13 Minutes (31 page)

‘It’s starting to look quite beautifully eerie.’ Miss Borders put two mugs of tea down on the nearby table and pulled up a stool. ‘I particularly like the hints of red in the sky and the sheen on that corner of ice.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’ve been down here quite a lot.’ She waited for Becca to put her paintbrush into the water pot and then handed her a mug. ‘I put one sugar in. Hope that’s all right.’

The tea was too milky for Becca and also too sweet, but she smiled anyway. ‘Thanks again.’ She liked Miss Borders but hoped she wasn’t going to launch into the well-meaning
Are you all right?
conversation that so many teachers had insisted on having with her. They’d all noticed how she was being shunned, and they’d probably all heard about the Facebook and Internet stuff, and they brought it up but didn’t really want to talk about any of it. The students thought all this was happening to just them and that the teachers didn’t count, but Becca had seen their strained, upset faces. Mr Garrick must have been quite popular and now he was dead. Shamed and dead.

‘It’s funny,’ Miss Borders said, thoughtful. ‘I remember you all in Year Seven. Hayley was quite gangly then, wasn’t she?’ She didn’t look at Becca as she talked, her eyes still studying the painting. Becca figured it didn’t take a genius to figure out why she’d picked this landscape. ‘She admired you, I always thought. She always glanced your way if she said something funny.’

‘I think you got that wrong,’ Becca said. She put the tea down and picked up her paintbrush and palette again, not wanting the pools of acrylic to dry. ‘Natasha was our centre. She was probably looking at Tasha.’

‘Oh, she looked at Tasha first, but it was a different kind of look.’ She paused and sipped her tea. ‘I paint portraits of people in my spare time. I understand looks.’ She let out a small half-laugh, half-sigh. ‘God, it feels like yesterday, but now you’re all grown up. I’d only been teaching a couple of years when you started your first at Secondary. All so eager to please. No attitude. How times change.’

Becca didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know what to say to any of it. She was fond of Miss Borders, but what could she possibly understand about them? She probably didn’t even remember her friends from when she was at school.

‘It’s very rare for Year Sevens to fall out the way you did, you know?’ This time the teacher did look at Becca, but it wasn’t a pitying look. They could have been talking about some TV show rather than the slow destruction of teenage lives. It was just a chat. A thoughtful chat, but that was all. It made Becca feel a bit better. ‘There are arguments and tears and they fall out and make up,’ Miss Borders continued, ‘but Year Sevens are normally still too much in awe of the
big school
to get really bitchy. That stuff kicks in around Year Nine.’

‘I must have just been unlucky,’ Becca muttered. She leaned forward, concentrating on a small patch where the river met the bank.

‘It’s odd.’ Miss Borders had settled in. She was obviously going to talk for as long as it took to drink her tea. ‘How things have turned out. Of the three of you it was only Natasha I didn’t like. I shouldn’t say that, I know. Unprofessional.’ She winked at Becca. ‘But it’s true. I still don’t, if I’m honest, even after everything she’s survived. She always struck me as spoilt. Children shouldn’t be allowed to have everything they want. It’s not good for the character. And I’m not sure hers was too pleasant to start with.’

‘Tasha’s parents are pretty nice,’ Becca said. Even now, she was still defending her.

‘I’m sure they are.’

‘But you’re right,’ Becca conceded. ‘She’s got them wrapped round her little finger.’

‘Not just them.’ Miss Borders leaned back slightly on her stool. ‘I never understood why you two – and then Jenny – were so in awe of her. She didn’t strike me as being all that much to write home about. You and Hayley, well, you were proper kids. And there in the middle was Natasha. So contained.’

‘I don’t really remember,’ Becca said. ‘We were just kids.’ She didn’t look up from her painting but she had a feeling Miss Borders was giving her a
Yeah, right
kind of look.

‘She was very pretty, though. So was Jenny, when she turned up. And Hayley had that cool beauty of hers. Long before any of you noticed, it was there bubbling under her skin waiting for her cheekbones to rise to prominence. I would love to do a portrait of Hayley.’

‘You probably could now. It’s not like her schedule’s that busy.’

‘Cattiness doesn’t suit you, Rebecca.’

‘After what she did?’

There were a few moments’ silence after that, and at first Becca thought Miss Borders was feeling awkward, but then she realised she was still drifting through her memories, sifting and sorting them.

