13 Minutes (37 page)

Bennett said nothing for a long moment and then repeated, ‘Go to school, Becca,’ and let the door close. Becca stood outside in the sunshine and rolled a cigarette.

So that hadn’t worked. It was time for Plan B.

The evidence Bennett didn’t have.

The film Jenny’s mum talked about in that deleted status update.

That was the key.

They said the police hadn’t found it, and for a while Becca had thought Tasha must have got rid of it somehow. But then she remembered the box of mementos under Tasha’s bed, full of stuff from years gone by. Natasha
kept
things. She would have kept that film somewhere, whatever it was. Kept it for insurance against Hayley and Jenny speaking up if nothing else. And having spent the whole night lying awake thinking about it, Becca was pretty sure she knew where it was hidden.

She smiled. She was excited, she couldn’t help it. In some ways, she was glad Bennett hadn’t taken her seriously. That would have been the sensible route. But this way, she’d be able to play her own game.
Time to get even, Tasha
, she thought.
This time it’s definitely my move.

She checked her watch. She had a lot to do today.

Fifty-Six

EXCERPT OF
CONSULTATION BETWEEN DR ANNABEL HARVEY AND PATIENT REBECCA CRISP, MONDAY 04/04, 15.30

DR HARVEY:
And what feelings do these Facebook and social media postings bring up in you? Do they make you angry?

REBECCA:
They did. A bit. I haven’t really thought about it much these past few days.

I’ve been distracted.

DR HARVEY:
What by?

REBECCA:
(Pause)

What’s the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath?

DR HARVEY:
What makes you ask that?

REBECCA:
I’ve been thinking about motivations. Why people do things to each other.

DR HARVEY:
Is this about Hayley and Jenny?

REBECCA:
What’s the difference between the two?

DR HARVEY:
The simplest way I can put it is: a psychopath has no morals or ethics. A sociopath has morals, but their moral compass is very definitely skewed. They are both manipulators. Both can be charming.

REBECCA:
Do you think you could spot one?

DR HARVEY:
Which one?

REBECCA:
Either.

DR HARVEY:
Perhaps. Not always.

REBECCA:
Why do they hurt people?

DR HARVEY:
They don’t always.

REBECCA:
But the ones that do?

DR HARVEY:
I don’t believe that either Hayley or Jenny suffers from either of those disorders.

REBECCA:
You assumed I was talking about them – I didn’t say that. I’m just curious.

DR HARVEY:
A psychopath might not need a reason. It may be just for a sense of power. The enjoyment of another’s pain. A sociopath would have a reason, albeit perhaps not one that would make someone without the disorder go to such an extreme. Something that might just irritate or annoy you or me could make them want to harm a person. Each case is unique, though.

(Long pause)

Have you deleted your Facebook again? Are you feeling angry towards your peers, perhaps?

REBECCA:
(Laughter)

Don’t worry, I’m not planning to go all Carrie on my school. I’m just trying to figure out how someone like that would think.

DR HARVEY:
Both psychopaths and sociopaths are, by the nature of their condition, essentially entirely selfish. Only selfish motivations make sense to them.

REBECCA:
I see.

DR HARVEY:
I’m not sure this is a healthy interest for you at the moment. Have you thought any more about trying some physical outdoor pursuits? I can recommend several residential camps for young people with PTSD.

REBECCA:
I really don’t have that.

DR HARVEY:
It’s my assessment that you do.

REBECCA:
(Pause)

To be honest, Doctor Harvey, I haven’t got that much faith in your assessments right now. But thank you – this time you
have
been helpful.

(Rustling)

DR HARVEY:
We still have twenty-five minutes left of the session.

REBECCA:
I’m going to take your advice and get some fresh air.

Fifty-Seven

I found myself keeping an eye out for Becca at school today. I half-expected her to appear around a corner and look at me knowingly, like in one of those old police detective shows my mum watches on Sunday afternoons. I didn’t see her, though. I went for coffee with my new Barbies after school and they asked me about Aiden, so I flirted with him a bit by text to keep them happy. They think I’m going to fuck him soon. They don’t know me at all. He’s hot for it, though.

I get home, throw my bag on the floor and grab some juice out of the fridge. Coffee makes me dry and feel a bit sick. I don’t even know why I drink it. I drain a glass of orange juice and pour a second to take upstairs with me. The house is quiet. For once, mum’s out rather than waiting for me to get in so she can cluck around me.

I think about how easy it is with boys. To get them hot. It doesn’t take much, does it? I told Aiden I’d thought about him putting his fingers inside me. Vicki screeched with laughter at that – and I’ve told her she’ll have to do something about that laugh if she wants to stay – and I blushed and smiled knowingly, rolling my eyes at her as if it was something I’d let so many boys do.

I have no intention of letting Aiden put his fingers inside me. The thought makes me squeeze my thighs together hard. Even though his kiss wasn’t so terrible, that’s as far as I’m willing to go in this charade. I wonder if maybe I should feign concern for Becca and end it before it’s really begun. It’s served its purpose now. Becca looks crazier than ever and sounds bitter and angry at everything.

Still, even if it has served its purpose, Becca’s recent behaviour makes me want to punish her.

I count as I walk up the stairs, happy when the number of steps I take rises above thirteen, and then go and flop on my bed. It’s only just half-five but I’m tired. I’m also bored. Whatever else, these past few months have been interesting. Even if only to me. Now I feel a bit disappointed. It was so very easy, all things considered. And now, well, it’s just
ordinary
again. There isn’t even the play to look forward to. If Hannah hadn’t been such a simpering idiot and stood under the light, at least it would probably have been recast and gone ahead.

