is written in British English.

This book is only available on Amazon, both ebook and paperback. Any other copies are illegal.

Cover Design: © Joanne Ryan 

Chapter One

New Year’s Day

Opening my eyes, the room swims into view. For a moment, I have no idea where I am. The wallpaper with giant pink roses, the cream wooden dado rail, the mould spotted ceiling, the velvet tasselled lampshade. None of it looks familiar, but as my brain kicks into gear, it comes back to me.

This is my new home, where I’ve lived for less than a week.

It’s shabby, old-fashioned, but the room is huge, the rent cheap, and out of a list of people breaking their necks to move in here, I’m the chosen one.

Nausea washes over me, so I close my eyes again and wait for it to pass. If I lie still, the pounding in my head will subside. Shallow breathing will quell the bile that’s rising in my throat and threatening to spew out of my mouth. Despite not wanting to vomit over my bed, the thought of getting up and dragging myself to the bathroom feels like way too much effort. A vague memory of belting out Auld Lang Syne last night with Connor and Naomi bludgeons its way into my brain. The three of us were outside in the garden sharing a spliff, but when I try to remember the rest of the party, there are only snapshots of it; me, dancing with a glass in my hand, fireworks exploding in a mass of colour, the memory of the soggy end of the spliff in my mouth. The thought makes me gag. There were so many people here because New Year’s Eve is the party night of the year. Most of them were strangers to me, aside from a few acquaintances from the house where I used to rent a room. The open invitation, spread by word of mouth, meant Connor and Nayo didn’t know all the partygoers; pretty much anyone bringing food and drink was allowed in. The house was so rammed that the party had spilled out into the garden, despite the freezing weather. Booze keeps you warm. Who knows what the neighbours made of it, although they must be used to it by now. A memory of saying this to Nayo comes back to me. She stared at me, shrugged and said who gives a shit.

How did I stand it out in the garden? There’s been snow on the ground all week and it’s bitterly cold. I was wearing only a skimpy top and a pair of jeans. That I could go out there and not freeze to death is a testament to how much alcohol I drank. Also, I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast, so there would have been no food to soak it up, hence the monumental hangover. It’s common knowledge that you eat before a drinking binge, but I fasted all day to avoid bloating and making my tight jeans tighter. Completely laughable, because it’s not as if I could compete with Naomi. No one can compete with Naomi. Or Nayo, as she prefers. Insists, actually. Effortlessly beautiful and model skinny, my size ten jeans would hang off of her, so why did I even care what I looked like? No one was looking at me. I did care, though.

Vanity.

Did I make a complete fool of myself in front of my new housemates?

Possibly. Probably. No doubt I was spouting drivel, alcohol-fuelled tripe that would have seemed fantastically profound at the time. I’d reminded myself at the start of the party not to get carried away, but clearly, party me didn’t listen. Nervous, and keen to show that I’m an excellent choice as a housemate, I wanted to prove to my super cool housemates they’d made the right choice by letting me move in. Show them I’m a fun party girl who’s a perfect fit.

So now, I can’t remember if I embarrassed myself last night. Getting this room was like a dream come true and now, because I got rat-arsed and most likely made a show of myself, I’m embarrassed to show my face.

What an absolute idiot.

Or maybe not. Heck, the guy who rented this room before me was the ultimate party animal, so anything I said or did is going to be tame by comparison.

The sound of Connor’s baritone from the kitchen below drifts up through the ceiling along with the lighter tones of Nayo’s laughter. They were knocking back the booze last night yet they’re not dying in their beds right now with hangovers. There’s the tinny crackle of the radio, the opening of cupboards, the chink of crockery. Laughter. I raise my arm, twist my wrist towards me and focus on the face of my watch.

Two fifteen.

Christ, how long have I been asleep?

I’ll have to get up and show them they haven’t made a terrible decision in choosing me. Prove that I’m not a complete lightweight and can party with the rest of them. Competition to rent this room was rife; after Heck, their last flatmate, suddenly went travelling, people were queuing up to rent his room. At the last party I came to, Heck spent most of the night out in the back garden stark-naked, gyrating on the garage roof, cajoling people into joining him. When I left, he was lying face down on the lounge floor with a rug thrown over him, so do I really need to worry about making a fool of myself?

No, but I will anyway.

The rent here is ridiculously low and although the house is ramshackle, it’s bang in the middle of town and within walking distance of all the clubs, bars and the train station. I’d been to a couple of parties here in the past, but I never thought I stood a chance of getting the room because I’m boring, unremarkable. Nothing like Heck. I’d barely even spoken to Connor and Nayo when I’d been to parties here before, tagging along with several of my previous housemates. I was star-struck, and they seemed far too glamourous to be interested in me, so I’d nod hello, run off and mingle. The awful dump that I used to live in was old, cold, and full of spiders. Too many letting rooms and not enough bathrooms, but it was all that was available when I moved to the area. The sole reason I applied to rent this room was because my landlord suddenly sold up while the market was buoyant. So I wasn’t the only one applying, as well as the rest of my house share renters, there were dozens of others who wanted this room, too. Applying for the room was a throwaway attempt and I knew I never stood a chance. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I reasoned. Connor and Nayo spent three weeks interviewing people to rent this room. That’s how cool they are. They said they wanted the right person to share their home and, for some bizarre reason; they chose me over everyone else who was desperate to move into party central. Once I’d got over my shock at being selected, I figured it was because they wanted a skivvy, someone to do the washing up, a cleaner, a cook.

But no, it’s not like that at all.

They seem to like me.

Connor, the actor and Naomi the model decided that I, Sian Jones, aspiring writer, dog walker and miss sensible, was the right person to share their falling down, crumbling three-bedroomed Victorian house.

And I’ve just gone and ruined it.

Get up, Sian. GET UP. Drag yourself into that bathroom, make yourself look decent, get downstairs with a big fat smile on your face. Show them you were the absolute best choice in the world to share their home. Be charming and funny about what a fool you made of yourself last night.

Hauling myself upright, I lean back against the headboard and wait for the thudding and nausea to recede. There’s a packet of paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, a couple of them before I force myself into the shower will take the edge off. Maybe I should take three. Will three be okay or is that an overdose? Two, then. Thank God I have an ensuite, even though it has ancient plumbing, turquoise ceramics and broken tiles, because at least I won’t risk bumping into either of them before I’ve made myself presentable. Or anyone else, in case others crashed here last night. Swing your legs off the bed, Sian, and get in that bathroom. Putting my hands either side of me, I inhale deeply and brace myself to get up.

Which is when I realise that I’m not alone.

There’s a mound underneath the duvet next to me. A big mound, a man-sized mound. Dirty blond, tufty hair sprouts from beneath the duvet. I stare at the hair and try to remember who it belongs to, but there’s nothing, just a blank. I can’t recall a face, let alone a name.

Sian, you’ve excelled yourself.

✽✽✽

Standing underneath the shower spray, I turn my face upward into the flowing water one final time. I made myself throw up before getting in the shower; forced two fingers down my throat and spewed foul, yellow liquid that burned my throat as it gushed out. All the time I was thinking; who the hell is that man in my bed? How am I going to get him out of the house without Connor or Nayo seeing him? Not that they’d care one bit I had a man stay over, but I care.

It’s no biggie, it’s a one-night stand, not the end of the world.

Only it is, because I don’t remember a thing about it and that’s not good, is it? If I’m going to have a casual encounter, I should at least remember it. I don’t remember him, let alone the sex; nothing. Where there should be a memory, there’s a big fat blank, as if I closed my eyes and opened them again. One-night stands aren’t me: I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with them, but they’re not my thing and I don’t do them.

Although it looks as if I did last night.

Turning off the shower, I get out and dry myself. I feel less shaky than before I got in, but I don’t feel great. What I need to do now is get dressed and get back in that bedroom before whoever is in my bed wakes up and decides to take a wander around the house. It hits me that if I can’t remember who I shared a bed with, what else could I have done? I don’t remember coming back to my room and have only sporadic memories of last night. Will it come back to me over the next few hours or days? Being a coward, I hope not. Some things are best not remembered. Forget it, get on with life, move forward, it’s just one drunken night. Right now, I have enough to worry about without dwelling on what I might have done. I pull on underwear, drag on a pair of my dog-walking joggers and a thick, woolly jumper. They were the first things that came to hand after I’d slipped out of bed with as little movement as possible, so I didn’t wake the man in my bed. Did I have sex with him or did he just crash here? When I woke, I was wearing my underwear, but that means nothing. I could have had sex with him and put them on afterwards.

Do I need to get the morning-after pill?

Better to be safe than sorry, I think, although nowhere will be open today. How long do I have? I’ll have to Google it. I drag a comb through my hair, then fluff it with my fingers into something presentable, the benefit of having curly hair. Opening the bathroom door, I see that the mound in the bed hasn’t moved and I’m not sure whether I’m pleased or horrified about that.

Right, time to wake him up and get him out of here. I hope he doesn’t think he’s getting breakfast. Crossing the room to the bed, I walk around to his side. The face belonging to the tufty hair is handsome; a chiselled, straight nose, wide mouth and clear blue eyes. He has a definite hint of a tan and there seems something vaguely familiar about him. He’s tucked in up to his neck underneath the duvet, like a child.

‘Morning.’ My voice comes out in a squeak, so not attractive. ‘You’re awake then.’

He doesn’t smile back at me. Moving a little closer, I feel the first faint stirrings of unease.

‘Morning?’ I repeat. He doesn’t respond but stares at me, unblinking. I touch his cheek with my fingers and his skin is ice cold, as if he’s come in from being outside. It’s not cold in here, it’s warm. He’s so still.

Too still.

Is he breathing? I can’t hear him. Panicked, I grab hold of his shoulder and shake him, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all.

Doesn’t blink.

I stare down at him in horror as my brain clicks and tells me the truth I’ve been ignoring.

He’s dead.

Chapter Two

‘Here, drink this.’ Nayo thrusts a mug of tea across the table to me and I wrap both hands around it to warm my ice-cold fingers.

‘Drink it,’ Nayo orders. ‘You’re in shock.’ She slides into the chair on the opposite side of the table. Connor appears in the kitchen doorway and glances at her. They dragged me down the stairs between them after they heard my screams and then he went back up to my room. A look passes between them.

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ Even as I ask, I can’t fully squash the smidgeon of hope that I got it wrong. Maybe he’s in a deep sleep or unconscious. In my panic, perhaps I couldn’t hear him breathing over the rushing sound in my ears.

‘Yep.’ He puts both hands on the back of Nayo’s chair and watches as I take a gulp of tea. ‘Afraid so.’

‘Oh, my God.’ I gulp a mouthful of tea and hold the syrupy goo in my mouth, swallowing it down with difficulty over a lump that feels the size of a golf ball. ‘How much sugar is in this?’ I ask, as if it matters.

‘Dunno. I just tipped it in.’ Nayo shrugs. ‘Sugar’s for shock, right? So I put loads in.’

Trembling, I put down the mug and pull the throw that Nayo put around my shoulders, up around my neck. It’s surreal. They’re so laid back, anyone else would run around like headless chickens if they’d found a dead body in their house, but they’re so calm, as if this is normal.

‘Sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.’ I say. ‘Thank you for the tea and the blanket. I don’t really remember what happened.’

‘You were screaming the place down,’ Nayo says. ‘We thought you were being murdered. When we got upstairs, you were still in your room trying to get your door unlocked. Connor was about to break the door down when you finally opened it. We brought you down here to calm you down.’

‘Oh God. Is anyone else still here from last night?’

‘No.’ She snorts. ‘A couple were sleeping in the lounge, but I kicked them out when I got up. They thought they were going to get fed, but I soon put them right on that. It’s not a hotel and I’m not putting up with them hanging around all day.’

‘Yeah. We’re not a doss house,’ Connor adds.

‘You’re so calm,’ I say. ‘Considering what’s upstairs.’

Nayo shrugs and takes another swig of her tea. Connor rubs his hand across his chin, thoughtfully.

‘So.’ Nayo puts down her mug. ‘Who’s the guy in your bed?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘O-k-a-y,’ she draws the word out thoughtfully. ‘So you took him up there to shag him, and he snuffed it, yeah?’

‘I don’t know, I can’t remember.’ I cringe as I say the words. ‘Maybe he snuck in while I was asleep. Yeah, I think that’s what must have happened.’

‘So how did he get in? Because you’d locked your door.’

I had. It seemed to take forever to get the key in the lock and open it. My fingers wouldn’t work properly to turn the key and that’s when I started screaming. God knows how I actually managed to get the door open, the state I was in. So he couldn’t have come in while I was asleep, could he? If my door had been unlocked, he could have wandered in while I was sleeping, looking for somewhere to crash, but it wasn’t unlocked.

Which means I let him in.

‘I can’t remember him, or anything about him. The last thing I recall is being out in the garden sharing a joint with you two.’

‘Hmm. Okay. It was pretty potent stuff. You don’t normally do weed, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Thought not. You were all over each other out in the garden after you had that spliff ‘cos I looked at him and felt a bit jell ‘cos you were practically shagging each other. His name’s Jed or Jack or something like that. He’s pretty hot. Was. I think he might be an Aussie ‘cos I remember he had that weird accent.’

‘We were all over each other?’ I ask in shock. I don’t remember that; where there should be a memory is a blank.

‘Yeah, you were. Then you disappeared, so that must have been when you took him upstairs.’

‘What time was that?’

She shrugs. ‘Dunno. Well after midnight because we’d done the countdown thing. Everyone was seriously smashed by then.’

‘Do you know who he is?’ I look at Connor, who hasn’t spoken.

‘No. I haven’t seen him before, although I think he must do a bit of dealing because I noticed him going around with stuff.’

‘Jed, definitely Jed,’ Nayo says. ‘I never forget a pretty face. Shame if you shagged him and you can’t remember anything about it. Bit of a waste.’

She gets up and saunters over to the fridge, her pink, satin shorty pyjamas showing off perfect legs that go on forever. She opens the door and stares at the inside for several seconds before pulling out a plate of stale, curling sandwiches. She sniffs them before carrying them back to the table.

‘Want one?’ She holds the plate towards me.

I shake my head, then wish I hadn’t, as my brain rattles around. Pulling a cigarette from a packet lying on the table, Nayo puts it in her mouth and lights it with a lighter she pulls from her shorts pocket. I watch as she picks up a curling sandwich, takes a bite, and then inhales deeply from the cigarette.

‘What?’ she asks, when she notices me looking at her.

‘How can you eat and smoke at the same time?’ It’s not normal, is it? Being fascinated by my housemate’s eating and smoking habits when I’ve just found a dead man in my bed.

‘I’m starving and I want a fag. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

I don’t reply. I’m in shock, obviously, but the fixation with Nayo is stopping me from becoming hysterical again, so I’m going with it. She exhales and the cigarette smoke billows across the table, but even though I hate second hand smoke, I say nothing. Nor would I ever. Nayo is the queen in this house so I have to suffer it if I want to live here. I knew the score before I moved in because she made me very aware that there was no way she would be going outside for her nicotine fix. If anyone else ate a sandwich and smoked, they’d look pretty disgusting, but such is Nayo’s allure that she can get away with it. Tall with a body formed to perfection, her face is the slightest of disappointments. Her mouth is slightly too big, her eyes a little too small, but put her in front of a camera and none of that matters. Her look is slightly aloof and other-worldly. Think forties film stars. Photogenic doesn’t come close to how good she looks on film. Not that I’ve seen any of her shoots, but there are plenty of snaps of her at parties stuck to the fridge and she looks amazing and they were just taken on a phone camera. Upper class looks with distinctly lower-class behaviour, as I’ve heard Connor tell her. She laughs loudly when he says it and tells him to sod off.

‘How do you think he died?’ I look up at Connor.

‘Couldn’t tell,’ he replies. ‘I pulled the duvet back but I couldn’t see any marks on him, no sign of any obvious injury. At a guess, I’d say he took too much of his own gear.’

‘We could go through his pockets,’ Nayo says. ‘To find out who he is.’

‘Done that. His trousers and shirt were on the chair and there was nothing in them.’

‘Isn’t that weird?’ I ask. ‘To have nothing on him at all? What about his phone? No one goes anywhere without their phone.’

‘Yeah. I thought that. We should have a search around, see if he’s left it anywhere. If I go to a house party, I don’t take my wallet or anything, too many thieves around, but I take my phone,’ he says. ‘Always.’

‘Too right.’ Nayo stubs out her cigarette in her mug and immediately lights another. ‘We always lock all our stuff in our bedrooms when we have a party ‘cos you can’t trust anyone. But he’d have his phone; everyone always has their phone. Unless someone nicked it.’

‘And someone, somewhere, will be missing him when he doesn’t go home,’ I say.

Silence.

‘So.’ I say. ‘I can’t put it off any longer, can I? I have to call the police, get it over with. Start the process.’ I feel uneasy at the thought of all the questions they’ll ask; questions that I can’t answer. The questions about me I’ll have to answer. Will I be a suspect? The police will think it’s convenient when I tell them I remember nothing.

‘The police?’ Connor stands behind Nayo and absentmindedly starts massaging her shoulders until she bats his hands away with a muttered “sod off.”

‘Yes. I should have done it immediately, but they’ll understand, won’t they, that I’m in shock?’

Connor strides to the sink, grips the worktop and stares out over the garden.

‘Right. Okay. The police.’

‘Yes. But I’ll need my phone, and it’s in my room. I can’t go in there and see him. Could you get it for me? Please?’

‘Sure.’ He turns and folds his arms, leans back against the sink. ‘But I think before we call the police, we need to think about it. Not do anything hasty. Discuss our options.’

‘Options?’ I echo. ‘What do you mean, options?’

He doesn’t answer but comes to the table, pulls out the chair next to Nayo and sits down on it.

‘It’s bad timing.’ He rubs his hand over his face, making a rasping sound on his day old stubble.

‘Bad timing?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got this big audition coming up for a Netflix series, second call back. I’m this close to getting it.’ He holds up his forefinger and thumb, pressing them together so they nearly meet. ‘And it’s big. Like, the big time big. If I get it, my career will take off, no doubt about it. It’s a dream part.’

I stare at him.

‘Yeah, you’ve got a point, Con,’ Nayo says. ‘I’m about to sign for being the face of a designer summer campaign, you know, the one I can’t even mention their name until the ads are out. They’re so touchy and woke that I can kiss the job goodbye when they get wind of this. I’ll be dead to them. No way they’ll touch me with a barge pole when this hits the papers.’

‘Seriously?’ I gasp, in shock. ‘A man is dead and you’re worried about your jobs?’

Nayo glares at me, jumps up and leans across the table, thrusting her face close to mine.

‘Just a minute, miss high and mighty. The dead guy was in your bed, not mine or Con’s. It’s nothing to do with us but because of you.’ She stabs a finger into my shoulder. ‘We stand to lose the best things that have ever happened to us. We’ve been working for this for years and now it’s all going to turn to shit because of you.’

‘Okay,’ I recoil, shocked at her aggression. ‘I’m really sorry, but I honestly do not know what happened. Why should it affect you? It’s nothing to do with you. It’s me the police will question, because like you say, he was in my bed. I’m the one who’s going to get all the flak.’

‘Oh, come on, Sian, grow up.’ Connor snaps. ‘The minute you make that call, the police will crawl all over this house, poking their noses into everything. They’ll treat it like a crime scene and find something to do us for because who knows what’s been left behind from all our parties. They’ll get the drug dogs in and we’ll be right in the shit. It’ll be all over the papers, all over social media and me and Nayo will be finished because those press bastards will make a bee-line for us. They’ll interview anyone who’s ever been to a party here and they’ll all be fighting to dish the dirt on us for a wad of cash. We’ll be finished. Cancelled. No one will want us anywhere near them. It’s alright for you, no one gives a shit about a dog walker, but a model and an actor? We’re manna from heaven for the newspaper dirtbags.’

What can I say? I’d like nothing better for it not to have happened, but there’s nothing I can do now. It’s done; there’s a dead man upstairs in my bed and I have to report it. If only I hadn’t drunk so much. Or smoked that weed.

If only I could remember what happened.

‘I’ve spent months waiting for that designer job.’ Nayo sits back down and lights up another cigarette. ‘It’s TV adverts, magazines, everything. I would have been made. Made. And now because of you, I can kiss it all goodbye. My career will be finished because when it all dies down, it’ll be too late; I’m twenty-three, you know, that’s practically past it for a model.’

‘I’m so sorry. I wish there was another way, but there isn’t; I don’t have any choice, do I?’

‘Yes. You do.’ Connor’s face is serious, and I stare at him in bewilderment. Nayo looks at him with interest.

‘What do you mean? How can I not call them? There’s a dead body in my bed and I can’t exactly ignore it, can I?’

‘We could get rid of it.’ Connor says. ‘Dump it somewhere.’

It, he’s calling the guy, it. Is that deliberate?

‘You’re joking, right?’ I ask.

‘No, I’m not. It’s a way out of this mess that you’ve got us into. Christ, Sian, you’ve lived here for a week and already you’ve handed us a nightmare on a fucking plate. We thought you were a safe bet and it turns out you’re even more of a liability than Heck was.’

‘Yeah,’ Nayo says. ‘Heck was mental, but even he never woke up next to a corpse.’

Connor sighs. ‘Look. I’m offering us all a way out that doesn’t involve the police. What do you think, Nayo?’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ She blows out a plume of smoke. ‘We can’t bring him back to life, can we? So what’s the point of telling the police and ruining our lives?’

‘But he’s dead,’ I say. ‘We can’t just dump him somewhere like a load of old rubbish, can we? Besides, someone is going to come looking for him. He’ll be missed.’

‘He might not.’ Nayo says. ‘I’m pretty sure he was an Aussie, so he might not have any family here. Maybe he was travelling, a gap year or something. It could be months or even years until he’s missed. And if anyone comes looking, we can just say he was at the party, but we haven’t seen him since. Or say that we don’t remember seeing him. Yeah, that might be better. Say we never saw him at all.’

‘You’re actually considering this?’ I look from one to the other, unable to believe what I’m hearing.

‘Why so shocked, Sian?’ Connor says. ‘You’re the one with a dead guy in your bed, not us. We’ve only got your word for it you don’t know how he died, haven’t we? You could have killed him for all we know. We’re trusting you, Sian, believing that you had nothing to do with his death. We’re trying to help you here and you’re behaving as if we’re the bad guys.’

‘I honestly don’t know what happened to him,’ I say indignantly.

‘Okay. But see it from our point of view, we’re the ones who have everything to lose and it’s all your fault.’

‘Yeah, I mean it’s not like we’ve committed a crime, is it?’ Nayo says. ‘And I’m not saying you have done anything, but the police will keep digging until they find something they can pin on one of us. It’s not as if we killed him, we’d just be preventing a burial or whatever you call it, so it’s not like anyone’s getting hurt.’

‘But what about his family? They’ll never know what happened to him. He’ll have just disappeared. Imagine how it will be for them.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe he should have thought about that before he starting peddling drugs.’ Connor says. ‘He’d be alive, wouldn’t he, if he hadn’t overindulged.’

‘Harsh.’ Nayo looks at him and then at me. ‘Because we don’t know how he died. He could have had a heart problem or something for all we know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s dead and nothing we do now is going to change that.’ She looks at me, her expression serious. ‘We’ve told you how we feel so now it’s down to you, but if you decide to go to the police, it won’t be nice for anyone, especially you, because you’ll be the prime suspect. They could lock you up until they find out for sure that you didn’t kill him. Are you up to spending time in a prison?’

‘Yeah, they’ll lock you up and ask questions later. They might throw us all in a cell,’ Connor says. ‘So, what’s it to be?’ He stares at me, his dark brown eyes burning into mine.

‘You think they’d put me in prison?’

‘Probably.’ He shrugs. ‘Until they finish their investigations.’

‘I couldn’t bear being locked up,’ I whisper.

‘Nor me,’ Nayo says through a blast of cigarette smoke. ‘And a pretty boy like you wouldn’t last five minutes, would you, Con?’

He grimaces and I look at him guiltily.

‘Do you think we could get away with it?’ I ask.

Connor grins and I realise he’s taken my answer for a ‘yes’. Is that what I meant? Am I prepared to cover up a death? No, I’m not, I tell myself. We’re talking, that’s all. I’m just seeing where this is going because I don’t think they’re serious. I think they’re panicking. Once they’ve had time to process it, they’ll realise that the police are the only option.

‘Yeah, I think we could get away with it. All we have to do is put him where nobody will ever find him.’

‘Sounds easy,’ I say. ‘But where would he never be found? And how would we get him there?’

Well,’ he says, taking Nayo’s cigarette from her fingers and inhaling it before handing it back. ‘I’ve got an idea about that.’

Chapter Three

‘My van?’ I stare at Connor, horrified. ‘You want to use my van?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But it’s the dog van. I use it to pick up the dogs. It’s not even my van, it belongs to work, I just have use of it.’

‘And?’ He raises an eyebrow.

‘Neither of us has transport so we can’t take him on the bus, can we?’ Nayo says, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. ‘But you do. Right there at the end of the garden, sitting there just waiting to be used. You can back it up to the gate when it’s dark, and we can take him down there and shove him in. No one will see us.’

‘But they’ll smell it,’ I say. ‘The dogs. They’ll smell that a body’s been in the van. Dogs have sensitive noses. They can smell forty times better than us, so the minute I put them in there, they’ll know. They’ll go mad.’

‘Yeah, but they’re not going to tell anyone, are they? The police can’t take a statement from a cocker spaniel.’ Nayo looks at Connor when she’s finished speaking and they burst out laughing. I fight back the tears. This is like a sick nightmare I can’t wake up from. Am I dreaming? Feeling sudden hope that I am, I twist the skin on the back of my hand as hard as I can; maybe this isn’t real, or maybe the weed was stronger than I thought and I’m having some sort of weird episode.

I flinch at the pain and release my fingers.

Nope, not a nightmare, or an episode.

‘It’s not funny,’ I wail. They laugh even more.

‘Stop looking at me, Con.’ Nayo says, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m going to piss myself if you don’t stop.’

‘I’ve not said a word.’ He deadpans.

Laying my arms across the table, I put my head down on them and close my eyes. Thoughts and images buzz around my head and I drift into a strange semi-conscious state. I feel fingers gently massaging my scalp, and when I open my eyes, Connor is gazing down at me with concern.

‘Hey, come on, Sian, we’re just trying to lighten the moment, make it more bearable. We’re a bit hysterical. It’s not funny, we know that, and we didn’t mean to upset you.’

I pull myself upright, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

‘I don’t think I can do this. How will we be able to live with ourselves afterwards? And even if we did it, where can we take him that he won’t be found? We’ll always be waiting for the knock on the door from the police.’

‘We’ll put him somewhere where he’ll never be found. You can put this behind you and pretend it never happened,’ Nayo says.

‘Just like that? It’s that easy, is it? We dump a man’s body and then forget about it?’ I feel uneasy saying the words as something stirs in the back of my mind. I push it down. Dwelling on stuff now won’t help. ‘You’re saying we forget any of this ever happened?’

‘Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,’ Nayo says. ‘I make myself forget stuff all the time. Put it in a box and bury it. That’s what I do. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit that’s happened to me, but I don’t give it headroom.’

‘What stuff?’ I gawp at her. What’s happened to Nayo that’s so terrible?

‘I’m not getting into it because it’s buried deep and no way am I digging it up, but trust me, dumping a druggie’s dead body doesn’t come close.’

Connor reaches across and squeezes her hand. A meaningful look passes between them before Nayo pulls her hand away to light up yet another cigarette.

‘I’ve always done it and it works,’ she says. ‘You might think you can’t forget, but you can. Just tell yourself it was a bad dream or a messed-up trip or a bad pill. What’s the point of brooding on shit from the past that you can’t do anything about? Bury it and move on.’

Could I do that?

‘Okay, so if we did this,’ I ask. ‘And I’m not saying that we should. Where the hell can we put him that he won’t be found? If we dig a grave, isn’t someone going to notice?’

‘No digging, Connor says. ‘It’s the easiest way to get caught and also it would be impossible because the ground is frozen solid. No, I’ve had a think about this and we’ll get rid of him in that place you take the dogs.’

‘What? The local park? How’s that going to work?’

‘No, not there.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘The lakes you take them to? The one you said was one of your favourite places.’

‘You mean the water park?’ I waffled on about the lakes in my interview with them. I was stuck for something to talk about when they asked about my job, because who can compete with a model and an actor? So I told them how lovely and peaceful it is there in the winter because there aren’t many people around. I’m surprised Connor remembered. I assumed he wasn’t listening.

‘Yeah, that’s it, the old gravel pits,’ Nayo says. ‘The place that’s like a seaside but isn’t. I went there once, and it rained the whole day, bloody awful. God knows why people rave about it. I suppose we could take him there. Drop him in one of the biggest, deepest lakes and weigh him down so he doesn’t bob back up again.’

‘I think it could work,’ Connor says. ‘Some of those lakes are way deep and if we tie enough weight around him, he’ll never float to the surface.’

‘And the fish will eat him,’ Nayo adds.

‘You can drive, Sian, and me and Nayo will deal with the body,’ Connor says. ‘There’s bound to be a boat there we can use, a rowing boat or something. We’ll take him to the deepest, remotest part where nobody goes.’ He stops and taps his phone, his fingers flying over the screen. ‘I’ve just Googled it and it says bodies don’t take as long to decompose in water; a week or two. No one will be going to those lakes now because it’s freezing. It’ll be months before the weather warms up and he’ll have rotted away by then.’

‘We should wait until it gets dark,’ Nayo says. ‘Which won’t be long because it’s dark at four. We can go straight down the back garden and shove him in the back of the van.’

‘Okay, decision time.’ Connor stands up and stretches his arms above his head. ‘We can’t hang around because if we’re doing this, we need to make a plan and we all have to agree on it, because there’s no going back. Let’s take a vote. I’m up for it. What about you Nayo?’

‘Yep. I’m in.’

‘Sian?’ Both of them direct their gaze at me.

I can put a stop to this now; call the police and face up to it. Am I seriously considering covering up the death of a man and helping to dispose of his body? Now is the time to say no, because we’ve done nothing yet, it’s just talk. We haven’t committed a crime. All I have to do is say ‘no’ and then do the right thing and ring the police station.

‘Okay,’ I say, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m in.’

✽✽✽

‘I’ve wrapped him the sheet. You can’t see anything.’

The three of us are standing outside my bedroom. The plan is to carry the body from my bed, down the stairs and put him on the kitchen floor, ready to take him out to the van. I’ve been outside and moved the van from in front of the garage doors where I normally park and backed it up to the gate, nearly hitting the fence in the process. God knows how I’m going to drive all the way to the lakes. It all sounded so easy when Connor was talking about it, but it’s not so easy actually doing it.

‘That sheet’s off my bed. What if the police find him and trace the sheet here?’ I ask.

‘How would they do that?’ Connor snaps.

‘I don’t know. They have forensic experts, don’t they? They can trace anything.’

‘You’ve been watching too much TV. How can they trace a random bed sheet to this house? Anyway, they won’t find him because we’re putting him where he’ll never be found.’

‘Okay.’

‘Right. Let’s get on with it or else we’ll be here all night. You two take the feet end and I’ll take the head,’ Connor says. ‘We’ll go straight down the stairs, along the hall and into the kitchen, right?’ He goes into the bedroom and Nayo follows. I stay on the landing.

‘You coming?’ Connor looks at me, his patience exhausted.

‘I don’t know if I can.’ I shuffle to the doorway but can’t make myself go into the room. I watch as Connor mutters under his breath and then goes to the head of the bed, thrusts his arms underneath the body and waits for Nayo to get hold of the feet.

‘On the count of three. One, two, three.’

They heave him off the bed. Nayo immediately lets go of the feet and they drop with a loud thud onto the floor.

‘He’s too heavy.’ She rummages in her pocket, feeling around for her cigarettes.

‘GET IN HERE [SIAN!’ Connor shouts. ‘Unless you want to call the police and explain why we’ve wrapped him up in a sheet.’

‘What are we going to do with his clothes?’ I ask from the doorway, my feet rooted to the floor.

‘Duh, burn them, obvs.’ Nayo pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and lights one. ‘Don’t want to leave any clues on him, do we? First rule of disposing of a body.’

‘Don’t drop any ash on the sheet, you’ll burn a hole in it,’ Connor snaps.

Nayo rolls her eyes and inhales. ‘And?’

‘Are you helping?’ Connor is glaring at me. ‘Because so far I seem to have done it all and I’m getting rapidly pissed off. Get in here and stop being pathetic about it.’

I feel pathetic.

Don’t think about it, just do it. That’s what my twin sister, Niah, would say. Stop dithering and get on with it. The Ying to my Yang; the confident, go getting one to my pathetic introversion, the risk taker who’s not afraid of anything or anyone. I wish she were here right now because she’d know what to do, she’d make me feel better. I could have texted her before I committed myself to doing this.

Except that she wouldn’t answer. She’s not speaking to me.

‘Okay.’ I force myself to walk into the room and over to the body.

‘Nayo,’ Connor barks.

Taking a last puff, she looks around and then stubs the cigarette out in a glass dish I use for loose change. She comes over and stands at the middle of the body and I position myself at the feet. On Connor’s count of three, I push my hands underneath the feet and grip them. They feel hard and cold and I try to not think about what I’m holding. Connor moves, pushing the body towards me and I shuffle towards the doorway. It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be and I realise that I have the easiest job of the three of us. Walking backwards out of the bedroom, I head along the landing. When we get to the top of the stairs, there’s a lot of to-ing and fro-ing to manoeuvre around the banister and I end up wedged against the wall and have to squeeze around as we make our way down the stairs. I keep moving downwards, crablike, my back brushing the wall as we descend. We repeat the process at the bottom of the stairs and by the time we’ve got the body into the hallway, we’re all out of breath.

‘Shall we stop and have a rest?’ Nayo’s face is red.

‘No! Keep going into the kitchen,’ Connor barks. ‘Don’t stop.’

I lead the way and by the time we reach the kitchen doorway, the middle of the body is nearly touching the floor.

‘Keep going!’ Connor shouts.

With a muttered ‘sod off’, Nayo hoists the body higher and we power on through to the middle of the kitchen. Nayo suddenly lets go, and the body drops, the force making me let go of the feet. The body wrenched from his hands, Connor lets go with a muttered curse and the corpse hits the floor with a sickening thud.

‘No way can I carry it all the way to the end of the garden.’ Nayo slumps down on a chair. ‘It must be a mile to the bloody gate.’

‘We could use the sled,’ Connor says. ‘That plastic one we bought last year? Lie him on it and drag him along. That would make it easier.’

‘You think?’ Nayo asks. ‘I thought we’d binned it.’

‘No, I put it in the garage.’

‘Did you?’ She looks at him in puzzlement. ‘I didn’t know we had a key to it. It’s got a big padlock on the door.’

‘Yeah, I put that on there, didn’t want someone nicking our barbeque and my bike,’ Connor says, picking up his keys and going out of the back door. I watch him through the kitchen window as he walks along the path to the old brick-built garage at the end of the garden. I don’t know how he can be so calm about it. Nayo pulls a cigarette packet out of her pocket, opens it, looks inside, then screws it up and flings it onto the table. I sit down opposite her and we wait in silence for Connor to return.

‘Got it.’ Connor manhandles a bright yellow plastic sled into the kitchen. ‘If we put the middle of him on it, it should work. I found this, too.’ He tosses a coil of thick blue nylon rope onto the floor.

‘What’s that for?’ I ask.

‘We need to weigh him down. There’s a stack of old patio slabs by the garage and they weigh a ton. If we tie three of them around him before we chuck him in, he won’t float back up.’

I’m thinking about this as the sound of the doorbell shatters the silence. The three of us stare at each other.

‘Who’s that?’ I ask.

‘Only one way to find out.’ Nayo saunters out of the kitchen and along the hall. I close the door behind her, but Connor opens it an inch and puts his ear to the gap.

‘What if it’s the police?’ I whisper.

‘Why would it be?’ He looks at me as if I’m stupid.

I stare back at him dumbly. I want to tell him they’ve probably smelled the fear emanating from me from several miles away, but I don’t. I’m so afraid I don’t think I can speak.

We listen to the murmur of voices and then the sound of the front door closing. Connor opens the kitchen door wide as Nayo comes down the hallway, smoking a cigarette.

‘Cherry from last night. She left her coat here and was delighted it was still here because it’s a Barbour and she thought someone would have nicked it. It was still hanging in the hall where she left it. Shame I never noticed it because it’s a nice coat. Anyway, cadged a fag off her, so not a total waste of time.’

‘Hurry up and finish it then, because we need to get on with this. You two hold him on the sled and I’ll drag it. The van’s ready, right?’ Connor looks at me.

‘Yeah. I reversed it up to the gate and left the doors unlocked.’

‘Right, let’s get. It’s good and dark now, no moon, so watch where you’re going. And no talking.’

Nayo flicks her cigarette into the ashtray and we position ourselves around the body and drag it onto the sled.

‘I think it’s going to break. It’s only plastic,’ I say, once the body’s on it. Only the torso is resting on the sled. The arms and legs hang over each end.

‘It’s all we’ve got, so it’ll have to do.’ Connor flicks off the light switch, plunging the kitchen into darkness. He opens the back door and steps outside. Taking hold of the rope, with him pulling and me and Nayo on each side, we manhandle the sled over the step. There’s the sound of plastic cracking but we keep going. Thick cloud covers the moon, leaving just enough light to see where we’re going. Nayo and I hurry along, holding each side of the sled to prevent the body from falling off. By the time we reach the gate, despite several pieces of the sled having broken off, we’ve managed to do it.

I shiver, not just from the cold, even though it’s freezing.

Connor opens the back doors of the van and we pick up the body between us and hoist it up. We get the top half inside and Nayo and I step back as Connor takes over with the feet. The full length of the body won’t fit in because he’s too tall. We’ll have to bend it.

What if it’s gone stiff and we have to break bones?

Feeling sick at the thought, I go around to the side of the van, stick my fingers in my ears and close my eyes.

‘Come on! We have to go!’ Nayo hisses. I open my eyes in confusion to see her face in front of me. For a while there I was somewhere else, somewhere far away. Gripping hold of my arm, she pushes me around to the front of the van. The driver’s door is open and I get in. Connor is already sitting in the passenger seat and he glances at me, a grim look on his face. Nayo pushes my door closed and I rub my cold hands together so I’ll be able to drive.

‘Move over!’

Nayo has the passenger door open and is attempting to squeeze in next to Connor.

‘You’ll have to sit on my lap,’ he says. ‘The seat isn’t big enough for two.’

‘Move over and I’ll fit in next to you.’

‘Not possible,’ he says. ‘Sit on my lap or get in the back.’

Nayo sighs and clambers in on top of him.

‘Keep your hands to yourself,’ she mutters.

Starting the engine, I put the van into reverse by mistake and shoot backwards, nearly hitting the now closed gates.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Nayo mutters. ‘I thought you could drive.’

‘The van is really heavy with us all in it. I’m not used to it,’ I say.

‘It’ll be the slabs as well, I had a job to lift them into the back they’re so heavy,’ Connor says. ‘We’ll have to do it in stages when we get there. Body first, then slabs. I’ve put the sled in but there’s not much left of it.’

‘What if the boat sinks because it’s too heavy and we all die?’ I ask, suddenly feeling sick. ‘I can’t swim very well.’

‘Just drive, Sian, and stop thinking,’ Connor says with a sigh.

Telling myself to stop being such a wimp, I thrust the gear stick into first gear and drive slowly along the alleyway.

‘You’d better duck down until we get out of town because if the police spot us with two people in the front seat, they’ll pull us over,’ I say.

Nayo ducks her head down and I pull out onto the main road at the end of our street.

‘You’ll have to stop at the corner shop on Avenue road,’ she says.

‘Corner shop?’

‘Yeah, that’s the only place that’ll be open today.’

‘Why do we need to go there?’

‘Because I need some fags,’ she says. ‘No way am I doing this without one.’

Chapter Four

‘I’m the oldest,’ Niah says.

‘You’re nearly five, like me.’ Sian puts her hand on her hips, mirroring Niah.

‘Yes, but Mummy said I was born first, so I’m the big sister and you have to do what I say.’

‘But you’re the same size as me.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I’m still older. Mummy said.’

‘Okay.’ Sian says, wishing Mummy had never told Niah about being born first. She doesn’t understand. She thought they came out of the pod together because that’s what Mummy says; that they’re two peas in a pod. ‘You be teacher first and then it’s my turn.’

Niah smiles, picks up a pair of plastic sunglasses, and puts them on.

‘Right. Sit down and I’ll call the register. You have to answer yes, Miss Rogers, when I call your name.’

Sian sits down on the floor and waits while Niah lines up the teddies alongside her. She wishes Niah wouldn’t keep saying that she’s older than her because she doesn’t like it, although she’s not sure why. Mummy only told them last week that Niah was the older twin and now it’s all Niah can talk about. Sian always does what Niah tells her anyway, so why does it matter who the oldest is?

‘Sian Rogers,’ Niah says in her best teacher’s voice, pen poised over an open book.

‘You’re not allowed to write in story books.’

‘I’m pretending.’

‘You’re not supposed to have pens, either. That’s Mummy’s pen. Why have you got it? She’ll be cross if she finds out.’

‘Because I’m the big sister, that’s why. Now shut up because you’re spoiling the game.’

‘I don’t want to play schools.’

‘Why not?’

Before Sian can answer, their mother calls from downstairs.

‘Niah! Sian! Come on, we’ll be late!’

Niah jumps up and tucks the pen underneath her pillow. Sian remains on the floor.

‘Come on! Mummy’s calling.’

‘I don’t want to go to school,’ Sian says.

‘Why not? It’ll be fun. Mummy says we’ll learn lots of things and it’ll be easy because we’re really clever.’

Sian shrugs but doesn’t move.

‘We have to go because Mummy says it’s the law and she’ll get into trouble if we don’t go. You don’t want Mummy to get into trouble and go to prison, do you?’

‘No,’ Sian replies quietly. ‘But I like it at home with just you and Mummy. And Daddy. I don’t want to go to school.’

‘Niah! Sian! Come on!’

Niah takes hold of Sian’s hands and pulls her to her feet.

‘Come on,’ she hisses. ‘We don’t want to make Mummy cross, do we?’

‘Okay.’ Sian is close to tears.

Niah wraps her arms around Sian and holds her tightly.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. I’ll look after you.’

