I dug my fingernails into my palm, trying to push the thought to the back of my mind. But just as I was about to lock it away in a drawer in my head, another thought slipped out.
Or not a thought, but a memory.
Victor, on the bridge.Doesn’t matter. My June girl is waiting for me.
It’s a coincidence, a coincidence, a coincidence. The voice inside my head nearly tripped over itself trying to think the words so quickly that there was no room for doubt to creep in. Still, I reached automatically for my phone and typed the name ‘June Owens’ into the search engine.
The third hit was an article on the Clare College Choir. According to the caption underneath the photograph, June was in the front row: a pretty girl witih honey-blonde hair and friendly eyes. A pretty girl who looked familiar. Because I’d seen her before.
That night at Clare Bridge, when she’d gone swimming in her underwear in the Cam. I remembered it vividly, as if my brain had deliberately registered each and every nuance, even then. It wasn’t really about June, it was the person at her side. The person yousensedwas trouble even if he didn’t look it:Victor.
MyJune girl is waiting for me, those were his words. And now this same girl had jumped off the roof of a building and… died?
It’s a coincidence, a coincidence, a…the voice in my mind was fading with every word, because the feeling inside me was just so loud. So indescribably loud that I felt like pressing my hands over my ears. Or my heart, which was pumping so hard I was dizzy.
I barely noticed when the girl peeled away from the tree and went over to her friend, who was now standing forlornly by the cordon.
With an effort, I pulled myself together. Before I turned away I took a photo of the scene–blue, glaring light and red tape flapping in the wind–and sent it to Davie, accompanied by another curt message.
Mabel
We seriously need to talk.
Chapter10
Cliff
Nowhere were the differences between myself and Ashton more obvious than at the pub. Every time I stepped into the airless fug, the dim light and babble of voices, it was brought home to me anew. To me, they meant constant sensory overload and ever-ratcheting tension. To Ashton, they were paradise. People at pubs were generally in high spirits, and more open than usual. The alcohol did the rest.
I found Ashton at his favourite spot: at the bar, so that people were constantly having to edge past him. He had a drink in front of him, probably an Old Fashioned, his usual. I still found Ashton’s sense of humour baffling occasionally, even after all this time.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, surprised, as I jostled my way towards him. ‘When was the last time I saw you at a pub? Must have been in another life.’
I didn’t take the bait, but sat down on the stool beside him. ‘Norah told me you’d be here. I wanted to talk to you.’ I waited until the man next to us had been handed two pints of beer by the barman. ‘I just heard,’ I went on. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? That girl… June Owens, she’s dead.’
Ashton sighed and sipped his drink. Instantly his lips twisted a little. Definitely an Old Fashioned. ‘Yes.’
The word dropped into the pit in my stomach. When I’d first overheard someone talking about what happened, I’d thought nothing of it. Until they mentioned her name. The name I’d last heard from Victor, moments after we stopped him following her to her room. And not long afterwards, she jumped off a roof. This was no tragic accident, as most people assumed. This was the repetition of a story.Ourstory.
‘You know what this means. Victor—’ I broke off as the barman appeared in front of me with an enquiring look. Reluctantly, I ordered a whisky and waited until he set the glass in front of me and walked away.
‘I’ve already had a word with him. He says he had nothing to do with it,’ Ashton said, before I could go on. ‘Not directly, anyway. He overestimated himself–well, her. It was an accident.’
‘And you believe him?
‘Does it matter? She’s dead, either way.’
‘It matters because he isn’t going to stop. You know him. He only followed the rule in the first place because he thought there’d be consequences. If he gets away with it… the whole thing’s going to happen all over again.’
Ashton was watching a woman standing at the bar. ‘Would that really be so terrible?’ He slid his hand casually across the wooden countertop so that it brushed her forearm. She didn’t notice, but that only made me all the more aware of it.
I shifted away instinctively, closer to the cool brick wall. ‘Are you serious?’
‘I’m just saying.’ He broke contact and turned back to me. ‘We only stopped to give the rumours some time to die down. But it’s been long enough. We can allow ourselves to bend the rules for a while. Have a bit of fun. It’ll do us good.’
‘You know better than anybody how bad it can get when you bend the rules a bit too far. Do I need to say her name?’
A hard line etched itself around his mouth. ‘Drop it. Don’t you dare… just don’t start.’ He finished his drink in two gulps and signalled the barman to bring him another.