‘Hayley was so upset when you all fell out.’

‘Not that upset,’ Becca said, and shrugged.

‘Oh, she was. It was the only time I saw her stand up to Natasha. No one else ever did.’ She looked at Becca, a warm smile on her face. ‘Not even you. Everyone just followed her around. But when you fell out and you started sitting in Art on your own, and little Jenny was in your seat, Hayley was upset. She tried to make it better but Natasha wouldn’t allow it. I used to listen to them at lunch, Hayley pleading for you. And then one day, I think Hayley just gave up. I saw her crying in the corridor and asked her what was wrong but she wouldn’t say. I asked if it was to do with you and tried to talk to her about friendships but she said I didn’t understand. After that she became cooler. In all senses of the word. The start of the Hitchcock blonde.’

Becca didn’t know what a Hitchcock blonde was, but she knew what Miss Borders meant: the start of the Barbies.

‘Brains, beauty and sex, those three together. Quite something to watch them growing up.’

‘Yeah,’ Becca said. ‘I guess.’ She was starting to feel disgruntled. Even Miss Borders was infatuated with the Barbies.

‘Ah,’ the teacher said, picking up on her mood, ‘but those traits aside, they are – they
were
– absolutely contrived, while you are your own creation. You’re who you’re supposed to be. Your style is your own. There’s more to admire in that. It’s artistry. It’s probably why Natasha gravitated back to you when she lost her memory. People need truth.’

Becca listened carefully for some edge of pity or condescension but couldn’t find it. These were the kindest words someone who wasn’t family had said to her in what felt like forever.

‘I’ve been thinking about them since all this happened. Well, them and you. And through everything – and it’s a terrible thing to say – I find myself feeling sorry for Hayley more than Natasha.’ She got to her feet. ‘I guess I still see that gangly, awkward little girl sobbing her eyes out in the corridor. Funny how these things can affect us for so long.’ She paused. ‘I think you were actually lucky you got away from them.’

‘Well, being dragged back in certainly hasn’t done me any good.’ Becca tried to smile. Dragged back was an exaggeration and everyone knew it. Becca had launched herself at Tasha, whether she’d admitted it to herself at the time or not.

‘She’s always been so controlling,’ Miss Borders mused, stretching a little. ‘Some women are game-players and Natasha Howland was born to it. You were taken off the board and Jenny brought on.’

‘Like a new queen in chess,’ Becca said.

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ The Art teacher picked up her cup. ‘But I suspect that in Natasha’s eyes, everyone else on the board is a pawn. She’s replaced her friends quickly enough.’ She put her hand on Becca’s shoulder. ‘It must not feel like it now, but all this will fade.’

And there it was. The adult moment. Becca smiled and then put her paintbrush down.

‘I know. You’re right.’ She didn’t know that at all, but it would make Miss Borders feel better if she said so. ‘I think maybe I’ll clean this up and head out for some fresh air.’

‘I’ll take care of it. You go. A walk will do you good.’

The smile felt like a grimace on Becca’s face but she kept it up, despite wanting to scream, ‘
No, what would do me good is for my boyfriend to come back and everyone else to realise that none of this was actually my fault!
’

‘Thanks, Miss,’ she said instead as she grabbed her coat and bag. Suddenly the warmth was claustrophobic and her favourite teacher was irritating her. Adults couldn’t put anything right with words, with that smug
when you’re older you’ll realise
shit they always churned out. Becca sometimes wondered if maybe they’d all forgotten what it was like to really
feel
stuff. This wasn’t just a playground spat. People had
died
.

With at least half an hour to go before the final bell, the playground was empty and there were no reluctant teachers doing their duty at the gates. Becca didn’t look back as she walked through them, barely around the corner before lighting the leftover half of her earlier cigarette. She had no idea where to go. It was great to be out of school and away from all the bitching, but she didn’t want to go home, either. She had some money but no desire to go and sit in Starbucks on her own, and anyway, within an hour people from school would arrive, and she wasn’t in the mood to stare them down.

She walked idly, not really paying attention to where her feet were carrying her, her mind mulling over what the Art teacher had said. Becca hadn’t realised Miss Borders paid them so much attention when they were small. How weird that she never liked Tasha. Something about that unsettled Becca – shifted the sands of her memories – and she wasn’t sure why. She
knew
Tasha could be a bitch. Or could be back then, at least, so no surprises there. Maybe it was hearing how upset Hayley had been all that time ago that made her feel strange.