✽✽✽

Niah and Sian hold hands and skip along the pavement as they walk to school. They pay attention to Mummy’s warning not to go too far ahead, glancing back now and then to reassure themselves that she’s not cross with them. There are lots of other children going the same way and they spot glimpses of navy jumpers and grey skirts and trousers beneath unbuttoned coats and decide that they must be going to school, too. Some of them are a lot bigger than the twins and Sian feels nervous. Niah senses this and grips Sian’s hand more tightly.

When they reach the school gates, they stop skipping, stand still, and wait for their mother. All the other children surging into the school seem to know where they’re going and although the twins have been here before, it was for only the briefest visit. Someone showed them into classrooms and an enormous hall where they have something called assembly and PE. It was a long time ago – before the summer – but Niah and Sian remember it well because Mummy had one of her bad days when they got home. They think something happened at the school because one minute they were looking at the pretty pictures on the wall in the corridor, and the next Mummy was pushing them out of the school. A nice lady came out of a room, an office, it was called, and tried to talk to Mummy, but Mummy couldn’t have heard her because she walked right past her without stopping. Sian felt bad for the lady, but Niah thought it was funny.

When they got home – Mummy marched quickly and they had to run to keep up with her – they’d only just eaten their tea when Mummy said they had to go to bed. It was still bright sunlight outside and the children next door were playing out in their front garden so Niah said that it was too early and she didn’t want to. Mummy got cross then and told them she and Daddy had ‘some talking to do’ and she didn’t care if they wanted to go to bed or not. She looked at Sian when she said it, as if she was the one who’d spoken, but Sian knew better than to say so because Mummy had that look on her face that frightened her. The twins didn’t like it when Mummy and Daddy had ‘talking to do’ because it meant there would be shouting, and Mummy would cry and then there would be days of Mummy being odd with them. She wouldn’t speak at all and when they asked her what they’d done wrong, she’d pretend they weren’t there. The twins knew it must be something they’d done because she still spoke to Daddy, even if it was in a funny robot voice. Mummy always stopped speaking when she was having her bad days and they never knew how long it would last. Sometimes it seemed like forever and then suddenly, one day, she would be happy again and it was as if it had never happened.

Until the next time.

Once Mummy reaches them at the gate, she takes a hand in each of hers – always Sian on the left and Niah on the right – and they walk towards the school building. Sian thinks it looks bigger than the last time she saw it, like it has grown. When they reach the doors into the school, Niah and Sian look at each other; a secret look that needs no words. They are both thinking the same thing, wishing the same thing.

Please don’t let this give Mummy a bad day again.

But Mummy has a big smile on her face. She’s talking to another woman, a mummy like her, and she seems normal.

It’s going to be okay.

They walk along the corridor, past the enormous hall and along to one of the classrooms they visited. It’s a narrow corridor, so Mummy lets go of Sian’s hand and she has to walk behind Mummy and Niah. There are rows of pegs on the walls of the corridor and the twins remember they have to hang their coats up on them. Mummy hasn’t told them to take their coats off so they keep them on. They both know that something like hanging their coats up without being told, can give Mummy a bad day so they won’t do anything until she tells them to.

When they reach the door to the classroom, a pretty lady with long blonde hair and a beautiful smile comes to the door. She looks like a princess. Other children are going into the classroom and the twins notice they know what to do. They’ve been here before because they hang up their coats and bags. The princess lady says hello to Mummy and the twins and she says both of their names, which makes Sian feel important, because she says her name before Niah’s, even though Sian’s the youngest. The princess tells them she’s a teacher and her name is Miss Sally. She then says that Sian can take her coat off because there is a special peg for her to hang it on. Feeling even more important, Sian struggles out of her anorak and gives Niah a smug smile. The teacher takes her coat from her and shows her where to hang it; a peg with a piece of card below it with her name and a drawing of a flower on it. The twins can already write their names, because Mummy taught them. As Sian puts the hood over the peg, she thinks maybe school won’t be so bad after all. She stands and waits, because now it’s Niah’s turn and she looks around to see where Niah’s peg is. She thought it would be next to hers, but it’s not.

‘Okay, Sian? Shall we go in and I’ll show you where you’re sitting?’ Miss Sally says.

Sian is confused. What about Niah? She takes hold of Niah’s hand and grips it tightly. She feels the pressure of Niah’s fingers and they both know that something is very wrong.

‘Where’s Niah hanging her coat?’ Sian asks, surprised at her braveness, because Niah is the one who talks to people, the one who asks things.

‘A bit further along.’ Miss Sally smiles. ‘Outside her classroom.’

Sian’s tummy starts to hurt, and she feels sick; she thinks she might be sick. Sian looks at Niah and she knows then, when she sees her face, that school will not be okay. She wants to go home.

‘Come along, Sian,’ Miss Sally says in a jolly voice. ‘Say goodbye to Niah. You can see each other at break in the playground.’

Miss Sally takes hold of Sian’s hand and leads her into the classroom. The room falls silent as all the children turn to look at her. The door is closed behind her and the teacher is ushering her towards a seat and Sian wants to be brave, but to do that she needs Niah with her.

They’ve never been apart. Never.

Not even when Sian was ill and Niah wasn’t; Niah stayed with her, even though she didn’t have to.

She looks at the closed door and bursts into tears.

After today, she’s never coming back.

Chapter Five

It’s done.

And I’m trying my hardest not to think about it.

Dig a hole. Bury it. Deep.

Forget about the boat, the water, the sound of the body hitting the water as we heaved it over the side, the slabs we tied around his body to weigh him down.

Forget about it all. It never happened.

I can do it, just like Connor and Nayo. They were euphoric once it was done, and the minute we arrived back at the house, Connor found a rogue bottle of wine left over from the party and opened it. He poured us all a glass, making us chink glasses together and promise that what we did tonight will remain between the three of us, that none of us will ever tell another living soul what we’d done. My glass is sitting on the table in front of me, untouched, because I have no appetite for it. We’re sitting around the kitchen table because the lounge is still a bombsite from the party last night. New Year’s Eve seems like a lifetime ago, not yesterday.

‘Drink up.’ Connor raises his glass at me. ‘And don’t dwell. It’s done and we have to move on.’

I pick up my glass.

‘To the three of us,’ Connor intones in his deep voice. ‘And to the future.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ Nayo holds her glass aloft.

‘It’s over and after today,’ Connor says. ‘Let’s agree to never speak of it again.’

‘Cheers to that,’ Nayo says.

They’re both looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

‘It’s in the past,’ I say in a mouse-like voice. ‘Buried.’

Connor looks annoyed, which isn’t surprising, because I hardly sound convincing.

‘To the future.’ Intending to sound as if I mean it, I practically shout the words. I cringe as I swallow a mouthful of wine and then wonder how I can be embarrassed about shouting when we’ve just disposed of a corpse together. Why is it so much easier for them to deal with than me? It’s as if dropping a body in the lake is a normal activity for them.

We drink our wine in silence and even though it tastes like vinegar and I want to throw up, I force myself to drink some of it.

‘I need to change the duvet and stuff on my bed.’ I say, breaking the silence. Not the bottom sheet though, my brain reminds me, that’s in the lake, wrapped around the body. I push the thought away.

‘Okay. I’ll go up and strip it all off if you like,’ Connor says.

‘Thank you. Put it all in the bin because I don’t want any of it. Duvet, pillows, everything.’

It won’t be much fun sleeping on a bed with no pillows with only a sheet over me, but no way can I sleep with any of that bedding again. What if I can’t bring myself to sleep in that bed or that room again?

I have to.

Because I have no choice, unless I move out and find somewhere else to live. The thought of moving again is exhausting and besides, I want to stay. I feel bound to these two now, as if I need to be here. At least for the near future, anyway.

Until we’re certain we’ve got away with it.

Bury it, Sian.

‘I’ve got a quilt and pillows you can have,’ Nayo says. ‘And bedding, if it helps.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Come upstairs with me and I’ll get them for you.’

I don’t move.

Connor stands up with a sigh, draining his glass of wine. ‘You go with Nayo and I’ll clear your room.’ He disappears into the hall and I hear him going up the stairs. Nayo knocks back her wine and I hold my own towards her.

‘You can have the rest of mine if you want it.’

‘No, you drink it. You look as if you need it. I’ll have a search around after we’ve done your bed. There are bound to be some more bottles lying around.’

She gets up and I swallow down the rest of the wine before following her out into the hall and up the stairs. Maybe the alcohol will help. When we reach the landing, I keep my eyes on her back, deliberately not looking at my bedroom doorway as we pass. I glimpse movement in the corner of my eye, but resist the urge to turn my head, not wanting to look at those sheets again.

Nayo’s room is at the other end of the landing, Connor’s room between mine and hers. Neither of them have an ensuite but share the main bathroom, which surprised me when I moved in, although I was delighted to get the room with the ensuite. Nayo’s and Connor’s rooms look out over the front of the street, whereas mine looks over the back garden. She opens her bedroom door and when we’re inside, straight away I see how much bigger her room is than my own.

And it’s full.

Boxes and carrier bags cover the floor, heaps of clothes flung on top of them. There is not one inch of space left on the top of the chest of drawers against the wall opposite the bed. Makeup, perfume bottles and cigarette packets vie for space, cluttering the top. The doors on the ancient, enormous oak wardrobe next to it are flung wide, clothes spilling out of it. Weaving her way through a narrow gap between the boxes to the bed, Nayo stops and looks around.

‘They’re in here somewhere, just have to remember where.’ She frowns, scanning the room, and after a moment, clambers over a couple of boxes, throws several dresses out of the way and then grabs hold of a large box and pulls it out.

‘Yes! I knew it was here somewhere.’ She holds the box out to me and I take it and set it down on top of a mound of carrier bags and open it. I already know what’s inside because it says it on the box; a super king feather duvet and two pillows. As I pull it out, the duvet is soft and plump beneath my fingers; much better than the one I had, which isn’t surprising as this is a luxury brand and not a budget one from Asda like mine.

She’s rooting through more stuff and pulls out a plastic-wrapped package of bedding. Bright pink and black. She throws it towards me and it lands with a thunk on top of more bags. Another luxury brand I could never afford.

‘Are you sure about this, Nayo? These must have cost you a fortune.’

‘Have them.’ She waves a dismissive hand and clambers back over the boxes and clutter. ‘I never paid for them, anyway. Perks of the job.’

Opening up the packaging, I pull out the pillowcases. They’re silky, smooth to the touch, beautiful.

‘They gave you all this?’

‘Well, not exactly gave. But they weren’t going to resell it, were they? Not after it’s been used. All of us models do it and if I didn’t take the stuff, someone else would.’

Neither of these things looks used to me, but I say nothing, because who am I to judge? She’s doing me a massive favour and I’m not going to spoil it by preaching.

‘Anything else you need?’

‘Um, not that I can think of.’

Hands on hips, she narrows her eyes and looks me up and down.

‘What size are you?’

‘Um, a ten.’ Yeah, right, but only on a very good day, when I haven’t eaten for at least a week and can hold my stomach in.

‘I’ve got some stuff you can have. I need to get rid of some of this because I’m running out of space and a ten is way too big for me.’ She picks her way across the room to the wardrobe, grabs hold of a bunch of hangers that are wedged inside, looks at the labels, and then clambers back over the clutter and thrusts them towards me.

‘Here, try these. If they don’t fit, pass them onto one of your friends.’

I take them from her, three dresses and four tops, all of them designer brands.

‘Are you sure, Nayo? These look very expensive.’

‘Yep. Have them. I don’t want them. I’d take them to the charity shop but I can’t be arsed. I’ll only end up chucking them out.’

Putting them on top of the duvet box, I try unsuccessfully to hoist it all into my arms before putting it back down on the floor.

‘Here.’ She picks up the duvet. ‘I’ll take the box and you take the clothes.’

I take the clothes and head towards my bedroom, Nayo following. With relief, I see that there’s no sign of the bedding or Connor. He didn’t hang around. I hook the hangers onto the end of the wardrobe and when I turn around, Nayo is stretching a sheet over the bed.

‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Don’t knock it,’ she says. ‘I don’t do this normally, but I think you need a push ‘cos you’ll probably sleep on the floor if I don’t help you.’

She’s right, because that very thought has already been going through my head.

She tucks in the sheet, and I walk over and begin tucking in the other side. Pulling the duvet out of the box, she shakes it and throws it over the bed.

‘Still don’t remember anything?’ She unwraps the cover and we pull it over the duvet.

‘No. Nothing.’

‘You don’t remember being out in the garden with him?’

I pause and think. ‘No. I remember being out in the garden but not being with him. Although he looked familiar, so it must be there, somewhere in my memory.’

‘No point in remembering now, is there? I wouldn’t even try if I were you. Let it lie. Best not to think about it too much and, like I say, forget it. We shouldn’t even be talking about it. Never speak of it again. That’s what Connor said.’ She grins. ‘God, he’s so dramatic, isn’t he? I suppose it’s because he’s an actor. Anyway, remember it’s not your fault whoever he was is dead. He took too much of his own gear and you’re just unlucky that he did it in your bed.’

Very unlucky.

We get the duvet cover on and turn our attention to the pillows. Suddenly, all encompassing, overwhelming fatigue hits me and I have to force myself to concentrate on tugging the pillowcases onto the pillows. Once the bed is made, it looks so different to my own faded blue polyester striped set that the entire room takes on a different feel, which is good. The duvet and pillows are plump, the bedding vibrant and I fight the urge to throw myself on the bed, curl up and close my eyes.

I yawn, opening my mouth so wide I feel as if I’m sucking in the entire room.

‘Yeah, that’s just how I feel.’ Nayo stifles a yawn. ‘Last night’s catching up on me. Think I’m going to crash. What about you?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ I look at my alarm clock on the bedside table; it’s ten past eleven.

‘Thank God it’s Sunday tomorrow, so no work or castings, but we’ll have to clean the house up because it’s an absolute shit pit.’ Nayo yawns again. ‘Although if we stay in bed long enough, Con will do it. He’s a neat freak but doesn’t like anyone to know because it’s so not cool. He actually enjoys hoovering. And dusting. I bet he’s downstairs now, picking up empty bottles and polishing everything.’

I’ll have to clean the van. Not that it’s dirty. There’s no trace of what’s been in there, but I’m going to hose it out anyway, just to be sure. Maybe use some really strong smelling cleaner to make sure there’s no smell. I cleaned it just before Christmas, but I’ll do it again because I don’t want the dogs getting a whiff of anything. Does the smell of death linger and send animals mad? I’m sure I’ve read that somewhere.

Or am I being over the top? Connor wrapped him in a sheet. His body never touched the van.

I’m being over the top.

But I’ll clean it anyway and I need to air it too, because Nayo chain-smoked in there and it stinks. We’re not allowed to smoke in company vehicles or we get fined.

‘You going to be okay in here?’

‘Yes. I think so.’ I’ll have to be. My only choice is to sleep in here or move out and find somewhere else to live.

With a muttered ‘night,’ Nayo saunters back to her own room. I stand and look around before closing the door. The room looks nicer somehow, with the different bedding. Surprisingly, I don’t feel spooked. I thought I would, but I don’t. Waking up to a man’s body in my bed feels almost like a dream, as if it’s not real.

Did I really just dispose of his body at the water park?

Yes, I did.

Maybe I’m too exhausted to be spooked because right now, I could fall asleep standing up.

Picking up the change dish, I take it into the bathroom, empty the cigarette butt down the toilet and flush it away. I rinse it underneath the tap and put it on the edge of the basin to dry, then turn on the shower. After stripping off my clothes, I step underneath the water. As tired as I am, I need to wash the events of today away, go to bed clean.

Pretend it never happened.

Bury it.

✽✽✽

I open my eyes to darkness; pitch black, cannot see my hand in front of my face, darkness. I close my eyes again, determined not to panic.

Of course it’s dark, it’s nighttime.

Taking several deep, calming breaths, I put out my arm to the bedside cabinet and feel around for my phone. I feel relief when my fingers find the familiar contours. Taking hold of it, I bring it towards my face and open my eyes.

Three-forty-five.

I’ve been asleep for less than four hours, but I feel wide awake. My foot is hanging over the edge of the bed, outside of the duvet, and it’s cold. Perhaps that’s what woke me. Pulling my foot underneath the duvet, I have a sudden urge to stretch my arm out to check that no one is lying next to me. What if there’s another body in the bed beside me?

Don’t be stupid.

I switch on my phone torch and point it at the other side of the bed. It’s flat and smooth.

Of course it is.

How I wish Niah was here; I can tell her all of what’s happened today because she’s the only person I trust in the entire world. I’ve no fear of her ever spilling my secrets, nor me, hers. My soulmate, my identical twin who looks exactly the same as me but is so very different. More than me. Better. Braver.

Scrolling through my screen to the WhatsApp icon, I tap on her name.

How are you? I type.

I pause. What do I say? I want to speak to her, tell her about today because how can I put everything in a message? I can’t; but I know if I call her she won’t answer. She never answers.

I love you and miss you, I type.

I stop again, trying to find the words that will unlock her silence, make her talk to me again. After a while, I type the same words that I always do.

I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?

Chapter Six

Three months later

The heat in the room is tropical and I’m already regretting the polo neck jumper that seemed such a sensible choice this morning. It’s cold outside and even though it’s the end of March, spring still seems like a distant prospect. The weather forecasters are predicting a mini heatwave for Easter next week, but only a few days ago they were talking of snow and another Beast from the East. That’s the media for you; when there’s no news, there’s always the weather because us Brits are obsessed with it. But no matter the climate outside, in here it’s stifling. The thermostat is ramped up to the blistering setting, and it must be at least thirty degrees in here. Mum doesn’t believe in having windows open either; summer or winter, they stay firmly closed. I doubt the air in this room has changed since she moved in three years ago.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea?’ Mum squints at me from the seat opposite, eyes narrowed. Another thing she refuses to do; wear her glasses so that she can actually see. Her eyesight is so poor that she could easily mistake me for someone else. Forever vain, she’s convinced that wearing spectacles will make her look older than her sixty-eight years. They wouldn’t, because Mum has always looked young for her age. Even now she could still pass for someone in her fifties. She lied to my father about her age when she met him; told him she was ten years younger than she was and he never doubted her. He truly believed that she was the same age as him until they got married and he found out her real date of birth. Mum’s been blessed with good skin, clear and unblemished, and even now it’s unlined and smooth, and although her hair is no longer the rich brunette of her youth, it’s a fashionably natural silver, not iron grey. It’s all in the genes, as she always tells me.

She picks up her cup, examines it with narrowed eyes and then places it back down in the saucer without drinking any of it.

‘Your sister was here yesterday,’ she states. ‘She stayed for ages and we had so much to talk about. It was lovely. She told me all about her new boyfriend and she’s coming to stay next weekend.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘We’re going to have a lovely girly weekend, just the two of us. Go up west and do a bit of shopping and then go out somewhere nice for dinner afterwards. We might even fit in a show or something if we feel like it.’

‘Lovely.’

‘You could come, too.’

I smile and say nothing because, of course, it’s impossible.

Mum’s mouth twists downwards and I know I’ve annoyed her. It’s what I do best, annoying her. Apart from disappointing her.

‘Niah visits all the time. She’s promised to bring her boyfriend to meet me soon, too. She’s not a bit like you. I can’t remember the last time you visited.’

I can. Christmas Eve. Before.

‘Work’s been so busy, Mum. It’s difficult to get away once a big case is underway.’

She makes a snorting noise, which has everything wrapped up in it; disgust, disappointment, disbelief, dislike. I don’t blame her. I’m a terrible daughter, but equally, she’s a terrible mother. To me, anyway.

‘I told Niah what you’ve done, and she wasn’t very happy about it.’

My stomach flips and I immediately think that somehow, Mum knows about the dead man in my bed. Logically, I know that she can’t know, but she’s my mother and sometimes, somehow, she knows things without being told.

Like a witch.

Telling myself not to be so stupid, I push the events of New Year’s Day back into their box where they’ve been trapped since that night, only escaping on rare occasions when my guard is down. I’ve done an excellent job of burying it and I’m not allowing Mum to derail me. Taking a deep breath, I compose myself before speaking.

‘Told her what, Mum?’

‘How you’ve abandoned me.’ She picks up her cup again. ‘How I never see you.’

‘Oh, come on, Mum, I haven’t abandoned you. I only live fifty miles away and can be here in no time at all. You knew that my work was relocating and I had no choice but to move if I wanted to keep my career. I’ve been so busy lately that it’s been impossible to get away. If I could come more often, I would.’

She ignores my lie, picks up her tea again and drinks it, taking tiny sips. The lunchtime news on the television drones in the background and I feel sweat break out on my top lip. Why did I wear this bloody jumper? I swear I sabotage myself sometimes because it’s not as if I didn’t know it would be sweltering in here.

‘Have you seen him?’ she demands.

‘Who?’ I ask, even though I know who she means.

‘Your father.’

‘No. Not lately.’

Mum smiles, making no attempt to hide her pleasure at my answer. She’s delighted that I haven’t seen him, although even if I had, I’d lie, and pretend I hadn’t, because she’d demand every single detail of my visit, getting more bitter and twisted with every word I uttered. Mum’s beyond jealous that my father and I still have a relationship, even though I see him even less now than I see her. The fault isn’t his, it’s mine. He’s always tried to include me and Niah in his new family, despite walking out on us when we were six. Mum has never forgiven him for leaving her, but I can’t say I blame him; she was unbearable then, just as she is now. He remarried several years later and started a new family – I have two younger half-sisters - but Mum still thinks of him as her property and herself as the proper wife.

‘It won’t last,’ she says with a knowing smile. ‘Big age gaps never do.’

She says the same thing every time and I let it go; he’s been married to my stepmother for longer than he was to Mum but because Dad’s ten years older than his second wife, Mum persists in seeing it as a fling. She never considers that lying about her own age to my father was deceitful and set the tone for their marriage; her assertion being that age didn’t matter when it was her own marriage she was talking about.

I shrug and try to think of something to steer the topic away from my father, but I’m stumped; it’s difficult to talk to Mum because I place restrictions on what I tell her. My dog-walking job is off limits because she thinks I’m still working as a paralegal for a nationwide company of solicitors. I can’t mention Nayo and Connor and pretend they’re just friends of mine because it’ll start her asking question after question about them and I can’t stand it. She’s relentless in her interrogation and will want every single boring detail about them, right down to their shoe size. If I answer I don’t know to any of her questions, she’ll accuse me of lying, which actually, I do quite of lot of when I’m with her. She’s made me like it. As far as she knows, I live in a one-bedroomed rented flat on my own.

Often when I visit, we end up shouting at each other; or rather, Mum ends up shouting at me. If she decides to instigate a row, try as I might, nothing I say can avert it. It’s been this way with us since I was a child and another of the reasons I rarely visit her. Seeing her does neither of us any good. I resist the urge to look at my watch because it’s far too early to leave yet and once I look; I won’t be able to stop. Also, Mum will notice and it’ll end with her shouting at me. Even though it feels like I’ve been here for hours, it can barely be thirty minutes.

‘Strange how you and your sister are so different.’ Mum directs her gaze at me. ‘You look like two peas in a pod but you’re nothing alike, you know.’ She utters the words as if it’s some sort of revelation I’ve never heard before, instead of being the thing she always says. If others hear her say it, they think it’s an observation, but it’s not. It’s a criticism, because I’m less than Niah; lacking. ‘Couldn’t even tell you apart when you were born,’ she goes on. ‘I had to put ribbons around your wrists. Yellow for you and pink for Niah.’

I stifle a yawn.

‘Let me know if I’m boring you.’

‘Sorry.’ I smile. ‘I had to work late last night.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, you and that blessed job. That’s all you care about.’

I don’t reply.

‘It’s always the same. Niah always has lots to tell me about her life, whereas you’ve got a job to open your mouth. They say one twin is an introvert and the other an extrovert and it exactly fits you two.’

The sides of her mouth twist downward and I fix a neutral expression on my face, preparing to hear a list of my defects. It’s the same on every visit, so I’m used to and bored by it in equal measure.

But it still hurts.

Because I’m most definitely not the favourite daughter.

✽✽✽

‘Been up to much?’ Dan asks as we stand watching the dogs gallop around the common.

‘Not a lot. Went to see my mum earlier.’

‘Good visit?’ He turns to look at me.

I shrug. ‘The usual. Same old. How about you?’

‘Studying. Deadly dull, that’s me.’

‘You’re not dull and you know it,’ I say. ‘You put me to shame, studying for a degree online. I wish I had that sort of motivation.’

He grins at my remark and brushes his mop of fair hair back from his eyes. ‘Ah, yes, but I’m not writing a book, am I? I’m sure that’s far more difficult than studying to be a boring accountant.’

Mungo, a ten-year-old black Cocker spaniel who I walk, bounds up to me with puppy-like energy, jumping up and covering my joggers with muddy paw prints. I lean down and ruffle his ears, glad that he’s given me an excuse not to answer. Satisfied I’m still here, he bounds back to rejoin the other five dogs. He likes to check on me every so often. The result of being abandoned as a puppy before his current owners re-homed him from the animal shelter.  

‘I’d ask you what your book is about, but I know you won’t tell me,’ Dan says as I straighten up. ‘What is it again – if you tell me the story, you won’t write it?’

‘Something like that,’ I say with a smile.

My book; a work in progress that amounts to thirty-six pages, or three chapters, as that sounds better in my head. As if it’s actually going somewhere instead of sitting untouched on my laptop. A book that hasn’t increased by one word since December the thirty-first.

‘Got any plans for tonight?’ Dan asks, pulling a strawberry-flavoured vape out of his pocket and taking a puff.

‘A bit of writing then, an early night, I think. Had a bit of a late one last night, so I need to catch up on some sleep.’ All absolute rot; I never had a late one because I go nowhere.

Dan nods and blows a stream of sweet-smelling vapour into the air. I’ve felt lately that he’s going to ask me out; we’ve become friends since we met at the end of January and we meet up most days on the common. Dan walks up to four dogs at a time, but I always have the same three; Mungo, Monty the retriever and Hector the labradoodle. I think of them as ‘my dogs’ and I walk them every day except on weekends. I love it much more than being a paralegal and stuck in an office all day, even though it pays a lot less.

Or perhaps I’m just lazy.

‘Yeah, I need to hit the books again, but there’s a new thriller on Netflix that’s calling to me, so maybe not.’ Dan laughs and I join in. I like him and we get on great, but I’m nervous about starting anything. Ever since that night I’ve been unsettled; waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to get caught, waiting for the knock on the door.  

Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong, and he wasn’t going to ask me out at all.

Because I do that a lot; get stuff wrong.

✽✽✽

‘A party?’ I look at Nayo in surprise.

‘Yeah. For Easter. We could theme it; get a load of egg decorations and stuff.’ Nayo stares at me. ‘We haven’t had a party since New Year’s Eve and it’s not normal for us to be so boring.’

Connor folds his arms, leans back against the sink and studies the two of us. We don’t mention that night, because that’s the deal, we don’t talk about it - although we might as well because it’s always here, between us, almost palpable, hanging over us.

For me, at least. Maybe it’s not for them. Maybe I’m imagining their feelings for them because I do that a lot too; overthink things and read stuff into situations that isn’t there. Although I’m not imagining the way Nayo behaves towards me now; she doesn’t hide her annoyance at my ‘boringness’ as she calls it. It would be easy to fall out with her if I didn’t constantly bite my tongue. If it wasn’t for that night, I think I’d have moved out by now because it’s clear she doesn’t like me.

‘She’s right,’ Connor says. ‘It’s not normal; we’d usually have had at least one party since then, probably two. We’ve never gone three months without one before.’

‘It looks suspicious.’ Nayo lights up her millionth cigarette and flops down into a kitchen chair. ‘Loads of people keep asking me why we’ve not had a party and I’ve fobbed them off, told them me and Con are busy with our jobs but it’s looking well dodgy. This is a party house and everyone knows it, and now it’s not. People are noticing.’

‘Okay.’ I sit down at the table opposite her.

‘I wasn’t asking for your permission,’ she snaps. ‘Because it’s not up to you, is it? If you don’t want to be here when we have it, stay with a friend for the night or something. Oh, sorry, I forgot, you don’t have any friends, do you?’ She makes no attempt to hide the sneer and my face grows hot.

‘Nayo,’ Connor says in a warning voice.

‘What?’ she demands. ‘I’m just saying what we both know. She doesn’t have any friends, and she never goes out anywhere apart from taking those bloody dogs for walks. She’s a fucking saddo and I’m sick of creeping around here as if we’ve done something wrong. All we did was help her.’

‘She’s sitting right here,’ I say. She’s right, though. I don’t have any friends, apart from Dan, and it hurts. I had lots of friends. Once.

‘Look.’ She stubs her cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘Maybe that came out wrong, but I can’t live like a hermit even if you can. We chose you for the room because Heck was too much; we wanted someone quieter who wasn’t on it every minute of the day but that doesn’t mean we have to be like you. We’re young and want to have fun.’

I’ve heard this before; Heck, their previous housemate was too much. I was a safe option. Hardly flattering, but it explains why they chose me out of all the others that applied. Heck was a true party animal, and some stories I’ve heard about him are pretty hair-raising, even by Nayo and Connor’s standards. He’d got a bit too much for them.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, apologising even though Nayo’s the one who’s been nasty to me. ‘But I can’t help feeling nervous about a party, because of, you know, the last one.’

Connor comes over, pulls out one of the battered kitchen chairs, and sits down next to me.

‘Then let’s have a party. Get the first one out of the way,’ he says. ‘Lay the ghost.’

It sounds so reasonable when he says it; his velvety deep voice makes everything sound good, despite his words.

Lay the ghost.

‘Or stay upstairs in your room,’ Nayo says. ‘Lock the door and no one will know you’re there. It’s not like anyone is going to miss you.’ Nayo is staring at me, a grin on her face. I don’t respond because what can I say? It’s the truth.

‘I’d miss you.’ Connor smiles at me and my face heats up again. ‘Come on, let’s have a party and forget the past. Start living.’

‘Yay to that.’ Nayo waves her hand. ‘It’s history. Done. Buried. I’m so bored with it all. It’s over and done with and never coming back, so why let it drag us down forever? Time to move on and start living again.’

‘Absolutely,’ Connor says.

‘Next Saturday would be a good day,’ Nayo says. ‘Most people have Easter Monday off, so that’s an extra day to get over feeling like shit. I start shooting my designer campaign the following week, so I need to look my best. It’ll give me time to get a few early nights in after the party.’

‘’Yeah, right,’ Connor snorts. ‘You and an early night? Never going to happen.’

‘Whatever.’ She waves her hand again. ‘So, next Saturday, yeah?’

‘Sian?’ Connor turns to me.

‘Great,’ I say, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘Can’t wait.’

Chapter Seven

It’s six-thirty when I awake, which is early for me for a Saturday when I don’t need to get up for work. Usually it’s much later, at least ten o’clock, but mostly nearer eleven. On weekdays, when I dog-walk, I have to remember to set my alarm to wake me or I’d sleep straight through. When the alarm goes off, I have to force myself to get out of bed and face the day. Weekends are different and I stay in bed until I wake naturally. I have trouble falling asleep, tossing and turning until the small hours, which is why I sleep so late when I get the opportunity. I’m catching up.

Sometimes I try to kid myself that I never used to lie in bed. Before. Pretend to myself that I considered it a waste of the day, that I was always eager to be up and about and making the most of everything, but it’s a lie. Even then, I could barely muster the enthusiasm to crawl out from beneath the covers.

So why so early today?

It’s party day.

The day I want to be over as soon as possible.

Maybe I should have gone away for the weekend, like Nayo suggested. But where would I go? Not to Mum’s, obviously. Dad would be pleased to see me because it’s an age since I visited him.

But I can’t; I can’t face him, or the never ending, well-meaning questions. Or my much-nicer-than-my-own-mother-stepmother, or my teenage half-sisters who look up to me because I’m older than them but not as old as their parents so young enough to be cool.

I wince as I remember Nayo’s words to me yesterday when she caught me staring into space at the kitchen table. I’d just finished eating and was trying to motivate myself to do something instead of slumping in front of the TV all night. She took one look at me as she walked in and told me she ‘was sick of seeing my miserable arse moping around the house, so why didn’t I just sod off for the weekend?’ The venom in her voice and the way she speaks to me no longer shocks me. I’ve got used to it. Ignoring her nastiness, I lied, telling her I was actually looking forward to the party and if I seemed miserable, it was because I’d been feeling unwell and was tired. That I’d had a virus all week, and it was taking some shaking off, but I was feeling better now. She gave me a long look and simply walked away without speaking. It crossed my mind then, not for the first time, that I should move out and find somewhere else to live. Connor is fine, always friendly and approachable, caring, even. But Nayo doesn’t hide her annoyance with me and is openly hostile, more so if Connor isn’t around to hear her. She says she doesn’t ‘do navel-gazing’ and hasn’t got time to ‘flop around snowflakes who need to man up.’

So maybe I should move out – except, where would I go? The rent is cheap, and this house is central to all of my dog walking customers. Finding somewhere as good will be near impossible. And I’d still have to share with others because no way can I afford a place of my own. Moving out offers zero benefit except to get away from Nayo. Besides all that, I’m loathe to leave here; I’m compelled to stay because the three of us have a bond, no matter how much we pretend we don’t. If I desert them, what if they decide that they’re going to tell the police about the dead man and throw me to the wolves? If I moved out, the first I’d know of it would be when the police come to arrest me. At least if I’m here, I might get some warning that they’re scheming against me.

What if Connor and Nayo set me up to take the fall because they killed the man in my bed?

Because in my most paranoid moments, I remember how quick they were to cover up the death, how quickly Connor suggested we drive out to the lakes and drop the body in the deepest lake we could find.

Ridiculous, I know. I’ve been watching too many TV dramas because if they had set me up, they’d hardly have helped me, would they?

But what if I move out and Nayo decides she doesn’t want to live a lie anymore? I won’t be here to dissuade her from talking Connor into it and dropping me right in it with the police. Nayo and Connor could conspire to ensure I take all the blame, since he was found in my bed, not theirs. Two against one. At least if I’m here, I’m aware of what’s going on.

I think.

It’s time to change and stop moping around. Man up, as Nayo says, because I can’t carry on like this forever. I have to be here for this party and look as if I’m enjoying it and having a bloody great time, even though I’ll be a bag of nerves, hating every minute and counting the seconds until it’s over. Step up and be the perfect housemate because if I don’t, although Connor and I get on well, Nayo will persuade him that I’m a liability and I’ll have to leave. I can’t go on drifting around in a self-pitying haze. It’s time to move on.

As I pull myself up on the pillow, my phone tumbles from the top of the duvet onto the floor. Late night texting again. Sometimes I’m sure I must send messages in my sleep because when I read them the next morning, I have no recollection of writing them. Hanging out of bed, I retrieve it from the floor and am relieved that it’s not broken. I scroll to the messages screen to find four sent messages, all to Niah. Always to Niah.

I wish we could talk.

Then:

I have so much to tell you. Incredible stuff that you wouldn’t believe and I wouldn’t either except that it’s happened to me. I try to forget, but the nights are the worst because it all comes back when I’m asleep. I dream of it, over and over, but I think you’d laugh, Niah, because you like the darkest of humour, don’t you? Maybe you’d make me laugh, too. I so need to laugh.

Then:

If only you would talk to me.

And the last one, the one I always send.

I’m so, so sorry, please forgive me.

Closing the screen, I toss the phone onto the bedside table. I should stop with the texting because I feel embarrassed for myself.

Niah will never forgive me.

Going back to sleep now is impossible, so I clamber out of bed and head to the ensuite. I’ll get dressed, go for a walk, and get some fresh air. Think about what to wear tonight, maybe even buy something new because the weight has dropped off me and most of my clothes hang off me like sacks. I have no appetite at all and incredibly, have to force myself to eat. Maybe I could try on some of the clothes Nayo gave me. Wash my hair.

Make an effort. Start living. Do something, anything.

On my way to the ensuite, a noise from the landing stops me in my tracks. Who’s up this early? Going to the door, I open it a couple of inches and peer through the gap to see Connor emerging from Nayo’s bedroom. His hair is sticking up and stubble shadows his face. He’s a bluebeard, as Niah would say, and could grow a beard in a couple of days. He’s naked. I watch as he saunters into the bathroom between their rooms. He leaves the door open and the sound of him urinating and then flushing the toilet echoes down the landing. Moments later he comes out and goes back into Nayo’s room, closing the door with no idea that I’m watching him.

Am I surprised that they’re sleeping together?

No, not really. I’ve seen the way he looks at Nayo – it’s the same way all men look at her; with longing, desire. They’ve never said that they’re a couple and maybe they’re not, because Nayo doesn’t do relationships, as she puts it. When she was friendlier to me and we chatted, she’d often say that she had no intention of ever being tied down. But that doesn’t stop her having men in her bed because she does, but they never last long. A week or two if they’re lucky. I’ve seen Connor try to get close to her many times, and she always pushes him away or tells him to get off, so if they are together, it’ll be on her terms. She’ll be using him for sex, because that’s what she does.

I close the door and go into the ensuite, the picture of Connor’s naked body in my head along with a shocking realisation of my own. The thought of Connor being with Nayo doesn’t surprise me at all.

But it does make me jealous.

✽✽✽

Once I’ve finished drying my hair, I fling open the wardrobe doors and stare at the contents, trying to decide what to wear. I can’t afford to squander money on something to wear for one night; not when the designer clothes Nayo gave me three months ago are still unworn. My gaze lingers on them for a moment, trying to imagine myself wearing them. I can’t; but I can at least try them on. Grabbing hold of the hangers, I pull them out. Two of the dresses are an immediate no; a scarlet, mini velvet dress and a bright green longer dress with a plunging neckline. Too bright for me, although Niah would love them. I toss them onto the bed and the skimpy tops follow suit. They’re more suitable for the summer, although amazingly, the weather has turned over the last couple of days, going from winter to spring, overnight. The newspapers and televisions are predicting an unseasonal heatwave. But I still won’t wear them. All that’s left is a black tube of a dress with a square neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. The material is soft and silky and I run my fingers over it. Okay, get it over with: I’ll try it on, it won’t fit and then I can put my jeans on.

Slipping the dress over my head, I’m surprised to find that it slides down my body with ease. Close fitting, but not tight. When I turn and look in the age-spotted glass of the full-length mirror fixed to the wall, I’m shocked at the person staring back at me.

The material clings to every part of me, revealing how much weight I’ve lost without even trying.

I’ve never, ever, been this thin and I like what I see.

I’m as slim as Nayo. Of course, I knew I’d lost weight because the joggers that I spend my life wearing felt looser around the waist and I had to stop wearing one pair, as they were so big. But I still looked the same; baggy joggers and big sweatshirts aren’t figure-revealing. Turning around, I shuffle backwards so that I’m closer to the mirror.

Nope, not a bulge in sight. No need to go clothes shopping now.

Clearly, there are benefits to carrying guilt around.

✽✽✽

The sound of voices from downstairs filters through the floorboards. The party has started and I need to get downstairs and stop hiding up here. I have to show Nayo and Connor that I’m not miserable and they’ve no need to look for a new housemate. On impulse, I scoop up my hair and twist it into a messy knot on the top of my head, leaving a few corkscrew curls around my face. Rummaging around in the top drawer of the dressing table, I find an antique-looking hair slide that I bought long ago but have never worn. Pushing it into my hair, I clip it tightly. Several tendrils of hair escape from the knot, but I leave them, making no attempt to tidy them up. Picking up some make up from the drawer, I quickly draw a line on my eyelids, coat my eyelashes with mascara and add a slick of red lipstick. All done in five minutes. I stand back to assess my reflection.

Not bad at all.

My eyes appear catlike, my hair dishevelled, as if I’ve just tumbled out of bed. I look wanton and nothing like me. I like it.

What will Dan think of this different me?

Because I’ve invited him to the party tonight, although I’m not sure why. When I asked him, I made it sound casual and not as if I was asking him on a date, giving him the impression that I’d asked lots of people. Nayo’s jibes about having no friends hurt. I used to be popular – not as much as Niah - but I had friends before I moved to this town.

I should make more friends; use tonight as a springboard for the new me. Put not just New Year’s Eve behind me, but all the other stuff I’ve been carrying around like an unwieldy suitcase.

Move on.

But for now, it’s time to get downstairs.

Once outside on the landing, I close the door behind me, and, mindful of Connor’s warning, lock the door.

What do I do with the key?

There’s no pocket in this dress and I have no handbag or purse to tuck it into. I look around the landing and eventually settle for balancing it on the top of the doorframe surrounding my bedroom door. The ledge is thick and I push the key to the middle so that it’s out of sight. Hopefully, no one will think to look up there and find it. All of my worldly goods are in that room, including my phone. Nayo makes it plain to everyone invited that no one is allowed upstairs and anyone caught will be banned from future parties for life, but that won’t stop some people. There’s no need for anyone to use the bathroom up here because there’s a downstairs toilet, complete with high cistern and rusting chain in a lobby by the back door of the kitchen.

It’s full of spiders, so no way will I be going in there.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I move the dining chairs that Connor has put in front of the stairs out of the way, squeeze through, and then put them back. They wouldn’t prevent anyone from going up there, but they’re a reminder that they’re not supposed to.

The light in the lounge is dim, and already people are huddled around the room in groups. There’s a layer of smoke hanging in the air. My hair will stink tomorrow. Nayo smokes all the time in the house so I’m used to it but it doesn’t make me like the smell any better. Connor has blue toothed music to speakers high on a corner shelf, and it’ll run itself for the night. The beat is hypnotic. A couple of girls are in one corner swaying to the music, drinks in their hands, a glazed look in their eyes, despite it being so early. A glance at my watch tells me it’s eight-fifteen. Dan will already be here because I told him the party started at seven so he’ll be wondering where I am.

I go out to the kitchen, because that’s where the booze is, so maybe Dan will be there, too. Unlike the lounge, the room is full and noisy with the chatter of voices. Connor took two of the light bulbs out of the ceiling light because he says nothing kills the atmosphere like harsh lighting. The back door is open, letting in a stream of cold air. Scanning the room, I can’t see Dan anywhere and feel a pang of disappointment. His face lit up when I invited him and I was sure he’d come.

Looks like I got that wrong.

Maybe he was just being polite. Or he could be in the garden.

‘Sian?’

