Page 32 of Cross Her Heart

I didn’t want my hair cut but I gritted my teeth and let them do it and I actually think the bob suits me. They razor-cut it and it’s quite cool. Ange would fucking love it. I’m also a redhead now – not ginger but a deep auburn – and they gave me brown contacts. It’s weird how such small changes make me look like a new person. I’ve practised doing my make-up differently too. Bigger lines around my eyes. Confident colours. With slightly different clothes on I’ll look like a totally new person. Mum looked like she was going to cry when she saw me. She didn’t though. She’s not a crier – that’s what they say about her. She didn’t crythen. Not in court or anything.

I told her I liked my new look and then she was okay about it. She says sorry all the time for everything.I’m so sorry about this, Ava. As if it’s a dress ruined in the wash, not our whole lives down the drain.

They’ve changed her too. She’s blonde now. Not properly blonde or anything hot, but a kind of sandy run-of-the-mill colour. She looks younger, although that could be because she’s lost some weight. Alison and the police are less worried about howshelooks. There are hardly any pictures of her for people to recognise her from. The papers aren’t allowed to print them, and now all her privacy and hating herself in photos andwhat would I do with Facebook anyway?comments are making sense.

We didn’t really talk at all on this night to ourselves I’d arranged. Alison left a supermarket version of a Chinese takeaway in the fridge and I heated it up and we ate it on our laps in front of the telly. I said I liked her hair and she started to apologise all over again. I said it didn’t matter and we’d get through it. She looked so relieved. How can she think it’s that easy? Like we can get back to how we were before? That life was a pack of lies anyway.

Yesterday, when I had started my campaign ofniceness, she came into my room, picking at the edges of her fingers as she sat on my bed. She told me to write down any questions I had for her. It was Alison’s idea. Not questions aboutit– she can’t bring herself to say what she did – but about her life and our lives and anything else. She said she’ll answer them all as best she can. I told her I would, but I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to know any of itnow. Okay, maybe I do want to know –tell me about my dad –but what good would it do? It doesn’t matter. Not any more.

We watched more TV and drank cups of tea as if this was some normal evening at home, and I quietly clock-watched, desperate for the time to pass, wondering if he was feeling the same.

Eventually Mum took her sleeping pill – I wonder how many pills they’ve got her on right now – and I made a big deal of yawning and saying I was tired, and I kissed her on the head before going to my room. It was the only freaky moment in all this. Something about the smell of her scalp made my stomach cramp, and for a second I wanted to climb on to her lap like I did when I was small. When she was my world. It was a funny, horrible feeling and I slammed the lid on it hard. I don’t know if she’s capable of loving me – if she could love, she’d never have done what she did – and I can’t understand why she even had me. These are the sorts of questions Alison wants me to write down. But fuck them. I’m not going to be here. She’s not part of my new life. He’s my world and he’ll be waiting. He has to be.

I lie in my bed in the dark, my clothes on under the duvet that’s pulled up under my chin. What will he think of my new look? I’ll have to change it again, anyway. The hair colour at least, because no doubt the police will look for me. But I’m sixteen. I’m not a child. They’ll think I’ve run away, and they’ll be right. I’m going to leave a note. It says, ‘Don’t come and look for me.’ It’s short but does the job and I didn’t want to mention him. It’s not his fault this is such a fucked-up situation.

Has Alison noticed the money missing from her wallet? I took thirty when she was in talking to Mum before she left, and I took a twenty from the psychiatrist yesterday. She hasn’t been back today so fuck knows whether she suspected.

Anyway, fifty should be enough if I can find a phone box for a cab or a bus still running. I’ve got to get to the country lane where we’re going to meet. Where no one will see us. It’s further away now, but still doable. We said four a.m. so I’ve got plenty of time. If he’s not there I’ll go to Ange’s or Jodie’s. But hewillbe there. He loves me. When we’re safely away, I’ll message my friends and tell them not to worry. I’ll have to deal with the other thing too, the thin blue line Jodie was going to help me sort out, but he’ll deal with that. I know he will. He’s been so understanding about Courtney, even though he got jealous. Will having an abortion make me feel more grown up? Will I seem more grown up tohim?Maybe one day we’ll have children of our own but right now, I just want this thingoutof me. Maybe it will go away all by itself. When I’m not feeling sick, I can almost pretend it’s not there.