Maybe.

But something else was wrong. Something more recent that Miss Borders’ words had brought almost to the fore of her memory, but which she couldn’t quite grasp. Like Tasha clutching at the branches in the river, only in this case whatever was bugging Becca was sucked back down into the depths every time she was close to seizing it.

Maybe it was nothing. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that important. She checked her phone, for the thousandth time, to see if Aiden had texted, but of course he hadn’t. A small flare of anger burned inside her. That was just rude, wasn’t it? How hard could it be to send a short
thanks
or something? He was probably working, her rational brain tried to tell her, but she shoved it to one side. Aiden was a shit. That was all.

She froze when she saw the three
For Sale
signs standing rigid, wedged together as if jostling for best position, on the front lawn. She hadn’t realised she’d walked this far. She’d been looking at her feet and lost in her own thoughts. Why had she come here?

She stood on the pavement and stared at the house. Hayley’s house. It looked tired. A faint tint of red marred the white garage double doors, as if some paint had been scrubbed off them. Maybe it had. The recycling box outside was filled with wine and spirit bottles. It wasn’t just Jenny’s mum who was drinking too much these days, then. The curtains were pulled tightly across all the windows, both upstairs and downstairs. Would it be the same at the back? Were Hayley’s family living in darkness, waiting for someone to buy their house and let them get away from here and start again? Judging by the number of estate agents’ boards, they weren’t having any luck.

Becca was suddenly sad, her body filled with a heavy, weighty ache like first-day period cramps. Maybe Aiden wasn’t the only shit. Maybe she was one, too. She hadn’t spared a single thought for the fallout Hayley’s family faced. Or Jenny’s mum. Had she been rehoused by the council? Had she moved from booze to drugs? It’s not like she didn’t know how to get hold of any.
Like mother, like daughter.
If Hayley’s parents were getting through that many bottles in a week then anything could have happened.

She wanted to cry. For the millionth time she wondered how any of it had come to this. Tears blurred her vision and she didn’t even notice the front door opening.

‘You.’

The word was acid and Becca jumped, wiping her tears away quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I was just—’

‘Just what? Come to gawp?’ Hayley’s mum, her body scrawny-thin under her baggy jumper and jeans, threw the black bag into the wheelie bin in the drive. ‘Maybe spray some more poison on our house?’

‘I haven’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . I’m sorry—’ Becca’s face burned. Why had she come here? Why did Hayley’s mum hate her? It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t. She hadn’t done anything. Hayley’s mum stormed over until they were face to face and Becca recoiled slightly, her breath coming fast. Was she going to hit her?

‘I’m sorry. I—’ Not knowing what else to say, she asked, lamely, ‘How is Hayley?’

Mrs Gallagher let out a bitter half-laugh. ‘Like you care? Or now that you have no other friends, you suddenly want her again?’

Becca stepped back a little, shocked.

‘Oh yeah, I hear things. My little girl’s not the only one hated on Facebook, is she?’ Hayley’s mum’s eyes were red-rimmed and dark circles hung so heavy from them they were saggy bags sitting on her thin cheeks. ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue for once, Miss Detective? You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, look at what you did. Jenny’s in the mental hospital and my Hayley’s broken. She’s on drugs, you know? Did you know that?’ She pointed a skinny finger at Becca. ‘She’s broken.’ She tapped her chest. ‘In here. She barely makes sense any more, just sitting there slurring her words together. She talks about you and Jenny, though. Still cares about you. After all this. And now she won’t even see me any more. She says it’s no use.’ She reached out and gripped Becca’s arms, shaking her until her bag slid down from her shoulder. ‘Do you know how that feels? Do you know how helpless I feel?’

The fight suddenly went out of her and she started to sob, hard, angry sounds, coming from deep inside her chest. She slid to the ground, a heap on the tarmac, her loose fingers trailing down Becca as she crumpled.

Becca glanced around, helpless. She felt sick and didn’t know what to do. In the end, she crouched beside the fragile woman. ‘You should go back inside,’ she said, as gently as she could. She wanted to put an arm around her but was scared she would lash out. ‘Can I help you inside?’