13 Minutes (3 page)

‘We need to figure out what Natasha was doing last night and during the early hours of this morning.’ The policewoman sat down and, like sheep, the three girls followed suit. ‘There’s no blame here, no one’s going to get in any trouble, but if she was attacked, then it’s vital we have as much information as possible.’

‘Is she hurt, then?’ Becca asked. ‘I mean, other than . . .’ She trailed off.
Other than having been dead for thirteen minutes.

‘A few cuts and bruises, but they could have come from being in the river. As I said, we really don’t know if this was an accident or intentional, or an incident involving someone else.’

Intentional. The word, one that didn’t quite fit, clunked around in Becca’s brain trying to make sense of itself. Jenny, surprisingly, got there first, barking out a harsh laugh at odds with the solemnity of the room.

‘You think Tash might have tried to kill herself?’

‘We’re exploring all avenues.’

‘No,’ Jenny said, shaking her head, adamant. Her hair wasn’t quite as long or perfectly straight as Hayley’s, and she tucked a stray curl behind one delicate pierced ear. The stud was cheap glass, not diamond. The Cinderella Barbie from the wrong side of town.

‘No, Natasha wouldn’t do that. And not
that
way. Not by throwing herself into a freezing river.’

‘No,’ Hayley added, as if the two nos weren’t emphatic enough.

DI Bennett turned to Becca. She shrugged, hesitant. There was more going on for her here than just the police investigation. Becca had to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to piss the Barbies off or look as if she was sucking up to them. Especially not to Hayley. Hayley had been her friend – she knew how to get under Becca’s skin in a way Jenny couldn’t. Jenny was nothing. But whatever Becca said now might come back on her in bitchy subtweets and status updates and knowing looks. Words ran like strung barbed wire around the teenage community of this small town, ready to scratch and tear and snag you.

‘I don’t think so.’ It was the truth. If Tasha was going to kill herself she would choose something far more romantic. And Natasha was not the killing-herself type. ‘People bloat when they drown, don’t they?’ she said. ‘If she hadn’t been found quickly, she’d have looked like shit. She wouldn’t have liked that.’

Hayley’s face hardened.
Bitch
.
Fucking bitch.
Becca could see her thoughts loud and clear in the green flint of her glare. She stared back. So what? It was exactly what Jenny had meant. It was what Hayley had been thinking. Becca wanted to laugh at them. Even with their leader unconscious they couldn’t bear a word spoken against her. They were pathetic.

‘So, when did you last see Natasha?’ Inspector Bennett didn’t look at Becca for that one.

‘At school,’ Hayley said and Jenny nodded. ‘We talked about meeting up tonight, maybe, but she had a family thing today – her gran’s birthday or something – so it depended when that finished.’

‘And you didn’t text her or talk to her after that?’ The inspector half-smiled. ‘I thought you were all glued to your phones these days.’

It was disarming, but probing.

Jenny shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Did you two go out last night?’

More head-shakes. ‘The weather was rubbish. And we both had homework.’ Hayley was taking the lead – Natasha’s deputy stepping up to the plate. ‘Got to keep the parents happy sometimes.’ She smiled, all cat angles in her face. ‘And we both – and Natasha – had stuff to work on for the auditions for the school play. We’re doing
The Crucible
. It should be amazing.’

‘So you didn’t hear from Natasha at all?’

‘No.’

Becca, almost forgotten, noted the repeated question. ‘Don’t you have her phone?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you tell who she spoke to?’

The policewoman looked her way, evaluating her. ‘It’s water-damaged – it was in her pocket. We’re waiting for her phone records to come in.’ She paused. ‘I take it you didn’t see her at all? Did you stay at home as well?’

Becca shook her head. The policewoman’s tone was light but Becca could feel herself flushing at the question, as if maybe she was guilty, maybe she had pushed Natasha into the freezing water and left her there to die.

‘I went to my boyfriend’s house and then back home around midnight. He dropped me off and I went to bed. Ask him if you want – he’s here somewhere. We had to bring Mr McMahon some clothes in.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Jamie McMahon?’

Becca nodded. ‘Aiden works with him. Plays some guitar and bass when Jamie’s doing soundtracks.’