Connor steps in front of me, so close that I can smell his aftershave. He’s looking at me with a quizzical expression. ‘Is it you or am I dreaming?’

Remembering this morning and my weird jealousy, I blush at the nearness of him.

‘Of course.’ I laugh. ‘Can’t wear my dog-walking clothes to our party, can I?’

He leans in close, resting his hand on my arm, and I feel the heat of his breath on my neck.

‘Wow. I mean, wow. You look sensational,’ he whispers. The moment is intimate and unexpected. After a second, he removes his hand and walks into the lounge without another word. I stand still in shock, wondering what just happened when I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me. Glancing around, I see Nayo staring right at me. A hot-looking guy is talking to her, but she’s ignoring him and staring right past him at me.

And she looks furious.

Is she jealous because she saw Connor so close to me?

Maybe.

Whatever the reason for her expression, the last thing I need is to make her hate me even more than she does already. I walk towards her, plastering a big, fake smile on my face.

‘Hi Nayo! You look fabulous.’

She does, too, but then she always does. Tiny black satin shorts that barely cover her backside showcase her never-ending legs. A glittery red halter top that just about covers her bra-less boobs completes the look. The glare fades and she smiles, but there’s something reptilian about it; something cold and calculating and it never reaches her beautiful eyes.

‘Thanks.’ She stretches out her hand and trails a finger down the front of my dress. ‘Did I give you that? It looks familiar.’

‘Yeah.’ I look down at it. ‘I’m amazed it fits me, but I love it. Thank you so much.’ I make my voice as gushing as possible, hating myself for being such a creep.

‘You’re welcome. It was miles too big for me and anyway, I don’t do frumpy.’ After a second, she covers her mouth and giggles. ‘Oops, me and my big mouth. It looks nice,’ she says, making it sound like the worst insult in the world. The hot guy hanging on her every word snorts with laughter, desperate for her to throw a look his way.

She doesn’t.

Ignoring her comment, I look around the kitchen. ‘I think the entire world has turned up,’ I say.

‘Yeah. Everyone’s bloody desperate for a party because it’s been way too long. Not going to go that long again.’ There’s a warning in her words that she makes no attempt to hide.

‘Absolutely.’ I grin, despite wanting to punch her. ‘We should have had one sooner.’

She studies me for a moment and then, without a word, turns to the hot guy, puts one hand around his neck and pulls him towards her. Planting her mouth on his, she grinds her lips around his as if she’s gnawing a bone.

Our conversation is over, then. Turning to go into the garden to check if Dan is out there, I spot Connor standing by the lounge door. He’s watching Nayo trying to swallow the guy whole and his expression is unreadable; I can’t tell if he’s disgusted, amused, or disinterested. Turning away, I weave my way through the throng to the back door, picking up a bottle of beer enroute, nodding and saying hello to a few familiar faces as I go. Not friends, but people from previous parties. Out in the garden, I wander around looking for Dan but he’s not here. Despite the chill in the air, I decide to stay outside for a while because no way am I getting caught in the middle of Connor and Nayo’s relationship, or whatever it is they want to call it. Fixing a pleasant expression on my face – because I have to make it look as if I’m enjoying myself if I’m going to continue living here, I do my best to mingle.

It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Eight

Aside from one dim floor lamp behind the sofa, the lounge is in darkness. The only party-goers left are a couple hanging onto each other to keep themselves upright as they sway slowly to the music. A bearded guy, snoring, is slumped on one end of the sofa, still gripping a can of beer. Walking past them unnoticed, I go out into the hallway, shove the chairs out of the way, and head up the stairs.

It’s past three in the morning, and at last I can go to bed. Nayo disappeared about an hour ago and is no longer around to see what I’m doing, so can’t accuse me of being a misery. I guess she’s in her bedroom with the guy who’s been hanging around her all night.

The party wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, despite Dan being a no show and my dread of having to socialise. It was much easier than I thought it would be and at times; I felt almost normal. Nayo’s dress definitely helped, ensuring that I received more male attention tonight than I have in the entire last year. As the evening wore on, I had to fend off several drunken advances and one gallant party-goer even stepped in once to send a drunk on his way. I think he expected me to fall into his arms with gratitude, but I politely thanked him and moved away.

And I stayed resolutely sober this time.

I gave the impression of hard partying by always having a glass of wine in my hand but I drank hardly anything and tipped most of it away when I was in the garden. Ridiculous, but Nayo doesn’t trust people who don’t drink alcohol; she doesn’t understand it, says that it’s ‘not normal’ and views sobriety with deep suspicion. I could feel her eyes on me throughout the night, studying me, watching, checking, seeing what I was drinking.

Or maybe I was imagining it.

Regardless, I laughed lots to look as if I was having a fantastic time, and swayed a bit when I walked to make it look as if I’d drunk too much. Surprisingly, I enjoyed chatting with people, and it made me think I should make an effort to get out and meet people because I used to have friends.

People used to like me.

So I enjoyed the party more than I thought I would, despite my disappointment at Dan not coming. He seemed genuinely delighted when I invited him.

Was he just being polite? Have I been sending him mixed messages?

Possibly. Perhaps he thought I was asking him as a date and I’ve embarrassed him. He could be dating someone for all I know, although he’s never mentioned a girlfriend, but I haven’t talked about boyfriends, either. Besides, I’m not sure I’m interested in him other than as a friend, so perhaps he did me a favour by not turning up tonight.

Or maybe he just forgot and I’m reading far too much into it. As usual.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I glance over at Nayo’s closed door. Did I hear a giggle just then? A man’s voice? Maybe. Right now I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up. Going to my bedroom door, I reach up to the top of the doorframe and run my fingers along the wood until I feel the familiar outline of the key. Taking it down, I put it into the lock, but before I can turn it, an arm encircles my waist. A man is behind me and as he pulls me closer, I spin around in shock, gripping the key tightly so I can use it as a weapon.

‘Hey, it’s only me, no need to panic.’ I look up to see Connor staring down at me. My stomach flips at the closeness of him and I’m suddenly wide awake.

‘What are you doing?’ I squeak.

He holds my gaze. ‘Just being friendly.’ His arms tighten their hold.

There’s a glassiness in his eyes and a slur betrays his drunkenness. I’m surprised; Connor can drink most people under the table, even Nayo, and I’ve never seen him worse for wear, even when they’ve polished off an entire bottle of rum between them.

‘What do you want?’ I should push him away, tell him to let go, but I don’t want to. I like the closeness of him, the feel of his hands on my body.

‘I wanted to tell you how hot you look, but I couldn’t get near you with so many men buzzing around you all night.’

‘Thank you.’ Is that the best I can do?

‘You could invite me in for a nightcap.’ He grins.

‘I think you’ve had enough. Besides, I have nothing to drink in my room.’

‘No problem.’ He moves closer, his breath hot on my face. ‘Just invite me in. Forget the drink.’

I stare up at him and when he kisses me on the lips; I don’t push him away, but pull him closer. Closing my eyes, I give myself into the moment and never want it to stop.

And then I hear Nayo’s bedroom door open. My eyes ping open, and I look over Connor’s shoulder to see her staring at us. A second later, the door slams shut with a bang.

‘What was that?’ Connor pauses.

‘Nothing,’ I say, pulling him to me.

Nothing at all.

✽✽✽

I sit on the side of the bed and tell myself to get up. I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes, prevaricating. I’m showered, dressed, and all I have to do is walk down those stairs and face them.

Connor and Nayo.

Noise from the kitchen below drifts up through the ceiling, the clatter of dishes, bottles, the tinny sound of the radio. Is Connor clearing up the remains of the party? Nayo is always joking he’s obsessed with tidiness and housework and although she exaggerates, there’s no denying that he’s the one who keeps the house from turning into a total dustbin.

I’m embarrassed to face him after last night. He was very obviously drunk and I should have pushed him away instead of returning his kiss.

But I didn’t want to.

I like him. A lot, but I didn’t realise that until last night. Connor alone has made these last three months bearable. If it weren’t for him, I’d have been forced to move out because Nayo’s increasing animosity towards me is becoming intolerable. Connor is kind, thoughtful, and he can always make me laugh. Now that I’m being honest with myself, I can admit how attracted to him I am. Powerfully attracted; I’ve never felt such a draw to a man in my life.

But was he only kissing me because he was drunk and he wanted to make Nayo jealous? It’s not a flattering thought, but yesterday morning I saw him coming out of her bedroom, where he’d clearly spent the night in her bed. Was it just casual sex for them? A sort of friends-with-benefits thing? Does Connor see me like that? Am I willing to let him see me that way, even though it goes against everything I believe in? I like to think that sex is part of a relationship, not a bodily function like going to the gym.

Maybe I’m old-fashioned.

I am; I know I am. How many times has Niah laughed at me, calling me a hopeless romantic? Told me that not everything has to mean something? Many, many times, and even though few people think the way I do, I can’t change the way I am.

But despite that, if Connor had been sober last night, such is my attraction to him, I would have dropped my high standards and jumped into bed with him. It’s not impossible that he likes me, is it? And how could he have been trying to make Nayo jealous when he wasn’t aware that she saw us kissing? He never saw her come out of her room and I never told him. She looked shocked when she saw us, but jealous? Why would she be? She was shagging another guy in there, so why would she care what Connor does?

Whatever; it’s done now, and you enjoyed kissing him, right?

That’s what Niah would say. God, how I wish I could talk to her. I was so tempted to message her last night, despite knowing that she wouldn’t reply. When I’d closed and locked the door, sure that Connor had gone, I got undressed and got into bed. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him; I didn’t trust myself.

And then, to give me something else to fret about, I took my phone out of the drawer where I’d left it all night, to see there was a message from Dan. He said he was sorry for the late notice but wouldn’t be coming as he had a family emergency. I felt bad then that I hadn’t replied, so I quickly dashed off a message, telling him I’d only just looked at my phone. I then deleted it because if he was in the middle of an awful situation, he wouldn’t need pointless messages from me blowing up his phone at stupid o’clock in the morning.

Forcing myself to get up and walk over to the door, I remind myself that there’s no need to hide up here like a wimp, because I’ve done nothing wrong. Get down there and get on with it because at least I’ve not woken up to a body in my bed this time. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I straighten my shoulders and saunter down the hallway, into the kitchen and straight over to the kettle and flick it on to boil. Ignoring Connor and Nayo who are seated at the kitchen table, I concentrate on the kettle as if my life depends on it. Several full bin bags are leaning against the back door, so Connor has already started clearing up. There weren’t as many people here last night as at the new year’s party but there were still a lot, although there’s no sign of any of them now so I assume Nayo kicked out any malingerers, including the guy in her bed.

I turn to face Connor and Nayo with my brightest smile, but they’re not even looking in my direction. Sitting side by side at the table, their heads are close and they’re looking down at Nayo’s phone.

‘Coffee?’ I ask, teaspoon in hand.

Nayo laughs at something Connor says to her, but I don’t catch his words; they’re quiet, intimate. Disappointment floods through me; last night was a drunken fumble for him, nothing more. He probably doesn’t even remember it. He’s still in Nayo’s thrall – of course he is – because how could I ever compete with her? Nayo glances up and I catch her eye so I know she’s seen me, but she stares at me blankly before returning her gaze to her phone. I feel my face flush, so I turn my back on them and stare at the kettle.

Bitch.

‘I’ll have one,’ Connor calls. ‘Black, no sugar.’

Keeping my back to them, I take another cup down from the cupboard and spoon in the coffee. The kettle boils far too quickly, so I have no choice but to make the coffee and carry the mugs to the table. Sliding the coffees onto the table, I sit down in the chair opposite them.

‘Just reading Nayo’s message from Heck,’ Connor says as he picks up his coffee and blows on it, giving no hint at all that he remembers kissing me last night. ‘He’s having a great time in Brazil. Looks pretty wild.’

‘Brazil?’ I say. ‘Must be hot there.’ How lame do I sound?

‘Heck was such a great housemate,’ Nayo says, smirking at me. ‘No party was dull when he was around.’

Unlike me, obviously, who is dullness personified.

‘Great party last night, wasn’t it?’ Connor grins at me. ‘Although I think I drank a bit too much.’

‘Great,’ I say, pushing down my humiliation, because he’s clearly sending a message that he only kissed me because he was wasted. ‘I had a fantastic time.’

‘Did you?’ Nayo studies me, no trace of a smile on her face. Is she going to mention that she saw us kissing? What will I say if she does?

‘Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?’

She shrugs. ‘Dunno. You’re not really a social person, are you? I mean, it must be fucking weird being at a party where you don’t have any friends at all.’

Connor looks at her with a frown and, for a fleeting, hopeful moment, I think he’s going to tell her off.

He doesn’t.

‘Parties are a good way to meet people,’ I say, aiming for my best cheerful voice, but it comes out all wrong and I sound defensive, pathetic, or, as Niah would say, a complete suck up.  

Nayo makes a snorting noise and grins, raising her eyebrows at Connor. I’m a joke to both of them, good for a drunken fumble and useful for Nayo to vent her nastiness on. Can I blame her? I’ve tiptoed around her and her foul moods since I moved in here. Is it any wonder she has zero respect for me? I behave like an absolute creep around her in my desperation not to upset her for fear that I’ll have to leave. I never used to be like this.

Gutless.

For the first time in almost a year, the anger that spikes in me refuses to be pushed down and I make no attempt to contain it. The anger is not just at her, but at me, too.

‘What’s funny?’ I demand, my voice loud.

‘Nothing.’ She sniggers. ‘Just thinking about how desperate some people are. No friends, and the only men they get with are so lashed up that they don’t know what they’re doing.’

The bastard. They’ve been talking about me and he’s told her he only hit on me because he was drunk. Humiliation washes over me, but this time, instead of wanting to run away and hide, my anger builds.

‘If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out,’ I snap. ‘Instead of making snide comments all the time because I’m done with ignoring your nastiness.’

‘Don’t talk to me like that,’ Nayo says, her voice low. ‘Just remember who you’re speaking to.’

‘Oh, yeah? Who am I speaking to? Tell me, because I really want to know.’ I should shut up now, I should, but I know that it’s already too late because it feels good to actually say what I’m feeling for once. To vent. To spit it out. Niah’s voice is in my head, telling me to go for it; tell Nayo what an absolute cow she is. Spurring me on. I know that there’s only one way this is going to end, and that’s badly.

Nayo stands up and leans over the table, thrusting her face towards me. I guess this is it; this is where if I don’t restrain myself, back pedal, apologise, grovel, I’ll be told to get out and never come back, but such is my rage, at her and at Connor, that I don’t care.

‘This is my house, you weirdo,’ she spits the words at me. ‘And I allow you to live here because it suits me so you’d better remember that or else you can pack your bags and fuck off.’ When she’s finished speaking, I recoil from her in an exaggerated movement, flapping my hand, a disgusted look on my face.

‘Eew, fag breath, or what? You seriously need to brush your teeth or give up smoking. And it’s not your house, Naomi, you rent it, that’s all. The same as me and him.’ I jab my finger at Connor, sneering as I say his name.

There’s a stunned silence and I watch with satisfaction as her mouth drops open in shock. But the peace is short-lived as her hand shoots out towards me, grabs a handful of my hair and pulls it hard, yanking my face towards her.

‘Say that again, bitch, and you’re dead.’ Her eyes are blazing, her mouth twisted downwards. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I pull and twist it as hard as I can. Her eyes widen in shock and I laugh.

‘There’s only one bitch in this room and it’s not me,’ I shout into her face. ‘Maybe you should be the one to move out.’

‘Let go!’ she snarls.

Tightening my grip, I twist her hair around my fingers, tugging it sharply, surprised at how good it feels when I see her wince with pain.

‘STOP!’ Connor roars. ‘Just stop, the pair of you.’ His fingers clamp around my wrist and squeeze until I have no choice but to release my grip on Nayo’s hair. He’s holding her arm, too, and she lets go of my hair as he pulls us apart. Several strands of hair are caught in her fingers and my scalp is sore, but I resist the urge to touch my head to see if it’s bleeding. No way am I going to let her know she’s hurt me.

‘SHUT UP AND LISTEN!’ he shouts, pushing us apart. He strides across the kitchen, turns up the volume on the radio, and spins around to face us. Nayo and I glare at each other, both determined not to back down. Her expression is murderous, but she makes no move towards me, and I smile at her in triumph. She’s in shock that I retaliated and am not the meek mouse she thought I was. But my triumph is short-lived, because the newsreader’s voice is finally penetrating my consciousness and as I listen to her words, I realise that this is the day I’ve been dreading since New Year’s Eve, the day that I always knew would come. My rage at Nayo dissipates and the three of us stand in silence and listen, stunned at what we’re hearing.

‘…while the cause of death has yet to be determined, investigators are working to piece together the circumstances surrounding the incident and have secured a large section of the lake. The police have not yet released any information about the identity of the body recovered yesterday, although they have confirmed that it is that of a man.’

Chapter Nine

‘It might not be him,’ Nayo says. The news has finished, the newsreader’s clipped tones replaced by an old ninety’s song, the anger in the room of mere moments ago gone, replaced by fear.

‘Of course it’s him,’ Connor snaps. ‘Who the hell else would it be? How many bodies do you think get dumped in the lake?’

She shrugs, flops into the chair and reaches for her cigarettes.

Turning off the radio, Connor comes over to the table, pulls out a chair and sits down.

‘They don’t know who he is, though, and the body will have decomposed because it’s been months.’ I utter the words, hoping he’ll agree with me that there’s no way the body will be traced to this house. To me. Reassure me even though a few moments ago, I hated him. Because isn’t that what he said when they persuaded me not to go to the police three months ago?

‘Maybe.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘But we can’t ignore the fact that they’re probably going to find out who he is, and then it’s a short step to finding out he was here at the party.’ He’s not saying what I want to hear. Why is he saying this now? This isn’t what he said on New Year’s Day.

‘Nothing has changed.’ Nayo blows a mouthful of smoke straight at me. ‘We just do what we agreed. Keep our heads down and our gobs shut; deny all knowledge. They can’t touch us if we keep our mouths shut.’ She glares at me as if I’m going to shout to the world that we dumped a body in the lake.

‘It’ll be a murder hunt,’ Connor says. ‘The police aren’t just going to shove him in the freezer and forget about him.’

‘Murder?’ My mouth is dry and I struggle to get the word out. ‘You said we were just concealing a body, or whatever. You never mentioned murder.’

‘They’ll treat it as murder because we wrapped him up and weighed him down with slabs. It won’t look as if he fell in and drowned, will it?’

Of course it won’t. How unbelievably stupid I’ve been.

‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Nayo says. ‘If they trace him here, then we’ll just have to fess up and tell them the truth. We should be okay, shouldn’t we, Con? It’s not as if we murdered him, is it?’

She looks at Connor and then at me. If she’s trying to frighten me, it’s working. Connor has proved that I mean nothing to him, and that last night was just a drunken grope. I’m on my own. I breathe in slowly through my nose and out through my mouth, telling myself to get a grip and not to panic because if I let Nayo see how she’s rattled me, she’ll be breaking her neck to get to the police station.

‘You could do that,’ I say. ‘Which would drop me right in it, but it would also raise a whole load of other questions, wouldn’t it?’

‘For you, yeah.’ She smirks. ‘Not for us.’

‘Not just for me,’ I counter.

‘He was in your bed, not mine, or Con’s, so I think you’ll be the one they’ll be interested in. Isn’t that right, Con?’ She’s grinning now, and my anger is back. Right now, violence seems very appealing; I want to punch her and smack the smile off her face because she’s enjoying this far too much.

‘Maybe,’ she goes on, stubbing her cigarette out in the over-flowing ashtray. ‘We should just go to the police now. Confess what we did was bloody stupid. Throw ourselves on their mercy and let them do their job. There’ll be brownie points for us if we do that, won’t there, Con?’

‘That won’t work.’ I sound calm when I say the words, but inside I’m in turmoil. She’s throwing me under the bus. A vision of police, prison, and my life being laid bare flashes before me.

‘Why’s that?’ She smirks.

I glance at Connor; he’s watching us both, his eyes flicking between me and Nayo, a neutral expression on his face. Is this it? Is this how it’s going to be - they’re going to save their own skins and sod me?

‘Because,’ I say. ‘The police will wonder why you were so keen to help me get rid of the body.’

‘You know why, we told you why.’ Nayo frowns. ‘And that’s what we’ll tell them. The truth.’

‘Yeah, I know, but the police might not see it like that because your reasons sound pretty crap, don’t they? They could think you had other reasons for doing it, especially when I tell them I wanted to report it and you persuaded me not to.’

Nayo’s eyes glitter with anger.

‘You ungrateful cow.’

I shrug. ‘How am I ungrateful? It’s the truth; you two persuaded me to go along with what you wanted and now you’re throwing me to the wolves. I’m just saying how the police will see it. And it’s a valid question why were you so keen to dump him in the lake? I know you said it would ruin your careers, but are you sure that was the only reason? Because now I look back, it all seems a bit feeble to me. If I’d gone to the police straight away like I wanted to, it would all be over and they’d have found out why he died and I’d be in the clear. Because I was in shock, I allowed you two to browbeat me into doing what you wanted and you can be dammed sure I’ll be telling them that.’

‘Sian…’ Connor says in a warning tone, trying to catch my eye. I ignore him.

‘It’s true though, isn’t it? Why were you so keen to cover up a death if you’d done nothing wrong? What was in it for you? If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d been set up. Maybe you put his body in my bed to incriminate me.’ I’m saying it to wind them up, but now I’ve said the words out loud, it seems perfectly possible.

Maybe they had something to do with his death.

‘Oh yeah, so how did we lock your bedroom door from the inside?’ Nayo sneers.

‘Duh. Another key, obviously. Who knows how many keys there are to my room?’

‘What? Are you actually serious?’ Nayo demands. ‘We helped you and now you’re trying to blame us?’

‘You didn’t help me though, did you? Now it’s worse than it would have been if I’d gone to the police like I wanted to. We chucked him in the lake so it looks as if we had something to hide.’

‘You bitch,’ Nayo growls.

‘Right back at ya.’ I smirk.

‘We had nothing to do with his death,’ Connor says. ‘And I think you know that, Sian.’

‘Do I?’ I stand up with a sudden need to get out of here, to get away from these two. I push the chair back and it teeters on two legs before crashing to the floor.

‘I don’t trust either of you. Especially you, Nayo. Five minutes ago, you attacked me because I said something you didn’t like. Who knows what else you’re capable of?’

‘You’re a pathetic drama queen,’ she snorts.

‘Am I? You said, ‘‘you’re dead,’’ remember?’

With that, I storm out of the kitchen. There’s nothing to be gained by accusations and regrets about what we did, but I recognise the irony of what I’ve just said to Nayo.

She isn’t the only one quick to violence, because didn’t I retaliate when she attacked me? And didn’t I just have the urge to punch her in the face?

Yes, I did, and while she doesn’t know that, I do.

I’m not a good person, either.

✽✽✽

It feels strange to walk on the common without the dogs to distract me and I miss them galloping around. I never come here alone on the weekends when I don’t walk them, but today I needed to get out of the house and away from Nayo.

And Connor.

Because he’s betrayed me and I’m taking his silence when Nayo was talking about going to the police as him agreeing with her. He didn’t say differently; didn’t tell her she was wrong, that we’d all stick together. I thought we were friends, at least, even if he and Nayo have laughed together about our kiss last night.

There’s no getting over the fact that I’m in big trouble.

For all my bravado, I’m the one the police will be interested in. I could lie to them, tell them that the body wasn’t in my bed, but Connor and Nayo will tell them it was.

Two against one.

I can’t face talking to the police. Again.

I just can’t.

Thrusting my hands into my coat pockets, I march along, as if the physical exertion will push the turmoil out of my head. Now I’m here, I’m not sure what to do with myself. What was the point of coming here?

Because I had to get out of that house.

I walk my normal route, the one I take with the dogs, but alone, I seem to cover the ground in half the time. When I reach the thicket of trees where I normally end our daily walks, I stand under a tree for a while, brooding. But as walkers and joggers pass me, I begin to feel awkward and conspicuous, as if people are staring at me, so I resort to retracing my footsteps and starting the route over again.

Maybe I should have stayed in my room.

I left them in the kitchen after our row; slamming and locking the bedroom door and paced around the room, my heart pounding, my mind racing. Sitting on the bed to calm myself, I opened up my laptop and spent a long time searching the internet for more information on the discovery of the body, rewording the search terms until the ensuing results made no sense at all. There was no more information, just a rehash of what had been on the radio, so I snapped my laptop shut in frustration. There was no noise coming from downstairs and I imagined Connor and Nayo sitting close, heads together, whispering about me, plotting what they were going to say when the police turn up at the door. Driving myself mad with thoughts of what they were saying about me, I’d reached the point of storming downstairs and confronting them when I heard the drone of the vacuum cleaner; Connor was continuing the clear up from last night. Perhaps I should have gone downstairs and offered to help, persuaded them that we should stick together, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The thought of Nayo’s twisted expression when she looked at me was enough to deter me. Instead, I sat and brooded, trying to remember when it was that her attitude towards me changed.

I thought back to New Year’s Day and how nice she was to me then, giving me the bedding and the designer clothes, helping me make the bed. Now she can’t look at me without scowling or making a nasty comment, but it’s been so gradual that I can’t pinpoint the exact moment she turned on me.

She hates me and wants me to leave.

Have I served my purpose and now she wants rid of me? Was I set up by her? Did she have something to do with the body in my bed? Did she drug me so I can’t remember what happened?

Do I honestly believe she’s capable of murder?

I don’t think Nayo has a conscience; I’ve witnessed the way she discards the men she sleeps with once she’s finished with them, how she manipulates people to get what she wants. Her circle of friends changes frequently. She soon tires of people, but murder? Or maybe it wasn’t murder. Maybe he overdosed in her room and she moved him into mine and got someone to help her.

Or what about Connor? Could he have done it? It was his suggestion that we don’t call the police, that we dump the body. Were he and Nayo in it together?

Or am I grasping at straws, trying to make them guilty because I can’t remember?

Sometimes, as I’m falling asleep, I have the strangest sensation that the truth is there, on the edge of my consciousness, waiting for me. But it’s elusive, and try as I might, the memory slips through my fingers like smoke.

My mind continued in this way as I sat in my room; veering between thinking them both murderers one minute and the next that I was insane for even thinking it. Driving myself crazy and feeling worse with each minute that ticked by. I had to get away, get some fresh air.

Get some perspective.

So desperate was I not to see Connor or Nayo that I didn’t risk lingering in the hallway to get my coat, but grabbed a jacket from my wardrobe. Flimsy and offering no protection against the cold, it was a summer jacket but I didn’t care. It would do. Slipping it on, I picked up my keys, opened my bedroom door, tiptoed down the stairs, and fled the house.

So here I am, aimlessly wandering without a plan with my brain screaming at me to run, get away, escape.

Just like I did before.

Chapter Ten

‘Please,’ Niah draws the word out, a pleading look on her face. ‘I won’t ask again, I promise.’

‘You said that last time, and the time before that,’ Sian says.

‘Fine. Don’t bother then. Watch your big sister get kicked into the thicko’s set with all the wasters.’

‘Don’t talk like that. It’s horrible.’

‘It’s true. If I fail this test, that’ll be it for me. I’ll be languishing at the bottom forever and I’ll end up spending my life on benefits because I’m unemployable. It’s alright for you, you’re clever.’

Sian sighs. ‘You’re clever, too, and you know it. If you weren’t so lazy and applied yourself a bit more, you wouldn’t have to ask me to pretend to be you.’

Niah flops onto her bed and stares at the ceiling, a mulish expression on her face. ‘God, you sound just like Dad. How old are you, fifty? You’ll be telling me to wash behind my ears next.’

‘All I’m saying is that I can’t keep standing in for you. What are you going to do when the exams come round? I can’t sit your GCSEs for you because we’ll be in the same exam room, won’t we? What are you going to do then?’

‘Not a problem. I’ve thought of that; all of mine are mostly coursework so I’ll scrape a B or C, even if I do really badly in the exam. I’ve worked it all out. It’s a percentage game, and no one looks at grades unless they’re D or below, do they? All they’re interested in is how many GSCEs you’ve got.’

Sian stays silent, knowing that she’ll be doing the coursework for her sister, too.

‘If you put as much effort into actually doing the work instead of thinking of ways to get out of it, you’d get A stars in everything.’

Niah makes a snorting sound, a cross between disgust and amusement.

‘If I do this, and I’m not saying I will,’ Sian says, ‘You have to promise to behave when you’re pretending to be me. No showing off and doing stuff that I’d never do. And you have to wear my clothes and not yours.’

Niah sits up, swings her legs off the bed, and grins.

‘Thank you! I knew you wouldn’t let me down and, of course, I’ll behave myself.’

‘I mean it, Niah. No flirting with boys or saying weird things I would never say. And no dancing. Definitely no dancing.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, it was a party! You’re supposed to dance at parties, even if it’s a party for do-gooding swots. I had to liven it up before everyone fell asleep. I mean, who doesn’t dance at a party? It’s practically the law. I was doing you a favour by pretending to be you. You do remember that? So it works both ways. You could have just said no to the invite but, oh no, you couldn’t, could you, because you have the hots for Sam Beckton.’

‘I don’t have the hots for anyone; he’s a friend, that’s all. And dancing is one thing, what you did was something else. My friends still talk about it now. I wish I’d said I wasn’t going, but I let you talk me into it because you said never going out was weird. I should have known you’d try to embarrass me.’

‘It is weird not going out. You’re weird. We’re nearly sixteen. It’s time you got a life and started doing normal things. You don’t have to spend every spare second swotting up for exams.’

‘You’re lucky I do swot because otherwise, what would you do? I have to do the work for both of us. And anyway, I’m not weird, I’m just not like you,’ Sian says.

Niah jumps up from the bed, pulls Sian towards her, and wraps her arms around her.

‘You are weird.’ She hugs her. ‘But you’re my sister, so I’m working on making you more sociable.’

Sian doesn’t answer, but hugs Niah back. Somehow, again, her sister has got her own way, although she can’t bring herself to mind too much because she knows Niah would do anything for her.

‘What are you two up to?’

They break apart to see their mother standing in the bedroom doorway.

‘Nothing.’ Niah grins. ‘Just a sisterly hug. That’s allowed isn’t it, mother?’

‘Less of the mother, madam,’ their mother says, her smile taking the sting out of her words.

‘I’m thanking Sian for helping me with my French test tomorrow. She’s been so helpful that I’m sure I’m going to ace it.’ Sian has a sudden urge to giggle at Niah’s words but stops herself.

‘I’m sure you don’t need Sian’s help,’ their mother says. ‘You can pass it on your own. You always pass, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but only because Sian helps me.’

‘No, it’s not. You’d pass perfectly well under your own steam and asking Sian to help you just makes her even more big-headed than she already is. As I’ve told you both before, you don’t need to be top of the class in everything. Sometimes it’s nice to let someone else win at things instead of taking all the glory.’

Sian stays silent, knowing that there’s nothing she can say that won’t start a row. Their mother makes no secret of her feelings; Niah is the favourite and no matter how she tries, Sian can do nothing right. She’s not sure what she’s done to deserve her mother’s disapproval, but she’s known from an early age that their mother dislikes her. Their father knows it too; it caused many of their rows before he moved out when the twins were five-years-old.

‘Sian doesn’t take all the glory. She’s just naturally clever,’ Niah says, ignoring the warning look that Sian flashes her.

‘So are you, but you don’t show off all the time, do you? You let other people shine because you’re a generous person and don’t have to have all the attention.’

The sound of the phone ringing from downstairs interrupts them and their mother hesitates for a moment.

‘I’d better get that.’ She turns and they hear her going down the stairs. Seconds later, there’s the sound of her laughter as she answers the call from the landline in the hallway.

‘The creepy boyfriend’s on the phone.’ Niah rolls her eyes and affects a disgusted look.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that.’

‘What? Call him the creepy boyfriend? He is. Oily. Like a fish. He’s disgusting. He just wants to get into her knickers.’

Sian gets up and closes the bedroom door. ‘I wish you wouldn’t defend me. You know it makes her worse.’

‘But what she says isn’t true.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Just let her say it and then it’s over and done with. She hates me and nothing you say is going to change that.’

‘She’s always saying stuff about you that’s not true, so why should she get away with it?’

‘It doesn’t matter, I’m used to it.’ Sian shrugs. ‘So stop saying nice things about me because you’re wasting your time and all you do is wind her up. I annoy her and it’s better if you keep quiet.’

‘She’s not right in the head,’ Niah whispers.

‘Shush.’ Sian glances at the bedroom door.

‘It’s true and you know it. Why do you defend her? She’s horrible to you and you’ve done nothing wrong. She drove Dad away with her constant whining and hysterics. I don’t even blame him for leaving her because who wants to live with that? I wish we lived with him because our lives would be so much better.’

‘We can’t. You know she won’t let us.’

‘It’s not fair.’ Niah flops onto her bed and Sian sits down next to her. ‘Why do they always give the mother custody? If only we lived with Dad all the time instead of every other weekend. We have more fun with him in two days than in an entire year of living with her. Lucy’s way nicer than Mum, too, she’s normal and doesn’t go off on one if she thinks someone’s looking at her funny. She doesn’t think she’s done something amazing because she popped two kids out. Lucy’s got two little kids of her own and she just gets on with it and she’s not nasty to them. She doesn’t go mental at Dad all the time, either.’

‘At least we get to see him.’

‘So we’re supposed to be grateful, are we?’ Niah asks. ‘Mum would have stopped that, too, if she could. She tried her best. We’re lucky Dad fought for us and didn’t walk away from us as well as her.’

‘I know. But it’s not forever, and it’s not that bad.’

‘It is. Mum’s suffocating.’

‘Only to you.’

‘I’d rather be you because at least she leaves you alone most of the time. She circles and fusses around me, asking me if I’m okay, offering to do stuff for me. It creeps me out. She behaves as if she’s my best friend or something, and then she’s vile to you, treating you as if you’re not even there unless she’s being nasty to you. Why? It’s not normal. She’s mental.’

‘Stop it.’ Sian hisses.

‘It’s true. Why treat us so differently? We look exactly the same, even she can’t tell us apart sometimes.’

‘I don’t know. It’s pointless talking about because it is what it is. At least she’s not so bad at the moment. She’s almost bearable.’

‘Yeah, only because she’s got a new bloke,’ Niah says. ‘As soon as he figures out what a bitch she is, he’ll run for the hills like they always do. She can only keep up her nice act for so long. And then once he’s dumped her, we’ll have weeks of her self-pity and her being extra nasty to you until she finds another idiot to put up with her. I hate her.’

‘Stop it. She’s our mum. You shouldn’t say things like that.’

‘Why not? It’s how I feel. You hate her, too.’

‘No, I don’t,’ Sian says.

‘Yes, you do. Don’t lie.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Sian says.

‘You are,’ Niah says. ‘I’m your twin, the other half of you. You’re me and I’m you. I know when you’re lying and you’re doing it right now. You hate her just as much as I do.’ 

Chapter Eleven

I’m freezing.

When the sun was out, there was the tiniest hint of warmth and it wasn’t too bad, but now that it’s dark, it’s bitterly cold. The brief taste of summer that we enjoyed yesterday is a distant memory, and I’m shivering as I plough on, so much for the forecast of warm weather. It doesn’t help that the flimsy jacket I grabbed from the wardrobe has no padding, essentially, it’s nothing more than a thick shirt. I’ve been tramping around for hours and achieved nothing but numb fingers and a pounding headache.

Going back to the house is my only option, as I have nowhere else to go.

Curling my frozen fingers around my phone in my pocket, I start to pull it out and then stop. There’s no need to look at it to see if there’s a panicked message from Connor or Nayo telling me that the police are at the door, because in all the time I’ve been walking, I’ve not heard it ring, bleep or felt it vibrate once.

But would they tell me if the police were there, or would they let me walk into a trap?

I don’t know, but it will take longer than a day for the police to find out who the man in the lake is and trace him to me. I think, yet again, about Niah. Talking to her would make me feel so much better. Just to hear her voice, to know that she forgives me, is there for me as she always used to be.

But she won’t answer, she won’t talk to me.

Releasing my grip on the phone, I pull out my hand and rub my hands together to warm them and continue my trudge across the common, with only the weak moonlight to guide my way. It’s not a good idea to be out here in the dark, alone. What if a mad axeman showed up and ended my life?

Would it really be that terrible?

At least I wouldn’t have to face up to anything then.

Self-pity won’t help, either.

Speeding up my pace, I power on across the common, and all too soon I’m weaving my way through the quiet, dark streets to the house. Just a house; it’s not a home and never has been, it’s simply somewhere to live. When I reach the house, I look at my watch to see it’s a quarter to nine. How many hours have I been tramping around for? It seems like forever but I don’t even know what time I left the house, my head was in such a mess. Looking up at Nayo’s bedroom window, it’s in darkness, which means she’s downstairs because no way would she be asleep this early. As I walk up the path to the front door, fatigue hits me. I’m so tired. It takes several attempts to get the key in the lock because my fingers are cold and refuse to work. After fumbling around, I finally manage to turn the key, all the while praying that Connor and Nayo haven’t heard me. I don’t want to speak to either of them and will go straight up to my room, despite being beyond hungry. No way will l be venturing into the kitchen and risking seeing Nayo so she can vent her nastiness on me again. Too late, I realise I should have bought myself a takeaway or something that I could eat in my room. But how could I, because in my panic to get away, I took no money with me.

Too bad. I’ll have to starve.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, I close it behind me and have my foot on the bottom step of the stairs when the lounge door flies open. With a sinking heart, I turn. Connor is standing in the doorway.

‘Thank God you’re back,’ he says.

‘Why, what’s happened?’ Fear clutches my stomach. Are the police in the lounge already, waiting to arrest me? Too late, I realise I should have checked the street to see if there was a police car parked outside. How could I not have noticed?

‘Nothing.’ He looks surprised at my question. ‘Nothing’s happened. I was worried about you.’

‘Why?’

‘Where have you been? You’ve been gone for hours.’

I shrug. ‘Just walking around. Thinking.’

‘You must be freezing. Come in here and warm up.’

I don’t move.

‘Nayo’s not here. She’s gone to stay with a mate for the night. She won’t be back until tomorrow.’

Relief floods through me and the tension leaves my body and like a fool, I begin to cry, as the pent-up emotions of the day are released. When I feel Connor’s arms around me, infusing me with his body warmth, I give in to the tears and sob on his shoulder. Knowing how he sided with Nayo, I should push him away, but it feels so good to be comforted that I can’t bring myself to. When I eventually finish crying, I stand like a child as he unbuttons my jacket, slips it from my shoulders, and hangs it up before leading me into the lounge, his arm around my shoulders. The fire is burning in the grate and the room feels warm and inviting, no trace left of last night’s party. Connor’s been busy cleaning and tidying, alone, no doubt, because Nayo won’t have helped because it’s far too much trouble for her to put her cereal dish in the dishwasher, let alone do anything else. Suddenly guilty that I didn’t help either, I remind myself not to be ridiculous. Today has not been a normal day. Lowering myself down onto the sofa, I pull Nayo’s furry throw around me, lay my head back, and close my eyes. He tugs off my boots, but I don’t open my eyes or acknowledge what he’s doing.

I’m exhausted, spent.

‘Have you eaten today?’

‘No.’ I say, opening my eyes.

‘Right. I’ll make you something. Stay there.’

He goes out to the kitchen and I close my eyes again. I have no intention of moving. The warmth from the fire begins to thaw my limbs and I doze, drifting into that strange state of nothingness where thoughts flit across my brain so quickly that I can’t catch them.

For the first time in hours, I feel calm; safe.

‘Sian.’

I open my eyes. Connor is standing in front of me, a plate in each hand, holding one towards me. It seems only seconds since he left. The smell of fried bacon is in the air, and my stomach growls with hunger. I take the plate and he sits down next to me.

‘Had to make myself one, too.’ He grins.

We eat our sandwiches and I don’t think anything has ever tasted so good. When I’ve finished, he takes the plate from me and replaces it with a mug of tea. I wrap my fingers around it and take a sip.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘No problem. Where have you been all day?’

‘The common.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know where you were? You were gone so long. I was worried.’

‘Not worried enough to ring me, though.’ The words are out before I think about it, making me sound ungrateful, spiteful. But it’s true, if he was so worried, why didn’t he ring me, or at the very least, message me? 

He laughed about me with Nayo and I can’t forgive that.

‘I did. Several times.’ He looks hurt.

‘No,’ I say, ‘You did not.’

‘I did,’ he says. ‘I messaged you too, loads of times.’

Why lie? Why bother when he knows there’ll be no record of the calls on my phone? I should ask him, but it all seems like too much effort to think about, let alone talk about.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘No, of course I’m not. It’s only a matter of time before the police find their way here and you and Nayo have made it quite clear that you’re going to throw me under the bus.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I demand. ‘That’s pretty much what Nayo said, and I didn’t hear you disagreeing with her.’

He sighs. ‘I’ve found its best not to argue with Nayo, but it doesn’t mean I agree with her. There’s no way I’d abandon you.’

‘You didn’t stick up for me.’

‘Sorry.’ He looks down at his hands. ‘And sorry about last night, too. I was drunk and I shouldn’t have come onto you like that.’

‘That’s okay,’ I say. ‘At least you and Nayo had a good laugh about it, eh? I’m glad that I provided you both with entertainment.’

‘I didn’t laugh about you.’

‘Yeah, you did, so don’t pretend otherwise.’

‘I didn’t. I told Nayo I was drunk and didn’t remember kissing you. She saw us so I had to say something.’

I don’t answer.

‘I don’t regret the kiss.’ He takes hold of my hand.

‘You don’t?’ I ask.

‘No, not one bit. My only regret is that I was drunk when it happened. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a very long time.’

‘Have you?’

‘Yes.’ He smiles and strokes my fingers.

‘So why lie to Nayo about it?’ I ask. ‘Why pretend you couldn’t remember?’

‘Because I knew it would make her nasty.’

‘She was pretty nasty anyway, but why would she care? It’s nothing to do with her.’

‘It’s complicated. But trust me, she’d have been ten times worse if she knew the truth.’

‘The truth?’ I ask.

‘That I like you. A lot. She wouldn’t be able to cope with us two together in this house. She doesn’t do third wheel.’

My heart lifts; he hasn’t betrayed me, has he? I so want to believe he hasn’t.

“It was a good kiss, even though you were drunk,” I say.

