13 Minutes (8 page)

I did what I’d come to do – left the gift-wrapped box and small card on her pillow and enjoyed a moment of satisfaction before heading back down. Liz hadn’t followed me up. Our bedrooms are our sanctuaries, and Jenny is capable of a major tantrum if her mum messes with her stuff. Liz is only allowed in to leave Jenny’s clean laundry on her bed. Jenny likes to put it away herself. I hugged Liz again on my way out and then headed to Hayley’s. I counted the turns on the streets between them.
Thirteen.
I pushed the number from my head.

It was easier at Hayley’s. Hayley’s mum is more like mine – she cares, but it’s a reserved love. She shed a few tears at seeing me healthy on the doorstep but they didn’t streak coal down her cheeks. In her face I mainly saw relief that it was me and not Hayley who’d nearly died in the river. She looked at me with my blonde hair and I watched her thinking how easily it could have been her beautiful daughter instead. I saw guilt at the thought there, too, and then relief that it all turned out okay in the end. I read faces well.

Her hug was looser than Liz’s and after she ushered me to the stairs, she waited at the bottom until I returned. She didn’t touch my hair. She didn’t gush over me. I was in and out in five minutes.

It was weirder at Becca’s house. By the time I got there, my face was flushed from the cold and my nose was starting to run. I hadn’t counted the turns. I didn’t want another thirteen. I rang the doorbell and my heart clattered in my chest with sudden, unexpected nerves. I hadn’t been there for a long time. Years.

Julia Crisp’s mouth fell into a surprised ‘O’ when she saw me and then reshaped into a warm smile. I saw her take in the coat, the neat, sleek hair, the all-round girl-next-door gorgeousness of me. I saw her wonder how Becca would look if we were still friends. Would she be so grungy? Would she be less moody?

To be honest, I don’t know if Becca is moody or not. At school she always looks moody with her black T-shirts, spiky belts and pale make-up. Almost goth but not quite. Rocker, I guess. Whatever it is, it isn’t the prettiest Becca could be and Julia knows it.

They’ve had the kitchen redone since I was last there and redecorated the hallways. I don’t know why it was a shock to see the house looking different. I can’t have been inside for four years, maybe more. I shuffled from foot to foot as she asked me if I wanted a drink or something to eat and politely declined. I didn’t ask to leave the present in Becca’s room – that would have been weird, and unnecessary – so instead I held it out. I felt awkward and I blushed.

‘It’s just a . . . well, a kind of thank you, I guess. You know, for coming to the hospital. She didn’t have to. And for reading to me and everything.’

As she took the box, she was smiling so hard I thought her face would split right open. ‘Oh, Natasha – how thoughtful. I’m sure she’ll love it. You two always did like to play chess.’

It wasn’t a cheap set – hand-carved soapstone pieces. Just over a hundred pounds. I wonder how I’m supposed to learn the value of anything when my mum spends that much on my friends for tokens of thanks.

We had enjoyed chess, and Becca was very good at it. Not as good as me, though.

‘It’s a shame you two didn’t keep Chess Club up,’ she said. ‘Becca still plays against her dad sometimes.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess chess just isn’t cool for teenagers.’

I shrugged back. She was right. Chess Club is a no-no. Not even I could maintain any level of cool and still play. Not that I’d want to. I’ve
seen
the losers who go. I doubt even Becca would go these days, and she’s taken to hanging around with Hannah Alderton, which is pretty much scraping the bottom of the social barrel.

Although I’d never tell anyone, I sometimes play on my phone, on one of those apps that pits you against the computer. I’m still really good, too. But it’s not the same as when me and Bex used to play. Standing there in her kitchen, I had a pang of missing her. A sharp one. How strange is that?

*

By the time I got home, I
was
exhausted. Dog-tired. Eyelids drooping. Too much fresh air, Mum declared, and sent me off to bed until dinnertime. If I wanted to be ready to go back to school on Friday then I needed to rest. She was probably right.

The sheets were fresh and I relished the smell. There was safety and childhood trapped in the weave. It was nearly four o’clock and the sky was midnight-blue already, on the cusp of darkness. Curled up on my side, I looked out at it. The blue was beautiful but the blackness filled me with dread. I closed my eyes. That blackness was worse – it was within me. It was in my head. It was eating me.
Thirteen turns in the road. Thirteen minutes dead.
I gasped for breath and sat up. I had to get control of myself.

I’m fine. I know I am.

I turned the bedside lamp on and took three deep breaths. I am not weak. I
survived
. It was just darkness. It wasn’t death. Still, I left the lamp on and lay back down. When I closed my eyes again, the world behind them was a reddy-orange that made me think of autumn. I could cope with that.

The darkness still came, though, of course it did. It grabbed me as my breathing slowed and my mind emptied. It pulled me down. I was tangled in branches. Undercurrents and drag. There was a void beneath me. Pitch-black. Hungry. The world dissolved – no ice, no cold, no twigs tearing into my frozen skin. Just the darkness.

And there was something waiting in it.