‘Who?’ Hayley asked. Becca felt a shiver of elation. She had something the Barbies didn’t. An
involvement
with this they couldn’t claim.

‘The man who pulled Natasha out of the river,’ Inspector Bennett said, without looking at Hayley. ‘How does Mr McMahon know a schoolboy?’

‘Aiden’s not at school,’ Becca said. ‘He’s nineteen. Mr McMahon was his private music teacher when he was a kid.’

‘It’s a small town, I guess,’ the woman said, flashing that half-smile of hers again.

‘Too small,’ Becca said, trying to return one of her own. She felt uncomfortable again, which was just stupid. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

‘So Natasha was happy as far as you know?’

They all nodded.

‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

‘Nothing serious,’ Hayley said. ‘Boys like Natasha but there’s no one she’s really interested in. And no one was creeping her out or anything. She’d have said.’

‘Does she sneak out of the house often?’ She watched them all then, as if the other questions had merely been fluff to gently rest this one on. A pregnant pause followed as Hayley and Jenny considered how honest to be.

‘Sometimes. Not often,’ Hayley answered. ‘Her parents are really lax, to be honest. They let her do pretty much what she wants, but if she did sneak out late, she’d go through her bedroom window and climb down the tree at the back. It still has a rope ladder on it from when she was a kid.’

‘Her parents might want to consider taking that down,’ Bennett said dryly.

She asked a few more questions, anodyne stuff about school and other friends who might be useful, and then, apparently satisfied, left.

Even though there was one less person in the room, it suddenly felt a lot smaller to Becca, just her and Hayley and Jenny, awkward in each other’s company. Well,
she
felt awkward. It probably wasn’t the same for the other two, their bodies turned towards each other slightly, squeezing Becca out, as if she was a stranger.

‘Maybe we should bring some of her stuff,’ Jenny said quietly, looking to Hayley for approval, her face tight, teeth nibbling at one perfectly painted fingernail. ‘You know, music and shit from her bedroom. It might help wake her up.’

Hayley nodded. ‘I’ll ask Gary for the house keys. It’ll be good to get out of here for an hour or so – we must be starting to stink of disinfectant.’

‘You should probably check with that detective first,’ Becca said. ‘She might not want anyone touching Tasha’s things.’

Hayley glanced at Becca, irritated that she was still there. ‘Your hair looks like it could use some medicated shampoo, Bex. You should ask one of the nurses for a bottle.’

‘Maybe you should get something for your crabs,’ Becca snapped back. The three girls stared at each other, contempt and a thousand social differences hanging in the air, no need for feigned politeness now the policewoman had gone.

‘God, you’re gross,’ Jenny said.

‘Just like her boyfriend.’ Hayley didn’t even look at Becca as she headed to the door. ‘Barrel-scraping.’

‘Just so long as they don’t breed.’

Becca looked down at her phone and pretended to scroll through it until they were gone, her stomach twisting slightly. She hadn’t cared what they thought of her for a long time – why should she start now? Pretentious, prissy bitches, that’s all they were. So was Natasha. Why had she even come here? And where was Aiden? As if reading her mind, her phone pinged.
Taking Jamie home. Will come back for you. Hour maybe? Sorry x

Fucking great. At least the Barbies were gone.

She flicked a quick
okay
back at Aiden, trying not to sound irritated even though she was, and then went in search of a drinks machine. Her mouth was still dry from last night and the waiting room was too warm.

*

She was scouring her coat pockets for change when Gary Howland found her.

‘Rebecca. Let me. I was going to get a coffee anyway.’

‘Thanks.’ He looked tired and his sweater was crumpled, no doubt pulled on fast when his world collapsed early that morning. She felt sorry for him. The Howlands, from Natasha upwards, lived charmed lives from what Becca could see. Until this, anyway. It must have come as a shock.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘Diet Coke, please.’

He pressed the buttons and the bottle hit the tray loudly.

‘Is Mrs Howland okay?’ she asked. A stupid question but she didn’t know what else to say. In all her years as Tasha’s best friend, this was maybe the first time she’d ever been alone with Gary Howland. It was Alison who’d fed them and picked them up from school and brought them juice and biscuits. Gary was just a
dad
.