He smiles. ‘It was?’

I nod. ‘But you need to know that I’m not like Nayo. I don’t do casual hookups.’

Maybe I’ve blown it now, but I need to tell him, to protect myself and let him know what I expect, because right now, I can’t cope with starting something that’s going to end in disaster. I saw him coming out of Nayo’s bedroom yesterday morning and last night he was kissing me. He has the same mindset as Nayo and I don’t. Despite my feelings for him, I don’t want casual sex. I wait for him to move away, tell me he’s not interested, but he doesn’t.

‘You’re nothing like Nayo, thank God. I don’t see you as a hookup, as you call it. Like I said, I like you, Sian. I live with you and I’ve got to know you and you’ve got to know me. I think we have a connection, don’t we? I can feel it. Or have I got that all wrong?’

Now is the time to tell him I saw him coming out of Nayo’s room; ask him about it, get it out there. But I don’t because it would ruin this moment and I don’t want that.

If it was just sex with Nayo, does it matter?

‘Sian?’ Connor prompts.

‘I like you, too.’

He laughs. ‘Say it like you mean it.’

‘I do like you, but what you said to Nayo feels like a betrayal. What happened to our connection when you were pretending to her you didn’t remember kissing me?’

He draws away from me, his expression serious.

‘I’m sorry, I know how it seems, but you don’t know her like I do. I couldn’t tell her the truth because she wouldn’t be able to cope with it. You think she’s bad now, she’d be so much worse if she knew how I felt about you.’

‘She wants me to leave. That’s pretty obvious,’ I say. ‘She’s been different since New Year. She blames me for the situation we’re in. I suppose it is my fault, but it wasn’t my idea to do what we did. She was okay before that, even straight afterwards, when we got back, she was alright. That night she helped me make my bed, gave me clothes. She was kind. I thought we got on, but now she hates me and she’s getting worse every day.’

‘It’s the way she is, and it’s best if you don’t rise to it, because it’ll escalate. Try to ignore her.’

‘Ignore her? When she’s pulling my hair? Attacking me?’ I demand. ‘Perhaps I should just have it out with her, get it out in the open.’

‘No, don’t do that.’ He grips my hand. ‘Don’t antagonise her, just ignore her. Stay out of her way if you can.’

‘How? I live here.’

‘Don’t confront her.’

‘You’re worrying me now.’

‘Sorry. But you don’t know Nayo the way I do.’ He stares at me intently. ‘Don’t cross her or confront her again, because she’s not stable. She’s spiralling. If we remain calm and don’t upset her, she’ll settle down.’

‘Settle down?’

‘Yes. Stay calm and keep away from her because confrontation triggers her, makes her do things.’

‘What things?’

He draws a deep breath before answering. ‘Bad things. Stuff I can’t tell you about. Just believe me when I tell you that Nayo’s dangerous and you can’t trust her.’

✽✽✽

‘Get some sleep and remember, I’m on your side. We’re in this together.’

We’re standing outside my bedroom in each other’s arms and despite my exhaustion, the temptation to invite Connor into my room is ever-present.

He kisses me on the lips and then pulls away.

‘Go. Get to bed. Get some sleep.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I smile, and go into my bedroom, turning to watch Connor as he walks along the landing to his room. He turns before going inside and we lock eyes for a moment before I close the door.

What a day.

The worst of days, but also one of the best because Connor feels the same way as I do. I remind myself of his words, that he’s on my side, that we have a connection.

But he also lied to me.

He said he’d rung me, sent me messages, but he hadn’t.

I push the thought away. He was just trying to make me feel better because people do that, don’t they? Say things in the moment that aren’t true. That’s what Connor was doing, trying to comfort me.

I’m making excuses for him.

I am; but I’m not dwelling on it because I have enough to worry about. Like the fact that I could find myself as a chief suspect in a murder enquiry.

Stop.

The police aren’t beating down the door yet and I can’t do anything about it now, so I’ll deal with whatever happens, when it happens. There’s nothing to be gained by catastrophising and fretting. It won’t change a thing. Yes, we disposed of a body, but we didn’t murder him and the police will find that out once the post-mortem is done.

It will be okay. It will. Connor says it will.

We talked for a long time about that night and Connor admitted that what we did was stupid; we should have called the police straight away. Now he can’t understand why he ever suggested doing what we did. When I look back, I’m staggered that I went along with it, that I was involved in disposing of a body. The only excuse I have for myself is that I was in shock; I’d woken to find a dead man in my bed.

Connor and Nayo would have been in shock, too.

Nayo.

Connor said she was dangerous, and he seemed afraid when he talked about her. He told me she suspects any female who comes into the house and views them all as competition. Maybe that’s the reason she’s become nastier to me. Even though she’s a successful model and has men swarming around her, he says she has zero self-esteem. I laughed when he said that, but he insisted it was true. When their old housemate, Heck, left, Nayo said that she wanted a girl housemate who was quieter and less manic. Connor tried to dissuade her but she was adamant that she get her way.

She always gets her way.

Nayo’s dislike of competition is the reason Connor has never brought a girlfriend into the house or told her how he feels about me; she can’t take it.

That was when I should have told him I saw him coming out of her room, but again, I stayed silent, because what if I was mistaken – what if he just went in there to talk to her? Nayo walks around naked or half-naked all the time and Connor is an actor, so he’ll be at ease in his own skin. Nudity is no big deal to either of them.

But he went back in there and closed the door, didn’t he? And he lied about ringing me today, too.

He did. And I will ask him about it, all of it, but not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when my head is clearer and I’m not so tired.

I go into the bathroom, brush my teeth, strip off my clothes, and put on my pyjamas. I’m going to sleep tonight, come what may because I’m exhausted. Turning out the bathroom light, I pad across the bedroom and climb into bed. As I reach out to turn off the lamp, my mobile phone falls off the edge of the mattress, landing with a thud on the carpet. A vague memory of tossing it onto the bed when I came upstairs this morning flashes through my mind. I lean down and pick it up, and the screen lights up. Several missed calls and many messages from Connor fill the screen.

He wasn’t lying.

My absolute delight at knowing he hasn’t lied to me quickly turns to confusion. My phone was in my jacket pocket, so how can it be here in my room? Did I bring it upstairs with me and forget I’d done so? It’s possible, because my head’s been all over the place today.

No, I didn’t. When I came back, Connor took my coat off me and hung it up. Whilst I was out walking, I never once took the phone out of my pocket because I didn’t want to confirm what I already knew; that Connor didn’t care enough to ring me and check if I was okay. I would have heard it ring and ping from all the notifications for all those messages when I was walking; there’s no way I would have missed them. Even if I’d put it on silent without realising, I’d have felt it vibrate in my pocket.

Suddenly wide awake, all thoughts of sleep forgotten, I jump out of bed, hurry out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Thrusting my hand into my jacket pocket, I feel the familiar shape of a phone. Pulling it out, I see that it’s an iPhone like mine, but with a different case.

Mine is pink. This case is black.

I press the side button, but the screen doesn’t change. It’s dead.

Gripping it tightly in my hand as if it might disappear into thin air, I climb the stairs.

This isn’t my phone, so whose is it?

Chapter Twelve

When I open my eyes, for the briefest of moments, I’m happy.

Niah has forgiven me; we’re the best of friends, just as we’ve always been. She knows all about Connor and my feelings for him. We laughed together when I told her I was having trouble stopping myself from jumping into bed with him. Niah reminded me, as she always does, that I’ll end up a dried up husk with an attitude like that. I responded, as I typically do, that I don’t need to be a tramp just because she is.

It was wonderful.

But of course, it was a dream; just a dream.

If it were real, I wouldn’t be living here in this house, would I? I wouldn’t be in this awful mess.

I throw back the duvet and shiver. The room is freezing, which means the ancient heating hasn’t yet kicked in. A glance at my phone confirms that it’s nearly nine o’clock, which means I have one hour before I pick up my first dog of the day.

Despite being a bank holiday, I’ve opted to work. Most people are quite happy to pay a supplement for me to take their dog out today because it’s one less thing for them to do in their busy lives. I’d happily dog-walk on weekends too, but the agency doesn’t offer that service so I’m forced to have time off.

To do nothing. To hang around aimlessly. Because I have no life. Will that change now I’ve met Connor?

Don’t hang your whole life on a man.

Niah’s voice. She’s right.

Pulling the duvet back over me, I stare at the phone charging on the bedside table before leaning over and dragging it towards me.

This is the other phone; the phone that’s not mine.

I pick it up and the movement opens the screen. There is no photograph or wallpaper to give any hint to who the owner is. I slide the bar up and the face ID prompt appears, swiftly replaced by the touchpad to enter the passcode.

Which, obviously, I don’t have.

I put down the phone, pick up my own and navigate to the internet. After a bit of searching, I learn I have only five attempts at the passcode before the phone locks me out permanently, ten attempts before it deletes everything on the phone. There is no workaround, no other way.

The only way to open that phone is with the passcode.

More internet searching tells me the top ten most common six-digit passcodes for an iPhone. It’s unlikely that any of them will work because who’d be stupid enough not to set their own code?

Well, lots of people, according to the internet.

People commonly use birthdates, but I don’t know whose phone this is, so that doesn’t help me.

The most common code is 123456, so I pick up the phone and type it in.

No.

I tap in 654321.

No.

Three attempts left.

Whose phone is this, and how did it end up in my pocket? It wasn’t in there when I moved into this house because I hung everything up in that wardrobe myself. If there was anything in that pocket, I’d have noticed, felt the weight of it.

Did Nayo put it there? Connor said that she’s not stable, and that she does weird things, so it could be her, but why? I can’t think of a reason. Next I tap in 111111 because that’s third on the list. The passcode spots wobble, but the phone remains locked.

Two tries remain. The chances of unlocking that phone are zero. If I was allowed a thousand attempts it would still be impossible because the combinations are endless.

Tossing both phones onto the duvet in exasperation, I jump out of bed and head to the bathroom, but as I’m closing the door, I change my mind and go back and pick up both of them. Someone has been in my room and put that phone here, so I won’t be leaving anything important lying around in the future. It might have been someone from one of our parties, but people typically steal things, not leave stuff behind. At the New Year’s Eve party I never locked my door so it could have happened then, but what if it was Nayo? Does she have a key? Maybe I should change the lock on my door.

But I still come back to why – what motive would anyone have for hiding a phone in my jacket pocket? It makes no sense, but if I could find out whose phone it is, perhaps it would.

I keep remembering the look in Connor’s eyes when he was talking about Nayo. He looked afraid. What has she done to make him feel like that? Closing the bathroom door, I bolt it, even though my bedroom door is locked.

I’m taking no chances from now on.

✽✽✽

Connor’s bedroom door was closed when I left the house, which isn’t unusual, because it’s half-past-nine on a bank holiday Monday and who in their right mind gets up at that time if they don’t have to? I munch on a slice of toast as I walk to pick up Mungo, my first call. I could have eaten it in the kitchen, but the minute I got downstairs, I felt on edge and just wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

In case Nayo came back early.

Taking Connor’s advice, I’m going to avoid her wherever possible, but I need to look for somewhere else to live because she’s only going to get worse.

But not yet.

Not while ‘all this’, as I’ve started referring to it in my head, is going on. If I’m living here and Nayo throws me under the bus, which I think she will, at least I’ll see it coming. Although I say if, it’s when, because I know that she’ll do anything to save her own skin. How I wish I could turn back the clock, undo the stupid thing, things, that I’ve done in my life but I can’t change the past; I have to carry on and just get on with it. Deal with it.

Should I go to the police now, confess all and throw myself on their mercy? The fear of being locked up stops me; will always stop me. I’m hanging onto the feeble hope that their enquiries won’t lead to me and that somehow, we’ve got away with it.

But there’s no denying the massive guilt that I feel about what we’ve done. That man has a family somewhere, friends, people who will be missing him, who loved him. These past three months we’ve deprived them of knowing what happened to him and they’ll have been going out of their minds with worry. I allowed myself to be persuaded to do the wrong thing because it was the easy thing.

For me.

Now the police have found him, at least his family will learn what’s happened to him, small comfort though that will be. He must have died from an accidental overdose, or a heart attack, perhaps. Whatever it was, the police will find out.

Arriving outside my first customer’s house, I put on my best professional smile. Wiping my face to ensure that no lingering toast crumbs are clinging to my lips, I press the doorbell. The house is a new build, executive five bedder; modern angular lines, large windows and brilliant white render. When I first met Mungo, I was surprised that his owners – two ultra-professional thirty-somethings – would let an excitable cocker spaniel into their pristine home, but meeting them, I could tell they were besotted with him. Seb, Mungo’s dad, as he refers to himself, opens the door with a smile. I have a key and usually let myself in as they’re both at work, but today, as they’re home, I don’t. Mungo bounds out to greet me, and I ruffle his ears and take the proffered lead from Seb. After a lot of leaping around, Mungo settles down and we continue to the next address to pick up Monty, a retriever. All my ‘morning dogs’ are within walking distance and I’ll confess that they’re my favourites, too. This afternoon I’ll be taking the van and picking up three, but sometimes four or five dogs to walk. Five is my limit. Often I’ll have extras when my colleagues are on holiday and it’s hard work, especially if they’re big dogs and not obedient. Before, I often used to take the dogs to the lakes for a run around. It was a favourite place of mine but I never go there now.

I’ll never go there again.

Turning into the next street, I feel a tug from the lead; Mungo knows that we’re about to pick up Monty. We come here every day and this dog's memory is excellent. Glancing down at him, he’s looking up at me as he trots along and I smile at him. Mad, I know, because dogs can’t smile, can they?

I’m feeling better now, more relaxed. It’s because I’m putting physical distance between me and that house, and what happened there.

As if I can run away from it all.

Like I did before.

✽✽✽

On my way back to the house after I’ve dropped the dogs home, my earlier power walking has dwindled to a slow trudge. I don’t want to go back but I have no choice, because I have to pick up the van for this afternoon’s shift and the car keys are in my room. Why didn’t I bring them with me this morning? I could have stayed out all day, gone to a cafe for my lunch.

Avoided Nayo.

It was tempting to message Connor to ask if Nayo was back, but I didn’t because she won’t stay away forever, will she? At some point, I’ll have to face her but I want to keep contact with her to a minimum. It’s a normal working day tomorrow, so I’m hoping she’ll be at a shoot or something so it’ll be easier to keep out of her way then. She boasts constantly about modelling for this and that campaign, but I’ve never seen her in a magazine or on the TV. Connor’s comments about her having zero self-esteem have started me wondering if she’s as successful as she makes out because she’s living in a rundown ruin of a house, just like me.

Or maybe I’m just not looking in the right places because she has a bedroom full of gifted stuff from all the modelling jobs she’s done.

Or she could be a liar, and has shoplifted it all.

Am I mad to think that? She’s done bad things, according to Connor, so who knows? Whatever she is, I need to be careful around her and as soon as this is all over, I’ll find somewhere else to live.

But what if this is never over?

If, by some miracle, the police never trace the body back to this house, will I spend the rest of my life waiting for the hand on my shoulder? Will I ever know peace of mind again? Which would be worse, getting caught or a life in limbo, waiting for the knock on the door?

Right now I don’t know; all I can do is carry on.

That’s what I was hoping for this morning, normality, to chat with Dan about things that were nothing to do with dead bodies, to laugh, throw sticks for the dogs, the everyday stuff that we always do but he was a no show at the common. I messaged him, asking if he was okay, if there was anything I could do. I don’t know what his family emergency is, although Dan’s not prone to hysterics, so I’m guessing that it must be something serious for him to miss the party and not turn up for work. The hours dragged as I walked around the common, although it gave me the opportunity to do more internet searching while the dogs were enjoying some time off the lead. I discovered I could take the sim card out and put it into another phone and then use the phone number, but I still wouldn’t be able to see any of the previous messages or calls so that’s no use to me. Two tries at guessing the pin code remain; millions of possibilities exist. Success is unlikely. Less chance than winning the lottery, I think.

I’m here, at the house.

My heart is pounding as I walk up to the front door and let myself in as quietly as possible.

But I needn’t have bothered being quiet because Connor and Nayo are arguing in the kitchen. Shrill shrieking, is coming from Nayo and measured calmness from Connor. The kitchen door is open and I stand still, hoping that they won’t see me. Nayo is standing side onto me, screeching at Connor, who is out of sight.

‘This is all your fault,’ Nayo yells. ‘I should never have listened to you.’

‘There’s no point in screaming at me because it won’t change what we did. It is what it is and we have to deal with it.’ Connor’s voice is calm, placating.

‘Oh fuck off, Connor,’ Nayo explodes. ‘And stop being such a prick. We’re in big, big trouble and it’s all going to come crashing down on us. Once the police get in here and start poking around, we’re done for. They’ll find stuff and then we’re finished. DO SOMETHING, and fast, because I am not going to prison.’

‘That won’t happen.’ His answer enrages Nayo even more, and she steps forward, and as she does so, she sees me, frozen in the hallway. She stares at me, pure hatred on her face.

‘Well, well, well,’ she sneers. ‘Look what the cat dragged in. You’d better get yourself in here, Sian, and tell us what you’re going to do about the almighty fucking mess you’ve got us into.’ Her hands are balled into fists by her side, her face red with rage, and right now, she looks downright ugly.

Run, my brain urges, get up the stairs, into your room and lock the door. Will I get there without Nayo catching me? Doubtful. Taking a deep breath, I stride down the hallway into the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, standing in front of Nayo with my back to Connor. ‘I wish I could undo it all, but I can’t.’

‘Too right you can’t,’ Nayo sneers. ‘The only way out of this fucking mess is for you to go to the police and fess up and keep us out of it.’ She steps closer to me and I force myself not to flinch.

‘I can’t do that,’ I say, my face inches from hers. ‘I just can’t.’

‘Is that right? Well, maybe I’ll do it for you. Tell them you killed him and got rid of him and me and Con had nothing to do with it. I’ll say you fessed up to us when you saw it on the telly. You’ll back me up, right?’ She looks past me at Connor, a challenging look on her face.

‘Please don’t do that,’ I say. ‘Because then I’ll tell them you helped me.’

She moves closer, her breath hot on my face.

‘We’ll say you’re lying. Two against one. Your word against ours.’

‘You could. Or you could wait. Why invite trouble when there’s no need? The police might not trace him back here. Let’s see what happens. Ride it out. If they come, I promise I’ll keep you both out of it.’ I turn to Connor, a pleading look on my face. He stays silent, his eyes on Nayo.

‘How do I know you won’t drop us in it? You could be lying,’ Nayo says.

‘I’m not. I swear. You helped me and I’m grateful for that, but if the police come here, I’ll tell them it was me on my own. I’ll take all the blame.’

She stares at me, and I look right back at her without blinking. After what seems like hours but is only seconds, she speaks.

‘Okay. But I’m warning you, don’t cross me because you’ll live to regret it.’

Chapter Thirteen

Nayo’s threat hangs in the air and I stand, my feet rooted to the spot, unable to galvanise myself into action. Connor breaks the silence by offering to make us all a cup of tea, but I don’t answer or acknowledge him. I’m afraid to look at him, scared that my feelings for him will be evident on my face. Scared that Nayo will guess about us.

Us.

Is there going to be an us?

I think there might be. I hope there might be.

‘I need to get on,’ I say, to no one in particular, my voice surprisingly normal. ‘I have an afternoon shift of dog-walking.’

Nayo ignores me, but Connor winks as I turn to leave and I feel my face flush. Luckily, Nayo doesn’t notice as she’s putting a cigarette in her mouth, padding her jean pockets for the whereabouts of her lighter.

Once upstairs in the safety of my bedroom, I close the door and take off my coat. Thank God that’s over. For now. Taking both phones out of my coat pocket, I see that while I was downstairs, a message has come in from Dan. I open it, relieved to hear from him at last.

Hi. Sorry again about Saturday night, but the family drama is full on. I won’t be at work this week, but can you meet me tonight? I have a lot to tell you and to be honest, I’d appreciate offloading!

He ends his message with a laughing emoji, but despite that, I sense the seriousness of it. It must be bad if he’s taking time off work and if he wants to offload, that’s fine by me. I look forward to our daily chats and it was strange not seeing him this morning because Dan’s become a part of my life and I missed him. Feeling lighter at the thought of meeting up with him, I quickly reply.

Of course. Offload request granted! Seriously though, I hope everything is all right with you and yours. Where and what time?

He responds straight away, suggesting we meet in the Dog and Gun at seven o’clock. It’s in the town centre so only a short walk from here. What sort of family crisis would make Dan take a week off work? If one of his family was ill, or worse, he wouldn’t make light of it, would he? Death and illness aren’t things to be joked about. But still; he wouldn’t take a week off for nothing. There’s no point in speculating. I’ll just have to wait until tonight to find out.

With another hour to kill before I pick up the afternoon dogs, my stomach rumbles, reminding me I’ve eaten nothing since a slice of toast this morning. The thought of going downstairs into the kitchen isn’t appealing while Nayo’s there. I can’t avoid her forever but for today, it’s best to keep out of her way. Tomorrow will be easier; she’ll be out on one of her modelling assignments, as she is most weekdays.

If they exist.

The thought pops into my head, again, that she’s a liar. Is her modelling career a fantasy? It’s possible. She’s always throwing into conversation that she’s up for campaigns but it’s all vague and I’ve seen no actual pictures. And as for the designer shoot, she’s gone silent on that. Besides never seeing her in magazines or adverts, I’ve searched the internet, too, the same way I’ve searched for Connor’s name. That’s normal, isn’t it? Wanting to know who you’re living with, especially if they’re sort of celebs? I’ve found a list of Connor’s acting roles and voice overs on many sites but found nothing for Nayo. Is it different for models? Do they not have their jobs in the public domain? It’s not something I know anything about, but what I do know is that I don’t trust her. The way she behaves towards me is pretty awful, so why should I give her the benefit of the doubt? Also, when she was shouting at Connor as I was standing in the hallway, something she said stuck in my mind. She said that the police would find ‘stuff’ if they started searching the house. What stuff? At first I thought she meant drugs left here after parties, but Connor is always cleaning the house, so would there be anything? Likewise, any evidence that we disposed of a body would be long gone. So does she mean something else?

Did she have something to do with the man’s death?

Did she plant his body in my bed?

It’s ridiculous, because she couldn’t lug a grown man’s body into my room and put it into my bed on her own any more than I could. But she could have had help. There were lots of people at that New Year’s Eve party and quite a few of them were ‘shady,’ as Connor puts it. She could have persuaded one of them to help her. So many men are besotted with her, she could easily talk one of them into it. Or maybe the dead man was in her room with her, doing drugs and it all went wrong. What if he overdosed and she didn’t want to be lumbered with a body and put him in my room?

It’s possible.

Is the phone I found his? It could be, because that would make sense, too. Nayo could have planted it in my room to implicate me; make sure that if the police came, she was home free. Which begs the question, if it was her, could it have been Connor who helped her and not one of the many men who circle around her? I have to ask myself the question because he’s the obvious choice, living here. Connor says they’re not friends, but they seem close even though he says he’s just keeping the peace. Did she get him to do what she wanted? When I remember New Year’s Day, I remember the shock on Connor and Nayo’s faces as I hysterically told them about the dead man, but was their shock real? I don’t know. Is Connor capable of doing that? Is he a liar, too? Because he’s lying to Nayo about us, isn’t he?

But he’s only lying because he has to; to protect me.

Or am I making excuses for him?

Picking up my coat, I put it back on and tell myself not to be stupid; I’m putting two and two together and making five. Coming up with wild, impossible theories won’t help my situation. If only I could unlock that phone, I could find out who it belongs to, but how am I going to do that? Two more attempts and it locks me out forever. I pick it up from the bed and stuff it into my pocket, along with my own. Enough thinking for one day.

Time to get some food.

McDonald’s here I come.

✽✽✽

After I’ve showered, I put on a pair of clean jeans and a red woollen jumper. Once I’ve dried my hair, I apply a little makeup because I’m going out and even though it’s not a date, I want to look decent. Seeing myself in the mirror, I’m satisfied with what I see. Putting my coat on, which I’ve started keeping in my room, I check that I have my purse and both of the phones and leave. I’m locking my bedroom door, something else I’ve also started doing, when a voice from behind startles me.

‘Going out?’ It’s Connor.

I turn around with a smile. ‘Yes. Meeting a friend.’

‘You look nice.’ He moves closer and I glance around to make sure that Nayo isn’t watching.

‘It’s okay, she’s out.’

‘Oh.’

‘I hoped we could spend the evening together.’ He smiles, showing perfect teeth, and I realise yet again how gorgeous he is.

‘Oh, that’s a shame. I’d have loved to, but I’ve already made plans for tonight.’

He moves closer, encircles my waist and kisses me gently on the lips, all in one smooth movement.

‘You could cancel and reschedule, though, couldn’t you?’ His face is close to mine and I smell cedarwood on his skin. ‘See your friend another night? Stay here with me?’

I open my mouth to reply but before I can speak his lips are on mine, not gently this time but urgent, forceful, demanding, He’s holding me close and I slip my arms around his shoulders, the heat from his body radiating through my thick coat. We drink each other in and I never want it to stop. The temptation to stay and message Dan that I can’t make it is so strong it almost overpowers me.

No. I can’t do that to Dan. I can’t let him down. He needs me and I value our friendship.

‘I’m sorry.’ I force myself to pull away. ‘I wish I could cancel, but I just can’t.’

‘Why not?’ Connor moves in to kiss me again. ‘Your friend will understand. You can catch up another time, she won’t mind.’

‘No. I have to go, I promised. He’s in the middle of a family crisis and needs to talk to me about it. I’m sorry, but I have to go.’

‘Okay.’ He stretches his lips into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

‘We can reschedule for another night, though, can’t we?’ I ask. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Nayo’s always out. I’m sure we won’t have to wait very long to spend some time alone.’ It sounds like an invitation; it is an invitation.

Connor suddenly lets go of me and steps backwards.

‘Sure,’ he says, tight-lipped, turning and walking towards his bedroom.

‘Connor?’

‘Have fun,’ he says in a not fun voice, without turning around.

‘What’s wrong?’ I call out to his back.

Ignoring me, he continues to his room, goes inside, and slams the door with force. I stare after him in shock.

What just happened there?

My mood deflated; I now don’t feel like going out at all. Walking down the stairs, I resist the urge to stomp like a petulant child, shocked at the sudden change in Connor because he couldn’t get his own way. Do I want to get into a relationship with someone so moody? It’s not going to work if I’m expected to do what he wants all the time.

Although I would have cancelled Dan if I could, and that’s not good, is it?

‘Sian?’ Connor calls. He’s standing at the top of the stairs, a sheepish grin on his face.

Looking up at him, I keep my face impassive.

‘Sorry,’ he says.

‘For what?’ I snap.

‘For being a dick.’ He jogs down the stairs and stands over me.

I shrug. ‘That’s okay.’

‘No, it’s not. I behaved like a neanderthal and I’m sorry. I’m just massively disappointed, that’s all.’

‘Like I said, it’s okay.’

He runs his hand through his hair distractedly.

‘Look, I’m not usually like this and it’s absolutely not okay. I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again. It’s just when you said your friend was a guy, I felt so jealous that he got to spend time with you, I couldn’t help myself.’

‘Why would you be jealous? He’s just a mate.’

‘I know. I’m a dick. My only excuse is that I’m nuts about you, but I’ll keep it in check in the future, I promise. Go out and have fun, but not too much fun.’ He leans in, kisses me on the lips and then turns and bounds up the stairs, leaving me staring at his back in astonishment.

He’s nuts about me.

And he’s jealous.

Him being jealous isn’t good but it means he cares about me, doesn’t it?

It does.

My mind full of Connor, I let myself out of the house and start the short walk to the pub. It’s only when I pass an old lady at the end of the street and she gives me an odd look I realise I’m grinning.

He’s nuts about me.

By the time I reach the Dog and Gun, I’ve repeated the phrase in my head about a million times, loving the sound of it. Pushing open the battered door to the bar, I focus on the blue paint peeling from the door to remind myself that I’m here to talk to Dan, not moon over a man. Get the stupid grin off your face, Sian, and be the mate Dan deserves. I spot Dan already seated at a table in the corner, a bottle of beer in front of him. He raises his hand and I make my way across the bar towards him. This pub is old style; dark wooden tables, vinyl upholstered chairs, sticky carpet and forty-watt lighting. The only concession to modernity is a huge flat screen television that takes up most of one wall. The tables and chairs arranged in front of the screen are full, mostly with men. A football match is on.

‘Picked the wrong pub,’ Dan says as I reach him. ‘I forgot there was a match on.’

‘No worries. You can’t see the screen very well from here, so no one’s going to sit by us. I take it you’re not bothered about watching the match?’

‘No, not in the slightest. What do you want to drink?’

‘I’ll get it.’ I slip my coat off and lay it over the chair. ‘Do you want another?’

He nods, holding the bottle up, and I go up to the bar. The barman serves me two beers and takes the payment without once tearing his eyes away from the TV screen, and despite his rudeness, I’m impressed. He’s obviously had years of practice.

‘So, how are you?’ I slide the beers onto the table. Dan picks his up and takes a long drink from it before answering.

‘Knackered, if I’m honest. My family are full on even when they’re normal and they’re definitely not normal right now. They’ve been ringing me constantly and I’ve promised to go home for a week. I’m already regretting it.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I love them to bits, but I’m used to living on my own and doing my own thing. My mum doesn’t understand the concept of space and nor does my sister. My dad gave up years ago and just does as he’s told.’

‘So why go back and stay?’

‘Well, long story short, my Aunt Jenny, Mum’s sister, has come over from Australia to stay and I have to be there. Family solidarity, and all that, you know? I’m just being selfish because after what’s happened, it’s the least I can do. It’s just a week out of my boring life, isn’t it?’

My confusion must show on my face, because Dan gives a rueful smile, drains his bottle of beer and jumps up.

‘I’ll get us another and then I’ll tell you about it. I won’t lie, after this weekend, I need a bloody drink. Do you want another?’

I shake my head and wait while he heads to the bar. I’m intrigued; his family sound as if they’re okay, so what’s happened? A visit from his aunt from Australia hardly sounds like a family crisis to me.

‘Okay.’ Dan slides back into his seat and puts two beers on the table, even though I didn’t want one. I’m about to tell him this when I realise they’re both for him. ‘First things first, I’ll give you the background. My cousin Jack, Aunt Jenny’s son, has been travelling the world for two years. He’s been floating around Europe and the plan was for him to come here and stay with us for Christmas. Give us a chance to get to know him properly because the last time we saw him in the flesh, he was ten.’

He takes a swig of beer.

‘Anyway, Jack’s hard to pin down. Truth be told, I don’t think he was that fussed about visiting us because it sorts of cramps your style if you have to stay with your auntie, doesn’t it? Anyway, when he didn’t turn up, we weren’t worried because he’s a grown man. I don’t think he ever wanted to come; he just said it to shut his mum up. She’s the same as my mum, which means it’s easier to give in for a bit of peace.’ He stops talking and looks down for a moment. There are dark shadows underneath his eyes and he looks as if he hasn’t shaved for a few days. He looks exhausted and not like the perky Dan I know.

A faint feeling of unease has descended over me while he’s been talking, but I can’t pinpoint why. There’s something lurking on the edge of my consciousness, but before I can grasp it, it disappears.

‘So, Christmas was over and he was a no show. When January came and went and there was still no sign of him, we weren’t worried because we knew what he was like. But my aunty started fretting when she hadn’t heard from him for over a month, not even so much as a text. Jack wasn’t great at keeping in touch, but when his phone kept going to voicemail, she knew something was up so she contacted the British police. They were no help; they said that Jack was an adult and maybe he just didn’t want to contact her.’

He pauses and right now I want him to stop speaking and say nothing more. Don’t say it out loud, Dan, because if you don’t utter the words, it won’t be true. You fool, my brain screams, you should have cancelled tonight and stayed with Connor because then your nightmare of a life wouldn’t be about to get a whole lot worse than it already is.

‘So.’ He drains the last of his beer. ‘I don’t know if you heard about the body the police dragged out of the lake? Well, that’s why there’s been no word from Jack for months.’

I stare at him, my heart pounding, sure I’m going to throw up.

‘It’s him. The body they found is my cousin, Jack.’

Chapter Fourteen

I thrust a twenty-pound-note toward the cab driver and tell him to keep the change – a generous tip that I regret when he snatches it from me without a word of thanks. Helping Dan out of the cab, I pull him to his feet and he stumbles, just managing to remain upright long enough to stagger a few steps before collapsing onto the doorstep. I’ve barely shut the cab door before it zooms off down the street at speed. Bastard. I had to beg the driver to take us when he saw the state of Dan. Throughout the journey, he reminded me constantly that if Dan threw up, there was a hundred-and fifty-pound cleaning charge.

Why did I bother to tip him?

‘Where are your keys?’ I ask Dan.

He stares up at me, blinking, as if I’m speaking a foreign language.

‘Whaa?’

‘Your door key?’

‘Pocket,’ he slurs, before slumping against the front door and closing his eyes. He’s going to fall asleep right here if I don’t get him inside the house. Thrusting my hand into his jacket pocket, I feel around for a key, but there’s nothing. Grabbing hold of his shoulder, I push him to one side and push my fingers into his other pocket and feel the reassuring shape of a bunch of keys.

‘Ooh, that was nice,’ he sniggers. ‘Do it again.’

I pull out the keys and hold them up under the weak streetlight. Selecting the one that looks most like a door key, I push it into the lock. It fits, although I can’t turn it yet because once the door is open, Dan will fall inside.

‘You need to get up, Dan.’

‘…tired…think I’ll sleep here,’ he mumbles.

Taking hold of both his arms, I attempt to pull him upright, but he doesn’t move.

‘Come on. I can’t leave you on the doorstep. You need to help.’

He’s hopelessly drunk and I should have stopped him drinking, but how was I supposed to do that? After he’d told me that his cousin was dead, he jumped up and went to the bar again, but this time, as well as another beer for each of us, there was also a whisky chaser for himself.

And so the night went on.

Whisky after whisky, with Dan getting more horribly drunk after each one. We’d still be there now if the barman hadn’t called time.

Dan’s mumbling to himself and I catch the words ‘murder’, amongst others. He’s repeating his claim to me that his cousin was murdered, because otherwise, why was his body dumped in a lake? That was what seemed to bother him the most; that his cousin had met a horrible death because someone hated him enough to kill him.

I desperately wanted to tell him he was wrong, that his death was just a tragic accident, but I couldn’t, of course.

‘If we get inside, I’ll get you another drink,’ I say, taking hold of Dan’s hands and pulling him.

He looks up and grins. ‘Yesh, I’ve got a bottle somewhere.’

I mean black coffee but there’s no need to tell him that. Holding onto his wrists, I pull and with a lurch, he’s on his feet. Pushing one shoulder underneath his armpit, I unlock and open the door, somehow turning on the light all at the same time. Stumbling and staggering, with the weight of him crushing me, we cross the tiny hallway to the lounge. Once we’re through the door, with a final lurch, Dan collapses face down onto the sofa. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I go back and close the front door. I wasn’t confident I’d be able to get him inside the house and it feels as if I’ve accomplished something major. Once back in the lounge, I switch on a lamp next to the sofa. The room is small; with only the sofa, two chairs, and a small coffee table. It still has the original tiled fireplace, but the coal fire has been replaced with a hideous seventies electric bar fire.

Dan is out for the count and snoring like a train. His head is lolling over the arm of the sofa so I pull a cushion from the other end, drag him up and shove it underneath his head. The snoring lessens and I go back into the hallway and through to the kitchen. This is a small house, an old two up, two down terraced with a bathroom at the back of the kitchen. It’s very similar to the one Niah and I rented when we were at uni. This is a rental, too, but Dan often talks about buying his own place when he’s qualified and starts earning decent money.

I fill the kettle, set it to boil, and open the cupboard doors looking for mugs. The kitchen, like the lounge, is bland; beige walls, brown lino and old kitchen cabinets. It’s tidy, not a man cave at all, although I’m not surprised at the tidiness because Dan doesn’t strike me as the slobbish type. There’s a small table and chairs in the corner with a laptop on it, next to a pile of textbooks; evidence of Dan’s accountancy course. It reminds me of my laptop; except that mine is languishing in the drawer with my unfinished novel on it.

Was I ever going to write it?

Once, I was certain that I would, in my younger optimistic days. Listen to me; anyone would think I was eighty-years-old.

The kettle boils and I make two mugs of coffee, although I’m probably wasting my time because I don’t think Dan will wake until the morning. When I go back into the lounge, Dan hasn’t moved an at all so I put the mugs down on the battered coffee table and decide to drink both of them and not even try to wake him up. With the amount of whisky he’s drunk, he must be practically unconscious. All I can do is make him comfortable. I pull his shoes off, pull a tartan throw from the back of the sofa and lay it over him. I take off my coat, settle myself down in the armchair opposite Dan and make myself comfortable, pulling my coat over me like a blanket. It’s doubtful I’ll sleep because I have so much to process from tonight.

Guilt.

That, and the coffee will keep me awake, but that’s no bad thing. With the amount of whisky Dan drank, I’m worried he could choke or suffocate in his sleep if he rolls off the sofa onto the floor.

I’ll stay here and watch over him tonight.

Because I don’t want another death on my hands.

✽✽✽

A groaning noise wakes me. I sit up in panic, wondering where I am, wincing at the pain in my neck as I move. Dan’s armchair. That’s where I am. I put my hands up to rub my neck and wince again at the icy coldness of my fingers.

Another groan.

It’s coming from Dan. He’s lying face down on the sofa, one arm dangling over the side and trailing on the floor. A lot of good I’ve been at monitoring him. Grateful that he’s still alive and hasn’t choked on his own vomit, I pull myself out of the chair and stand up. I look at my watch to see that it’s six-thirty, which means I have two and a half hours before I have to collect Mungo.

‘You okay?’ I ask.

‘No,’ he groans. ‘I’m dying.’

‘Do you want something to eat? I can make you something. It might make you feel better.’

‘No. No food. Don’t mention food. I need a bucket,’ Dan mumbles. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

I dash out to the kitchen and look in the cupboard underneath the sink, but aside from cleaning products, there’s nothing else. After opening every door, I find nothing big enough to use. In desperation, I pick up the plastic washing-up bowl from the sink, take it into the lounge and shove it on the floor next to Dan.

‘This will have to do. It’s all I can find.’

His reply is a feeble hand flap.

It’s so cold I swear I can see the breath in front of my face. Rubbing my hands together to get the circulation going, I kneel in front of the fire and, after studying it for a moment, turn on all three bars. In seconds they’re glowing bright red and I hold my hands in front of them. I hear Dan retch and I remain with my back to him to spare him the embarrassment of me watching him throw up. When the retching stops, I get up and pick up the bowl and take it with me through the kitchen, averting my eyes from the mess inside. Once in the bathroom, I tip the contents down the toilet, gagging as it gushes into the pan. My own vomit is bad enough. Someone else’s is a whole other level. A sudden flashback to Niah of when we were seventeen and going to our first proper grown-up house-party flashes across my mind. She pre-loaded on a bottle of advocaat she found in Mum’s sideboard and spent most of the party in the upstairs bathroom throwing up, me beside her, holding her hair back. That was as much as either of us saw at that party; a stained and ancient toilet. Party-goers kept banging on the door and shouting at us because they were desperate to use the loo. I dragged Niah home and somehow smuggled her into the house without waking Mum, where I watched over her until she woke the next morning.

‘‘I reckon that advocaat was off,’’ she said the next day when she woke up feeling like death. I smile at the memory; she’s never drunk advocaat since.

I rinse the bowl out under the bath taps and then go back into the lounge. Dan is sitting up on the sofa, his face pale, his eyes dark.

‘Sorry about that.’ He grimaces.

‘No worries. Don’t know if you’ll want to use this in your sink again.’ I lay the bowl on the carpet next to him.

‘No.’ He pulls a face. ‘I’ll buy a new one.’

‘Coffee?’ I ask.

He puts his hand over his mouth to stifle a gag.

‘That bad?’ I ask.

‘Worse.’ He heaves himself upright, dragging the throw over his shoulders.

‘How did we get back here last night?’

‘In a cab. Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’ He looks sheepish. ‘Last thing I remember is leaving the pub. I’m really sorry, Sian, talk about taking advantage of our friendship.’

‘It doesn’t matter, honestly.’

‘It does. I apologise for anything I might have said or done last night. I don’t even like whisky, for Christ’s sake.’

‘You were fine, honestly, and you had a good reason for getting wasted.’

‘It doesn’t help though, does it?’ He lays back with a groan. ‘I have to go to my parents today and that’s bad enough without feeling like utter shit. Why did I do it to myself?’

‘We’ve all been there.’

He closes his eyes and groans.

‘I’m really sorry, Dan, about your cousin. It must be one hell of a shock to you.’ I am sorry, too, but I feel such a liar and a hypocrite saying the words. How can I face him every day when he’s back at work? Can I ever look him in the eye again? And what if it all comes out and the police find out what we did? I don’t think any friendship would survive that.

‘It is a shock, but I’ve got to be honest, I didn’t really know him, so I can’t mourn him, can I? But I feel so bad for my auntie and uncle. I’m not speaking ill of the dead and I can’t say this to my family, but from what I’ve picked up, he wasn’t exactly a choirboy.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The reason the police traced him so quickly is that his DNA was already on file. Aunt Jenny thought the sun shone out of his backside, and no one is coming right out and saying it, but he was already known to the police. They don’t take your DNA for nothing.’

It makes sense, because Nayo seemed to think he was a dealer.

‘Which,’ Dan goes on. ‘Doesn’t mean he deserved to die, but it makes it more likely that something he was involved in went badly wrong. If he was involved in something criminal, anything is possible.’

‘Hopefully the police will find out what happened,’ I lie, hoping that they never, ever find out.

‘Yep. Although I don’t think my auntie will be able to cope with it.’ He swings his legs off the sofa. ‘I’m going to have a shower and see if that helps me to feel more normal.’

‘Good idea. I have to get back to mine and do the same. Dogs are calling.’

‘Thank you so much for staying and watching over me last night.’ He grins, raking a hand through his hair. ‘You went above and beyond last night, that’s for sure.’

‘’You’d have done the same for me.’

‘Course I would.’ He stands up. ‘Only I’ll never have to because you’re not as bloody stupid as me, are you?’

I grin back but don’t reply.

If only that were true.

