13 Minutes (14 page)

And now Becca’s in love with him. He’s not quite such a geeky loser as he was in school, but he’s not exactly a catch now, either. I think he’d still dump her to fuck me if I’d let him. I can’t imagine them fucking. She probably even puts his thing in her mouth.

Sex is ugly in my head. It shouldn’t be, I know. But it is. Maybe I’ll never do it. I think sometimes power comes from
not
doing it. I can feel it from the boys who look at me. They want it so badly. But really, how good can it be? No different with me than with any other girl. But they want me because they can’t have me. Look at Jenny. She has no power. She gives it away. She says she loves it but I’m not so sure she always does. She’s damaged by it, exactly like her mum. I can feel that, too. I think I feel it more since my accident, which is weird. She believes it’s all she has and she just wants to be loved. How terrible is that? She does
that
for ‘love’. I don’t think I want to be loved that much.

And yet they’re all so proud of it. Becca and Jenny and even Hayley, who I don’t think has fucked anyone yet, but she’s definitely given a hand-job. Proud of the sticky, grunting mess. Like it’s a secret. Maybe that’s what sex gives people. Secrets.

But I already have my secrets. I don’t need sex for that.

Part Two

Twenty-One

Extract from
The Times
, Monday 18th January

A body found last night in the River Ribble, between Maypoole and Brackston in Lancashire, has been identified as that of the missing 19-year-old Nicola Munroe, who disappeared from her home in Maypoole more than two months ago.

Extract from the
Maypoole Gazette
,
Monday 18th January

The parents of Nicola Munroe have formally identified their daughter’s body after it was found in the Ribble on Sunday night. Sources state that identification was made by Miss Munroe’s clothing and confirmed by dental records after two months in the water and severe decomposition left the young woman unrecognisable. Nicola’s father, Gerard Munroe, released a statement asking that his family be allowed to grieve in private. The Munroes may intend to make a complaint about the police’s failure to dredge the river during the initial search for their daughter. Nicola Munroe was taking a gap year before starting a Music Technology degree at Leeds University. She had recently returned from a trip to Thailand teaching English as a foreign language and was working part-time in the Nag and Pineapple in Chester Street.

Extract from the
Brackston Herald
,
Tuesday 19th January

The cause of Nicola Munroe’s death, whose body was found in the river at Brackston on Sunday night, remains a mystery as police refuse to release any details. It is still unclear if Miss Munroe’s body was moved by currents to the location where it was found, or whether it had lain there for the past two months. The proximity of her body to the location where local teenager Natasha Howland was saved has raised questions from the local community about a link between these two cases. Miss Howland, who was rescued by local musician Jamie McMahon while walking his dog, was clinically dead for thirteen minutes before paramedics revived her, and has returned to studying for her A Levels at Brackston Community College. She has no memory of the day leading up to the incident. Her family have declined to comment.

Twenty-Two

It was last lesson on Wednesday afternoon and it was fair to say that no one, not even Jenny, who oddly loved English and was good at it, was paying attention much in Mr Garrick’s English class. As the afternoon slunk into darkness on the other side of the window, Emily was texting her boyfriend under the table and Becca was doodling designs for the stage. Mr Garrick had been late, slamming the door shut and muttering about exam papers and how it only used to be once a year and other stuff of absolutely no interest to them, before smiling his somewhat awkward smile and reaching for
The Whitsun Weddings
.

Becca had hoped he was off sick and they’d be sent to the sixth form study area with some ‘work’. But no. Mr Garrick was the Exams Officer as well as their English teacher and he spent a lot of time bundling up coursework and sorting out resits and papers.

As the hour finally drew to a close, the in-seat shuffling was becoming more pronounced. It was a big class for sixth form, about twenty of them, and at least that meant you could hide a little. Plus Mr Garrick wasn’t stupid. He knew last lesson of the day wasn’t the time to get the best work out of anyone. If there’d been a video he could show them, he would have. Becca wondered if she might persuade him to let them watch
The Crucible
. Maybe he would. He could be pretty cool like that. He was cool like Mr Jones and maybe a couple of years older, but there was something about him that was kind. Sweet. Like the classic bumbling professor only slightly better-looking. Yeah, maybe she’d ask, she thought idly. Even those not in the play wouldn’t mind. It would beat these boring poems, anyway.