‘She’ll be fine when Natasha wakes up,’ he said. The machine whirred as it filled a cup with watery coffee and powdered milk. The possibility that Natasha might not wake up was one her father was clearly not considering. ‘But I don’t think her crying by the bedside is helping Natasha.’ He looked at Becca and for the first time she realised he was actually a pretty handsome man. Not grungy enough for her and obviously way too old, but good-looking anyway. Not in his uniform suit and tie he looked younger, somehow.

‘Would you like me to go in and talk to her for a bit?’ The words were out before she could stop herself, sucked from her brain in response to a sudden wave of pity for her ex-best friend’s father. ‘I’ve got some time.’

‘Would you?’ The gratitude that radiated from him landed heavily on her shoulders and she cursed herself. She should have just texted her mum for a lift. She should have gone downstairs and waited for Aiden in the freezing cold. What the hell was she going to talk to Natasha
about
?

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I love Tasha, too.’ Her face prickled with the lie.

Five

It’s so cold, it’s so cold I can’t breathe and I panic hard in the water that’s like shards of glass, and for the first time I think I might be in serious trouble. That I might end here. My white joggers and sweatshirt are so heavy in the freezing river. My lungs are raw and ice-scalded as I try to take shallow breaths, desperately keeping my chin above the water, but nothing is working, not my lungs, my limbs or my brain. The cold is overwhelming. It burns through my veins like fire. If I can just reach the branches I might be able to pull myself to the bank, if I can just stop myself from going under – and what time is it, what time is it – and oh fuck I can’t feel my hands. The thin twigs are scalpels on my dying blue skin this is a terrible mistake and what the fuck time is it and
. . .

. . . I suck in a deep breath, tearing pain through my lungs again, but the air is warm and sweet and there’s no freezing water choking me.

‘Natasha?’

‘Oh my god, Natasha!’

‘Tasha?’

‘Get a doctor!’

My mother’s face looms over me and my instinct is to swat her away. She’s too close. I’m too confused. I’m still trying to breathe. My heart is racing. I don’t know quite where I am. I blink and blink and blink. It’s hot and bright and dry. Hayley and Jenny are in the room. I can hear their shrieks as a nurse pulls them back so she can get close to me.

I’m alive
, I think, and then comes the flood of relief.
I’m alive. This is the hospital.

I move my mouth but no words come out. My throat is dry and hoarse. There is a drip in my arm. How long have I been here? What day is it? My head throbs.

Too much activity around me. I try to turn my head sideways to look over to the door where more people are hurrying in. The bones and muscles in my neck scream at me. I see blonde hair spread over the pillow and it surprises my confused brain. My hair is dark. This is not my hair. No, my hair
was
dark. I dyed it to be like my friends. Blondes together. Interchangeable.

Everyone is talking, or so it seems. A stream of loud noise. I realise there’s also familiar music playing, an iPod plugged into a speaker somewhere. Is it mine? Who brought it here? How long have I been here? Talking and noise. Talking and noise. It’s all too much. Hard to focus. Suddenly I think of Becca.

‘Was Becca here?’ I ask. The voice, all sandpaper-rough, doesn’t sound like mine. More like some possessed girl in a horror film. I guess it must shock everyone else, too, as silence answers my question. The room settles into some strange calm, blissfully quiet, as they all stare at me.

‘Was Becca here?’ I ask again.

‘Yes,’ my mother says. Her hand is tight around mine, papery dry and desperate. ‘Yes, she came in yesterday and talked to you.’

‘I thought so.’ I smile and close my eyes.

Six

Excerpt of
CONSULTATION BETWEEN DR ANNABEL HARVEY AND PATIENT NATASHA HOWLAND,

MONDAY 11/01, 09.00

NATASHA:
It feels weird. You’d feel weird, wouldn’t you? I mean, to have been dead like that. I mean, I guess I must not have been properly dead, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.

(Small laugh)

But to think my heart wasn’t beating for almost a quarter of a school lesson, when I think about it like that . . . yeah, it freaks me out. You know, if that guy walking his dog had been two or three minutes later or whatever, what would have happened then? It’s all bad stuff to have in your head. But I feel fine now. I mean, it’s not like I saw a tunnel or bright lights or any of that stuff. Nothing I can remember.