✽✽✽

It’s a forty-minute power walk back to the house, and although Dan insisted he’d call a cab and pay for it, I wouldn’t let him. I need the physical activity and fresh air to destress, clear my mind. My body is stiff from sleeping hunched up in a chair and I need to stretch my limbs.

But it’ll take more than fresh air to rid myself of the guilt. That will never go away and nor should it.

I hope the police soon discover Jack died from an overdose, or natural causes, or whatever it was. I just want his family to know he wasn’t murdered and didn’t die violently. That will be some comfort to them and perhaps help them come to terms with their grief, won’t it?

By the time I reach the house, the aches are gone from my body, but my mind is in turmoil. It’s five to eight, so Connor and Nayo will be home unless they’ve left extra early to go to work. If I see them, am I going to tell them about Dan’s cousin?

Not today.

Because I can only cope with so much at a time.

Letting myself into the house, I’m greeted with silence; they’re either still in bed or have left super early to catch the train to London.

I hope they’re working, because right now, I can’t face anyone.

Going straight through to the kitchen, I make myself tea and toast as fast as I can, and carry it upstairs to my room. The worst thing now would be to see them. When I reach the top of the stairs, both of their bedroom doors are shut, but that doesn’t tell me whether they’re in or out; their doors are always closed, as is mine.

Did they used to keep their doors closed before the new year party or did they only start doing that afterwards? I think back, but I can’t remember. Balancing my plate and mug in one hand, I unlock my bedroom door, swing it open, and step inside, where I come to a juddering halt. Rooted to the spot, the plate and mug slip from my fingers and tumble to the floor in slow motion as I stare around the room in shock. The wardrobe doors are flung wide, hangers and clothes strewn on the floor in front of it, the dressing table drawers pulled out and upended on the floor, the contents scattered around the room. My laptop is perched precariously on the bed, as if it’s been thrown there. Even the bedside cabinet is wide open, the magazines it housed, flung about the room. My heart feels as if it’s pounding out of my chest and my legs are so weak that it takes all of my willpower not to collapse.

Who did this?

Chapter Fifteen

‘This is bliss. Free at last.’ Niah flops onto the sofa, kicking off her shoes.

Sian bends down to pick them up.

‘Don’t you dare! Leave them right there.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we can. Because we’re not living with Mum anymore and she’s not here to follow us around and tell us what to do. We can do exactly what we like. We’re proper grown-ups now.’

Sian grins and sits down next to Niah.

‘We are, aren’t we?’

‘Yep. And we’re going to enjoy it. I know we have to share the house with Sarah and Will but they’re our age, not old, miserable and mental like Mum.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘What?’

‘That she’s mental. It’s not nice. Although she definitely has issues.’

‘Why do you always defend her?’ Niah demands. ‘She’s vile to you and you always stick up for her. I don’t get it.’

Sian shrugs. ‘I don’t know; I just feel guilty talking about her like that.’

‘Well, I don’t. She deserves it.’

Sian doesn’t respond, and the room is silent.

‘Why are we even talking about her?’ Niah asks. ‘She’s not here. We’ve escaped and yet somehow she’s killed the moment. Let’s concentrate on our lives and forget about her.’

‘Deal,’ Sian agrees. ‘It’s just us two now.’

‘It is, and it’s going to be a blast. Think of all the parties we can have.’

‘We have to work, too.’

‘Really?’ Niah turns to her sister and frowns. ‘We’ve finally got away from our domineering mother and all you can say is ‘’we have to work’’? Stop being so bloody boring. Who cares about work? I’m here to have fun.’

‘So am I, but I want to get my degree, too, don’t you?’

‘Obviously.’ Niah rolls her eyes. ‘But we have three years to do it in, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Everyone who goes to university parties hard but they all come out with a degree, don’t they? Besides, I got my A levels, didn’t I? So stop fussing and enjoy the freedom.’

‘I will. I just don’t think we should forget why we’re here.’ Sian doesn’t remind her sister that if it weren’t for her help, she would have failed her A levels miserably. She often feels guilty for doing Niah’s coursework for her because is it really helping her by cheating for her?

Niah jumps up, bored with the conversation. She’s heard the same thing many times and has no intention of changing her ways. Life is for living and having fun.

‘We’re so lucky to get this place,’ she says. ‘It’s so cheap, which means more money to spend on what we want.’

‘Right place, right time, wasn’t it?’

‘Absolutely,’ Niah says. ‘And because we don’t care about sharing a room, it’s even cheaper. Thank God the uni accommodation was over-subscribed, otherwise we’d be living on campus in some shitty little room. This is way better, having a house of our own.’

‘Shall we unpack and get settled in before the others get here?’

‘Yeah, why not? Get the drudgery out of the way.’

‘Don’t you think it’ll be weird living with people we’ve only met once?’ Sian asks.

‘It’ll be great and it’ll bring you out of your shell a bit, make you more sociable. And it’s hilarious that they can’t even tell us apart. Come on, let’s unpack and then we’ll feel like we’ve really arrived. Maybe we could walk to the student union and get a drink. The prices are ridiculously low.’

‘Okay.’ Sian doesn’t want a drink, but she knows better than to say that to her sister. Much easier to agree and then distract her with something else. They go through the hallway into a room next to the kitchen. It’s the original dining room but is now their bedroom. There are two more bedrooms upstairs along with a hideous turquoise coloured bathroom. When they looked at the house, Sain was worried about sleeping downstairs, thinking it could be noisy with the lounge on one side and the kitchen on the other but Niah persuaded her it would be okay, telling her to get some earplugs if she was that bothered. There was no time to dither, Niah said, because there were only a limited number of houses and too much competition for them from other students.

She’s already bought earplugs. Not that she’ll be telling Niah that.

The room only has one bed, but it’s a double, so it’s not a problem sharing it. They’ve just finished unpacking their belongings and crammed them into the ancient wardrobe and chest of drawers when they hear the front door open.

A male voice calls out ‘hello’. Niah and Sian look at each other and grin, then go out into the hallway.

‘Hi!’

Tall and gangly, with red hair sticking up in tufts, Will dumps two enormous bags on the floor, kicks the front door shut with his foot and points a finger at Niah.

‘Sian, right? And Niah?’ He points at Sian.

They both giggle.

‘No,’ Niah says. ‘The other way around.’

‘You look the same. I mean, exactly the same.’ Will looks from one to the other. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you apart. So Niah, you’re media studies, right?’

‘Yeah. I’m the twin who’s going to be famous.’ She laughs.

‘And you’re business studies?’ He looks at Sian.

‘I am. And I won’t be famous. You’re doing photography, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, and I definitely need to get some pictures of you two, because you’re identical. I mean, I can’t see any differences at all, not one.’

‘Oh, you’ll be able to tell us apart once you get to know us,’ Sian says.

‘Yeah, we’re quite different,’ Niah says. ‘Unless, of course, we decide to trick you.’

Will looks at them, a puzzled look on his face.

‘Ignore her, she’s joking.’ Sian says.

Only they both know she’s not.

✽✽✽

Bex brings in a tray with four mismatched glasses and a bottle of blue liquid on it. Her blonde curls bounce as she comes into the lounge and Will roars with laughter.

‘Bloody hell, where did you find that tray? It looks about a hundred years old.’

‘Back of the cupboard. It’s a present from Blackpool, according to the print on it. The glasses were the only ones without massive chips in them.’

She places the tray on the coffee table and fills each glass from the bottle.

‘Where’s Niah?’ she asks.

Sian is about to answer when a voice says. ‘Here.’

They all turn to see Niah standing in the doorway.

‘Wow,’ Will drools, making no attempt to hide the crush he has on Niah. Niah shamelessly uses him to do her bidding, be it taking her turn to hoover or borrowing money that she always forgets to pay back.

‘Do I look party ready?’ Niah asks, sashaying into the lounge and sitting down next to Will. The black shift dress that she’s wearing rides up, barely covering her knickers as she sits down. Black tights revealing her slim legs and suede pixie boots complete the look. Sian immediately feels like a frump next to her. Her skinny jeans and tight-fitting top seemed fine when she put them on, but now, she feels underdressed. Or maybe she’s overdressed; not enough flesh on show. Bex and Will have no trouble telling them apart now. Their differing styles make it easy for them.

Unless Niah and Sian swap clothes and personalities.

‘Love your dress,’ Bex says. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘Hot Frocks.’

‘What? That designer place? Wow! Lucky you. Wish my student loan stretched so far. No way can I afford to shop there.’

Niah doesn’t reply but picks up a glass of blue liquid, tips her head back and swallows the entire contents.

Sian keeps her expression neutral; the dress came from Hot Frocks, an expensive boutique far out of reach of most students’ pockets, but what Bex doesn’t know is that it’ll be going straight back there on Monday morning for a refund. Niah will reattach the labels and tell the assistant that she’s changed her mind.

Or rather, Sian will.

Niah will plead a hangover, an important lecture or some other pressing reason for not going herself and after a token protest that they both know she doesn’t mean, Sian will take the dress back to the shop. It won’t be the first time she’s done it, although it’ll be the first time in that particular shop. Niah won’t buy from that shop again; she’ll go to a different shop next time she wants something and seems to think she’ll never get caught.

So far, she hasn’t.

Sian knows she should make a stand, put her foot down and refuse to do what her sister demands, but she can’t, because if she doesn’t do it, Niah will sulk.

Big time.

Niah will refuse to talk to her, freeze her out as if she doesn’t exist and the more upset Sian gets, the longer Niah won’t speak to her. It’s unbearable and cruel and sometimes, Sian is astonished at her twin’s behaviour and wonders if she gets some sort of enjoyment from upsetting her. The last time it happened, Sian thought she’d prepared herself for it. When she’d refused to do Niah’s coursework for her, she knew what would happen, but she thought that if she made a stand, Niah would get the message that she couldn’t rely on her to do everything for her. A few days of Niah not talking to her would be worth it to show her she had to take responsibility for herself. It would be an awkward few days, but worth it.

Except it wasn’t a few days, it was nearly a month. A month in which Sian felt she was going mad. Bereft and alone, each day she waited for Niah to relent, but each day was worse than the one before. She knew she couldn’t go on like it, so she begged Niah to speak to her. Cried and said she couldn’t bear it and eventually, Niah spoke.

‘You’re dead to me. I no longer have a sister.’

So Sian did the coursework for her, but only after she’d begged Niah to be allowed to do it and promise that she’d never let her down again. Niah gradually thawed, but it was weeks until they were back to normal. Niah told Sian that she had hurt her so badly that she was finding it difficult to forgive her.

Sian hasn’t refused her anything since that day. If she’s honest, she tries not to think about how Niah was, because it hurts too much. Sometimes, she asks herself if there’s something wrong with Niah like there is with Mum. Something missing. She doesn’t want to believe it, but the question pops into her head, unbidden, and she pushes it away and won’t think about it even though deep down, she knows the answer.

But doesn’t want to believe it.

‘Sian!’ Niah is waving the bottle in front of her. ‘Wake up, dreamer!’

Sian laughs. Niah is already pouring another round.

‘C’mon, losers,’ she shouts. ‘Let’s get on it!’

She raises her glass in the air, Will and Bex pick up their glasses and after a moment, Sian picks up hers, too.

‘To life!’ Niah toasts.

‘To life’, they chorus as they chink glasses and down the shots.

The bottle is still in Niah’s hand and she’s pouring more. Sian knows that by the time they leave the house, the bottle will be empty. They’re going to a student party at a house a few streets away. What the party is for, no one can remember, or there may not even be a reason. There’s a party every week and they’ve already had several themselves.

Sian hates it.

She dislikes parties; she always has because she’s not a big alcohol drinker, and she doesn’t take drugs. Sian prefers a quiet corner where she can talk to people instead of shouting over loud music. Sian would rather spend her time with the ‘boring’ ones, as Niah refers to Sian’s friends. Not everyone at uni is a party animal, but Niah definitely is. Sian won’t drink anymore tonight, but she won’t let Niah know that, because she’ll call her a party pooper or miserable, weird, a saddo. The names will get nastier the more she drinks, but Sian will do her best to ignore her and she won’t remind her about it in the morning because Niah never remembers if she’s been horrible.

At least, she says she doesn’t.

Sometimes, she’ll try to persuade Niah to stay home; do some work, get some rest, catch up on sleep, to which Niah replies that she’ll sleep when she’s dead. Niah reminds Sian that she doesn’t have to tag along with her, that she’ll be fine on her own, but Sian always goes with her, even though she doesn’t want to.

Niah still says she’s the oldest and knows best, but Sian knows that changed a long, long time ago. Sian now knows that their roles have reversed. She looks after Niah. That’s the reason that even though she hates them, she always goes to the parties. It’s why she chose the same university as Niah, even though her course wasn’t as good here as other universities. She’ll do anything to protect her twin. And although they’ve been here for only three months, Sian knows she made the right choice; the only choice.

Because Niah isn’t safe without her.

Chapter Sixteen

I bolted from the house this morning without checking if anything was missing, without doing anything, leaving the room exactly as I’d found it. At that moment, I didn’t care. I had to escape. Closing and locking my bedroom door with trembling fingers, I fled the house and wandered the streets, zombie-like, until it was time to collect Mungo, thoughts buzzing around my head like a swarm of bees.

It had to have been Nayo who turned my room upside down, because who else could it be?

Picking up Mungo, I was relieved his owners weren’t there because I felt grubby, my breath foul from the night spent in Dan’s armchair. After my morning shift of dog walking, I returned to the house via the back gate, collected the van and drove off, having no intention of going into the house. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to pick up the van keys despite my haste get away. I drove to the drive through McDonald’s and picked up a burger, because I’d eaten nothing since the day before. Parked up in a layby, I forced myself to eat it, but I may as well have been chewing cardboard for all the pleasure it gave me.

So here I am; I’ve finished the afternoon shift and have no choice but to go back to the house. All afternoon I’ve been rehearsing scenarios in my head of how I’m going to handle the situation and what I’m going to say, veering between outright accusing Nayo of trashing my room or saying nothing and hoping I can catch her out by something she says. Is she a good liar? Will I be able to tell if she’s lying or will she own up to having done it without caring one bit what I think?

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter, because neither Nayo nor Connor are home. The house is as silent as when I ran from it this morning. Not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed about that, I set about putting everything back in its place. By the time I’ve finished, I realise nothing is missing. My room looks normal now, giving no clue that someone has been in here and ransacked it. Looking around now, it now seems unbelievable that only this morning my belongings were flung about the room as if whoever did it was in a rage at me and my possessions.

Was it Nayo? It had to be because who else could it be - was she sending me a message that I have to get out?

Maybe she was.

Or was she looking for the phone that was in the jacket pocket?

The thought starts me thinking; what if it is Jack’s phone? If it is, the police will trace the signal straight to this house because I charged it and turned it on. The minute the thought strikes me, I take out the phone and turn it off, cursing my stupidity at having turned it on in the first place. Should I wipe my fingerprints off it and throw it in the nearest river? Or drive to another town and toss it into a random dustbin or drop it in the street?

I could, but the police would still know it had been in this house and they’d only have to take one look at my face to see my guilt. The sensible part of me knows I should get rid of the phone, but there’s a tiny part of me that believes if I can unlock it, it may give me some clue to what happened on New Year’s Eve. Sitting on the bed in an agony of indecision, I decide I should hide it somewhere it won’t be found.

But where?

I look around the room, but everywhere seems too obvious until my eyes fall on the heavy curtains that cover the window. They’re old, made of thick material, and have a deep, bulky hem.

Just big enough to slide a phone into.

Getting my nail scissors from the bathroom, I come back and crouch down on the floor in front of the window. Running my fingers along the hem until I’m halfway along the curtain, I unpick the stitches with the scissors and slide the phone inside. When I put the curtain back and sit back, it looks the same as it did before.

It’ll do, for now.

Getting up, I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth several times, my mouth feeling fresh for the first time today. I strip off and get into the shower and when I get out, instead of getting dressed, I put on my pyjamas, despite it being only six o’clock. While debating if it’s too early to go to bed, I hear the front door opening and closing downstairs.

Connor, or Nayo, are home.

Instantly alert, I go to the bedroom door, put my ear against it and listen.

No voices. Which means it’s only one of them. I unlock the door and peer out onto the landing. Seconds later, Connor appears at the top of the stairs.

‘Are you alone?’ I ask.

He stares at me blankly for a moment before replying.

‘Yes, why?’

‘I need to talk to you.’ I open the bedroom door wide and beckon him in, closing it behind him.

‘What’s the matter?’ He stands in front of me and I resist the urge to throw myself into his arms.

‘I think Nayo trashed my room.’

He glances around. ‘Trashed it?’

‘Okay, I’ll explain. Sit down.’ I usher him towards the bed and he perches on the edge.

‘I didn’t come home last night because my friend, Dan, has had a death in the family and was in a right state. He got wasted, so I got a cab to take him home, but I couldn’t leave him because I was afraid he might choke or something.’

I’m gabbling, over-explaining, because Connor might have noticed I wasn’t here last night and remembering his flash of jealousy when I wouldn’t cancel my plans, I don’t want there to be any confusion why I stayed out all night.

‘Okay,’ he says.

I’m embarrassed now, because by his bemused expression, he didn’t even notice I spent the night elsewhere. 

‘Anyway, I got back here early this morning because I had to do my shift with the dogs and someone had been in my room and searched it, ransacked it, or whatever you want to call it. They dragged all my stuff out of the wardrobe and drawers and threw it everywhere.’

‘Oh.’ He looks around at the pristine neatness.

‘Well, obviously, I’ve tidied it all up now, but my stuff was all over the place. It must have been Nayo because who else could have got in here?’

‘Did you leave your room unlocked?’

‘No. I always lock it now.’

‘Was anything taken?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘I expect she has a key to your room because I know she has one to mine. Although she’s never trashed my room, I’ve noticed my stuff gets moved around sometimes. It isn’t where I left it.’

‘You think she goes in your room?’

‘I know she does. Usually, it’s when she’s in a right mood about something or I’ve pissed her off. I’m tidy and Nayo’s not. She probably thinks I won’t notice, but if something is out of place, I see it straight away. She thinks she has a right to do whatever she likes.’

Before I can digest this, the doorbell shrills, breaking the silence.

‘Oh God, it’s Nayo!’ I turn to Connor in alarm. ‘What should I do? Pretend nothing’s happened?’

‘Why would it be Nayo?’ he asks. ‘She’s got a key.’ He gets up and goes out onto the landing and into his room and I follow behind. Crossing to the window, he stands to the side of the curtain and peers down into the front garden.

‘It’s the police.’

Fear grips my insides.

‘Oh God. They’ve come to arrest me.’

‘Of course they haven’t,’ he says. ‘It looks like there are quite a few of them in the street. I think they’re going door to door. It’ll be routine, don’t worry.’

The doorbell shrills again.

‘I can’t face them, I just can’t.’ The panic is overwhelming and I’m having trouble breathing.

‘It’s okay.’ He puts his arms around me and holds me briefly before releasing me. ‘You stay up here. I’ll pretend I’m the only one at home.’

‘But what if they search the house?’

‘They won’t.’ He smiles. ‘Why would they?’

And with that, he’s gone. I stand frozen in his bedroom listening as he opens the door; the murmur of voices, a man and a woman, the sound of the door closing. But the voices are still there, which means they’ve come into the house.

As quietly as possible, I lower myself down onto the bed. My whole body is shaking, so I try to ground myself by looking around Connor’s room. The chest of drawers has books and aftershave on top, lined up with military precision in straight lines, and the top of the bedside cabinet is empty except for a lamp. Even the rug next to the bed, covering the threadbare carpet, is perfectly aligned to the bed and looks as if it’s been recently vacuumed. It’s spartan in here. So tidy, so Connor.

There’s no sound of voices now. They must have gone into the lounge and shut the door. I so want to know what they’re saying. I’ll find out when they’ve gone.

If they go.

What if they’ve already traced Jack’s phone to here?

Don’t be stupid, that phone could be nothing to do with him.

I’m panicking, over reacting, catastrophising.

It’ll be fine; Connor will answer their questions, and they’ll leave. As he says, it’s routine house to house, it means nothing. And then there’s the sound of the front door opening again and relief floods through me; they’re leaving.

But they’re not.

Nayo’s voice carries up the stairs as she opens the door to the lounge. Her quizzical ‘hello’ and then the sound of the policewoman’s voice. The door closes and there’s only the rushing in my ears to break the silence.

What is she going to say to them?

Getting up from the bed, I pad along the landing to my room as quietly as I can because I can’t have her come up here and find me in Connor’s room. I sit on the bed, leaving my bedroom door open so I can hear them if they come out into the hallway.

The urge to go downstairs and confess everything to the police before Nayo throws me under the bus is strong.

But not as strong as the fear that keeps me rooted to the bed.

✽✽✽

‘They’ve gone,’ Connor calls up the stairs.

I knew that, of course, because I heard them at the front door as he ushered them out.

‘Are you coming down?’

What choice do I have? I have to go down there and face Nayo.

‘In a minute,’ I shout, stripping off my pyjamas and pulling on joggers and a sweatshirt. No way am I letting Nayo see I’m ready for bed.

I refuse to let her see me as a victim.

Scooping my hair up into a ponytail, I close my bedroom door and head down the stairs. Connor is in the hallway and as I reach the bottom step he mouths ‘Nayo’s in there,’ inclining his head towards the lounge.

Giving him a thumbs up, I follow him into the lounge.

‘Why were you hiding upstairs?’ Nayo demands from the sofa.

‘I wasn’t hiding.’ I sit down in the armchair opposite her.

‘No? Well, you stayed up there and Connor told the police you were out, so that looks like hiding to me.’

‘What did they say?’ I ask Connor, ignoring her.

‘They had a picture of the guy and wanted to know if we’d ever met him. His name’s Jack Robinson and he’s Australian. He was travelling, apparently. Was supposed to meet family for Christmas and never turned up. I said I hadn’t seen him and so did Nayo. We never said he was at the party. Keep it simple, say we’ve never met him.’

‘So why are they looking in this street?’

‘He was staying not far from here, so they’re going door to door around the area.’

‘They’re coming back to speak to you,’ Nayo says. She’s grinning and I feel sudden hatred towards her. ‘They’re checking everyone, so they’ll be back.’

‘It’s routine,’ Connor says. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘Yeah, you should have come downstairs and got it over with instead of cowering upstairs like a baby.’

Connor shoots Nayo a warning look.

‘Just saying the truth.’ She laughs.

‘Did they say how he died, give any information at all?’ I direct my question at Connor, unwilling to even look at Nayo.

‘No details, just that they were investigating a death. They didn’t say ‘murder’ so that’s a good thing, right? The sheet and rope must have rotted away by now so it could be they think he drowned or something. It was three months ago so who knows exactly what condition the body was in.’

Is it possible? Dan said he’d been murdered but was he just putting two and two together and making five? If the police thought it was murder, they’d have said so, wouldn’t they?

I think they would.

Maybe they’ve done the post mortem and know it wasn’t; it’s possible, because can’t they tell everything from that?

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking and the police don’t want to give any details away.

‘I wonder if they traced his mobile phone here,’ Nayo says. ‘Because he must have had one, mustn’t he?’

‘No, he didn’t.’ Connor frowns at her. ‘I never found one. There was nothing, no wallet, no phone, nothing.’

‘Maybe you didn’t look properly.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nayo is grinning again.

‘They’re routine enquiries. That’s what you said,’ I say to Connor, waiting for him to reassure me.

‘Maybe they’re just saying that because they don’t want to show their hand,’ Nayo says. ‘Maybe his phone is still here and they’ve traced it. They could be back in a minute with a warrant to search this house.’

I turn to look at her and she’s staring right at me.

‘Are you sure they won’t find any evidence in your room?’ She raises her eyebrows at me and in that moment, I know with absolute certainty that she trashed my room.

And she doesn’t care that I know it.

Chapter Seventeen

Message to Niah: I’m in such trouble, Niah, and I don’t know what to do. Please, please talk to me. Help me.

Staring at the message I typed over an hour ago, I will her to respond.

She won’t, of course, no matter how much I want her to.

For what feels like the millionth time, I ask myself what the hell I’m going to do. Am I going to sit around here waiting until the police come back or am I going to run?

The urge to run is strong, because don’t I always run away?

Yes. It’s what I do.

There’s only one thing stopping me – where will I go? When I came here, although I moved quickly; it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment move. I found myself somewhere to live and a job before I fled. This time I don’t have time to do that, so my options are limited. Realistically, the only place I can stay is with my father. He would welcome me pitching up out of the blue, but do I want to go there?

Or am I panicking over nothing? If the police are not treating Jack’s death as murder, as Connor said, should I stay and front it out? I could, but then I remember Dan’s certainty that Jack was murdered. What should I believe? Nayo was goading me with her talk of mobile phones to frighten me and enjoying herself immensely, but that might not happen. I’m convinced now that she put the phone in my jacket pocket, and wrecked my room in a rage when she came to retrieve the phone and couldn’t find it.

Why does she want it back now? Is it so she can incriminate me with it? What’s her game? Did she murder Jack?

I can’t bring myself to believe she’s capable of murder. More likely, I think, that they were doing drugs together, and he accidentally overdosed. She knew I was wasted and unlikely to wake, so put his body in my room to avoid awkward questions from the police. She must have got one of the men who hang around her to help her. As she sat there smirking, I so wanted to wipe the smile from her face and accuse her of it all, but Connor’s warning about her not being stable stopped me, because who knows what she could do next? When I could endure her veiled taunting no more, I made my excuses and escaped from the lounge. She rolled her eyes and made a snorting sound when I muttered ‘that I had stuff to do’, making no attempt to hide her scorn. It was humiliating, and I felt like an absolute wimp for allowing her to be so openly hostile. I’m safe from her for now, but I can’t avoid her, or the police, forever. I can’t hide up here in my room and hope it will all go away.

I face the police. Or I run.

Which is it to be? When the police come back, will I be able to talk to them without giving myself away? Get through their routine questions without blurting out what we did? Can I live with the guilt? Can I ever look Dan in the eye again?

I don’t know.

There is the tiniest flicker of hope that everything will be okay. Connor said all traces of the sheet we wrapped him in and the rope would have rotted by now. Maybe they have, because he must have floated up to the surface for his body to have been discovered. Is it too much to hope that the police are treating Jack’s death as an accident and once they’ve finished their house to house enquiries, the case will be quietly filed away?

The optimistic part of me says that it’s possible, but the realistic part knows that it’s wishful thinking. There will be no water in Jack’s lungs, so it’ll be apparent that he didn’t drown, so couldn’t have got into that lake by himself. Assuming, that is, that the sheet and rope aren’t still evident.

And so these thoughts have spun around in my brain, round and around, relentlessly, giving me hope one second and dashing it the next. When I hear a light tap on the door, it’s a welcome relief from the turmoil in my head. It must be Connor because Nayo doesn’t need to knock, does she? When I pull open the door, he’s standing there.

‘Can I come in?’

I hesitate.

‘It’s okay, she’s gone,’ he says. ‘A flash guy in a sporty motor picked her up about ten minutes ago.’

I open the door wider and let him in.

‘Are you okay?’ He comes in and closes the door, standing close to me, his eyes searching my face. Using all of my willpower, I somehow manage not to crumble at his concern. He cares about me and I don’t feel so alone when I’m with him.

‘I think so,’ I reply.

‘Come here.’ He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, and I melt into him as the tension eases from me. Closing my eyes, I feel as if I could stay here forever, the warmth from his hand as he rubs my back, the regular motion, comforting. We stand like this for several minutes until I realise that the reassuring hug has become something else. His hand is underneath my sweatshirt now, his fingers caressing my back, my skin tingling as they slip downwards, probing beneath the waistband of my joggers.

‘Let’s sit down.’ I pull away from him and walk to the bed, ignoring the disappointment in his eyes.

I sit down and after a moment he sits, too, leaving a gap of a foot between us.

‘When do you think they’ll come back?’ I ask.

‘The police?’ He shrugs. ‘Who knows? They weren’t behaving as if it was urgent. Maybe they won’t come back, maybe they’ll forget. If they’re going house to house, they have a lot of people to see.’

I so want to believe this.

‘Just our luck that Nayo came home,’ he adds.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, alarmed that she’s said something to the police to incriminate me.

‘If she hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have mentioned you lived here. I mean, you’re not registered on the rental contract or anything, so there’s nothing official to tie you to this house. Nayo’s name is on the contract and she guards it with her life because it’s her bit of power. She’s not even supposed to sublet, but she’s cosy with the agent, so he turns a blind eye. If she’d kept her mouth shut, the police wouldn’t know there were three people living in this house.’

‘She told them?’

‘Yeah. Bloody big mouth. She made a big thing out of it, said they’d need to speak to you too, but you weren’t here.’

Thank God she didn’t know I was upstairs. She’d probably have come up and dragged me into the lounge. Just my rotten luck she had to come back; but for her I’d have no worry about the police.

‘Anyway,’ Connor says. ‘Even if they come back, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a few questions, that’s all. Routine.’ He looks down at my hand lying on the bed and strokes it. I jump at the touch of his fingers.

‘Sorry.’ He looks alarmed. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’

‘You didn’t.’ I stare at him. How do I tell him that the touch of his skin on mine sends electric shocks right through me? At this moment I don’t care about the police, or Nayo. The only thing I can think about right now is him.

He doesn’t move his hand and as we stare into each other’s eyes, the room becoming suddenly hot.

‘I should go,’ Connor murmurs.

‘You should.’ I stand up abruptly, my gaze never leaving his. Taking hold of my sweatshirt, I pull it over my head and toss it onto the floor. He looks up at me in surprise. And delight.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he asks as he pulls me down onto him.

His lips find mine and he has all the answer he needs.

✽✽✽

I sleep like the dead; no bad dreams, no good dreams either, just sleep.

For the first time in a very long time, I’m not sleeping alone. Connor is next to me, spooned around me, skin on skin, the warmth of his body comforting me.

The second night we’ve spent together.

It’s getting light now, the early morning sun shining through the tiny gap in the curtains. A glance at my phone confirms it’s nearly seven o’clock. If Nayo has a shoot today – or whatever it is she does all day, she’ll be getting up soon. I should wake Connor, make sure that he’s back in his room before she surfaces, but I’m loathe to disturb him, because I love the feel of his body close to mine.

Just a few more minutes.

Connor’s bedroom door is shut so it won’t be apparent that he’s not in there, but as we both know, a closed door is nothing to Nayo, who thinks she has the right to go anywhere in this house. She has no reason to go into Connor’s room this morning, but we’re taking no chances; we don’t want any unhinged behaviour from her spoiling our budding relationship. She could totally flip if she knew we were together; go to the police and make up stuff about me they’d be compelled to investigate.

Because this is a relationship, I’m sure, it’s not just sex. Although the sex is good.

More than good.

We talk a lot. Not about that night, because it’s done. We cannot change the past. I’ve not told him about Dan; about Jack being his cousin, because what does it matter? What difference does it make? It would mean raking that night up again and I want this to be about us, not about that night. I will tell him, of course I will, but not yet. Later.

For now, I want to enjoy this, without all of that.

I’ve told him about my family, Mum, Dad, my half-sisters. But not everything. Not yet. I didn’t tell him about Niah, never told him I have a twin sister because then I would have to tell him all of it; the reason she no longer speaks to me.

I’m not ready to talk about it yet.

Will he judge me when I tell him? Should I have told him? Maybe, but we’re just getting to know each other. If this is going anywhere, there’ll be plenty of time to talk about it in the future.

And if we don’t last, then there’s no need for him to know.

Connor has an older brother, his parents divorced a long time ago and, like me, he spent his growing-up years between two homes. His father is a businessman, very successful by the sound of it and his mother is an actress, too. When he told me her stage name, I knew who she was, remembering that I’d seen her in several TV programmes. That’s obviously where he got the acting bug from. His brother isn’t an actor, but plays in a band, so he’s artistic, like Connor. I Googled his brother’s name when I was alone, but I found nothing about him, apart from a Facebook page, so he’s not famous yet. Connor isn’t famous either, but he might be soon, if his next role is well received.

Will he still want me if his career takes off? A dog walker isn’t glamourous.

Shut up. Don’t spoil it.

Something I’ve discovered about Connor is that he’s always warm; his natural body temperature is much higher than mine, his feet are never cold and his skin is always warm to the touch. He’s gentle, kind and funny and I could so easily fall in love with him.

Maybe I’m a little in love with him already.

He mumbles in his sleep, his lips close to my ear and desire floods through me; I can’t get enough of him. I close my eyes, relishing the feel of him against me, and then I wriggle just a little, hoping he’ll wake.

After a moment, the feel of his fingers caressing my thigh tells me he’s awake. I turn to face him.

‘Hello.’ I gaze into his eyes.

He smiles.

‘Hello back.’ Kissing me, he pulls me to him.

Bang.

We freeze in alarm.

‘It’s Nayo’s door,’ Connor murmurs in my ear. ‘I think she’s gone into the bathroom.’

‘She’ll get in the shower in a moment, then you can get to your room,’ I whisper.

‘God, why did she have to wake up?’ He groans. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ He points down at himself.

I look underneath the covers and giggle.

‘We could be quick,’ I suggest.

He groans again.

‘Better not. Anyway, the thought of her catching us is putting me off.’ He kisses me, then jumps out of bed and grabs his clothes from the chair.

‘See you tonight?’ he asks. ‘I should be back by seven at the latest.’

I nod and blow him a kiss and with a grin; he crosses the room, opens the door an inch and looks out. I lay back and admire his toned body, the muscles in his arms, the way he looks as if he has a permanent all-over tan. I wish he could stay, but the thought that he’ll be with me tonight consoles me.

We have all night. Even if Nayo’s here, he can sneak into my room once she’s asleep.

He slips out of the room and the door closes. I lie back and then sit up, knowing that I won’t go back to sleep now. Besides, I have dogs to walk. Putting the pillows behind me, I make myself comfortable and pick up my phone. Every day since the police found the body, I search the internet to reassure myself that there is no more news, no discoveries, no changes. I obsessively Google until the results have nothing at all to do with the question. Weirdly, doing this comforts me, reminds me that there’s hope, that my life might not yet be over.

I always visit the local newspaper first, and I type it into the search engine and it loads immediately. As the familiar banner of the newspaper comes up, I stare in horror at the headline below.

Body in the lake now being treated as murder.

Chapter Eighteen

Message to Niah: I’m running away, just like I always do. I’m not brave like you. I’m weak.

With shaking hands, I stuff underwear into my rucksack, pushing it down over the clothes already in there. I tuck Jack’s phone – because I’m certain it is his – underneath it all before pulling the drawstring tight and heaving it onto my shoulder.

I’m running.

That’s what I do; run away. I’m leaving Connor and am not even going to tell him I’m going, because what can I say – that I’m a coward who can’t face up to what I’ve done? The last two days I’ve been happier than I ever dreamed possible, but my life as I know it is over. It sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Not being with Connor hurts so much, but it was never going to be, not after what we did. I’m escaping from here even though I know I’m only delaying the inevitable; the police are looking for a murderer and eventually, their enquiries will lead to me. But I need a few days of normality before reality crashes in. Time to come to terms with what’s going to happen because I’m terrified of what’s ahead.

When I awoke that morning, Jack was lying dead beside me and I have no clue how he got there. How can I explain to the police what we did and why we did it when it makes no sense, even to me? They’ll find it difficult to believe that I had nothing to do with his death. People have been convicted on far less evidence, so I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to prison.

If I could remember what happened that night, maybe I could make sense of it. Somewhere in the depths of my consciousness, the answer is there, but the more I try to take hold of it, the more elusive it becomes.

I open the bedroom door a couple of inches and peer out to make sure Connor or Nayo aren’t out there. I heard them both leave the house earlier, but I need to be sure they’ve gone because the worse thing right now would be to bump into either of them.

Silence.

They’re not here. Have they seen the news about the investigation now being treated as murder? It’s unlikely, because they don’t obsessively check for news as I do, although I’m certain that as soon as Nayo discovers it, she’ll be making sure that I take all the blame for what the three of us did.

Closing the door behind me, I trudge down the stairs and through to the kitchen. I’m taking the van with me even though it doesn’t belong to me and I’m only supposed to use it to pick up the dogs. If work finds out I have the van, it won’t matter in the grand scheme of things because I’ll no longer be working for them. When I called work to cancel my dog walks for this week, lying to my supervisor that my father had been taken ill and I needed to take time off, her sympathy took me by surprise and I felt even worse for lying. Stunned into silence, I accepted her kind words with a murmured thanks, sad that I’ll never see the dogs I walk every day, again. I’ve grown attached to them, especially Mungo.

There’s a direct train to Dad’s town, which I could take instead of driving. It leaves at two thirty this afternoon, but the thought of hanging round the house until then, listening to every creak or ring of the doorbell and imagining it’s the police coming to arrest me, is unbearable. By driving, I can leave now and be at his house by lunchtime.

Although he has no idea I’m coming because I haven’t told him. What am I going to tell him? I’m hoping that inspiration will strike on the two-hour drive and provide me with a plausible explanation as to why I’ve sprung a surprise visit on him.

So it won’t be the truth. Not yet. He’ll find that out when the police arrest me, but I don’t want to be the one to tell him. Like I said, I’m a coward. Another reason I won’t tell him is because he’d insist on coming straight back here with me so we can go to the police together.

To face the music.

Dad’s big on facing the music; growing up, if either Niah or I misbehaved, Dad would always be on our side - as long as we owned up and didn’t wriggle out of ‘facing the music’. Dad doesn’t do deceit, despite Mum insisting that he cheated on her, he didn’t. He’s always been honest with me and Niah about his reasons for leaving Mum – he couldn’t live with her any longer. Her suspicious nature, jealousy, and hysterical behaviour drove him away. The guilt has never left him for leaving us with her. Although he tried his best to get permanent custody of us, it wasn’t to be. Mum is very convincing at acting the perfect mother when she needs to.

On my way through the kitchen, I consider making myself something to eat. I haven’t eaten a thing today and have no appetite but equally, starving myself will do no good. I linger in front of the fridge for a moment and then decide that I can’t face food yet. I’ll stop somewhere before I get to Dad’s; it’ll be an opportunity to stretch my legs, get something to eat and buy my stepmother Lucy some flowers, and maybe a gift for my half-sisters. Will it make it look more like a social visit or will it look odd? I don’t know. There’ll be time to think of that on the way, but for now, I need to get out of here.

I head out to the van, toss my rucksack in the passenger footwell and start the ignition. If I can put some distance between myself and this house, perhaps I can have a few days of peace before it all hits the fan.

✽✽✽

The high electric gates to Dad’s house are wide open when I arrive, so I drive through, pull up onto the gravel driveway and kill the engine. The gates being open means someone is in. Dad could be home because he spends a lot of time working from home. He runs his own company and pleases himself whether he goes into the office or not. Or equally, he could be on the golf course as he spends a lot of time there, too. There’s a brand-new Mercedes parked in front of the double garage, and I wonder if Dad has traded in his ancient Landrover at last or if it belongs to Lucy. I clamber out of the car, taking the carrier bag from the designer outlet and the enormous bouquet of flowers with me. Inside the bag are two sweatshirts for my half-sisters and an expensive bottle of brandy for Dad. The fancy bouquet is for Lucy. It all cost an arm and a leg but I enjoyed browsing the shops and selecting what I was going to buy because it’s the last time I’ll be doing it for a long time. I’m hoping Amber and Tammy will like the sweatshirts, assuming I’ve judged the sizes correctly. They’re a top designer brand and something I would love myself, so with any luck, they will, too. Spending much longer wandering around the shops than I intended, the mindless activity was soothing, and even though there were many places to eat, I didn’t bother because I still wasn’t the slightest bit hungry. A plausible reason for my surprise visit was the most pressing thing on my mind, and it took a lot of thought before I came up with a story.

So here I am.

Going straight up to the front door, I ring the doorbell and wait. Mum calls this house ‘the mansion’, she says it as an insult and always utters it sneeringly, but, of course, it’s jealousy. Dad’s very well off, and his six bedroomed home reflects that. Large and imposing, it has an immense garden, tennis court and swimming pool. My half-sisters both attend private schools and Niah and I could have, too, because Dad was more than willing to pay for our education, but Mum forbid it, as she did everything he suggested. She wasn’t having her daughters sent away to boarding school to be looked after by snobs. Those were her words. Dad said we could be day pupils, but she wouldn’t have it, no matter how much Niah and I begged to be allowed to go. Niah was desperate to get away from Mum and thought private school would be the first step. Mum usually gave in to Niah, but if anything involved Dad, she was unflinching in her refusal to do as he wished and would cut off her own nose to spite her face.

The sound of the door being unlocked tells me it’s about to be opened.

‘Sian! What a lovely surprise!’ There’s a look of delight on Lucy’s face when she sees me and I grin back.

‘Hope you don’t mind me dropping in,’ I say in the cheeriest way I can. ‘I’m working up this way and thought it would be good to catch up.’

‘Mind? Of course not. Come in, come in!’ She steps back, holding the door wide. I step into the glossy tiled hallway and Lucy draws me into a hug. She smells of cinnamon and expensive perfume and for a second, I’m transported back to being the seven-year-old who was determined to hate this woman. Mum had primed us with horrific stories of our wicked stepmother; the truth was that Lucy loved us from the very beginning.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ she says, holding me at arm's length. ‘There’s nothing of you.’

What do I say? Nothing, because as quick as she’s said the words, she’s backtracking, the anxious on her face telling me she’s afraid she’s offended me.

‘And don’t you look fabulous! You must tell me how you did it and maybe I could try it. Although it’s so hard with your father, you know how he loves his food.’

I laugh. ‘I don’t think Dad knows the word diet.’

‘He doesn’t! Anyway, come on in, I’ve been baking some muffins so you can sample them before the girls get home if you don’t mind indulging now and then.’ I follow her through the vast hallway, complete with sofa, into the huge kitchen. Niah calls Lucy ‘bouncer,’ because of her unlimited enthusiasm and never-failing good nature. Lucy laughs when she says it and takes it for the compliment it’s meant to be. She’s the complete opposite of Mum and even though I shouldn’t compare, it’s hard not to. I don’t recall ever seeing Lucy in a bad mood and when we were younger and Mum begrudgingly allowed us to stay for a week in the school holidays, Niah and I found it incredible that we could go a whole week without Lucy having a meltdown. We grew up with Mum thinking that weekly screaming matches followed by days of icy silence were normal. Mum directed most of her anger at me, not so much at Niah, although even Niah wasn’t totally immune to her outbursts.