She thought about Tasha. Becca had kept their secret about Sunday and fully expected to be ignored back at school but that hadn’t been the case. They weren’t really hanging out but there were a few ‘hellos’ and waves in the corridors. Hannah noticed. She was a little bit rabbit-in-the-headlights about it, especially yesterday when Becca had lunch with Tasha to talk about the play. She’d looked hurt and Becca had pretended not to notice as she breezed off.

They’d had the cast meeting on Monday – the list went up on the board at lunchtime to many squeals of delight – and as she’d predicted, the Barbies had done well. Tasha was the gorgeous, vital but vengeful Abigail, Jenny the somewhat skittish Mary Warren and Hayley had claimed the cool, calm Elizabeth Proctor. Becca didn’t feel bitter about any of it, partly because being
on
the stage had never appealed to her and partly because it was a strong cast. She’d watched Hayley and Jenny preen around Tasha when she got Abigail, as if she was by far the superior actress, but Becca knew that although she was good and
would
be good in it, Jenny was better, and she was pretty sure the Barbies knew that, too. But Jenny had to resit her Maths GCSE to get it up to a C and Mr Jones didn’t want to overload her. It was a good call, Becca thought. Plus, Mary Warren was a tricky part, harder than Abigail in a lot of ways.

‘This lesson is never going to end,’ Emily muttered, still holding her phone behind her open poetry book, fingers flying across the screen. Becca muttered agreement but she was distracted, studying Hayley and Jenny in front. The two Barbies were passing a scribbled-on piece of paper between them, back and forth in some conversation. They were right under Mr Garrick’s nose, too. Maybe he just chose to ignore them. Maybe he couldn’t be bothered with this lesson, either.

Becca doodled some more. It was the first full read-through after school and she wanted to check the lighting rigs and stuff with Casey while she could. Casey had royally fucked up her exams and it was unlikely – despite Theatre Tech being one of her subjects – she could be full on with the play. Performances, yes, but rehearsals and prep, no. So it looked like Becca would only have Hannah to help, and Hannah was great when under direction but not exactly confident enough to be a self-starter. Becca hadn’t seen Tasha all day, and if she didn’t show up, Becca would probably have to read in for her as well and miss her technical-stuff time.

‘Thank fuck,’ Emily groaned as the bell finally rang. She and Becca were on their feet before it had even finished, Emily heading to the door with her bag already over her shoulder. ‘See you tomorrow, bitch.’

‘Back at ya, ho,’ Becca answered. She glanced at Hayley and Jenny, who were still packing up.
Fuck it
, she thought. Why should she be nervous of talking to them?

‘Hey,’ she said, loitering close to their table. ‘Where’s Tasha today?’

Hayley looked at her with disdain. ‘Why do you care?’

‘Hayley, can I have a word?’ Mr Garrick sounded nervous, cutting into the strained atmosphere between the three girls. Becca didn’t blame him.

‘Sure.’ Hayley looked at Jenny. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Garrick,’ Jenny said with a smile, and Becca muttered the same. Jenny pushed past her but Becca stayed close, waiting until they were out in the corridor and the two Barbies separated before she spoke again.

‘I just want to know whether it’s worth having the read-through today or not. If she’s not in school I’ll tell Mr Jones.’

‘
I’ll
tell Mr Jones,’ Jenny said. ‘What are you, like a nanny?’ She stared at Becca, her chest heaving for a few seconds before more words blurted out of her. ‘I don’t know what you think’s going on with you and Tasha but she dumped you before. Remember? She’ll do it again.’