I wait until the flat is completely silent. My heart thumps. My mouth is dry.He will be there, he will be there,I tell myself.He won’t let me down.I push my covers back and quietly stand. I don’t put my shoes on yet. They can wait until I’m out of the flat and in the corridor.

I gather my things and check my pockets for my money before creeping out the front door.

This is it,I think. And then I’m gone.

33

MARILYN

‘Look. There. You see?’ Richard holds the magazine out in front of me. ‘She’sdone it.’ Mrs Goldman, the old bird who lives –lived –next door to Lisa stares out at me from the cover. She looks frail. Did someone bully her into this? It’s a lurid magazine, the gossipy kind found in dentists’ and doctors’ waiting rooms, and aimed at the more ‘settled’ woman thanCloserorHeat. I glance at the headline above the photo of Mrs Goldman on her front step:Charlotte Nevill’s neighbour tells all – the secret life of the child killer.I take the magazine and drop it on the side, flicking to the relevant page. A quote stands out.I always knew she was odd. A loner.

‘It’s bullshit,’ I say, turning away to stir my coffee. ‘And she should be ashamed of herself. Lisa used to buy her bloody shopping for her,andadd extra treats. She checked on Mrs Goldman more than her own family ever did.’

‘That’s not the point.’ I hear it then. The anvil hardness. He’s running out of patience with me and playing nice hasn’t worked. ‘If she can peddle this shit to a national magazine, we can probably up theMail’s offer. It’syourstory they all want. You knew her best.’

‘Given how things stand, I’d say I didn’t really know her at all.’ I don’t have time for this. I have to go to work so I slide past –gently does it– to get my coat and feel the tension radiating from him as he tries to keep his rage under control.

‘I don’t understand why you won’t do it.’ He follows me into the corridor. ‘It’s money for nothing. It could sort all our financial problems out.’

Not my problems,I want to say.Yours.‘It’s not for nothing. It’s dirty. Sleazy. You’ve always said that about anyone who sells a story yourself.’

‘It’s like you’re protecting her,’ he growls. ‘Always defending her.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You did it just then. About the old woman.’

I pause at the front door. ‘I wouldn’t want Ava to read it. Me talking about them for money. She has no one to trust at the moment.’

‘You’re never going to see her again so why does it matter! Why can’t you get that into your thick head?’

I let the front door slam behind me. There are still a couple of reporters – for want of a better word – dirt-diggers, maybe – loitering at the end of the drive, but I don’t look at them, let alone answer as they call out to me. I get in my car, put my sunglasses on, and drive – too fast for our 20 mph speed limit – until I’m free of them.

If only it was so easy to escape all of it. I think about the £40,000 theDaily Mailhave offered. Richard said they got in touch with him, but he hasn’t knocked so much sense out of me this year I’d buy that. He calledthem, of course he did, and told them all about Lisa and me and our friendship and how much insight I’d have into her day-to-day life. His face was a picture when I said no. He couldn’t believe it. Especially when he realised how powerless he was in this. No one wantshisstory – it’s not worth a fraction of mine. How did I ever think this man was love? Even in the early days, when I’d help him with his work, study the shapes and spaces of houses with him, give him ideas for clients, I should have known it would come to this eventually.Why are you wearing red lipstick? Who are you wearing it for?The little accusations should have been my first clue, so many years ago.

My phone starts ringing. Him. I let it ring out and when I stop at the traffic lights I send a short text:I’ll think about it.I really should think about it. I don’t owe Lisa anything, and Ava probably isn’t looking at the papers anyway. Given everything else, I doubt it would matter to her. But it would matter to me. I’m angry at Mrs Goldman, because she should know better.She’s lonely.I hear the words in Lisa’s voice.She’s probably just enjoying the attention. At least she can afford a cake now and then after this.I shut the voice down. Lisa doesn’t get to be Mother Teresa in my head now.She’sthe fucking problem. Even now she’s gone I’m still left carrying the can for her.

The atmosphere in the office is different and I feel it before I reach my desk. They’re all slightly hyper, like young pups let off a leash. A pack for sure, and one I’m not quite part of any more. Stacey glances my way, as does Toby, and the noise settles as my arrival registers.

---