I dump the bags onto the floor and give the flowers to Lucy.

‘They’re gorgeous,’ she says, taking them from me and putting them in the sink. ‘And you shouldn’t have, but thank you.’

‘Anything for my wicked stepmother,’ I joke.

She laughs and takes mugs from the cupboard. ‘Coffee or tea?’

‘Tea, please.’

‘So you’ve been working nearby?’ she asks, as she fills the kettle.

‘Yes,’ I lie. ‘I’m helping to set up the new office. It’s quite small, but they wanted someone who knew the ropes and somehow I got myself talked into it.’ I laugh. ‘They seem a pleasant bunch and I’m sure they don’t need hand holding, but my bosses like to micro-manage. I’m here for a couple of nights and thought it was about time I caught up with you all.’

‘So you finished early, then?’ Lucy looks confused. And who can blame her? It’s only three o’clock and I’m not the most convincing liar.

‘Yes, it was supposed to be all day but they’re still waiting on the delivery of desks and chairs, which now aren’t arriving until tomorrow, so we packed up early. At this rate, we’ll be working at the weekend because the office has to be up and running by Monday.’

‘Well, that’s good news for us because it’s lovely to see you. The girls and your dad are going to be thrilled you’re here.’ She puts a plate of muffins onto the worktop and I take one, suddenly starving.

‘You are staying here, aren’t you?’ she asks.

‘If you don’t mind?’

‘Mind? Why would I mind? The girls will plague you, though, you being the cool older sister. You won’t have a minute’s peace.’

‘I’m so not cool.’ I laugh. ‘But I am looking forward to seeing them. It’s been too long.’

‘It has.’

I concentrate on my muffin to avoid the look of concern on her face.

‘You are okay, Sian?’ she asks.

‘Of course I am.’ I choke down the lump in my throat and smile. It’s so tempting to tell her; to offload the whole sorry saga, but it wouldn’t help, would it? All I’d be doing is burdening Lucy with my problems.

‘You know we’re always here for you, if you need us, don’t you?’

The sound of the front door opening and closing with a bang, followed by laughter and loud voices stops me from answering.

My sisters have arrived.

They’re arguing good-naturedly as they bowl into the kitchen. A mass of blonde hair, gazelle-like limbs, coats and school bags.

‘Sian!’ screams Tammy, the youngest, as she launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around me. ‘Thank God you’re here. Maybe you can sort Ambs out and stop her from being so bossy!’

I hold her tightly, taking in the smell of strawberry chewing gum and fresh air. Tears spring to my eyes and I fight them back; not least because Amber is watching.

If only I were fourteen again.

‘Get off her, you big lump,’ Amber says. ‘Let her breathe. She doesn’t want an over-excited toddler flattening her.’

Tammy releases me and I stand up and embrace Amber.

‘I swear you two get taller every time I see you. I’m like a midget next to you.’ I stand back and look at them both. ‘You definitely got Dad’s genes. Not like me and Niah; the squirt sisters.’

They exchange a look, laughing uncertainly, and I feel bad for making them uncomfortable. Mum is tiny and we tend not to refer to her, however indirectly.

‘Anyway, hopefully you haven’t grown so much that these won’t fit you.’ I grab the carrier bag from the floor and hand it to them. ‘If they don’t fit, it’s not a problem. I can change them for you.’

‘Omg!’ squeals Tammy, as she spots the name on the bag. ‘No way! Is that from...?’ she trails off as she reaches into the bag and pulls out the sweatshirts. After a tussle, they both rip off their school jumpers and pull the sweatshirts over their heads. I watch them with fondness, pleased that my gifts have gone down so well. Dad is wealthy, but my half-sisters are far from spoilt; they have a good lifestyle but he doesn’t believe in pandering to consumerism.

‘Wow! This is fantastic, thank you so much!’ Tammy throws her arms around me again while Amber looks on, rolling her eyes. Tammy pirouettes away, twirling around the kitchen and I laugh at her, her high spirits infectious.

‘Have you got one too?’ Tammy asks. ‘You should get one! All sisters together.’

Amber throws her a look, but before Tammy can speak we hear the front door opening and closing, not with a crash this time, but measured and calm.

Dad’s home.

Chapter Nineteen

After hanging up the few bits of clothing I’ve brought with me, I shove my rucksack into the bottom of the wardrobe. I escaped up here citing my need to get showered and changed soon after Dad arrived home, but all too soon I’ll have to go downstairs for the dinner that Lucy is cooking.

I need to be refreshed and alert for that; Dad isn’t so easy to fool as my stepmother and half-sisters.

He was delighted to see me, wrapping me in his customary bear hug and holding me tightly, which prompted immediate guilt at the time that’s gone by since I last visited. I’ve never doubted Dad’s love for me, unlike Mum, and I know he feels enormous guilt for leaving us with her. But he’s no fool; there will be questions later and he won’t be so easy to fob off with lies. When I told him my prepared lie about the new office, his first question was to ask where I got the van from. For a moment I was thrown, not having given a thought to that. Quickly making up a lie about borrowing it from a friend, as my car wasn’t reliable, I tried my best not to gabble. He’ll be asking about my car later and will want to know what’s wrong with it because he gave me the money to buy it for my twenty-first birthday, as he did Niah.

I can’t tell him I sold it because I needed the cash to live on when I moved town, because that will open up many other questions I don’t want to answer. One of them being why I gave up a well-paid job to become a dog walker. He believes, like Mum, that I still work for Benson’s and transferred to another one of their offices in a different town.

So many lies.

My phone bleeps and I pick it up to see a message from Connor.

You okay? N’s out tonight with her new guy. Shall we order a takeaway and have a cosy evening in, just the two of us? xx

I close the message without responding. What can I say? That I’ve run away because I can’t face what’s going to happen next? That I’m a coward?

His message was short; no mention of the police treating Jack’s death as murder, so he can’t know yet because he would have been sure to say about. Should I tell him?

What would be the point?

Connor and I are over. He’s already messaged me several times today and I haven’t replied to any of them. If I don’t respond to his messages, he’ll eventually take the hint and stop contacting me, or maybe I should just block his number right now and stop torturing myself. How I wish my life were normal; that we could have a normal relationship without a dead body in the middle of it.

But we can’t.

Why doesn’t he take you out? If you’re going out with the guy, why do you have to stay in and hide away in your room? Are you sure he’s legit?

The thought pops into my head and I know where it’s come from; it’s what Niah would say. She always says that I ask for too little; that I think too little of myself, that if I let people treat me as if I don’t matter, I soon won’t. According to her, I’ll just accept anything and be grateful for it.

Is she right?

He should be showing you off; be proud of you and want to take you places and treat you to nice things. Is he ashamed of you?

Of course not, he can’t take me out; it’s not possible because we have Nayo in the mix. She’s not stable and who knows what she would do if she found out about us?

Sounds like an excuse to me. Are you sure he’s not using you for sex?

It’s not an excuse, and he’s not using me; Nayo isn’t rational. She’s proved that to me by what she did to my room. She already hates me and I don’t need her to hate me more. And as for using me for sex, I’m a more than willing partner.

Besides, it doesn’t matter now, because we’re over.

Connor won’t wait for me while I’m in prison when we’ve only been together a couple of days, no matter how strong our connection is.

✽✽✽

‘That was delicious, Lucy.’ I lay my knife and fork down in the centre of the plate. It was delicious, but my appetite is so poor that I had to force down every mouthful.

‘It’s our favourite,’ Amber says. ‘Dad says it’s because we’re lazy and we don’t have to chew lasagne.’

I laugh. It’s typical Dad; he’d much rather have a steak, so rare it’s mooing.

‘What’s for pud?’ Tammy asks.

Lucy’s reply of ‘apple pie and ice cream,’ is met with groans from Amber and Tammy.

‘That’s so old. We’re not grannies. Why can’t we have something with chocolate in it?’

‘Because it’s your dad’s favourite. Just have the ice cream if you don’t want the pie.’

Lucy gets up and stacks the plates. I join in and help her take them through to the kitchen.

‘Honestly,’ she says. ‘You don’t need to do that. I’m just going to chuck them in the dishwasher.’

‘I’ll help load it.’

Stacking the plates while Lucy gets the pie out of the oven, I know that I’ll have to eat some of it, if only to allay Lucy’s fears about the weight I’ve lost. Even Dad noticed; when he released me from his bear hug, he looked down at me and said, you’re wasting away. I laughed and made light of it, telling him he says that every time he sees me. He has no truck with diets, believing that if you just eat ‘normally’, your body will find its natural level, even if it’s not the size you would like to be. Never thin, he’s never been fat either, just somewhere in the middle and he’s always been content with that.

Despite their protests, when we return to the table with dessert, the girls tuck into their apple pie and ice cream and I eat mine. Throughout, there’s a constant stream of conversation as the girls jump from one subject to another. It’s entertaining. The atmosphere is easy with no undercurrent of tension as there always used to be at mealtimes with Mum when we were growing up. Mealtimes were dreaded in our house, but impossible to get out of.

Too late, I realise that I’m going to miss this. Why didn’t I make more of an effort to see my family whilst I had the chance? I’ve stayed away for too long and I shouldn’t have.

We retire to the lounge. Lucy forbade me from helping her clear the table, telling me to relax and let the meal go down. The lounge is vast, despite the three long sofas arranged in a square. It’s roomy and, despite its size, cosy and homely, a testament to Lucy’s home-making skills. The television goes on, but no one is paying attention to it. Dad wants to know everything about the new office and I lie my way through the conversation, telling him where it is and how many people work there. Several times I try to change the subject, but somehow it always comes back to my job. It’s a relief when Lucy joins us and we finally get off the subject of me.

No one mentions Mum or Niah, but that’s no surprise.

Tammy switches channels and we watch a game show where a contestant can win a hundred thousand pounds, all of us shouting out the answers, competing with each other. When it’s over, Lucy announces she’s off for a bath and after dad gives the girls a meaningful look, they bid us ‘goodnight’ and go up to their rooms.

‘I think I’ll head up to bed,’ I say, with a yawn, realising that it’s ten o’clock. ‘I have a busy day tomorrow.’

‘Do you?’ Dad says, giving me a level look.

I roll my eyes. ‘Unpacking desks and chairs, filing and sorting boxes of stuff out. Not my most favourite things to do.’ I’ll have to hide out somewhere for the day; maybe at a park. I can wander around, although it won’t be the same without the dogs.

‘Please stop lying, Sian.’ Dad’s voice is steady, and my heart sinks.

‘Lying? What do you mean?’ I even manage a smile when I say it.

‘I know you don’t work at Benson’s anymore, and haven’t done so for a long time, so stop pretending you’re setting up their office. They don’t have an office here and nor do they have one where you live.’

Of course he knows; my dad isn’t stupid. He knows lots of people and was always going to find out.

‘Sorry, but I’m dog-tired.’ I fake another yawn. ‘Time for me to get to bed.’ I get up from the sofa and Dad gets up too and stands in front of me, blocking my way.

‘Tell me what’s going on. I can help. I’m your dad, that’s what I’m here for.’

✽✽✽

Telling Dad I was just too tired to talk last night, I fled the room, lying that I’d tell him everything today. I rushed up the stairs and into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me, trying not to feel terrible for treating him that way.

My intention had been to get up super early this morning, ensuring I’d be out of the house before anyone else stirred. I’d make sure to return late in the day to guarantee Lucy and the girls would be here, so I’d be safe from Dad’s questions. He won’t question me in front of them, he wouldn’t humiliate me like that.

Because I can’t bring myself to tell him what I’ve done.

Except that somehow, after tossing and turning for hours, when I fell asleep, I slept so soundly that I overslept.

How the hell did that happen?

There were many reasons I couldn’t get to sleep, but the main thing keeping me awake was Connor. When I didn’t respond to his last message, he messaged again, and again. He’d seen that the van was gone and kept asking me where I was. He sounded worried. Forced to reply, because I didn’t want him to worry about me or think that something bad had happened, because that wouldn’t be fair, I told him I was fine and staying with my family for a while. That I thought it best if we were just friends again. His response was to ring me, and when I didn’t answer, he sent more messages asking endless questions.

I couldn’t stand it so I blocked him.

The urge to unblock him now is strong, but I stop myself because it’s done. Over. This is the best way, like ripping off a plaster.

So now I’ve overslept, it’s Plan B, do the reverse. Stay up here and wait until I’m sure that Dad’s out of the way and the girls have left for school. Dad always leaves for the office super early, or, if he works from home, he’ll be in his office, meaning I can make a quick getaway before he’s even aware I’m downstairs. It’s going to look rude to Lucy that I didn’t even stop to say good morning, but I daren’t risk Dad hearing me.

Once I’m showered and dressed it’s nine-thirty. Perfect. Putting on my jacket, I check I have the van keys, purse and both phones before opening the bedroom door. I sneak down the grand staircase into the hallway, ignoring the voice in my head that asks me how long I think I can avoid Dad and what, exactly, I’m achieving by it. Reaching the front door, I turn the handle and have opened it when Dad appears in the kitchen doorway.

‘Sneaking out, eh?’ A mug of coffee in his hand, he’s calm, sure of himself. Pretending he’s not there, I open the door, but his next words stop me in my tracks.

‘You won’t be able to get out. I’ve blocked you in with my car.’

After a moment, I close the door and admit defeat.

‘Come on.’ Dad is by my side, his arm around me. ‘Come and sit down and tell your old dad all about it.’

He leads me into his study, closing the door behind us, and we sit down on the moth-eaten sofa he’s had forever and refuses to throw away, much to Lucy’s disgust.

‘What’s so bad that you can’t even talk about it?’ He sits down next to me and offers me his mug. ‘I haven’t touched it. You have it.’

I wrap my hands around the mug but am shaking so much that he takes it off me and puts it on the windowsill.

‘You’re not alone, Sian, I’m here,’ he says.

‘I’m going through some stuff at the moment.’ I sniff back tears. ‘I’m sorry I lied to you, but I just had to get away. Reset, you know?’

‘What did you need to get away from?’

‘Nothing important.’ I wave my hand. ‘Just a guy, that’s all. The usual. How did you know I’d left my job?’

‘Someone told me. I bumped into your old boss at the golf club a few weeks ago and he asked after you. I didn’t know what he was talking about and then he told me you’d left. He clammed up when he realised I didn’t know. How long ago did you leave?’

‘Eight months ago.’

‘My God, why didn’t you tell me?’

I shrug.

‘I’m so sorry that you didn’t feel you could tell me. I could have helped you, you know. I knew you were struggling, but you wouldn’t let me in, you wouldn’t let any of us in.’

I didn’t want help; I didn’t deserve help.

‘Don’t feel bad about it because I didn’t tell anyone; I just left. Walked away from everything – my job, my friends, everything. No one knew I was going.’

And you blocked their numbers, too, Sian, don’t forget that.

Dad rakes a hand through his hair.

‘Jesus. Why didn’t you come here? If you wanted to get away, you could live here. We’d look after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after. I’m an adult. Mum doesn’t know, either, and I want it to stay that way so don’t tell her.’

‘Your mother?’ he snaps, not hiding his dislike at the mention of her name. ‘As if I’d see her. Why would I put myself through that? You should stop seeing her, too, because it does you no good.’

‘She’s my mother. How can I not see her?’

‘It’s easy. Stay away. She’s not been a good mother to you and you owe her nothing. In time she’ll forget you, if she hasn’t done so already.’

‘She hasn’t forgotten,’ I say, remembering my visit to her. ‘Although all she could talk about was you and Niah.’

‘God, that woman. I know she can’t help it now, but what’s been her excuse for all the years before?’

I shrug and look down at my hands.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘That was uncalled for. She can’t help the way she is.’

‘I know she can’t,’ I say. ‘But sometimes I wonder if her dementia is too convenient; she was vicious to me even before she became ill.’

‘She was,’ Dad says. ‘And I’ve never understood it but we can’t change that, all we can do is look to the future. Why don’t you stay here with us, be part of the family again. Lucy and your sisters would love to have you here, and so would I. You can start over.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘What have you got to lose?’ he asks gently.

‘It’s not that simple, Dad.’

‘It is.’

‘It’s not.’

‘Stop blaming yourself, Sian, it wasn’t your fault.’

I look up at him in shock. How can he know? It’s our secret; mine, Connor’s and Nayo’s.

Dad takes hold of my hand, his fingers warm against my skin. ‘I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.’

I stare up at him.

‘It’s not your fault that Niah died.’

Chapter Twenty

‘Why can’t you do it?’ Niah stands over Sian, who is lying on her bed, textbook in hand.

‘Because it’s my day off and I have to do my coursework and it’s going to take me all day.’

‘But it’s only a quick trip into town. You’ve got the whole day. You can take it back to the shop and still have time to do your boring work. I don’t know why you’re bothering with all these exams. You’ve got a good job, so why do more? I thought you’d have had enough of studying at uni.’

‘Why don’t you take it back yourself?’ Sian asks.

‘I have to go to work, remember?’ Niah sneers. ‘We can’t all have days off whenever we feel like it.’

Sian knows that’s not true. Sian often takes days off sick, but only when it suits her. Taking a dress back to the shop for a refund doesn’t warrant a sick day.

‘It was awkward last time. The woman was dead snotty and even sniffed the dress like she could smell that you’d worn it,’ Sian says.

‘Bloody cheek!’

‘But you had.’

‘So what?’ Niah demands. ‘They can still sell it, can’t they? It’s no skin off her nose, anyway, it’s not as if it’s coming out of her wages. Stupid cow.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter because I can’t do it because I don’t have time. I’ll struggle to fit in all my work as it is. You can take it back at the weekend.’

‘I can’t, I’m busy. You could take it back on Saturday, though, couldn’t you? I suppose that would be alright.’

Sian doesn’t answer. She has to be strong this time and not give in. She hates the dishonesty of taking back clothes that Niah has clearly worn. It was a habit Niah started in uni and she’s continued it even though she now has a well-paid job. Sian is the one who always gets lumbered with the dirty work and she’s not doing it anymore. She’s trying not to think about how Niah will be when she realises that this time, she’s not doing what she tells her. It won’t be pleasant, it’ll be horrible, but they can’t go on like this.

Sian can’t go on like this.

‘Anyway, enough of that.’ Niah waves a hand airily, confident that Sian will do her bidding. ‘Right now I need to tart myself up because I’m meeting Roo at the King’s in town.’

‘What sort of name is Roo?’

‘It’s a nickname, obvs.’ Niah giggles. ‘God, he’s so hot. He’s practically on fire. I might not be back tonight, so don’t wait up.’

So sure that she’s going to do it for her, Niah considers the conversation about taking the dress back, over. Sian reminds herself yet again not to give in. Like she always does.

‘So,’ Sian asks. ‘This is, what, the second time you’ve been out with him?’

‘Yeah.’ Niah brushes mascara onto her eyelashes. ‘And?’

‘You barely know him.’

‘Like I said; and?’

Sian shrugs. ‘Just saying that maybe you should get to know him before spending the night with him. You know nothing about him. He could be an axe murderer for all you know.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Sian, stop being such a fun sponge. He’s hot, and he’s fun. What else is there to know? I’m just seeing the guy. I’m not planning on marrying him. Just because you want to be the oldest virgin in town doesn’t mean I have to be the same. Lighten up and get a life before you’re too old to enjoy it.’

Sian bites down a retort; she doesn’t want to have a row with Niah, not right now, because that’ll come soon enough when she realises that she’s not taking the dress back for her. At the moment, Niah assumes Sian is putting up her usual token resistance to doing what she wants before caving in, just as she always does. Why make tonight as unpleasant as tomorrow is going to be?

‘I just worry about you, that’s all. Where are you going to be staying? Do you even know where he lives?’

Screwing the top onto the mascara, Niah throws it onto the top of the chest of drawers, where it lands amidst a jumble of underwear, empty bottles, and discarded tissues. She picks up an open bottle of wine and puts it to her lips, glaring at Sian.

‘You don’t need to worry about me, worry about yourself because you’re going to end up sad and alone, just like Mum. He’s staying at a mate’s as far as I know but I haven’t asked for his address or to check his bloody passport, okay? I mean, I don’t have a lot of choice about staying out because I can’t bring him back here, can I?’

‘I need to sleep somewhere, Niah.’

‘You could sleep on the sofa, it wouldn’t kill you. I wouldn’t need to stay out then. If you were that worried, you’d take the sofa and let me have the bed.’ Niah has a wheedling tone to her voice now.

‘I don’t want to sleep on the sofa.’ Sian knows that if she gives in once, she’ll be sleeping on the sofa every weekend.

‘God, you’re selfish. I’d let you have the bed if it were the other way around.’

But it never is the other way around.

‘We should have got a two-bedroomed flat like I suggested,’ Niah says.

‘We couldn’t afford a two-bedroomed flat.’

‘You could.’ Niah sneers. ‘You could put more towards the rent and then we wouldn’t have to share a sodding double bed and I could have a man back here whenever I wanted. If you weren’t so tight-fisted, we could have a much nicer flat.’

Sian puts her book in front of her face and pretends to read. She already pays all the rent herself most months; Niah is either waiting for payday or if she pays her share, she then borrows money from Sian halfway through the month and never repays it.

‘I could bring him back, anyway. Imagine his delight at having two of us who look exactly the same.’ Niah laughs. ‘Twin delight.’

‘Don’t be disgusting.’

‘It’s a joke.’

‘Not funny.’

Niah picks up her coat and slips it on.

‘Anyway, I’m going. Don’t forget it’s Tish’s party tomorrow night.’

‘What’s it for?’

‘Fun?’ Niah says. ‘Because we’re young and supposed to be enjoying ourselves?’

‘Just asking, that’s all.’

‘Well, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. If you’re going to be a misery, don’t bother. I don’t want you hanging around all night checking what I’m drinking and spoiling everything.’

Niah picks up her bag and goes out into the hallway. The next thing Sian hears is the bang of the front door as it slams shut behind her.

✽✽✽

When Sian awakes, there’s a Niah shaped mound next to her in the bed. Sian heard her come in at one o’clock and although she was awake, she didn’t let Niah know this. She’d had trouble getting to sleep, dreading how Niah will be with her when she realises she’s not getting her own way.

She’d only just fallen asleep when Niah opened the front door, crashing it back against the wall with a bang as she stumbled into the hallway. Even when she came into the bedroom and flicked the light switch, turning on the overhead light, Sian kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep. Niah was drunk and when she’d been drinking, she was volatile; laughing and joking one minute, picking a fight, the next.

Listening to the steady rhythm of her sister’s breathing, Sian knows that for now, nothing has changed. Niah is asleep and when she wakes will be her usual hungover self; vowing to never drink again whilst regaling Sian with the previous night’s antics. It’s not too late; she could just take the dress back and avoid the nastiness; the freezing out, the refusal to acknowledge Sian’s existence.

No.

She has to be strong. She’s made her decision. More and more, Sian feels that her life isn’t her own. She’s the inferior twin, the twin who does everything for her sister and gets very little back. She blames herself for the way Niah is; if Sian had been stronger and not given in to her all the time, maybe Niah wouldn’t be such a tyrant.

Because that’s what she is. A tyrant. Sian doesn’t like to think of her sister this way, but the evidence is there; Sian’s done her work assignments for her, taken clothes back to shops to get refunds for her, lent her money that’s never returned. Sian does all the chores in the house and Niah never helps or acknowledges that maybe she should. Yet somehow, Niah is more popular, more fun.

More everything.

Sian knows now that she made a big mistake going to the same uni as Niah because it’s set the tone for their lives. When they graduated, the natural progression was to get a flat together and there seemed no way of getting out of it. She should have made the break then, let Niah get on with her life and stopped trying to protect her. If Sian is always there to pick up the pieces and get her out of trouble, Niah will never learn, will never grow up. Sian now lives a life that she doesn’t want; as well as subsidising Niah, she goes to parties she has no interest in so she can protect her sister from her own excesses. She’s forgoing her own life, so Niah can live hers the way she wants.

She’s so tired of it all. Is it selfish to want her own life? Is it unreasonable to want to be who she is without being sneered at or belittled by Niah? Sometimes, in her lowest moments, she admits to herself that she no longer likes her twin very much. She loves her, of course, and they get along most of the time.

As long as Sian does what Niah wants.

‘Niah.’ Sian taps the mound next to her. ‘It’s gone seven. You’ll be late for work.’

Niah groans and, after a moment, pulls herself upright.

‘Oh God, why did I drink so much?’

‘Good night, was it?’

‘The best.’ She swings her legs off the bed and sits for a moment. ‘Although we had to end it early because Roo is sofa-surfing and I couldn’t bring him back here.’

Sian ignores the dig.

‘I can’t face work, I feel like shit.’ Niah rubs her head. ‘Can you ring in sick? Pretend you’re me?’

‘I could,’ Sian says. ‘But you’re on a warning, remember?’

‘Oh, shit. Yeah, forgot about that. Bloody Nazis. Can’t even have a duvet day without an inquisition.’

‘I can give you a lift, though, if you like.’

‘Okay.’ Niah pulls herself to her feet with a moan and heads towards the bathroom. ‘Can you make me a coffee while I get in the shower?’

‘Of course.’ Sian climbs out of bed.

She’s happy to do something nice for her sister because after this, it’s all downhill.

✽✽✽

‘But I need that cash for the weekend,’ Niah says.

‘I told you I was studying today. I didn’t have time to go into town.’ Sian wonders why she’s still making excuses; she’s not doing it again, ever.

‘So you’ll take it back tomorrow, yeah?’ Niah asks. ‘Lend me some money now and take it out of the refund when you get it.’

‘No. You’ll have to take it back yourself.’

‘But I’m busy tomorrow.’

‘So am I.’

‘Doing what?’ Niah demands.

‘Stuff.’

‘You’re just being awkward. All you have to do is go into the shop and ask for a refund.’

‘You do it, then.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m busy. Because unlike you, I have a life.’

Sian doesn’t say anything.

‘What’s your problem?’ Niah demands.

Sian considers lying; making another excuse, but she knows that somehow, Niah will win, like she always does, that she’ll persuade her to do it.

‘I don’t want to take it back.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m not taking stuff back for you anymore. I don’t feel comfortable doing it.’

‘Is this because of the snotty cow last time?’

‘No. Yes. Sort of. It’s dishonest and I’m not doing it, but I’m not stopping you. If you want to buy dresses and wear them and take them back, that’s up to you, but I’m not doing it for you anymore.’

Silence. And then Niah speaks.

‘You’re not much of a sister, are you? Can’t even do one little thing for me.’

And so it begins. When it’s time to leave for Tish’s party, although they were both invited and Sian had intended going, too, Niah is going alone. Niah hasn’t spoken to Sian all day, but as she leaves the house, she calls out to her; not to say goodbye, but to tell her that as far as she is concerned, Sian is dead to her.

✽✽✽

When Sian wakes the next morning, there is no Niah shaped mound in the bed next to her. She’s not surprised by this; she will have crashed at Tish’s place after the party last night. Either that, or she’s with Roo somewhere else. Or maybe they’re both at Tish’s. Normally, Sian goes to parties with her and drags her into a taxi at the end of the night to bring her home. Often the evening ends in nastiness, because Niah never wants the party to end or to stop drinking.

Sian had a miserable evening on her own, wishing many times that she’d just taken the bloody dress back. Was it that big an ask? She could have just done it and avoided all this.

But now, it’s a new day and she’s glad she kept her resolve, because she has to do this even though Niah will refuse to speak to her.

Because she’s moving on.

She’s going to live her own life.

She would talk it through with Niah, explain herself, have an adult conversation about it, but Niah isn’t speaking to her and even if she was, she wouldn’t understand. Nevertheless, Sian will tell her that she’s moving out when she gets home, even though it’ll be like talking to a brick wall.

While she waits for her twin to come home, Sian busies herself with mundane tasks, cleaning and vacuuming, tidying. Mindless activity as she waits for the sound of Niah’s key in the door. All the while, she’s rehearsing in her head what she’s going to do. She veers between ignoring Niah, behaving as if nothing is wrong, or telling her to stop being so childish. Realistically, she knows that whatever she does will make no difference; Niah will blank her and behave as if Sian doesn’t exist.

She messages Niah several times throughout the day; cheery texts, as if they’re still speaking, asking if the party was good, if she had a good time.

Niah doesn’t read the messages.

Sian lies to herself that she is prepared for it; that she won’t let it bother her, but she knows that after several days of Niah freezing her out, she won’t be able to stand it and will beg Niah to talk to her and will do anything for her just so she’ll speak to her.

Which is why she’s decided to move out. Today.

She’s paid the rent on the flat for two months in advance to give Niah a chance to sort out her finances. A girl where Sian works is renting her spare room to help pay her mortgage, and Sian has already paid a month’s rent in advance. She’s planning to get her own place eventually, but she doesn’t want to do it in a rush. She needs time to readjust.

To just be her. To be on her own.

She’s scared and excited in equal measure.

When it gets to five o’clock, she thinks that Niah’s staying out again and not bothering to come home. Should she just leave a note, avoid speaking to her altogether?

It seems cowardly, but she can’t wait another day to leave. She’s eager for her new life to start; a life of her own, doing what she wants to do. Also, if she doesn’t leave today, she’s afraid she might not leave at all because she’s never been alone, ever.

The shrill of the doorbell tells her Niah’s back; ringing the bell because she’s lost her key or left it somewhere. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, Sian knows Niah will hate that she’s had to ring the bell to be let into the flat and as Sian goes to answer the door, she braces herself for her sister’s coldness, prepares herself for her walking straight in without even looking at her. She unlocks and opens the door, but it’s not Niah; two police officers are standing there, a man and a woman.

‘Sian Rogers?’ The male officer asks.

Sian nods, unable to speak.

‘Can we come in, Miss Rogers?’

She stands aside, dumbly watching them come in. The female officer looks at her and Sian knows what she’s going to say even before she utters the words that will confirm it, words that she would do anything not to hear.

‘I’m very sorry to tell you we have some bad news...’

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s eleven o’clock at night when I pull the van up onto the hard standing at the back of the house. Dragging my rucksack off the passenger seat, I close the door as quietly as possible and walk quickly up the garden path to the back door. The back of the house is in darkness and I pray that Connor and Nayo are not in, or if they are, they’re upstairs in their bedrooms and not in the lounge. Letting myself into the house as quietly as possible, I lock the door behind me and go into the hallway, relieved when I see the lounge is in darkness. Slipping off my shoes, I pad up the stairs, using my phone torch to guide me. My bedroom door is closed just as I left it, and I quickly let myself in and lock it behind me. If they’re home and I stay quiet, they’ll have no idea I’m back. The six-foot fence at the end of the garden hides the van so when they get up in the morning they won’t know I’m here.

I don’t want to see either of them.

All I want is to lie on my bed and think about what I plan to do tomorrow.

Because I’m confessing.

I’m going to the police station and telling them what I’ve done. I’ll do my best to keep Connor and Nayo out of it, but the police aren’t fools. They’ll know I wouldn’t have been able to move a man’s body on my own, but I can’t worry about that now or else I’ll use it as an excuse to back out.

I unpack my rucksack; all of my clothes are clean as Lucy insisted on doing my laundry for me. The smell of the lavender fabric conditioner that she always uses, makes me wistful; I stayed for five days, longer than I intended. My last five days of normality and unconditional love before the world discovers what I’ve done.

Before I face the music.

Dad remains unaware of the real reason I visited; he thinks it’s ‘man trouble’ and that I’ve come back here to sort it out. He’ll learn the truth soon enough; there was no need to burden him with it while I was there.

Also, I’m a coward; because I didn’t want to see the disgust and disappointment in his eyes when he discovers what I’ve done. We talked a lot, me and Dad, about Niah, mostly. I know that she’s dead; I’m not mad, or deluded, but I still talk to her and speak about her as if she’s here because she’s part of me. She’ll always be with me and I’ll never stop talking to her. Dad has told me so many times that I shouldn’t blame myself for her death; that what happened that night to her is not my fault.

But I know it is.

I failed her. I wasn’t there to protect her, as she did for me all those years ago. Selfishly, I wanted a life of my own and but for that, I’d have been with her that night and she would be alive today. If I’d been a good sister, she wouldn’t have died in her sleep, choking on her own vomit because she’d drunk so much and taken God knows what drugs. She’d have come home with me that night and I’d have looked after her, watched over her to make sure she was okay, just as I did with Dan. But Niah died alone, with no one to help her. Roo, the guy she was so mad for, never stayed with her that night. He deserted her, disappearing into the ether, never to be seen again. There was no address for him, no one even knew his real name and the friends that he stayed with weren’t friends at all, just casual acquaintances he’d met in his murky world of partying, drugs, and alcohol. Roo cared so little for my sister that he left her passed out on the sofa when he’d had his fill of her.

Tish found Niah the next morning, cold and lifeless. Long dead. She wasn’t aware that Niah was in the house; the last time Tish saw her, she was very much alive, drinking wine with Roo and continuing the party. Tish went to bed, worse for wear, when her heavy hints for them to leave fell on deaf ears. Her last words to Niah were to make sure the door was closed behind them when they went home.

So I choose to believe that Niah is still here, but not speaking to me although I know that at some point, I’ll have to face up to her never coming back; that I’ll never hear her voice again.

But today is not that day.

While I was staying at Dad’s, I thought of messaging Dan, because I’ve heard nothing from him since we went out that night. Many times my fingers hovered over my phone, but what could I say? Ask him how he is? A question I already know the answer to so why ask it just to make myself feel better.

After I’ve unpacked, I brush my teeth, put on my pyjamas and get into bed. It’s late and I should go to sleep, but despite the long day and the drive home, I’m not tired. Dare I chance going downstairs to make myself a drink? Throwing back the covers, I decide to risk it. When I open my bedroom door, the landing is still in darkness which means if they are here, they’re asleep. Turning on my phone torch, I point it at the floor to light my way and tiptoe down the stairs. I slip along the hallway and into the kitchen and as I’m closing the kitchen door, I hear a door opening upstairs. Shit. The hallway is suddenly flooded with light and I hear footsteps on the stairs. In a panic, I dash into the back lobby of the kitchen, remembering to turn off my phone torch just as the kitchen light is switched on. Holding my breath, I flatten myself against the wall and watch as Connor crosses to the wine rack by the sink and takes a bottle of wine from it. He need only glance in my direction and he would see me.

But he’s oblivious to the fact that I’m here.

And he’s naked.

He opens a cupboard, takes out two glasses and, wine in one hand and glasses in the other, uses his elbow to turn off the kitchen light. Moments later, the hallway light goes off and I’m plunged into darkness.

Why take a bottle of wine and two glasses upstairs?

Because he has a woman in his room.

Hot drink forgotten, I flick on my torch, go back into the hallway and up the stairs. If his door is open, he’ll see me.

Is that why I’m doing it? Do I want him to see me?

Maybe. I don’t know, but it hurts like hell that he’s waited less than a week before bedding another woman. His talk of a connection between us was just that; talk. Lies to get me into bed.

But you blocked him, Sian.

I did. Maybe he’s hurt, too, and this is his way of getting over it. Do I believe that? No; he didn’t look heartbroken. Despite blocking him, I hoped that when I came back, he would insist we talk and I tell him what’s going on.

But he’s just a player; he played me and I meant nothing to him.

When I get to the landing, I shine the torch around to see Connor’s door is wide open. Walking past my room, I look in his room but he’s not there and the duvet is pulled over the bed, smooth, unrumpled, not slept in. But I can hear the murmur of voices; Connor’s throaty laugh, the chink of glasses, a woman’s voice I know only too well.

He’s in Nayo’s room.

✽✽✽

I slept fitfully last night; my dreams full of Connor and Nayo, the police, Niah. Always Niah. And now I’m awake feeling as if I’ve been fighting a battle all night and I’m trying not to feel desperately hurt by Connor. It doesn’t work to keep telling myself that I blocked him and it’s my own fault; I feel betrayed by him.

Doubly betrayed. Another woman would be bad enough, but the fact that it’s Nayo makes it infinitely worse.

What did you expect? Life isn’t like a sloppy movie. It’s your own fault.

That’s what Niah would say, and she’d be right. I expected too much of him; believed him when he said we had a connection, rather than see his words for the well-practised chat up line they are.

Not that it matters; by the time today is over, the police will know how Jack’s body ended up in the lakes and whether Connor and Nayo are together is irrelevant.

The house is still silent; no sounds of either of them getting up, although it’s early. Am I going to let them know I’m back?

No.

Because there will be questions, if not from Nayo, then from Connor, and once they know what I intend doing, they may try to persuade me not to do it. Am I going this morning straight after breakfast? Can I even eat any breakfast? My stomach flips at the thought of what’s ahead of me, but I also feel strangely calm.

At last, it will be over.

I pick up my phone from the bedside table where it’s lying next to Jack’s phone. Will the police be able to unlock it without the code? Will they even need to once they know the truth? They’re treating Jack’s death as murder, but once they know how his body got to the lakes, I’m hoping they’ll see his death for the tragic accident it was. Connor found no injuries on him, so it was most likely an overdose; Jack made a stupid mistake that killed him.

Like Niah did.

I look at my phone and there are no messages from Dad, but it’s early. He’ll message me today and ask how things are going. How am I going to reply?

I don’t know.

Tapping on the Facebook icon, I scroll through mindlessly, killing time, viewing posts from friends I haven’t seen since I moved here. Linzi, an old workmate, lives her life on Facebook; constant pictures of where she’s going, what she’s eating, a travelog of her life. Strange, to me, because in person she’s quiet; not a talker, as Mum would say. She saves it all for social media. I navigate to Dan’s page to see if he’s posted anything. Perhaps I can find out how he is without asking him. A post from yesterday pops up and I feel relief; he must be okay if he’s on Facebook. But my relief is short-lived when I see the post.

It’s a photograph of his cousin, Jack.

He’s laughing, showing straight white teeth, eyes crinkled at the corners, dirty blonde hair, tanned skin against the blue sky and blazing sunshine.

He’s handsome, as he was the morning I woke to find him in my bed.

Staring at the picture, I know that I’m doing the right thing by going to the police. This isn’t about me, or Connor, or Nayo; Jack’s family deserve to know the truth. Will it bring them peace? I don’t know, but they should know.

Jack William Robinson 15.08.1999 RIP.

He can’t put Jack’s date of death, of course, because he doesn’t know it. We denied his family even that. I stare at his photograph for a long time, tapping the screen each time it disappears to bring it back again. After a while I put down the phone and close my eyes, but Jack’s picture is burned onto my retinas and I don’t know whether seeing it has made today worse, or better.

A sudden thought makes me open my eyes and reach for Jack’s phone. The movement wakes the screen and the Face ID screen appears, followed by the passcode screen. Two unlock attempts remain, but I’ll only need one. Before I can change my mind, I tap in 150899, Jack’s date of birth.

And the phone unlocks.

Looking at Jack’s phone feels intrusive, and I should leave it to the police, but a part of me hopes for a clue, an explanation for him being in my bed that night. Tapping on the WhatsApp icon, I scroll through the most recent messages. They’re the normal chit chat between friends, meaningless to me and nothing to explain that night. Continuing to scroll down the list of chats, I decide to look no further, because what I’m doing is ghoulish, voyeuristic. I flick the screen to close it, but as I do so a name at the bottom catches my eye and I stare at it in disbelief. Tapping on the chat, I open the messages and read the words that were sent such a long time ago.

And as I read, I remember.

Chapter Twenty-Two

New Year’s Eve

I’ve lost count of the number of glasses of wine I’ve drunk, but I’m swaying as I walk, so I know it’s a lot. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, a bit like being on a ship. There’s another full glass in my hand and I remind myself not to drink it too quickly.

I don’t listen.

I’m not a natural party animal like my sister, Niah, and I’m drinking because the alcohol gives me the nerve to speak to people I don’t know instead of running upstairs to hide in my bedroom.

Which is what I really want to do.

I hate New Year’s Eve; hate it, this year more than ever. Too much alcohol and so much fakery. Why welcome in the new year when it’s likely to be as shit as the last? What will be so different about this year? Much better to go to bed early and treat it like any other night, but I can’t; sharing a house with two of the world’s biggest party animals means I have to look as if I’m enjoying it. It’s one night, just one night. The next time they throw a party, I can make sure I’m out of the house but for this one, I have to show willing. Prove to them I’m not a dead loss as a housemate. Keep going, Sian, it’ll soon be over; midnight isn’t far away and once that’s done I can disappear to my room. Pushing my way through the mass of people in the kitchen, I weave my way to the back door.

The fresh air might sober me up a bit.

Stepping out into the garden, I stumble and the ground rushes towards me. I brace myself for impact, but before I hit the ground, a hand grabs hold of my arm and hauls me to my feet.

‘You okay?’ Connor, my new housemate, is looking at me with concern. Am I that obviously wasted?

I am.

‘All good,’ I slur. ‘Who put that step there?’ I laugh, which sounds more like a cackle, and cringe at my weak attempt at a joke.

‘Come on, let’s go join in the countdown. Have your drink ready because it’s nearly midnight,’ Connor says. Taking my hand, he leads me through the mass of people and I sway along behind him, concentrating on not falling over.

‘You ready?’ We’ve stopped. If only I could sit down and go to sleep, I’d be fine. Or lay down. That would be better. Connor is staring at me again, so I take a sip of wine. My glass, which I swear was full a few minutes ago, mysteriously now only has a mouthful of wine left in it.

When did I drink that?

‘Sian!’ An arm grabs me around the waist. ‘Our new roomie.’ Nayo pulls me into a hug and then releases me, thrusting a battered spliff towards me.

‘Here, have a puff.’

The thought of it makes me feel like throwing up, but I take it from her and put it to my lips. Tonight I have to fit in and if that means sharing a joint with my new housemates, so be it. Inhaling more deeply than I intended, I feel instantly light-headed when the smoke hits my lungs. My head feels as if it’s going to detach itself from my body and float away. Connor and Nayo are both watching me, so I take another drag.

‘S’good,’ I say, handing it back to Nayo.