‘What’s this?’ Becca snapped back. ‘S
he’s my friend so she can’t be yours?
’ The last sentence came out in a sing-song whine and Jenny’s pretty, seductive face looked like it had been slapped. ‘Anyway, she was my friend first,’ Becca finished, knowing how childish she sounded. But it was true. She probably knew Tasha better than either of them except maybe Hayley. Who the fuck was Jenny, anyway? Some dumb council estate slut who just rocked up at school and happened to have the right look? She could fuck off.

‘Yes, she was,’ Jenny said, stepping in closer so her rosebud lips, slightly glossed, were only inches from Becca’s face. ‘So what? She telling you all her secrets now? Like what, Becca? What’s Tasha told you?’

There was an edge of desperation in her voice and her eyes were wide and watery, gleaming with tears but still angry. Her pupils were full, Becca noticed as they faced each other in the corridor. Was Jenny high? In school? On what? Her eyes dropped immediately to Jenny’s nose. She had too much fire to be stoned.

‘Are you on something?’ she asked. ‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Oh, fuck off, Becca,’ Jenny said, suddenly slumping a little. ‘Just
fuck off
.’

‘Rebecca?’

She turned, and for a moment couldn’t place the woman calling her name. Familiar but not someone she knew. Someone she’d met, though. Someone—

‘Detective Inspector Bennett. We met at the hospital,’ the woman said. She glanced from girl to girl as Hayley joined them from Mr Garrick’s classroom. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Becca said. ‘We’re fine.’ Jenny nodded in reluctant agreement and that was enough for Bennett. She didn’t care about their squabbles.

‘I’d like to talk to you,’ the policewoman continued. For a moment, Becca presumed she meant the Barbies, but it was her name the woman had called and it was her she was looking at. Becca suddenly felt cold.

‘What about?’ What could a policewoman need to talk to her for? Jenny and Hayley moved away but not so far that they couldn’t listen in. Her panic must have showed because the DI smiled.

‘Don’t worry. It’s just some routine questions. Nothing to look so nervous about.’

‘Has Natasha been with you?’ Hayley asked. ‘Is this about her accident?’

So they hadn’t known where Tasha was today, either, Becca realised. Pair of sneaky bitches. What was it with the constant putting her down? Why couldn’t they have just said?

‘Natasha’s gone to see her psychologist. She’ll be home soon,’ Bennett said, ignoring Hayley’s question. ‘It’s routine,’ she continued to Becca. ‘Let’s go to the Head Teacher’s office. I’ll get someone to drop you home when we’re done.’

‘But we have play rehearsals,’ Becca said, feebly. There was something in the stern kindness of the woman’s face that terrified her. She didn’t want to go with her.

‘Rehearsals have been cancelled.’

Twenty-Three

EXCERPT OF
CONSULTATION BETWEEN DR ANNABEL HARVEY AND PATIENT NATASHA HOWLAND, WEDNESDAY 20/01, 16.30

NATASHA:
There are thirteen leaves on your potted plant. Did you know that?

(Pause)

Well, there are. Look. Count them.

DR HARVEY:
Is that important?

NATASHA:
Thirteens. I keep seeing them. It’s like the number stands out to me. Thirteen peas left on my dad’s plate. Thirteen raindrops on the window. Thirteen people on the top deck of the bus. That number is everywhere.

DR HARVEY:
Why is that?

NATASHA:
(Laughing)

Seriously? Like you need to ask?

DR HARVEY:
You know that’s approximate, don’t you? They can’t be sure exactly how long you were in that condition for. It might have been fourteen minutes, it could have been twelve.

NATASHA:
But it was thirteen. I just wish it would leave me alone.

DR HARVEY:
Are you still having bad dreams?

NATASHA:
(Long pause)

I wonder if she drowned there.

DR HARVEY:
Who?

NATASHA:
That girl from Maypoole. Nicola whatever.

DR HARVEY:
Nicola Munroe.

NATASHA:
Yeah, her. They think her death and mine might be linked.

DR HARVEY:
What do you think?

NATASHA:
I don’t remember anything.

(Shuffles in chair)

DR HARVEY:
Is something bothering you?