I hear a buzz and look at my phone. Nothing. I sit up. After a few seconds, the buzz comes again. Definitely the sound of a text message. I rummage in my bag and there, at the bottom, snarled up with a lip gloss and some tissues, is a mobile phone.
Another
mobile phone.

I stare at it. It’s cheap and basic and it’s not mine. My heart races. I’m not sure if it’s fear or excitement, but life has suddenly got interesting again. I click on the text icon. The handset is a dinosaur but I know my way around it. It’s been carefully chosen. It’s exactly like the two I bought from the One Cell Shop.

Look at all the saved messages
,
the text tells me, black words against a green screen. Beyond retro. I scroll through the options and click again. I look at the incoming and then the outgoing messages. There is a whole conversation here, between this phone and the one sending the instructions. Nothing out of the ordinary, just chatter. I have a long sip of my juice as I take it in. I almost smile, although not quite. My heart thumps and another text arrives.

Easy to do, isn’t it?

And then another.

Guess where the receipt is?

I still don’t answer.

It’s in your locker. Amazing

how thin receipt paper is.

How easily it slides through

the gap around the hinges.

Becca’s little brain has been working overtime. Did her memory of the green dress spark all this? Or was it the lie? I guess it’s both. She enjoys puzzles, Becca. We’re similar like that.

I’m quite impressed. Gold star for fat little Rebecca Crisp. But it’s nothing real. She can hypothesise all she wants about phones and receipts. I’ll let her make her moves and then decide what to do. She’s always been an aggressive opener, but the game is won or lost in the closing moves. Time to reply:

You always did have an

overactive imagination

There’s no point pretending I don’t know who it is, even though there is nothing being admitted. I feel like we’re watching each other over a chessboard.

:-)

I look at the old-school smiley and for the first time I feel a nub of irritation.

What’s so funny?

A pause. I’m about to throw the phone into my bag in disgust when it buzzes again.

My imagination didn’t invent

this film I’m watching.

I stare at it. My skin chills. She couldn’t have it.

Anything missing from

home? ;-)

My breath is coming fast now with the shock and I race down to the kitchen. She can’t have it. That bitch couldn’t have found it. She couldn’t.

Fifty-Eight

Becca stared at the sleek Airbook with the New York sticker on the front and waited, her palms almost sweating with nerves, for the next text to arrive. She had no idea if the film was on the computer or not – her attempts to crack the password had locked her out – but it was the only place she could think of where Tasha might safely save it: her mum’s forgotten, unused laptop, sitting on the kitchen table.

Getting it had been relatively easy. She’d taken the keys from Tasha’s bag in the Barbie corner of the common room and then sneaked in when Alison Howland went out. She’d only had to wait for half an hour or so. Then she’d dropped the keys and the pay-as-you-go phone into Tasha’s bag during last lesson. It was Drama and she knew the Barbies didn’t lug everything down to the studio for that. Tasha didn’t, at any rate. Not when there was always an eager-to-please new Barbie’s bag she could stash her mobile and purse in.

And that was it. Done. Of course, now she’d find out if it was worth it. She waited, the seconds ticking away in the silence.

You’re not watching it.

Her heart dropped. Shit. Had she got it wrong?

You couldn’t break that

password. I changed it. It’s

completely random.

Becca grinned. The game was on. She typed back.

Okay, I fess up. I’m not

watching it. But it’s still

on here. You know it.

I know it.

She waited.

It’s perfectly explainable.

Fragile memory. Maybe I

filmed it that night and

forgot.

Tasha was so arrogant. She was clever, but she’d never been quite as clever as she thought she was.

Possible but unlikely
, Becca responded. How was Tasha feeling now? Sweaty? Irritated? Not so nice when you were the one being played.

Probable and likely
.

She was always so confident. Becca wished she could see Tasha’s face when she realised how one small detail on the film could unravel her whole version of events. It all came down to Hayley’s accident. Her damaged wrist. The timings. Natasha was a planner. And the first part of her plan would have been to create something concrete she could keep and use. The film. She’d have made that before she dyed her hair and bought the phones. Which meant if Hayley was in it then her wrist was injured. Her cast didn’t come off until right before Christmas. She’d be wearing it in the film.

Becca sent another smiley face, sure it would wind her ex-best friend up. Then after a moment, she added:

Rethink that. If you

haven’t figured it out in

five minutes then you’re

not as bright as I

imagined.

She put that phone down and picked up her iPhone. She went to Aiden’s number.

Thought u should know,

Tasha will be dumping u

within the hour.

She pressed ‘send’ and then tossed the phone down. She didn’t bother checking for a reply. Aiden wasn’t important any more.

Fifty-Nine

I take four deep breaths and I hate that each of them is shaky and my hands tremble. I sit on my bed and stare at the phone. I’m missing something. Becca is never this confident. What does she know that I don’t? What could she possibly be so sure about
without
seeing the film?

I run through it all in my head as I pace, needing to get rid of the nervous energy in my legs. I want to head to the woods for a run, but I can’t.
Be calm
, I tell myself. This is still just a game. A dangerous one, but a game all the same. More than that, it’s
my
game. And at least I’m not bored any more. I try to smile but I catch sight of myself in the mirror and I look slightly deranged. What could she know?