‘No time for tea,’ Christian said, picking up two more bags. ‘I need to get rid of these old clothes.’ She followed him out to the back garden which consisted of a scrub lawn and some sorrowful-looking shrubs. A barrel was blazing in the middle of the patio. So that was where the smoke had come from. It hissed and crackled beneath the evening sky as he threw in a handful of baggy clothes. Mesmerised, he watched the flames take hold of the stained material and turn it into ash. ‘They had to get a special ambulance. One that could take her weight. They stretchered her out through the back double doors.’ His words were flat as he looked straight ahead. It was like he was talking to himself.
Sarah stood, her hands in her trouser pockets, bristling from the cold. She’d have to invest in a decent scarf and gloves if she was intending on spending so much time outdoors. She raised her hands to the heat as Elsie’s old clothes burned. It felt as if he was giving his mum a funeral. Except she wasn’t dead.
Why was she even still standing here? If Christian wanted to clean up the house, he was well within his rights. But then she remembered how unfit Elsie had been, and how answering the front door had been an effort in itself.
‘What was she doing upstairs?’
The answer came instantly in the same flat tone. ‘Probably looking for chocolate. She’s meant to be cutting down.’ He stood, motionless, watching the smoke rise.
‘Is there anyone I can call?’ Sarah drove a hand through her hair. Already, she could smell the stink of smoke on her clothes.
‘For what?’ Christian looked at her blankly before going back inside.
She watched his gaze flit around the room, landing on a picture of Elsie’s parents. In one swift movement, he pulled it off the wall and threw it in the bin.
‘Won’t she want to keep that?’ Sarah said.
‘No. She won’t.’ Christian looked at her, an edge of bitterness in his tone. ‘Because Mom doesn’t have any family – only me.’ His cheeks inflamed, he finally looked Sarah in the eye. ‘She doesn’t have any friends either, so don’t pretend that you care.’ His gaze fell on the cheap ornaments lining the shelves next to her bed. ‘I’d like you to go now. I’ve got a lot to do.’ He turned his back on her, his head bowed as he retreated from the conversation.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll … I’ll leave you to it then.’ A wave of guilt washed over her. He was right. Itwasa bit late to show concern, but she did genuinely care. ‘I’ll visit her as soon as I can.’
In the absence of a reply, she let herself out the front door. Black bags were piled up next to the green recycling bin, their contents spilling onto the path. Bending, she picked up some worn-looking romance books. Elsie had always been a bookworm. A sad smile graced her face as she flicked through the stained pages … tea, ketchup, cake crumbs between the folds. Carefully, she placed them back into the bag, picking up an A5 journal from the ground. ‘The Country Girl Romance Series by Caroline Brookes,’ she said softly, tracing a finger over the words. She opened the pages, all handwritten. It seemed Caroline Brookes was a pen name. Had Elsie written this? Giving one quick glance towards the door, she slipped the journal beneath her coat.
She had only driven half a mile up the road before she pulled the car over. Switching off the engine, she heaved a heavy sigh. Elsie had seemed so hopeful the last time they spoke, and now she could be about to die.
Her glance fell on the journal resting on the passenger seat. Why had she taken it? More to the point, why was Christian dumping Elsie’s things? Was it really in an effort to clean the place up? Clearing her throat, she began to flick through the pages.
‘Elsie, you dark horse,’ she said with a sniffle. It seemed that Elsie, for all her prudish ways, was a romance writer. And quite a raunchy one at that. She’d been writing a chapter a day. Each one was interspersed with notes, doodles and updates. Elsie was living vicariously through her books. Sarah flicked through the journal, stopping on a heavily dog-eared page. The words that were scrawled across it were tear-stained.
‘Silence, close your eyes, kneel. Silence, close your eyes, kneel. Silence, close your eyes, kneel.’ Written again and again, until the words blurred into one. She stared in disbelief at the scribbles. This was a freehand outpouring of emotion – but what did it mean?
35
My mind raced as I sat in my car. I checked my watch. Almost 10 p.m. The time teenagers were in bed but not yet asleep. I was parked beneath a broken street lamp, grateful for the darkness. Seeing so much of Sarah was messing with my head. It took all of my strength not to jump her as she marched to her car, and drag her to Blackhall there and then. But I had a formula. One where the end result was me not getting caught. I couldn’t see myself in prison. Where was the justice in that? Not when she was the one so blatantly in the wrong. Things were moving too quickly, though. I needed to accelerate my plans.
Why was Sarah pretending to show concern for Elsie now? It wasn’t as if she’d had any time for her in school. It was probably Sarah’s fault that Elsie had been snooping around. She’d been putting ideas in her head. Something had made Elsie go upstairs. But there was little that could implicate me – apart from the cloak, and given Halloween had just passed, that could be explained away. Just the same, there were too many threads hanging loose for my liking. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath. It was easy to get overwhelmed. I reminded myself that it came down to just one thing: finish the Midnight Game. Player one was dead. Player two was in hospital. Player three would soon be in the morgue. Next time I would be more careful. The dead couldn’t tell tales, after all.
The mobile on my passenger seat beeped with a text and I glanced down. It was player three, Jahmelia, replying to the text I’d sent from a burner phone, pretending to be Libby. I had asked for a meetup – in secret, of course, while explaining my old phone had been lost.
Cool! I didn’t know you were out of hospital. Mum and Dad won’t tell me anything.
Am OK…I texted.But the police have been here. Need 2CU. I’m scared x
Jahmelia’s response was instant.
Glad UR OK but I’m freaking out 2. Sorry. I can’t keep the Midnight Game a secret anymore.
A gasp of surprise left my parted lips. Well now, that was quicker than expected. I knew she was nervous, but I didn’t think she’d cave just yet.
I checked my surroundings before crafting a reply.
OK, but we should get our stories straight. We cd B in big trouble for holding back so long. Meet in the playground. Don’t get caught. Xox
I stared at the text, wondering if I could convince its recipient that it was Libby talking.
Now? x
The one-word response gave me the reassurance I needed. How dumb is this kid?
