Mike shrugs. “Turns out he couldn’t live up to her idea of the model boyfriend.”
“Same with El,” I say. “He was supposed to be her ideal gay BFF, but that didn’t work out, and then he dumps her before she can dump him. She seemed okay with him afterwards, but they were never close again.”
“Because she’d already got her revenge,” says Mike. “What a psycho.” He hands the paper back to me. “So who do you think sent this? One of our mystery guys? The porno perv? Whoever scared El at the dance?” He clicks his fingers. “Maybe none of the above! Maybe it was the stalker in the garden.”
I frown. “Who?”
“Remember yesterday I thought I saw someone watching us in the crematorium garden?” Mike says. “Maybe that person overheard us talking about our suspicions. He wants to help but doesn’t want to do it face to face for some reason.”
“Okay…” I hesitate. “But how did he get hold of El’s journal?”
“Loads of crap flew out of the car when you crashed, right? What if El’s journal did too? Maybe it was thrown really far from the accident site. Our guy is out wandering by the lake, finds it, decides to keep it, then he overhears what we said at the funeral.”
“I don’t know.” I press my hands between my knees. “Doesn’t that all seem a bit coincidental? And why would he keep the journal in the first place? And why does he evenwantto help us?”
“Search me,” Mike says. “But whoever he is, he’s given you a start, hasn’t he?”
I nod. “So you think Gemma could be the person who rescued me?”
“Or the person who scared El. I can’t see her as the porno perv. But now we know that at least one person had a grudge against Ellis. The question is, what do we do about it?”
“We ask her,” I say. “Confront her.”
“All right, but…”
“But what?”
Mike looks again at the drawing. “You’re sure you really want to do this, Dylan? I know you want justice for El, but I’m worried. I’m not sure when you get your answers it’s going to make you feel any better.” He catches my glance and looks away. “Okay, then I think there’s something you should see.”
He gets up and starts towards the house. Becks grumbles onto his paws and follows.
We enter through the patio door at the back and take off our shoes: Mumzilla Nest Rule #14. In the kitchen, Mike hunts through a pile of post on the breakfast table while I battle memories that try to swamp me: you at this very table, El, leaping to your feet as Carol and Big Mike bustle into the room with armfuls of shopping. We’d been secretly dating for three and a bit months, and I was so desperate for my surrogate family to fall for you. I needn’t have worried, of course.
Mike shoots me a troubled look and hands over this stiff piece of card. It’s designed to look like an order of service for a funeral.
TUES 28th APRIL @ GEMMA’S
THE WAKE
Put on your pearls and come party, in memory of our boy Ellis
“I’m guessing you didn’t get one? Dude, I’m so sorry, it’s really sick.”
I shake my head. “It’s exactly what we need. We’re going.”
Mike potters around the kitchen, frying up one of my favourite junk-food breakfasts: a double-bacon cheeseburger. I know, El, my arteries, but I need this, and anyway my heart’s already ruined. So my tally of high school parties is fairly pitiful, not only because of my crowds thing but, let’s face it, before you arrived in Ferrivale, I wasn’t exactly popular. Those shindigs (shindigs?I can hear you laughing) I did get invited to usually came my way because Mike had had a word with the host. But I’m genuinely puzzled by this Wake thing. Though Gemma and I have never been friends, I would’ve thought she’d want me there – the grieving boyfriend – as her centrepiece.
My burger lands, greasy and gorgeous. I take a bite.
“Mate, is it okay if I hang around here until the party?” I ask between mouthfuls.
Mike drops into the seat beside me. “What’s happened?”
“McKee stuff.”
He nods, because he’s known my family almost as long as I have.
And so we have an old-fashioned Mike and Dylan day together. We battle the undead and get under Mumzilla’s feet and eat family-size bags of crisps and start lots of conversations with “Remember when…?”, and I suddenly realize how much I’ve missed this. Just the two of us, wasting hours.