‘Ten!’ a voice shouts. Nayo slips her arm through mine and Connor gets the other side of me, and we join a huge swaying line that stretches across the garden. Chanting down until midnight, fireworks are already exploding at the end of the garden and coloured sparks light up the sky, the loud bangs jolting through my head. The smell of gunpowder fills the air and when we get to zero, we all let go of each other and raise our glasses. I swallow the last mouthful of wine and immediately want more. Nayo and Connor are no longer beside me and when I look around, I can’t see them. So many people. All hugging and kissing, shouting ‘Happy New Year’ at each other, but I’m alone in the crowd and all I want to do is cry. And then, somehow, someone is kissing me. For a moment I think it’s Connor, but when the kissing stops, a stranger with tufty hair and day-old stubble smiles down at me.

‘Happy New Year!’ He grins. ‘I never expected to see you here.’

‘Happy New Year!’ I reply, puzzled. I don’t know him.

As he moves in to kiss me again, I back away. He laughs.

‘Playing hard to get, Niah?’ he asks. ‘That’s not like you.’

‘I’m not Niah,’ I say. ‘I’m her twin sister.’

‘Oh, we’re playing that game, are we?’ He grins and before I can stop him, he kisses me again, his tongue probing my mouth.

‘Seriously,’ I say, pulling away. ‘I’m her sister, Sian.’

‘Well hello Sian, nice to meet you.’

‘She never told you she had an identical twin?’

‘Nope.’ He’s smiling and through the haze of alcohol, it hits me; he doesn’t know Niah is dead, and believes that I’m her. I should tell him but can’t make myself say the words out loud.

They’re too painful.

Why didn’t Niah tell him she had a twin? Did she do that a lot, pretend I didn’t exist? The thought of Niah denying my existence, hurts.

‘So what’s your name?’ I ask.

‘We’re really doing this?’

I stare back at him.

‘Okay, Sian. I’m Jack.’

‘Hi Jack.’ I burst into giggles at my joke, feeling slightly hysterical.

‘I’ve not heard that one before.’ He rolls his eyes and grins. ‘But as you know, most people call me Roo.’

Roaring water fills my ears, the noisy buzz of the people around me fades away and I’m back there, in the hallway of our flat; opening the door to the police, who’ve come to tell me that Niah is dead.

‘…you okay?’ I come back to the present and Roo’s face comes into focus. His hands are on my shoulders, steadying me.

‘Yes,’ I stammer after a moment, even managing a shaky smile. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yep.’

He leans in and whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my skin. ‘I’ve got some good stuff with me, if you’re in the mood? We can really get the party going.’ Unable to speak, he takes my silence for a ‘yes’. ‘We could go somewhere quieter, just the two of us?’ He strokes my arm, his fingers warm and lingering.

‘Okay,’ I say, my voice sounding very far away. ‘Why not? We can go up to my room.’

‘You live here?’ He looks delighted. ‘Perfect. Lead the way.’

Taking hold of his hand, I lead him through the throng towards the house, almost in a trance. A voice in my head is asking me what I’m doing; warning me to stop this now, before it’s too late, before I do something I regret. There are people all around me but I can’t hear them for the buzzing in my ears. It’s as if I’m somewhere else, watching myself.

Am I having an out-of-body experience?

How can I be when I’m moving around, stepping into the kitchen, weaving my way through the mass of people, Roo trailing behind me? Connor is staring after us, an unreadable expression on his face, but I carry on; picking up a bottle of wine from the worktop as we pass and thrusting it towards Roo. I pick up two dirty glasses and clutch them tightly, making sure I don’t drop them, so we can drink the wine. How could I do all this yet feel as if I’m elsewhere?

‘You’re on it tonight.’ Roo laughs. ‘You never know when to stop.’

What am I doing? I don’t know but I need to talk to this man alone.

The man who abandoned my sister and left her to die.

✽✽✽

The glasses and wine are on the bedside table and Roo is stretched out on the bed, his shoes kicked off on the floor.

‘Nice room.’ He looks around. ‘Bit retro, though.’

‘It’s cheap.’

‘So who lives here, apart from you?’

‘Nayo and Connor. You were talking to them in the garden. I thought you knew them?’

‘No. I knew Heck. He was supposed to be here.’

I pour the wine. ‘He doesn’t live here anymore. This is his old room. He went travelling, so they rented his room to me.’

‘Yeah, your housemate said. When was that?’

I shrug. ‘Dunno. A few weeks ago.’

‘Where did he go?’

I sit down next to him.

‘You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?’

He laughs. ‘Just interested, that’s all. I came to the party because he invited me.’

‘How did you know him?’

‘We met in France about a year back. He was on holiday and I had a bar job there and we became mates. He texted me a while ago and invited me to the party when I told him I had family here. Maybe I should have checked before I turned up.’ He shrugs. ‘Anyway, why did you move all the way down here, Niah?’

He honestly believes I’m Niah and I’ve not corrected him, have I? Do I tell him now that Niah is dead, that I’m her twin?

No. Not yet.

‘I wanted a change. Was getting bored, you know?’ I say.

‘Figures. You’re like me, not the settling down type.’

‘So where have you been? The last time I saw you was at Tish’s party.’

He thinks for a moment. ‘Oh yeah, that party at your mates, wasn’t it? Long time ago, now. Remember that trucker who was there? I got chatting to him and he said he was driving to Scotland the next day. I think he was the only sober person there.’ He laughs. ‘Anyway, I told him I was travelling around and he said I could jump in with him if I liked because he could do with a bit of company, but he was leaving at the crack of dawn and wouldn’t wait around. I couldn’t turn down free transport, so I took him up on his offer. Went straight from the party and left you asleep on the sofa.’

‘I was asleep?’ I lie. ‘I can’t remember.’

He laughs. ‘It was a bit of a night, wasn’t it? God knows how I got to the truck stop. Luck, I think. I passed out in the cab for the first couple of hours and he was pissed off with me because he wanted someone to talk to. I got out at Newcastle because he was such a misery and kept moaning. Worse than being at home. He was teetotal, so I should have known. Anyway, it worked out okay because I’ve got a few mates up north, and I stayed with them for a while; got myself a job to get a bit of cash. And then I came down here a couple of weeks ago because I’ve got relatives here and was supposed to spend Christmas with them. Messed that up though because I was hungover and didn’t wake until three on Christmas Day. I couldn’t turn up after that, could I? I’ve been ignoring the messages from my mum, but I’ll have to come up with an excuse because she won’t give up.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Families, eh?’

Somehow, I pull my lips into a smile.

He just walked out and left Niah.

Left her to die.

‘And then I bumped into you.’ He grins. ‘What’re the chances of that? I’m glad, though, because we had fun, didn’t we?’

‘We did. Although I was a bit wasted that night.’ I laugh. I should tell him the truth now, that Niah is dead but I can’t make myself do it. Right now, I feel more like Niah than I do myself. It’s as if she’s here, spurring me on, her voice in my head. He fucking left me, Sian. Just walked out and left me on that sofa, knowing how trashed I was. He didn’t care, the same as you didn’t care.

‘No reason we can’t have fun again.’ He slips his hand into his pocket, pulls out a tiny plastic bag, and shakes it. It’s filled with tiny white pills.

I reach towards it, but he pulls it away.

‘Whoa, there. We’ll just have one each, because they’re strong. Better than booze, though. No nasty hangover from these.’

Opening the bag, he tips two pills into his hand.

I pick one up and put it straight into my mouth and he laughs.

‘You haven’t changed.’

I pick up my wine and swallow it all down. My heart is racing, but I don’t know whether it’s the pill, or the shock at what I’ve done.

I’ve never taken drugs before.

He pops a pill into his mouth and I pour wine into the glasses and pass one to him. He takes a swallow then hands the glass to me, lays his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes.

‘Come here.’ He murmurs, patting the bed next to him. ‘We’ve got some catching up to do.’

‘In a minute, I have to use the bathroom first.’ Getting off the bed, I head towards the bathroom, taking my wine glass with me. As I close the door, I turn and look at him. He’s not moving and his eyes are still closed. Once I’ve closed the door, I lean my back against it and draw in a shuddering breath. The room spins and I close my eyes to stop it. When I open them again, I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here. Time is jumping around and it could be seconds, or hours, for all I know, but the room has stopped spinning and the wine glass is still in my hand. I’m grateful for that; it must be a good omen that I didn’t drop it. I walk over to the bath and lower myself down onto the edge. Unfurling the fingers of my left hand, I stare at the tiny bag with the pills inside. He dropped them on the bed and I picked them up; it was as easy as that. Putting the glass on the floor, I open the bag, take out a pill and drop it into the wine. It floats for a moment before fizzing and disappearing.

How many should I put in there?

Three seems a good number.

When I come out of the bathroom, he’s still lying in the same position. For a moment, I think he’s asleep and part of me is relieved because then he won’t drink the wine, but the other part of me wants to shake him awake and force it down his throat. Sitting down beside him, I lay my hand on his arm. He opens his eyes, pulls himself upright, and grins.

‘Good buzz, eh?’ he says.

‘The best.’ I pass him the wine and pick up the other glass from the cabinet. ‘Happy New Year,’ I say.

‘Ditto.’

Keeping eye contact, I drink the wine straight down without stopping. After a moment, he does the same. I take his glass from him and put them both on the bedside cabinet.

‘Come here.’ He pulls me towards him.

‘Let’s just wait a minute,’ I say, climbing onto the bed to lie beside him. ‘Let the pills do their stuff.’

‘Sure.’ He sounds sleepy. ‘It’ll be more fun that way.’

I close my eyes, because the room is spinning again, faster and faster, so fast that I might fall off.

When I open them again, it’s New Year’s Day.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Killing Jack was never my intention. I didn’t want him to die.

When I dropped those tablets into his wine, I aimed to frighten him, pay him back for what he did to Niah, make him suffer.

Make him feel as if he was dying, just for a short while.

But kill him? No, never that.

Now, in the cold light of day, I cannot understand my actions; the stupidity of what I did. I had no idea what those tablets were or what they would do and yet I dropped three of them into Jack’s wine and watched him drink it. He’d told me they were strong and yet I still did it. I’d decided that it was his fault, and mine, that Niah died that night, but in all honesty; I know that’s not true.

It wasn’t his fault.

She was a willing partner to the drinking and drug taking and knew exactly what she was doing because she’d done it many times before. She wasn’t a first-time drug taker, innocent of the risks; she didn’t blindly take a pill that someone gave her. Niah liked to party and ‘get in the mood’ with recreational drugs and she did it all the time. If Jack hadn’t provided the drugs, Niah would have sought them out from elsewhere. That night, neither of them knew that the evening would end in tragedy.

Does that mean that Niah was responsible for her own death?

I’ve never allowed myself to think this before, but yes, maybe she was. She knew the risks, yet they never stopped her. Niah was a risk taker, she craved excitement and fun. I made it my job to look after her but she never listened to me, never stopped doing what she loved, no matter how much I begged.

Should I still blame myself for her death?

Dad has told me countless times that it’s not my fault and I’ve refused to believe him, but could he be right?

I don’t know.

Perhaps one day I’ll be able to come to terms with it, but as for Jack, I’ll never forgive myself for his death, because I killed him. For that, I must bear the guilt alone.

The realisation of what I’ve done is horrific; never in my worst nightmares did I imagine I caused Jack’s death, that because of something I did, he died.

Is that why I forgot, did my subconscious suppress the memory, bury it deep, shut down, because I couldn’t face what I’d done? Or did I take more of the pills during the night to try and block it all out? I have no memory of hiding the phone or disposing of the pills, but I must have done so.

But the one thing I do know is that I killed Jack.

Sounds from Connor and Nayo drift upwards from the kitchen below. It’s only seven-thirty, which means they’re going to work to be up and about this early. I should tell them I’m giving myself up to the police, but I can’t face it yet.

There are things I have to do because I’ll be going to prison and once I’m arrested, I won’t have access to anything. No mobile phone, no laptop, no way of contacting anyone whenever I choose, no anything. Lying back on the pillow, I close my eyes. I’m itching to get started, because activity will stop my mind from running amok, but I have to stay quiet so Connor and Nayo don’t hear me. Once they’ve left, I can begin. I doze, moving between the strange world of sleep and wakefulness. Thoughts drift across my brain like swirls of smoke and when the front door slams with a bang, I open my eyes wide, sure that something important is hovering on the edge of my consciousness.

Something that would put everything right.

There isn’t anything, of course, it’s wishful thinking. My brain’s desperate last-ditch attempt to avoid facing up to what I’ve done. Forcing myself to move, I get out of bed, realising that this will be for the last time, because even if I get bail, Connor and Nayo won’t want me living here. Once showered and dressed, I set about cleaning my room, stripping the sheets from the bed and remaking it with the set that Nayo gave me on New Year’s Day. How different she was then; friendly and concerned, not at all how she is now.

Bundling the sheets into a ball, I take them downstairs, put them in the washing machine and set it to wash. Once back in my bedroom, I pull out my suitcase from underneath the bed and start packing my clothes. As I pack, I put aside a pile of stuff for the charity shop because then I can fit all of my belongings into one case. When I moved here I had boxes of books and other bits and pieces but it can all go; I don’t want it. The designer clothes Nayo gave me go into that pile because I’ll never wear them now. By the time I’ve finished, the suitcase isn’t full because I’ve discarded so much. At least this way, I’ll be spared from Connor or Nayo going through my belongings when I’m not here. Taking my laptop out of the drawer, I navigate to the novel that I started writing, all three pathetic chapters of it, that I haven’t touched since that day. Clicking on the files, I press ‘delete’ before I can change my mind. There’s not much else on my laptop except a list of passwords for stuff that’s out of date. I delete that, too.

Deleting my life.

Next, I compose messages for Dad and Dan; in Dad’s I tell him the truth about that night and what I’m doing about it. Dan’s is more difficult; how do I say I killed your cousin? Unable to find the words, I take the coward’s way out and simply tell him how sorry I am for everything.

The police will tell his family with the details.

I compose an email to work, telling them I won’t be returning, giving no reason, why. When I’ve finished writing the emails, I leave them in draft, reading to send before they take my phone away from me at the police station.

By the time I’ve finished cleaning my room, there’s no trace of me left in it, apart from my suitcase.

As if I was never here.

How I wish I’d never come here because if I hadn’t, Jack would still be alive. What were the odds of running into him that night, here, in this house, miles away from where I used to live? A thousand to one? A million to one?

Or was it fate?

I push the thought away. Connor and Nayo are due back in a couple of hours and I need to be ready for them. Once I’ve dropped off the bag of clothes at the charity shop, I’ll come back here and wait for them.

It’s all I can do.

Suppose they’re late, or stay out all night? What will I do then? Will I go to the police without telling them?

Yes, I will.

Is that the wrong thing to do?

Maybe, but if they’re not back, I’m not waiting. I’m doing it.

Today.

Before I change my mind.

✽✽✽

My heart races when I hear the front door opening. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, waiting, as I have been for the last half an hour, a cup of cold coffee in front of me. Connor strides into the room, stopping in his tracks and doing a double take when he sees me.

‘Hi,’ I say.

‘You’re back then.’ He tosses his rucksack onto the table, where it lands with a thud. Arms folded, he stands and glares at me. ‘Want to tell me what’s going on and why you blocked me?’

‘Sorry. I thought it was for the best.’

‘The best?’ He sounds angry. ‘I thought we had a connection.’

‘It’s not a good time for me.’ Understatement of the year, I think.

‘Oh, well, that’s okay then,’ he sneers.

‘Obviously it is,’ I snap. ‘Because you’re back in Nayo’s bed, so you’re clearly not heartbroken.’

‘What makes you think me and Nayo are together?’

‘I saw you. In the kitchen last night, getting wine to take up to her room. I don’t think you were playing chess in there, were you?’

‘You saw me?’

‘Yeah. I was out there watching you.’ I point at the lobby.

He rakes a hand through his hair, pulls out a chair and sits down.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘It is?’ I demand. ‘It looked pretty straightforward from where I was standing.’

‘It’s just sex.’

‘That’s alright then.’

‘No, it’s not. I didn’t want to have sex with her, but she’s not been rational since you left. She was ramping up to an episode, and it was easier to give in and avoid that. I was afraid of what she might do. And you dumped me, remember? We’re no longer together.’

We’re not. But he didn’t wait, did he?

‘So where have you been?’ he asks.

‘Visiting my family. I needed to talk to them.’

‘Okay, but I still don’t understand why you blocked me. I thought we were going somewhere.’

I bite my lip to stop myself from crying because I did too, and now the only place I’m going is prison. Once I tell Connor what I’ve done, he won’t want anything to do with me and besides, what use is a girlfriend if she’s locked up?

‘I’ve remembered,’ I say. ‘What happened that night.’

‘What?’ He looks at me in shock.

Shame and guilt engulf me because now I have to tell him what I did.

I open my mouth to speak, but the crash of the front door opening and slamming shut stops me. Nayo is home. Seconds later she saunters into the kitchen, the smile sliding off her face when she sees me.

‘You’re back.’

‘How perceptive of you.’

‘Pack your bags because you’re moving out,’ she says. ‘Today. We’ve had enough of you.’

‘I’m going to the police,’ I say. ‘And I won’t be coming back.’

‘Why?’ Connors says. ‘They haven’t been back. They’re not even looking at us, we’re in the clear.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’m going. I’ve remembered what happened and I have to tell them the truth.’

‘What do you remember?’ Connor asks.

‘It was an overdose.’ Even now I’m skirting around the truth, unwilling to condemn myself by saying the words out loud.

‘I was right; he took too much of his own gear,’ Nayo says. ‘Shame you didn’t remember that before you got us all in this shit.’

‘What’s telling the police going to achieve?’ Connor asks.

‘I have to go.’ I look down at my hands. ‘The police believe someone murdered him and I need to tell them so his family will know it was an accident. It might be some small comfort to them.’

‘You’ll be implicating me and Nayo,’ he says.

‘I’ll keep you both out of it, tell them I got his body to the lake on my own somehow. It was my fault and I’ll take all the blame.’

‘Okay.’ Nayo says. ‘I agree you should take the blame, but how is it your fault he overdosed?’

‘Because I spiked his drink.’

Nayo’s mouth drops open and she looks at Connor. ‘What the f…’

The shrill of the doorbell cuts off her words.

‘Ignore it,’ Connor says.

‘You spiked his drink?’ Nayo glares at me. ‘You spiked his fucking drink, and he died?’

‘Nayo…’ Connor puts a hand on her arm.

‘You’re not even surprised, are you, Con?’ she says, shaking his hand off her arm angrily. ‘You fucking knew, didn’t you? I knew she was mental, but murder? You never said anything about murder.’

‘I never meant to kill him, I didn’t murder him.’

‘You spiked his drink, you stupid cow. What else would you call it?’ Nayo shouts at me.

The doorbell shrills again, accompanied by the bang of the knocker. Connor jumps up from the chair and sprints down the hallway into the lounge. After a moment, Nayo and I follow him.

‘It’s the police,’ he hisses, standing to one side of the window and peering through the gap in the blinds.

‘I’ll let them in,’ I say, turning to go into the hallway.

‘No!’ Connor swings around and steps in front of me, blocking the way. ‘Stay in here and they’ll go when they don’t get an answer.’

I step around him but he moves in front of me again.

‘Let me get to the door.’ I wait for him to move.

‘Let them in and they can take the stupid bitch away with them,’ Nayo says.

‘No,’ Connor says. ‘We need to talk about this.’

‘No. I need to get this over with.’ I dodge around him, but before I can get past, he grabs hold of my arm and wraps me in a bear hug so I’m unable to move.

‘Let me go.’

His answer is to grip me more tightly.

‘They’ll go in a minute,’ Connor whispers in my ear. ‘And then we can talk about this.’

The doorbell rings again, long and insistent, and although I try to wriggle free, I’m clamped in Connor’s arms, unable to move. There’s no way I can get to that front door.

‘You’re hurting me,’ I gasp. ‘I can’t breathe.’

‘Shut up or they’ll hear you!’ His hand is coming towards my face and I jerk my head to one side to stop him from putting his hand over my mouth. Again, I attempt to wriggle free, but it’s useless; he’s so much stronger than me. Unable to move, I can’t move my chest to breathe and my neck feels as if it’s in a vice.

‘Let her go! What are you doing?’ I can hear Nayo shouting, but where is she? She sounds faraway but when I look around, the room is growing darker and I can’t see her.

‘Get off her!’

The pressure around my throat suddenly releases, and I gasp great gulps of air into my lungs. Nayo’s face swims into view; but there’s something not right about her face. Is she crying?

‘They’ve gone,’ Connor says.

Loud thumping shatters the silence.

‘They haven’t,’ Nayo says. ‘We have to let them in.’

‘Keep quiet and they’ll go,’ Connor hisses. His fingers bite into my arms as he tightens his grip again, so I do the only thing possible.

I open my mouth and scream.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Keeping my head bowed, I look down at my hands as we crawl in heavy traffic through the town centre to the police station. I don’t want to look out of the window and see people looking back at me.

Sitting in the back of a police car makes me feel like a criminal.

I am a criminal.

Get used to it, Sian, because this is your life now; there is no going back.

Connor and Nayo are in the car behind me. All hell broke loose when I screamed; it sounded as if the police were breaking down the front door before Nayo ran out into the hall to let them in. They rushed in, coming to a halt when they saw me and Connor. He’d let go of me by then and was standing in the middle of the lounge with a dazed expression, as if he had no idea what was going on. In shock, I’d crumpled onto the sofa because my legs were too weak to hold me up any longer.

Incredibly, Nayo took over.

She invited the officers – a man and a woman – to sit down and even offered them a cup of tea. They declined. The woman officer sat next to me and asked me what had happened and if I’d been screaming. Connor was watching, never taking his eyes off me from the armchair opposite. He was composed and calm by then, just as he normally is. The situation felt surreal, and I was starting to wonder if I’d imagined it all. I was overwrought and hysterical and Connor was trying to calm me; just because he had his hands around my throat didn’t mean he was trying to strangle me, did it?

Of course it didn’t.

He was simply trying to stop me from answering the door so we could get our stories straight, that’s all. Maybe he never had his hands on my throat at all and my mind was playing tricks on me. This was all going through my head and I must have been taking a long time to answer the policewoman’s question because she asked it again. I replied then, and told her I’d become hysterical about what I’d remembered and Connor had been trying to calm me down.

Then I told her I’d murdered Jack Robinson.

There was a stunned silence. The male officer gave the policewoman a meaningful look, and she told me not to say any more and read me my rights, cautioning me. After she’d done that, she asked me if I was aware of what I was doing and I replied that I was.

There was a lot of talking on radios after that, and then another officer arrived at the house. He must have been their senior because he wasn’t wearing a uniform and they called him ‘boss’. There were a lot of conversations with him that I couldn’t hear. When they told me it was time to go, I asked if it was okay if I went to the toilet first and the woman officer said that yes, of course, it was. When I got up, she got up, too, and I realised then that she was going with me, and I just hoped that she wasn’t coming into the toilet with me, because how strange would that be? She didn’t, but waited outside the door. I suppose I’ll need to get used to that; not being able to do as I like. We didn’t go upstairs; I used the spider-infested toilet in the kitchen lobby because I didn’t trust my shaking legs to get me up the stairs.

When I came out, she said it was time to go, reminding me to put on a coat. Making sure I had my mobile phone and purse - although God knows what I thought I’d need money for - I put them in my pocket. Jack’s phone was already in there. As we went into the hallway, I called out ‘Goodbye’ to Connor and Nayo, but they were getting up from their seats as if they were coming, too. I turned to the ‘boss’ and told him they had nothing to do with it, but he ignored me and I thought, well, there’ll be plenty of time to sort it all out once we’re at the station.

We’re about five minutes away now. My plan is to tell them what I remember from that night and not make any excuses for any of it. Because that’s the temptation, isn’t it? To try to make our actions sound less bad by giving our reasons for having done them. That’s why I’m not telling them about Niah, because I’m not using her to try and justify what I’ve done. I’ve killed a man and there is nothing on earth that can excuse that.

My thoughts are all over the place and I’m still in shock, but once I’ve told them the truth, I think it’ll be better. I just want to get this over with.

We’re pulling into the car park now and when we stop, it will all begin. The police car with Connor and Nayo inside has pulled up alongside and I sense Nayo looking through the window at me. I wish there was some way to tell her it’s okay; that I’ll keep them both out of it, but she won’t be able to hear me. And even if she could, I can’t say it in front of the police because it would incriminate them, wouldn’t it?

While the officers are getting out of the car, I’m unable to stop myself and turn to look at her, expecting to see her glaring back at me, her face full of hatred. But she’s not; there’s a puzzled expression on her face, as if she’s trying to figure something out.

The woman officer appears, blocking my view, as she opens the car door and waits for me to clamber out. Taking hold of my arm, she leads me across the car park and through the double doors into the station. The inside isn’t what I was expecting; it looks like a building society, or a bank, not at all how I imagined it would be. But, of course, my only experience of police stations is on TV dramas. We go up to the counter and a conversation ensues between the officer and a woman at the desk, who’s sitting behind a Perspex screen. Unable to concentrate on what they’re saying, I look around to see Nayo and Connor come into the waiting area and stop only six feet away from me. Connor stares at me and as we lock eyes, I realise that he’s saying something; mouthing the words without speaking. I concentrate on his lips to see what he wants to tell me that’s so important. Fortunately, no one is looking at us, except for Nayo, who’s watching, and frowning.

The conversation at the desk finished, the policewoman swings around to face me and Connor immediately looks away. Picturing his face in my head before I forget, I picture his mouth, because I need to know.

Realisation hits me.

Keep your mouth shut.

✽✽✽

The interview room could be an office in any public building. A table with chipped laminate, four chairs with dented metal legs, cream paint on the walls, a camera fixed high up on the wall, pointed at this table; at me. There’s nothing in this bland, grubby room to look at, no pictures on the walls, no leaflets or posters, only a window that lets light in but is too high up to see out of.  

I’ve been here for hours.

I haven’t seen the officers who arrested me, or the ‘boss’, since they brought me in here. The two interviewing officers don’t wear uniforms and don’t look like police but as if they work in an office. They’re almost friendly to me. Very polite. DC McBride is very young, but DS Mitchell is difficult to put an age to; he looks tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes. When we arrived and I sat down, after they’d told me I was being recorded, I gave them Jack’s phone. McBride dropped it into a plastic bag, took it out of the room and returned minutes later. I told them the passcode to unlock it and Mitchell wrote it down and then asked me how I knew it. It took forever to tell him about Dan and his Facebook post, and it sounded far more complicated than it was. I could hear myself gabbling to get it over with. The truth is always so much more convoluted than a lie. When they asked if I’d taken the phone from Jack, I almost lied and said yes, because I just wanted to get it over with but stopped myself, because if I tangle myself up with pointless lies, what is the point of being here? I will lie, but only when I have to. Some things I’ll never tell, but it won’t be to protect myself.

So I told them the truth; that I couldn’t remember. There were a lot of questions about how and why it was in the pocket of my jacket in the wardrobe, and I’m not sure they believed I couldn’t remember. I must have put it there but don’t know why I did so and I was drunk and had taken drugs, so who knows what my reasoning was? As I pointed out, I’d forgotten the entire events of that night for months and have only remembered it now, so maybe it will come back to me later. Or maybe it wasn’t forgetting, maybe it was deliberate. Perhaps my brain was in denial. I don’t know; a psychiatrist could probably explain it, but it doesn’t matter because this isn’t about excusing what I did.

And now we’ve been here for hours and we’re going over everything that I’ve told them, again and again, until my words cease to have any meaning at all.

‘To be clear, Sian,’ Mitchell asks, for what feels like the millionth time. ‘You dropped three pills into Jack’s glass of wine?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where were you when you did this?’

‘In my bathroom.’

‘Why did you do this, Sian?’ He holds my gaze.

‘I don’t know,’ I lie.

‘What was going through your mind when you dropped three pills into Jack’s wine?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Did you hate Jack?’

‘I didn’t know him. That night was the first time I met him.’

He stares at me and I stare right back. I refuse to make excuses for what I did; I won’t have Niah’s name dragged into this or blacken Jack’s reputation. No matter how many times he asks this question, my answer will be the same.

‘Did Jack attack you? Do something to you?’

‘No. He did nothing wrong.’

He sighs heavily, exasperated at my refusal to tell him. ‘Okay. What did you do then?’

‘I went into the bedroom.’

‘And you didn’t know what the pills were?’

‘No. But Jack said they were strong.’

‘And where was Jack when you came out of the bathroom?’

‘Lying on the bed with his eyes closed. When he opened them, I gave him the wine.’

Mitchell looks down at the table, deep in thought despite having heard this many times. McBride, who looks even younger than me, continues to stare at me from across the table and I try not to flinch. Her stare is unnerving, not least because she rarely blinks. They’ve asked the same questions so many times, couched in different ways. Are they trying to catch me out? I’m confessing here, not trying to get out of anything so they have no need. I refused the offer of a solicitor because I don’t need advice. I just need to get this over with.

‘Then you drank your wine and Jack drank his?’

‘Yes. I watched him. He drank it all.’

‘And then you fell asleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘So he was alive when you fell asleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he appear ill?’

‘No. His speech was a bit slurred, and he was sleepy.’

‘Okay.’ He leans back in his chair. ‘When you awoke, were you underneath the covers or on top of the covers?’

‘Underneath.’

‘Were you dressed?’

‘No. I was wearing my underwear. Look, I’ve told you all this already.’

‘Yet you have no memory of getting undressed and getting into bed?’ he asks, ignoring what I’ve said.

‘No. But I was drunk, and I’d taken drugs, so I must have got undressed and forgotten.’

‘Okay.’

He scribbles something on his writing pad but his other hand is in front of it so I can’t see what he’s writing, although I’ve been trying my best. They want every tiny detail of that night and despite remembering what I did, there are still black holes in my memory. Jack’s phone, getting undressed, what I did with the bag of pills; it’s a blank. When I woke, the duvet covered Jack up to his neck, so I couldn’t see if he was dressed or not, but I remember Nayo saying we should burn his clothes, so he was wearing them or they were in the room somewhere. Nayo or Connor must have got rid of them so I’ll tell the police I burnt them. I’ve told the police Jack was undressed, because I should know that if I disposed of his body myself.

Does it matter if I remember every detail or not?

It doesn’t; because Jack is dead and nothing will change that.

‘What time was it when you woke up on New Year’s Day?’ he asks, again.

‘Around two o’clock.’

‘And Jack was dead?’

‘Yes. Although I didn’t know that straight away. I took a shower and got dressed and then tried to wake him.’

‘When did you realise he was dead?’

‘When I shook him and he didn’t move and I realised his eyes were open.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I went downstairs and pretended nothing had happened.’

‘You never told anyone?’

‘No.’

‘You weren’t upset at finding a dead man in your bed?’

‘I was in shock, I think. It didn’t seem real.’

‘So when did you move the body?’

‘I waited until Connor and Nayo were asleep.’

‘Who helped you?’

‘Nobody. I did it on my own.’

‘It would be better if you told us the truth, Sian.’

‘I’ve told you the truth.’

‘Did your housemates help you move the body?’

‘No.’

‘How did you get Jack’s body from your bed to the lakes, Sian? How was that possible?’

‘I used an old sled from the garage. I pulled him down the stairs and along the garden to the van.’

‘I don’t believe you. Who helped you, Sian?’

‘No one.’

And so it continues until I’m so tired it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. We take a break and someone brings me a sandwich and a cup of tea, but I don’t eat it because I’m not hungry. I drink the tea, but the lump in my throat makes it painful to swallow. And then they’re back and it begins again, the same relentless questions repeated until I want to scream at them to just shut up.

And then, suddenly, it’s over.

Mitchell is standing up and telling me that I’m under arrest and will be held overnight; that the interview will resume tomorrow. In a daze, I’m taken from the room by McBride and we walk along corridor after corridor, until we reach another counter. Instead of a woman behind the screen, it’s a man in uniform this time. My phone and purse are taken from me, my shoes, too. I sign a form but I can’t focus on what it says, even though it’s being explained to me. I’m so exhausted that it takes a superhuman effort to walk the few steps into the cell. The door closes with a metallic clang and too late; I realise that I never sent the emails to Dad or Dan.

Does it matter?

No; they’ll find out soon enough.

Flopping down onto the narrow bed, I curl myself into a ball, pull the thin blanket over my body, and close my eyes.

And try not to think about tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-Five

There’s something disgusting about waking up and realising you were so tired last night that you fell into bed without brushing your teeth.

But it’s so much worse if you do it in a police cell.

A hundred times worse. There is no ensuite bathroom to have a shower in, no toothbrush or toothpaste and you’re wearing yesterday’s crumpled clothes that you’ve slept in. Opening my eyes to the cold grey walls and peculiar metallic smell of this place, I realised that it’s the small things that make life bearable. Not being able to brush my teeth or have a shower isn’t the end of the world.

But right now, it feels like it is.

It could be worse. At least there’s a toilet and a small sink in here – even if I have to use the toilet with one eye fixed on the door, ready to jump up and cover myself up the moment it opens.

What did I expect?

Not this; because my thoughts never got beyond confessing. There was a vague notion in my head of prison, but the details of daily life? No, I hadn’t thought of those. Thankfully, there’s no mirror in here to confirm what a wreck I look and it shouldn’t even matter, should it, when I’ve confessed to killing a man? But somehow it does; the thought of more questioning whilst unwashed and wearing yesterday’s knickers is intolerable. I never could bear feeling unkempt, it makes me feel inferior and less of a person. A creature of habit; once I’m up and out of bed, I shower and dress straight away because I have a fear of being caught out by an unexpected visitor. Niah would laugh at me if she were here; call me precious. She’d be right, too.

Is this why people confess to their crimes, because they can’t face another night in a cell?

Possibly. But I’ve already confessed and am not trying to get out of anything and the police could have charged me yesterday. Why are they dragging their heels? I know that there are people who confess to crimes they haven’t committed. Do they think I’m one of them? Maybe they do, because I’ve told them I disposed of Jack’s body on my own and they’ll be wondering how I managed that. But there is evidence, of sorts; I have Jack’s phone and his pin number. Besides, if they didn’t believe me, they wouldn’t have kept me here overnight; I wish they’d hurry up and charge me and get it over with.

And then what?

They’ll transfer me to a prison, I suppose.

My stomach flips at the thought of it, but before I can dwell on it, the door makes a loud clanking noise and opens. I sit on the edge of the narrow bed and hope that my breath doesn’t smell as rank as it tastes. How will I sit across the table from those two officers, knowing that my foul breath will blast them every time I speak? Have they come to take me to be interviewed now, or will it be later? I don’t know what the time is because that’s something else I don’t have.

A watch.

‘Your friend dropped this off last night.’ A uniformed officer I haven’t seen before stands in the doorway, holding a carrier bag. His hair is flame red above a face so full of freckles that his skin appears orange. He looks about fifteen-years-old.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘Clothes and stuff. Didn’t you ask them to bring it in? Most people do.’ He drops it onto the floor and turns to leave.

‘Who brought it?’ It must be from Connor. Does this mean he still cares about me?

‘Ms Jefferson.’

Nayo? I’m astonished. Why would she send me clean clothes? She hates me. And then it hits me; it’s to keep me quiet, to stop me from dragging her and Connor into it. It’s a bribe to keep my mouth shut about their involvement. She clearly didn’t believe me when I said I’d keep them out of it.

‘What time is it?’ I ask, as he’s about to close the door.

He glances at his watch. ‘Twenty-past-seven. You’ll get some breakfast once the canteen opens.’

And with that, the door is closed with a resounding clang and he’s gone. I go over, pick up the bag, and open it. Inside are a pair of jeans, a jumper, knickers, a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, wet wipes and joy of joys, a brush.

Despite knowing that Nayo has only sent it to ensure my silence, I’m pathetically grateful. There’s no way to have a shower but I can brush my teeth and use the wet wipes to have the semblance of a wash; Put on fresh clothes, clean knickers. The clothes in the bag aren’t mine because mine are packed away in my locked suitcase. As I unfold the clothes, I see they’re brand new with the price tags still attached. They’re eye-wateringly expensive designer labels. There’s no way I could afford to buy clothes like this. Did Nayo get these from one of her modelling jobs, or did she shoplift them? They’re all size tens and models are what, size six or eight? So they could be stolen, but I don’t care because right now, I’d wear anything as long as it was clean.

By the time the cell door opens again and the redhead appears with my breakfast – a cardboard cup of a coffee and a brown paper bag containing a bacon roll – I’m feeling less disgusting and more human.

And hungry.

As soon as he’s gone, I devour the bacon roll, fatty rind and all. Normally I’d pick off any trace of fat as I can’t stand it, but I eat it all. It’s delicious and the coffee is better than I ever thought possible. After finishing, I wash my hands, brush my teeth again, and then sit on the bed, confident that they’ll have to charge me today because I’ve read somewhere that I can only be held for twenty-four hours without charge. Will it be a murder or manslaughter charge?

I never intended to kill Jack, but as the police don’t know what my intentions were as I told them I can’t remember, does that make it murder?

I don’t know but whatever the charge is, I just want to get it over with.

***

My expectation that the interview would start right after breakfast was wrong; I sat for hours in that horrible cell. Was that deliberate, to make me feel worse than I already do? If it was, it worked. This is my future; I’ve reminded myself many times. No longer will I have control over my life. I’ll have to do what I’m told, when I’m told.

It isn’t a comfortable thought.

When the redhead came for me, I caught sight of the clock on the wall of the custody suite as we passed through. Nearly twelve o’clock. Once we arrived at the interview room, he brought me inside and then left, leaving me in here alone. I don’t know if he locked the door or if it locked automatically when it closed, but as the minutes tick by, the urge to run is overwhelming. I keep forgetting to breathe and then have to gulp mouthfuls of air to quell the dizziness.

Am I having a panic attack?

At last the door opens and yesterday’s detectives come in so I sit up straighter and compose myself. Mitchell gives me a brief nod before sitting down, but McBride glances at me with her usual blank expression. Strangely, their arrival calms me and I inhale slowly through my mouth, then exhale through my nostrils.

Soon, it will be over.

Mitchell clears his throat and I listen as he reads me my rights and tells me that the interview is being filmed and recorded. McBride resumes her unblinking stare at me and I wait for the questions to begin, stifling the urge to scream at him to get on with it.

‘For the record, this is a search warrant for 23 Ravenshill Avenue, Clopthorne.’ He places several sheets of paper in front of me and I look down at the words jumping around on the page.

‘A search of the property began at eight o’clock this morning.’

‘Why are you searching the house?’ I demand. ‘I’ve told you what I did. There’s nothing there for you to find.’

He gathers up the papers and shoves them inside a manilla file without speaking. Nayo and Connor are going to be livid at the house being searched and I think it will tip Nayo over the edge. Searching the house is what they were most afraid of because they’re convinced the police will find something to cause trouble for them. I’m not so sure. Connor is a neat freak, constantly cleaning and vacuuming imaginary crumbs off the floor so I can’t see that there’ll be anything left to find. If any partygoer was stupid enough to leave their stash of drugs or weed in the house, Connor would have found and disposed of it long ago.

Unless the police take the drug dogs with them. They’d find something then because can’t a dog’s sense of smell sniff out even the minutest trace of drugs? 

But they’re not looking for drugs.

‘What are you looking for?’ I ask. ‘Don’t I have a right to know?’

‘Evidence.’ He looks up at me for a moment and then takes the papers out of the file and reads them again. He’s doing this to make me nervous, I’m sure. I am nervous, although I don’t know why because I’ve confessed and am not denying what I’ve done. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on here. Something feels off, and I can’t put my finger on it.

‘Okay,’ I say loudly, feeling ridiculously satisfied when McBride jumps slightly in response. ‘I’ve confessed to killing Jack Robinson, so why are you wasting your time searching the house when it was months ago? I’ve given you his phone and told you everything, so what is the point of it?’

‘You maintain you moved Jack Robinson’s body on your own?’ he asks, ignoring my question.

‘Yes.’

‘And where were Naomi Jefferson and Connor Harris when you did this?’

‘In bed asleep, like I told you. I waited until it was late to move him.’ This is the part I’m wary about; when I told Connor and Nayo that I’d keep them out of it, we never discussed the details of what I would say. If they’ve got any sense, they’ll just deny all knowledge of everything. I’ve kept as close to the truth as possible, but left out Connor and Nayo’s involvement.

‘So where did you hide Jack’s body for the whole of that day?’

‘In my bed with the duvet covering him.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Okay. Where did you get the sled from?’

‘The garage. I’ve told you this.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘So you got it yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you said Connor Harris and Naomi Jefferson were in the house?’

‘Yes, they were. I waited until they were asleep.’

‘Is the garage kept locked?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have a key?’

‘Yes,’ I lie.

‘Do you use the garage?’

‘What?’

‘Do you park your van in there?’

‘No.’

‘So what’s in there?’

‘Just junk.’ I shrug. Why are they obsessing about the garage?

‘What sort of junk?’

‘I don’t know,’ I shout. ‘Just junk! It’s full of rubbish.’

Mitchell stares at me, but I hold his gaze, refusing to look away.

‘Okay,’ he says, after a moment. ‘You say you got the sled out? What did you do then?’

‘I dragged it into the kitchen and up the stairs. I wrapped Jack’s body in a sheet, put it on the sled and dragged him downstairs and into the kitchen. Then I pulled him out of the back door and along the path. I put him in the van and drove to the lakes. When I got there, I found a boat, put him in it and rowed out to the middle of the lake, tied three paving slabs to his body with rope and heaved him over the side.’

‘And you did this all on your own?’ He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You carried heavy paving slabs and Jack’s body on your own?’

‘Yes.’

‘How much do you weigh, Sian?’

‘Um, around eight stone, I think.’

He smiles. ‘And you’re what, five-three, five-four? Do you seriously expect us to believe that you disposed of a man’s body who was well over six feet tall and weighed nearly twelve stone, on your own? That you carried heavy slabs?’

‘I’m stronger than I look.’

He sighs and sits back in the chair.

‘Why don’t you tell us the truth?’

‘I have.’

‘No, you haven’t.’

‘Yes, I have.’

McBride stands up and for a moment I’m confused until I realise that a uniformed officer is beckoning to her through the window in the door. She slips out of the room and returns minutes later with a folded sheet of paper in her hand. Handing it to Mitchell, she sits down again.

He unfolds the paper, studies the contents, and refolds it.

‘Is there anything you’ve told us you’d like to change, Sian? Any details that you think might be relevant?’

‘No.’

‘We know you didn’t move his body alone. We know you had help.’

Is he bluffing? Trying to make me tell him the truth? I stay silent and wait for him to speak.

