46
Maeve
Monday
The knock on Maeve’s bedroom door sounds quiet and unsure, which means her mum has heard her being sick and is probably worrying she has an eating disorder. If only it was an eating disorder and not the end of her life as she knows it. Maeve sits on her bed, staring at her phone, at the notifications lighting up as more and more people see the video. What is she going to do?
Another knock. “Maeve? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine!”Go away. Please.
The door is opening.
“Mum, don’t come in without asking.” She flops back on the bed, shoving the phone under her pillow.
“I thought I heard someone being sick?” Leesa steps forward. “You’re very pale. Are you OK?”
“It wasn’t me. Maybe Aoife?”
A voice comes from behind Leesa. “Nope, wasn’t me.”
Jesus Christ, why is Aoife always hovering? Listening. Creeping.
“Are you sure? Sit up so I can see you properly.” Leesa is moving towardher, hand outstretched to feel her forehead. Maeve pushes up on one elbow.
“You’re quite clammy.” Leesa keeps her hand on her forehead. It’s cool against Maeve’s skin and suddenly this is all she wants. Her mum’s hand on her head, her mum’s arms around her. But then she imagines telling her. Imagines showing her the video of the diary. Those words. Her face burns.
“I’m fine, I told you. God, Mum, you never listen.”
Leesa steps back, hurt washing over her face, then a forced smile as she tries to hide it. And now Maeve feels bad and, also, more annoyed than ever.
A creak from outside. Aoife is still hovering. God, Aoife is going to see the video. Everyone is going to see the video.
“Can you both leave me in peace, please?” Maeve snaps.
Leesa holds up her hands. “I’m going. But if you need anything or you feel sick, tell me. OK?”
“OK.”
Leesa leaves and closes the bedroom door.
Maeve lies back then turns on her side and curls into a ball, shoulders shaking, tears streaming. What is she going to do?
47
Susan
Tuesday
Leesa calls in on Tuesday morning, just as I finish tracking Jon’s route to work on my phone. Leesa’s the loud one of the three of us. Loud in a good way. Effusive, chatty, mile-a-minute, warm. When we were small, it drove me mad—constant questions and chatter. Now that we’re adults and our entire social existence centers around conversation, I like her high energy. Life is never boring when you meet Leesa for tea or wine or a walk in the park. But she’s quiet as we sit in my kitchen this morning and I’m so lost in my own worries it takes me a while to notice.
“What’s up with you?” I ask her.
A worried sigh. “Maeve. There’s something wrong, and I don’t know what. I’m pretty sure she was sick last night, but she wouldn’t admit it. And her eyes were red and I heard her crying when I was going to bed, but when I stuck my head in, she said she was fine.”
“Friend stuff?”
Leesa holds up her hands. “I don’t know. I’m scared though. After what happened over the last two years with Nika and Ariana and those other girls. What if it’s happening again?”