‘We know that you, Connor Harris and Naomi Jefferson took Jack’s body to the lakes. You were all complicit in moving his body. We know you colluded in concealing a death. We know, Sian.’

I stare at him, trying to keep the panic from my face. Connor and Nayo must have confessed because the police wouldn’t be able to lie to me about that, would they? Everything is being recorded; Mitchell must be telling the truth.

Or is he trying to trick me? If he is, why now, why wait so long?

‘Do you admit that you, Connor Harris and Naomi Jefferson took Jack Robinson’s body to the lakes and disposed of it?’

‘No.’

‘Okay.’ He slams the file closed abruptly, making me jump. ‘We’re done. That completes our questioning.’

So this is it; at last they’re going to charge me. This is what I wanted, I wanted it to be over, but now the moment has arrived, I’m terrified.

‘What will I be charged with, murder or manslaughter?’ I ask, my voice wobbly.

‘Neither.’

‘What?’

‘Jack Robinson didn’t die of an overdose, Sian. You never caused his death.’

‘But I put three pills in his wine. I killed him. He fell asleep and never woke up.’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘The pills didn’t kill him. Jack was murdered. Strangled by someone much bigger and stronger than you.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘I don’t understand,’ I say, pushing down the hope that I’m not a murderer. The second I have this thought, I know that I’m the worst person in the world because I’m thinking of myself, not the innocent man who was murdered. Making it all about me.

‘How can this be possible?’ I ask. ‘How can the pills I gave him not have caused his death? I was unconscious until the next day and I only took one. Three would have killed him.’

‘Jack was awake when he was strangled,’ Mitchell says. ‘We know he struggled. There were defence wounds on his body.’

Oh my God. Strangled? Did this happen while I was lying in bed next to him? I clamp my hand over my mouth as the bacon roll I ate earlier threatens to reappear.

‘Where?’ I ask. ‘Where was he murdered and by who?’

‘The investigation is still ongoing.’ He stares at me. ‘But so far, the only location we’re looking at is Ravenshill Avenue.’

Oh God.

McBride pushes a plastic cup of water across the table to me, her usual blank stare replaced with something approaching sympathy. Picking up the cup with shaking hands, I take a painful mouthful through the golf ball-sized lump in my throat.

‘Who murdered him?’ I ask, my voice hoarse. ‘And why? Why would someone kill him?’

‘We’ve made an arrest and are expecting charges to be brought today,’ he says.

‘Who is it?’

‘I’m unable to give more information at this stage. For now, you can leave, but you won’t be able to return to Ravenshill Avenue, as it’s a crime scene.’

‘Aren’t you going to charge me?’ I can’t believe they’re letting me go.

‘A decision hasn’t yet been made as to whether charges will be made against you. For now, you’re free to go but we’ll need to speak to you again.’

They get up and Mitchell picks up his file and walks towards the door. McBride watches as I haul myself off the chair with limbs that feel leaden and weak.

‘That’s it?’ I ask Mitchell’s retreating back.

‘DC McBride will take you to the custody suite to collect your belongings,’ he replies as he opens the door. ‘You’ll need to give us the address of where you’re living.’

‘But what am I supposed to do?’ I ask. ‘Where do I go? What about my clothes? Everything I own is in that house.’

‘Do?’ Mitchell says, turning his head towards me, his expression grim. ‘I don’t know what you’re supposed to do, Sian. You’re not top of my priority list at the moment. A man is dead and you helped to cover up his death. You prevented a burial. Think yourself lucky that you’re not being charged with aiding and abetting a murder.’

He strides out of the room, anger apparent in every part of his body. Who can blame him? I’m ashamed of my selfishness.

‘Come with me,’ McBride says.

I follow her out of the room and along the corridor. We arrive at the desk and after McBride’s muted conversation with the custody sergeant; we wait while he fetches my bag of belongings. As I scribble my signature on the form to acknowledge receipt, it all feels surreal, unreal, as if I’m dreaming.

I didn’t kill Jack, someone else did. It doesn’t seem possible because I was so sure I’d killed him and would have to carry that guilt for the rest of my life.

I’m innocent of his death, although not of drugging him.

So who did murder Jack, and why?

Was it Connor?

No. It can’t be. I refuse to believe it of him. I can believe Nayo capable of murder, but not Connor.

Never Connor.

But Mitchell said that Jack was strangled and Nayo wouldn’t be physically capable of doing that any more than I would.

Or would she? Rage can give people superhuman strength.

Or could it have been someone else. There were a lot of people at that party, was one of them the murderer?

‘Do you have someone you can call?’ McBride asks.

‘Yes,’ I lie.

She strides off and I follow her until we reach the door into the waiting area for the front desk. She punches in a code on the keypad, opens the door, and waits for me to go through. I step into the waiting area and turn to thank her, but the door is already closing. What did I expect, a friendly chat? A cheery goodbye? I rummage around in the bag and pull out my coat and phone. I should call a cab, find a budget hotel to stay in tonight.

Or maybe I should just ring Dad.

I gave McBride his address, telling her I’d be staying there because it was the only thing I could think of, but do I want to burden him with all this? Making a decision seems like the most difficult thing in the world right now. My head is buzzing and I need air; I need to move my body and release some of the pent up tension of the last twenty-four hours. Perhaps I should go into the town centre, as it’s only a twenty minute walk from here. It would give me time to think, to process everything, to plan. I walk through the busy waiting area, taking care not to look at anyone or make eye contact. What am I afraid of? That they’ll think me a criminal? I’m not, I remind myself.

But I helped cover up a man’s death.

Because of my weakness, I allowed myself to be persuaded to take the easy way out instead of facing up to things. Haven’t I always taken the path of least resistance? Yes, I have, even with Niah. Telling myself that I was protecting her.

But I wasn’t.

I was enabling her.

Instead of circling around her and watching over her as she drank and took drugs to excess, I should have got her the help she needed. Excusing her behaviour by telling myself she was a risk taker, a fun party girl, was wrong. She needed help. I see that now.

Reaching the exit doors, I step out into the sunshine and inhale the fresh air. Dare I hope that I won’t be going to prison? Mitchell said I may be charged, not that I definitely would be. If I’m lucky, I won’t be charged and I’ll have the rest of my life to make up for the way I’ve behaved.

To atone.

I put on my coat and start walking across the car park, heading towards the town centre. I feel better for moving and the stress begins to ease from my body.

‘Sian!’

At the sound of my name being called, I turn to see Nayo hurrying towards me. Her expression is serious, her face ashen. She looks tired.

So it’s not her; she didn’t murder Jack, but she looks like she’d like to murder me.

Move, my brain tells me, move. But I can’t; my feet are rooted to the spot and as Nayo draws closer, I know from the anger on her face and her tightly clenched fists that she’s going to attack me. She hates me and I’m getting the blame for the loss of her home, the police search, and for the charges she could face. For everything. And she’s right; it’s all my fault because I took the easy way out. So close now that I could touch her, I brace myself for the first blow.

It never comes.

She wraps her arms around me, pulls me close, and hugs me. I stand rigidly, my arms hanging by my sides, wondering what the hell is going on. When she pulls away, her face is wet with tears.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘So, so sorry.’

‘Sorry for what?’

‘Con,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry about Con.’

✽✽✽

We’re in The Springers, a hotel bar across the road from the police station. There are only a handful of customers in here aside from me and Nayo. The sounds of muted conversation, the chink of glasses, are distant, as if they’re coming from far away.

Nayo steered me here after our meeting in the car park. Numb with shock, I allowed myself to be guided across the road and into the warmth of the bar. There’s a gin and tonic on the table in front of me, but I can’t make myself drink it even though Nayo keeps insisting that it will do me good. She’s ordered us sandwiches, too, although I have zero appetite.

‘I feel better for that.’ She finishes her drink, puts the glass down onto the table, and looks at me. ‘Drink yours.’

‘Tell me what’s going on,’ I say, making no attempt to pick up the glass. ‘Where is Connor and why are you sorry about him?

She bites her lip and I see her hand move towards her jeans pocket and then stop. She wants a cigarette, but of course, she can’t smoke in here.

‘Con’s in the police station being interviewed.’

My brain knew this but didn’t want to admit it; to acknowledge that I was so very wrong about him.

‘You told them we moved Jack’s body.’ I say.

‘Yes. I knew it would come out anyway, so what was the point of lying? I wanted it over with.’

‘Connor murdered Jack?’

‘Yes.’

The shock is still immense when she confirms it, even though I knew it must be him.

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘He’s admitted it. Told them everything. Not that he needed to because they have proof he did it.’

‘They told you?’ The police wouldn’t tell me anything, but that’s hardly surprising, is it? I lied to them whereas Nayo confessed.

‘Yes, they’ve been very civil to me considering what we did.’

‘Is Connor protecting someone?’ I ask, still praying that he’s the man I want him to be.

‘Like who?’ she demands. ‘Who would he be protecting? He did it and he’s admitted it, bragged about it according to the DI. They’re going to charge him today.’

‘But why?’ I insist. ‘Why kill Jack? He barely knew him.’ The Connor I know isn’t capable of murder. How can the man who looked after me with such tenderness be capable of strangling Jack? We had a connection; I would have known. It could have been self-defence. Maybe they got into a fight and Jack ended up dead.

So they were having a fight in your bed, were they?

It’s Niah’s voice in my head. She always could cut straight to the nub of the matter. I ignore her.

There must be an explanation.

Nayo opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again as one of the staff from behind the bar arrives with our sandwiches. Placing them on the table, rearranging the glasses to fit the plates in, the girl is taking forever to do a simple task.

‘More drinks?’ she asks with a smile, when she’s finished.

‘Another gin and tonic,’ Nayo says. She looks at me, but I ignore her. Can’t she see I haven’t touched the one I’ve got? The girl taps in Nayo’s order and I silently scream at her to just go. I have so many questions and she’s stopping me from asking them.

‘Tell me why?’ I demand, the second the girl’s back is turned. ‘Why did he kill him? And why are you sorry about Connor? What has it got to do with you?’

She frowns and studies me.

‘The police didn’t tell you?’

‘No!’ I almost scream in frustration. ‘They’ve told me nothing.’

‘Because of Heck.’

‘What’s Heck got to do with it? He’s not even here.’

She starts to cry, the tears streaming down her face as she talks.

‘Heck’s dead. Con murdered him, too.’

‘What? No.’ I shake my head, refusing to believe her ‘No. You’ve got that wrong. Heck went travelling, that’s why I moved in. He’s in Australia. He’s sent you messages saying what a great time he’s having. He’s not dead, the police are mistaken.’

‘No, they’re not. Heck never sent any messages. Con has Heck’s phone, and he sent the messages. The police found Heck’s body in the freezer in the garage.’

‘No.’ It’s not possible, it’s not. The room spins and I slump back in the chair, closing my eyes.

‘I was there, Sian, I was there.’ Nayo says, gently. ‘When the police came to search the house, Con insisted we stay and watch, refused to leave the house. He said that we had to be there so they couldn’t plant stuff. He knew they were going to find Heck’s body and he let me witness it; he made me watch as they opened that freezer and found my friend’s dead body.’

I open my eyes, sit up and pick up the gin and tonic and swallow the entire contents of the glass without stopping.

‘I wouldn’t believe it, either, if I hadn’t been there,’ Nayo says.

‘Why?’ I put the empty glass down on the table. ‘I don’t understand. Why?’

‘Because he likes to control people, and no one could control Heck, not even Con. Me and Heck were friends, and Con couldn’t stand that, because he has to be number one. He’s possessive and thinks he can charm anyone but Heck saw straight through him. A few days before he disappeared, Heck told me he didn’t trust Conn, that he’d been talking to people he used to live with and there was something off about him. He said he wanted him out. I tried to laugh it off, but Heck was serious. He got on with anyone, but he said that Con was a psycho and he had to go, and if I didn’t tell him, he would. I thought it would blow over, so I told him I’d deal with it because I couldn’t bear the thought of Con leaving. I was already in love with him by then and stupidly, I told Con what Heck had said because I thought he could turn on the charm and win Heck over, because he’s good at that. I wanted Con to stay. He laughed when I told him; said that Heck had got him all wrong and he’d talk to him and not to worry about it. A few days later, I came home from work and Heck wasn’t there. Con said he didn’t know where he was. That night, Heck messaged me saying he’d gone travelling because he needed to clear his head, that he was sorry for the way he’d been. It sounded like Heck and it made everything alright because now Con didn’t have to move out. But Heck was already dead and never coming back. If I hadn’t been so stupid and told Con what Heck said, he’d be alive now.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Isn’t it? Me and Heck had been friends for years and I betrayed him. We’d shared that house long before Con came along. He sucked me in, just like he did with you.’

‘I never knew you were together. You were always pushing him away when he got close to you. Connor told me you were just friends.’

‘It was his idea that we pretend not to be together. Said it was awkward sharing a house with someone else because it would make them feel like third wheel. And I quite liked it at first. Pretending we weren’t together made it more exciting, more of a thrill; it was our little secret. He told me lies about you because he wanted to cause trouble between us and he did the same with you, didn’t he? He needed to make sure that we didn’t become friends.’

‘Friends,’ I laugh harshly, and it echoes across the bar. ‘You hate me Nayo, and made no secret of it.’

‘No, I was only like that because of what Con told me. I thought we could be friends when you moved in. I wanted to be friends. With Heck gone, I haven’t got any proper friends. Con knows how hard it is for me to trust people because he knows all about my shit upbringing. I confided in him and he used it to manipulate me, to turn me against you.’

‘What did he say to you about me?’ Is she lying now? Thinking back over the last few months, I remember how vile she’s been to me.

‘He told me you were unstable, that you were obsessed with him and hated me, that you were plotting to blame everything on me if the police found Jack’s body; said you were trying to persuade him to side with you. He told me that if he didn’t do as you said, he wasn’t sure what you might do; that you were deranged. He said he was convinced you caused Jack’s death but didn’t have any proof and that I should be afraid because you were dangerous. And it shows how stupid I am that I believed him, but he was so convincing. I’m still getting my head around it all.’

It’s exactly the same as he told me about her.

‘You’re not stupid, Nayo, or if you are, I am, too. He told me the same about you and I believed him. I thought he cared about me.’

‘What a bastard. He played both of us. He’d tell me he loved me and then be all over you to make me jealous. He likes to control people as if they’re puppets. He gets off on it. I see that now and I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.’

Everything he ever said to me was a lie.

‘But I still don’t understand why he murdered Jack?’

‘He had to,’ Nayo says. ‘Heck met Jack last year in France when he was on holiday and told him to look him up when he came to the UK. That’s why Jack was at the party, he’d messaged Heck a few weeks before Christmas and been invited. When Jack showed up that night and started asking questions about where Heck was, Con killed him to shut him up.’

‘Jack mentioned Heck, I remember now,’ I say. A sudden thought strikes me. ‘But if Connor had Heck’s phone, why didn’t he message Jack and tell him not to come? He could have told Jack the same lie he told us; that Heck was travelling, and then Jack would never have come to the party.’

‘Yeah, he could have done that.’

‘So why didn’t he?’ I ask. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘Because it’s all a game to Con.’

‘A game?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. I think he killed Jack because he enjoyed it.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Three months later

Connor is on remand awaiting trial.

He’s pleading guilty.

Nayo and I aren’t being charged with preventing a burial because it’s not in the public interest. I’m not sure what that means, but both Nayo and I are grateful that we won’t be going to prison.

Although we will be witnesses at the trial and that’s won’t be pretty; we may have escaped being charged but it will most definitely be trial by media.

The police have interviewed me several times now and have told me more of what Connor did, despite my previous lying to them. Once Connor knew the police had rock-solid evidence against him, he confessed to both murders, although he never gave a reason for killing them. He also admitted to drugging my wine that night to ensure I was unconscious for over ten hours and unaware that he was strangling Jack beside me.

Did the drugs Connor gave me that night stop me from remembering what happened for so long? It’s possible, because although he’s not told them what he gave me, if the police are correct in their assumption that it was Rohypnol, that could well have caused my memory loss. There are still blanks in my memories of that night. The police have told me I’m fortunate to be alive; the only reason I’m not another of Connor’s victims is because he knew questions would be asked if I were to go missing. When I recall that morning, how Connor must have enjoyed seeing my hysterics and revelled in manipulating me and Nayo as if we were puppets.

He’s glorying in the attention, Nayo says; behaving as if he’s on the stage and the police were his captive audience. He’s hinted at murders in the past, teasing the police with his game of cat and mouse, but I had to be truthful and tell them I never have cause to suspect him, ever. The police believe that there are more victims because Connor moved around a lot and house-shared with many people. The police are delving into his past but he’s clever and has covered his tracks well, using aliases which is making the investigation slow and laborious. But the police are optimistic, confident that it’s only a matter of time before they find more victims.

The thought makes me shudder; the man I thought so kind and gentle is a psychopath. He told pointless lies, too; the actress mother and musician brother were also a lie and weren’t his family at all.

How he must have laughed at me.

Nayo and I speak often; at least twice a week. We’ve become the friends we should always have been, but for Connor. He played us off against each other; lied and schemed to make us distrust one another. It was Connor, not Nayo, who ransacked my room. He ensured we would never suspect him, never for one moment imagine that Heck’s body was in the chest freezer in the garage. He drove a wedge between us to deflect attention from himself. It was so easy for him to persuade me that Nayo wasn’t to be trusted. I thought she was unstable and lying about being a model, but the reason I found nothing about her on the internet was because she works under a different name; of course, Connor knew this, but kept it from me to make me distrust her and I fell for it.

So gullible.

Nayo’s living in a rented house with two other women now. She couldn’t face moving back to Ravenshill Avenue after the police had finished there and the press hounds had gone from their camp in the street. She’s vowed to never share a house with a man again and has turned over a new leaf, eschewing men and alcohol.

Reevaluating her life.

She lost the big retail campaign. She was already in a lot of the pictures but they airbrushed her out of them, unwilling for their brand to be associated with the murder house, as the newspapers are calling it. Nayo still models, but now mostly for catalogues. She’s accepted that she’ll never hit the big time, because she’ll be forever tainted by what Connor did.

What we did.

She doesn’t seem very bothered about the modelling career that once meant everything to her. I think she loved Connor and has lost her appetite for hitting the heights. We’re fortunate that the press hasn’t hounded us, but that’s only because, as witnesses, we have to remain unidentified to avoid prejudicing the trial. That will change once the trial begins and our names, and what we did, will be in the public domain.

I try not to think about that. The thought of what I did being splashed all over the media is terrifying. I’m going to look like the worst person ever and I deserve to, but I’ll have to face it because there’s nothing else I can do.

Face the music.

I wrote to Dan, confessing what I’d done; telling him how sorry I was.

He never replied.

Why would he? He’s never going to tell me what I did was okay, but I didn’t write because I wanted, or expected, his forgiveness. I wrote because I needed him to know how sorry I was. Although logically, I know Connor killed Jack, I’ll always feel guilt for giving Jack those drugs.

But I’m learning to live with it.

I’m living with Dad and my family now and have been for the last three months. They were shocked to the core about the murders and what I’ve done, but still welcomed me with open arms.

Because they’re family and they love me.

At last I’m getting to know my half-sisters properly, feeling like a sister again, something I never thought possible. And I have a job too, doing office work for Dad. It’s not exciting, but it gets me out of bed in the mornings; gives me purpose. And I’m having counselling to process what happened, with Niah and with Jack; learning that life isn’t always black and white. The guilt over their deaths will never leave me, but I’m coming to terms with it.

I still talk to Niah every day and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. But I’m fine with that because Niah’s the other half of me, and I’m the other half of her.

And that’s the way it’ll always be.

THE END

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Chapter One

There was a man who begged in town that summer; he had long, straggly hair tied back in a ponytail and clothes that were shiny with dirt. A skinny, mournful-looking brown dog would lie next to him on a filthy, once white duvet that we guessed they both used to sleep under at night.

Sometimes, he’d be sitting in the doorway of Frenchams, a large old-fashioned department store that sold everything you could ever want or need. It’s long gone now; replaced by new shops that sell cheap birthday cards and bargain toiletries. The security guards from the store never allowed him to stay in the shop doorway for very long before they moved him on.

He put people off.

Shoppers didn’t like walking past him because he made them feel uncomfortable with his hungry eyes and dirty clothes. Who wants to be made to feel guilty for carrying bulging carrier bags full of stuff that you’ve just bought but don’t really need? Nobody, that’s who.

Mostly, though, he’d settle himself in the underpass that dissected the town centre from the old bus station. As long as he didn’t pester anyone, and no one reported him, the police turned a blind eye and left him in peace. People still had to walk past, but they didn’t feel so bad because they didn’t have to get too close to him. They could walk on the other side of the underpass and ignore him if they wanted.

He’d take off his black woolly hat and lay it out on the ground in front of his duvet and wait for people to throw money in. We never put any money in because we didn’t have any, but other people did. It was mostly coppers in there but there was always the shine of a bit of silver, too; probably ten pence pieces. Maybe there were some pound coins, and he took them out. I don’t know, I never saw any in there, but who knows? Sometimes people would buy him a McDonald’s or a coffee and take it over and put it on the ground next to him, as if they were feeding a dog. I thought that was insulting, giving him food. Give him money so he can spend it himself, I used to think, or give nothing at all. Charity with strings attached. The ones giving him food liked other people to notice; look at me, their smug faces said, as they placed it next to him, I’m being charitable, aren’t I great, aren’t I kind, what a good person I am, I’ve bought this poor unfortunate a meal.

‘If you were really desperate,’ we’d say to each other as we passed him, ‘and you had absolutely nothing, would you sit on the street and beg or would you steal?’ We were eleven-years-old and liked to talk about things like that, and it wasn’t really a question that needed answering because we were already thieves. Although we never considered the makeup and sweets that we used to shoplift as proper stealing, because where we came from, everyone did it. As far as we were concerned, it wasn’t hurting anyone. The shops could afford it and we were poor, so thought we were entitled to it.

We looked at the man with something approaching pity and agreed that we’d never beg and we couldn’t understand why he did; why didn’t he just help himself from the shops like us? Stealing food was easy. We did it all the time. We couldn’t understand why he didn’t do it; he’d have to live on cold food, like sandwiches and pasties, but it had to be better than begging.

We’d never beg; never; because neither of us had it in us to ask for anything. Experience had taught us that the answer would always be no, or worse. Much worse.

I remember that day and the things we talked about, even now, and it’s stayed with me. It was the same old stuff that we always chatted about but, on that day, we kept up a constant stream of pointless conversation. Because if we kept talking, it might stop us from thinking.

About what we were going to do.

Mostly, I try never to think of the past, and mostly, I succeed. But that was just before, and now, I almost laugh at my naivety because we had no idea what was in store for us, despite what we were planning to do. We had no clue that our lives were about to change forever, and that it would be the last time that we would ever make that trip into town together.

And that after that day, the next time we’d meet would be over twenty years later.

Chapter Two

I can’t tear myself away from the window, even though I tell myself that someone moving into the house across the street is not that interesting. But still I sit and watch, unable to move, my attention fixated on someone else’s possessions.

A large, cream sofa emerges from the van and the removal men jolt it onto their shoulders as if it weighs nothing and then march up the driveway to the open front door. They struggle when they reach the entrance, turning the sofa this way and that, before manoeuvring it through the doorway. They disappear from view and I imagine them positioning it in the lounge.

The house is larger than ours; it has an additional bedroom and an extra bathroom and was also for sale when we bought this house six months ago. We viewed it even though we knew we wouldn’t be buying it; Brett’s salary wouldn’t quite stretch to buying it and having the lifestyle that we’re used to. Yet. Brett’s confident that within the next five years he’ll be moving up at work and then we’ll be leaving this street behind for a much larger house with its own grounds.

Brett has a life plan, and so far, it’s all worked out as he’s predicted. We sold our London flat for a very healthy profit, even more than we expected. It’s almost impossible not to make a profit in London. It was always the plan to move out of London because Brett doesn’t want to bring up a family in the city. He wanted a good-sized house with lots of room and a garden for the children to play in. But not too far away; Brett can be at his desk in central London in less than an hour and the train station is within walking distance of our house, meaning that he doesn’t have to drive. And it wasn’t only Brett who wanted to move out of London. I did too, although my reasons for wanting to do so differed from his.

The house across the street may be larger than ours, but our house is hardly small. We have five bedrooms and a huge ground floor, not to mention a massive garden at the back. The house was perfect when we moved in, as the previous owners had just spent eighteen months and over two-hundred-thousand pounds remodelling it. We didn’t have to pick up so much as a paintbrush. Not that Brett would. He admits that he’s not hands on and would rather get someone in and pay them to do it properly. But there was no need, because everything had already been done. The three bathrooms and the downstairs toilet were fitted with new top of the range fittings, as was the kitchen. We have huge, bespoke, folding doors that cover one entire wall of the kitchen and we can open them up when the weather is nice and look out over the garden.

I was suspicious that there must be something wrong with the house when we viewed it, because why would they have so much done to it and then move out? It seemed ridiculous to me. Subsidence, I whispered to Brett, as we stood in the kitchen admiring the expensive marble work tops. The estate agent couldn’t possibly have heard me, but somehow, he knew what I was thinking. Marriage break-up, he announced, was the reason for the sale. The couple had barely completed the work on the house before they divorced and moved out. He was a solicitor, and she was in finance, according to the garrulous estate agent, and weren’t we lucky that we didn’t have to do a thing to the place? I felt uncomfortable when he told us about their divorce and wondered if there might be some kind of jinx on the house. Brett said not to be ridiculous; they will accept asking price, for God’s sake, he said, so why wouldn’t we buy it? I can still remember the estate agent’s grin as he informed us that the owners were in a hurry and even though they could get more if they waited, full asking price would secure the sale for us. It made me wonder who the estate agent was working for and when I said this to Brett when we got home, he laughed, and said, well, himself, of course.

So, here we are. It is a beautiful house and there’s plenty of room for the family of four that we’ll eventually become, but I can’t say that I don’t miss the central location of our flat in London. I could walk along the street and around the corner and there were shops, restaurants and coffee shops galore whereas here, aside from a local newsagent, a mini-mart and a cafe, there’s very little without getting in the car and driving somewhere. There is a pleasant park at the end of the street, so maybe I should make the effort and start running or at least walking there every day.

I am a bit bored.

The house is perfect and I’ve spent the last six months making it even more perfect by filling it with new furnishings, but it’s done now; there’s only so much stuff I can buy. I need to find something else to do to occupy my days, something constructive. It’s been nice getting the house how I want it, but I’ve spun it out for as long as I can. Brett says it’s not worth getting a job because soon, I’ll have a baby, and then I’ll be moaning that I have got no time at all to myself. It’s in his life-plan, new house, new baby. A boy first and then a girl. I asked Brett what if we have a girl first? He shook his head and laughed. Not going to happen, he said, my life-plan is never wrong.

I sigh and resume my house-watching. The removal men are back at the lorry and they manhandle an identical sofa to the first from the platform of the van onto the ground and the process of taking it up the driveway and into the house is repeated. What I’d really like to see is who my new neighbours are; they must have arrived before the van because someone opened the door, didn’t they? There’s a top of the range black BMW parked in the driveway, which I assume belongs to the new owners so they must be in there. I’m wondering if they’ll be around my age or older when a woman emerges from the house and walks along in front of the bay window.

She has a mobile phone clamped to her ear and appears to be deep in conversation as she tracks back and forth across the window. I’d hazard a guess that she’s around my age. Tall and wafer-thin, her fair hair is scooped up into a ponytail and she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants with a t-shirt. She should look scruffy, but somehow, she looks stylish in the way ultra-thin people do; nothing looks bad on them. I move back from the window and stand behind the curtain just in case she should look over. A tall, dark-haired man comes out of the house and walks along to the window. He moves with an effortless grace, despite his size, and he stands and watches the woman. She stops in front of him and looks up at him before ending the call and putting her phone in her pocket. She barely reaches his shoulders. He looks tall like Brett, who’s six-foot-two, although, of course, the woman may not be tall at all.

They’re a good-looking couple.

Brett and I are a good-looking couple, so maybe we’ll become friends with them. Like attracts like, as I’ve discovered. As this thought crosses my mind, my mobile rings and I jump guiltily, as if I’m doing something wrong. Maybe I am, maybe watching your new neighbours is spying; maybe what I should have done is take a tray of tea and cakes over. Is that the sort of thing people do? I have no idea.

I pick up my phone from the coffee table and tap the button to answer. It’s Brett, of course, on his way home. He rings me every day on his way to the station.

‘Hi,’ I say breezily.

‘Hi darling, how’s it going?’

‘All good. How was your day?’

I hear him sigh. ‘Not bad. Barron’s been nagging like an old woman, but aside from that, all good. The sooner he retires, the better, the old dinosaur.’

‘New neighbours have moved in across the street.’

‘Really? Have you met them yet?’

‘No, not yet. I glimpsed them and they look young, like us, but no, I haven’t spoken to them yet.’

‘Yeah?’ Brett says, with obvious disinterest. He’s not really listening. I know what he’s going to ask next before he even utters the words.

‘Did you go for your appointment?’

‘Yep.’

‘And what did he say?’ Brett’s words are getting harder to hear now; he’s arrived at the station and I hear the blare of the train announcements and the babble of voices. I hear him breathing as he marches along. I imagine him striding purposefully towards the train, the wave of people parting like the red sea to make way for him, although in reality, he’ll be fighting his way through.

‘He said not to worry.’

‘Did he?’ He sounds surprised.

‘He said six months is nothing. No specialist will even look at me until we’ve been trying for at least a year.’

There’s silence and I know Brett is massively disappointed; he was pinning his hopes on this appointment. He wanted the GP to start tests to find out why I’m not pregnant after six months of trying.

‘We could go private. We should go private,’ he says.

‘We could.’ I try to keep my voice level and take the emotion out of it. ‘But it would be pointless because when I suggested this to Doctor Sanders, he said we’d be wasting our time and money. Six months is nothing and we just have to be patient and it’ll happen.’

‘Okay,’ Brett says, in a not okay voice. ‘Look, I’m on the platform, so I’d better go. We’ll talk when I get home.’ He ends the call before I can answer and I throw my mobile onto the sofa. I hope we don’t have to talk about it when he gets home. I’m sick of talking about it.

Brett expected me to fall pregnant immediately once we started trying; as each month has gone by, his disappointment has increased and he’s become more insistent that I visit our GP to start the process of tests. Six months isn’t that long to try for a baby. I know this because I’ve Googled it and discovered that 30% of couples trying to conceive do so in the first month, 75% of couples conceive within six months and 90% of couples conceive within a year. 95% of couples conceive within two years. Not that I’ll be telling Brett this, I just hope he hasn’t Googled it, too.

I think he might have.

I’m sure he will have.

I wonder if he’ll notice, as I did, that the percentages don’t add up.

I’ll tell Brett what Doctor Sanders said, that Google doesn’t know the answer to everything. That they’re just generalised statistics and don’t consider a woman’s personal medical history, how long she’s been on the pill or how regular her cycle is.

Although I’d be lying, just as I was lying when I said that Doctor Sanders said a specialist wouldn’t see me until we’d been trying for a year.

I made that up.

I made the whole appointment up, actually.

The familiar feelings of guilt and disgust for deceiving Brett surge up and after a moment, I push them firmly down. I have a choice; lie to him or have a baby.

There’s always a choice in life, even if neither option is appealing.

To stop my mind from returning to my deceit, I wonder why Brett is so convinced that if I’m not getting pregnant, the fault must lie with me. What about him? How does he know he doesn’t have a problem that he’s not aware of? Perhaps, next time we’re talking about it, I’ll ask him. Maybe I’ll suggest that he get himself tested and see how he likes it.

I raise my arms and stretch them up to the ceiling. They feel stiff from standing in one position at the window, spying on my new neighbours. I’ll go into the kitchen and start cooking something delicious and then maybe, just maybe, Brett will forget to nag about us having a baby the very minute he walks through the door.

I go out into the hallway, which is my favourite part of the house, and stop for a moment and look around. It’s light and spacious and the evening sun streaming through the coloured glass in the front door throws crazy patterns onto the walls. The floor tiles are a black and white chequerboard pattern and the ornate, old-fashioned staircase is painted a glossy white. Along one wall is a coat closet, which is basically a long, built-in cupboard to hide all the coats and umbrellas and other paraphernalia away. The previous owners have thought of everything and yet again, I think how sad it is that they got the perfect house, but their marriage failed.

I head along the hallway towards the kitchen and then stop, remembering that I have something else to do before I prepare dinner. I turn and go back to the bottom of the stairs and run up them and along the landing to our bedroom. I go straight through the bedroom and into the dressing room between the bedroom and the ensuite. The dressing room is for both of us, but I have the lion’s share of the wardrobes, as I have far more clothes than Brett. I walk to the farthest wardrobe and pull it open; it’s full of my jackets and coats hanging neatly side by side. I slip my hand into the pocket of a fake fur coat that sits between a raincoat and a ski jacket, and pull out a small oblong packet. I open the packet and pull out the blister pack of pills and turn them over to check that I have the right day. Satisfied that I haven’t missed one, I pop the tiny pill for Tuesday into my mouth. I return the packet to the coat pocket, pushing it right down inside to make sure there’s no possibility of it falling out. Not that Brett would ever think to look in my wardrobe; he’s not like that.

He trusts me.

I feel the familiar pang of guilt. How much longer can I get away with taking the contraceptive pill when we’re supposed to be trying for a baby?

I’ll have to make a decision.

Soon.

Books By This Author

The New Neighbours

Everyone has secrets, but some are more deadly than others…

Nat did something bad. Very bad. But she’s not that person anymore. She has a new name and a new life, and no one, not even her husband Brett, knows what she did.
She’s desperate to keep it that way.
When they escape the city to move to their dream home in the suburbs, it seems that life can’t get any better. They quickly become friends with new neighbours Fen and Darius, and Nat begins to believe that she can finally put the past behind her.
Until the letter arrives.
She knows who sent it before she opens it; she’s been found and her past is about to catch up with her. And she can’t see a way out. When a sudden death triggers events that quickly spiral out of control, Nat discovers that she’s not the only one hiding something.
Others have secrets, too.
Deadly, dangerous, secrets.
Secrets that will blow Nat and Brett’s lives apart.

The Lodger

They were childhood friends, so sharing a house will be fun, won’t it?
When Gina advertises for a lodger, she never expects her childhood best friend to turn up at her door. What could be better, she reasons, than having a lodger who she already knows rather than a total stranger.
As they rekindle their friendship, Gina recalls the long ago summer when they spent every day together. Gina believed then that they’d be best friends forever.
But Lissa thought differently.
With the benefit of hindsight, Gina now realises that Lissa unfriended her in the most brutal way possible. With a growing awareness that Lissa might not be the perfect person she always believed her to be, she’s beginning to wonder if she can even trust her.
Because what Lissa wants, Lissa gets.
Has she made a mistake by asking Lissa to move in? She thinks that maybe she has, but Lissa makes no secret of the fact that she has no intention of going anywhere....

One Night

One night is all it takes to ruin your life…
Josie did a bad thing, that much she can remember.
She comforts herself with the knowledge that Rafe, her ex, deserved it, and that there’s no real harm done, except to her pride. She drank too much. Far too much.
Josie always forgets what she's done when she’s drunk, there are huge black holes where her memories should be and that's why she’s not going to drink anymore. She might not remember everything but she knows she’s different when she drinks; she becomes someone that she doesn't like.
So she’s moving on, she’s never drinking again, she’s going to be a better person. She has, she decides, finally learned her lesson. But then she finds out that something terrible happened that night and she starts to wonder, could she have been involved?
Because she's remembering things that she wishes she could forget.
And she starts to believe that she might have done another bad thing.
A really bad thing.
Like murder.

Not Your Average Girl

How far would you go to change your life?
Ellie is twenty-one. She’s already decided that she’s one of life’s losers.
She has no friends, no family and not much of a life, and although she’s not happy, she’s not sad either; she just is. Life, she believes, is mapped out from birth and there’s nothing she can do to change it.
Until, one day, she discovers that if she’s prepared to do what others won’t, she can have everything she ever wanted.
Her life begins to change and she starts to make friends and she begins to believe that maybe she can have what everyone else has; maybe she can start to really live. Ellie also learns that sometimes, you just have to take what you want because no one’s ever going to give it to you.
So this is the story of how Ellie got a life; and even though you might not like her very much – you might just like her story.

The Double

Someone, somewhere, looks exactly like you....
What are the chances of meeting your double? Impossible, Jess used to say, until the day she met hers on a train. But although they looked like identical twins, their lives couldn’t be more different. Jess has no money, no job and few prospects; her double has a fabulous life and everything that anyone could possibly wish for.
Jess is envious of her double but reasons that it’s just the way life is; that’s the way of the world and there’s nothing she can do to change it.
Her boyfriend, Mac, has other ideas.
Secretive and elusive, she’s never sure where he is or what he’s doing, but he always has money and he always has an angle.
And now, he tells Jess, he has a plan.
Events move swiftly and Jess thinks that maybe she’s in over her head, maybe she doesn’t want to do what Mac says.
Maybe, it’s all too risky.
But she can’t stop because she’ll lose Mac.
And she doesn’t think that she can live without him.

Lie To Me

Sometimes the truth hurts…
Nineteen-year-old Layla doesn’t go to parties, she doesn’t have a boyfriend, she doesn’t have any friends.
She doesn’t have a life.
She tells herself that she’s happy living in a sleepy village with her mother, seeing no one and going nowhere, but she’s lying to herself.
She’s afraid of life and always has been.
But her life is about to change.
When Will and Lucinda move into the cottage across the lane, Layla is stunned by her growing obsession with Will and the risks she will take for him. She’s beginning to think that she’s not the person she thought she was, that there’s a frightening darkness inside her. Still struggling to cope with her overpowering emotions, she’s shocked to discover that the person she trusts most in the world has been lying to her. She’s sure that nothing can ever shock her again.
She’s wrong.
Her life is blown apart when an explosive secret that’s been kept from her for all of her life is revealed. Events quickly begin to spiral out of control and Layla is forced to ask herself.
Who is she?
But more importantly, what is she capable of?

All The Lost Years

George was the perfect husband and Ria was a very lucky woman.
Ria knows this is true because haven’t all of their friends always told her so? But when George dies suddenly, Ria discovers that he wasn’t so perfect after all.
He was a liar.
The lie that ruined her life has been exposed and having learned the truth, there is no going back to the way she used to be. Alone for the first time in her life, she’s discovering that people, and things, are not always what they seem. Ria knows that while she can never forget, she must learn to forgive; not only George, but herself.
Because she has done something far more terrible than tell a lie.

Without Reason

New home, new life, new enemies...
Frida was perfectly happy with her old life but fate, and her now ex-husband, Tom, had other ideas.
Moving into her new home, she feels that her luck has finally changed and she's determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. She has a new set of rules for her new life; no more people pleasing and definitely no more putting everyone else before herself.
This year, she believes, is going to be her year.
But it’s not long before her new life starts to go horribly wrong and no matter what she does it just keeps on getting worse. Strange things are happening and someone is out to destroy her. Confiding in her twin brother, she’s shocked to discover that he doesn’t believe her and she is forced to question her own sanity. Faced with confronting the demons from her past, Frida has to ask herself a difficult question.
Is she the one to blame for everything that’s happening to her?

The Perfect Weekend

It's an anniversary they’ll never forget…

When Joe surprises Beth with a romantic weekend away for their first wedding anniversary, he’s going all out to keep the destination a secret. They set off in their car, ignoring the bad weather, because snow isn't going to stop them from enjoying two days of luxury pampering.

But then they break down, in the middle of nowhere.

And someone is watching, and waiting.

They never reach the hotel and their perfect weekend turns into a terrifying nightmare from which they fear they’ll never escape. Testing their marriage vows to the limit, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, takes on a whole new meaning.

Will their lives ever be the same again?

The Sister in Law

Would you invite a stranger in?

When Megan loses her beloved husband in a tragic car accident, she feels like it’s her own life that has ended. She feels too young to be a widow. Walking around the house that had been their home – so quiet without him – nothing feels the same.

But at his funeral, she sees a person she doesn’t know. The heavily-pregnant young woman introduces herself as Emily, her husband’s estranged sister. She explains how she’s been searching for her brother for years, but – as she bursts into noisy sobs – she knows she’s too late now.

Megan finds herself taking pity on the sister-in-law she’d never met. And quickly Emily becomes more and more a part of her life, even moving into the spare room of her house.

It feels less empty than before, which at first is comforting to Megan. But – even when it’s a relative of the man you loved more than anyone – can you trust a stranger?

Alone in The Dark

It’s a quiet night, like any other, when Abi goes for her usual night-time run. Running is her escape from all the stresses of life, the thing she does to feel stronger than the man who once hurt her so badly.

But then – as she turns a quiet corner – she sees a car hitting somebody. Rushing forward as the driver screeches off into the night, she realises the man in the road has already died.

She goes to call for help, and when she returns to the scene of the hit-and-run, she finds a policeman already waiting. But there’s no body. No one else is there.

Abi knows what she saw. But everyone else seems to thinks she’s lost her mind. Everyone except one person. Who wants her to stay silent… forever.

Don't Let Her In

The letters drop onto every doormat…
Lena just moved to Mandalay Close. She needed a new start, since her boyfriend cheated her out of the happy-ever-after she’d believed they were always going to share.

But on the day Lena moves in, letters begin to arrive for all her new neighbours. Letters that promise to expose everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets. Every house has received one – except for Lena’s.

Someone clearly wants to implicate her, to ruin her new life and turn everyone against her. She’s made an enemy, but who, and why? Everyone seems so nice, so trustworthy. So normal.

As more bad things happen and her life rapidly spins out of control, Lena finds herself unable to believe this is happening to her. After all, she’s not a bad person. Though she does have secrets of her own, secrets that she’s not willing to share with anyone…

Keep Your Friends Close

It’s a lovely sunny day when Mia sees her ex-boyfriend on the street. But she knows that’s crazy. It can’t possibly be him. She knows that… because she killed him.

Only her best friend Carrie knew what Mia did that night. Where everything went wrong and Mia’s boyfriend attacked her, so she attacked him right back.

Carrie made the problem go away though. Like she always would for Mia. They’re best friends who’ve always stood up for each other. Now they just need to get on with their lives. Mia’s even met someone new – a man she thinks she could be with forever.

But now it looks like her ex is back. Alive and well. So either the two best friends are losing their minds, or somebody is lying…