Thirteen

‘He remembers me,’ she said, as Biscuit jumped at her and then crouched down to play, tail dusting the carpet madly, and then jumped again.

‘He must do,’ Jamie agreed, although Biscuit was like this with everyone, stranger or otherwise. He was crazy and over-friendly and greedy, a mad ball of stinking fur who would never be fully trainable. Right now, maybe Biscuit was the only one who didn’t feel awkward in his sitting room. Jamie certainly did and Natasha’s mother had perched on the very edge of the sofa, hands clasped in her lap, one wary eye on the dog. Alison Howland looked like a cat person, if she liked animals at all.

‘I’ve made some tea.’ Aiden shuffled in with the tray. He put it down on the coffee table, the brim-full milk jug spilling slightly. There was a plate of chocolate digestives, too, leftovers from their munchie sessions in the studio upstairs.

‘Hey, Aiden,’ Natasha said, flashing the dark-haired boy a perfect smile. ‘How are you? I barely recognised you.’

‘I’m good.’ He shrugged, his eyes sliding away from her and over to Jamie. ‘Anyway, I’m going to finish laying that track upstairs. I want to get that second guitar line right.’

‘Thanks.’ Jamie wished he could join him.

‘I hope we haven’t disturbed your work.’ Alison was already pouring tea, and Jamie had a moment of wondering how she could look so uncomfortable and yet have that confidence in a stranger’s home. Contradictions. Like her daughter.

‘No, it’s fine. My hours are pretty irregular.’ Unlike Aiden, Jamie could barely take his eyes from Natasha. It wasn’t anything sexual – although she was a very pretty girl and in that perfect bloom of youth women go through – it was that she looked so alive. So healthy. It was Thursday and when he’d seen her less than a week ago she was cold and blue and not breathing. There’d been pictures in the papers since, of course, but they were from
before
. She was different then. Brown hair, for a start.

She looked at him, quizzical, and he flushed. ‘Sorry, it’s just strange – and great, obviously – but the last time I saw you, I thought you were dead. It’s a little like seeing a ghost.’

‘I’m very much alive.’ She smiled, blushing slightly. ‘Thanks to you.’ Her teeth were perfectly even and white. He hadn’t noticed that when he’d pulled her from the water. Her mouth had been open and all he’d seen was the terrible blue of her lips. Now those same lips were tinted with a pale pink gloss. Make-up but not quite. Adult but not quite. ‘Although that would have been different if you’d been later on your walk.’ Her tone was light as she took a mug of tea from her mother, but her face was shielded by her blonde hair and he felt a sudden moment of irrational guilt.

‘Trust me, I’ve thought that, too,’ he said. He leaned down and tickled the small dog’s ears. A wet tongue snaffled at his fingers. ‘Blame Biscuit. He hid his collar.’

‘I read about it,’ Natasha said. ‘But he also found me in the river, so I’ll forgive him.’ Neither of the women had taken a digestive and the dog was starting to drool. Jamie picked up the plate and held it out, but both Howlands shook their heads.

‘We have dinner waiting at home,’ Alison said with a smile. She was trim and good-looking, an older version of the daughter. Jamie figured there weren’t a lot of cakes or treats on her daily intake.

‘Then I’ll put them out of the way,’ he said. ‘Biscuit has no self-control with food. He’d have one off the plate in no time – I named him well. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have children. I’m not so great at instilling rules.’

‘I just wanted to apologise for not seeing you at the hospital,’ Natasha cut in. She was petting Biscuit, although Jamie noticed she was careful not to get his fur on her clothes. He didn’t blame her. Smelling of damp dog wasn’t good at any age, but definitely not hot for teenagers. ‘It probably felt quite rude of me,’ she finished.

Jamie shook his head. ‘No, of course not.’ That wasn’t entirely truthful. Being turned away had made him feel like an idiot, especially with the reporters outside demanding to know how she was.

‘I asked them to tell you I was resting, but that wasn’t entirely true.’ Her wide eyes, fixed on him, were full of apology and a need for understanding. ‘I just wasn’t ready to . . . well, to face you yet. That probably sounds odd. It was like if I saw you, then I had to admit it really happened. And I keep thinking I’m okay with it all and then odd things – like seeing you – come along and I weird-out a bit.’

‘I get that,’ he said. ‘And it’s fine, honestly. All that matters is that you’re better.’

‘She still can’t remember what happened, though,’ Alison said, leaning in. ‘Nothing. I wish she could. I mean, thank god she wasn’t physically attacked in any way, but I still wish we knew why she was out there.’

‘Mother!’ Natasha rolled her eyes, embarrassed. ‘It’s not Mr McMahon’s problem.’

‘I wish I could help you,’ Jamie said, ‘but all I saw was a girl in the river. No one else. No sign of anyone else, either.’ He’d trawled through his memory over and over, worrying he’d missed something that morning. He was sure he hadn’t, but all his focus – what little remained through the shock – had been on Natasha, and once he’d gone into the water, too, his senses were fucked.

‘Ignore her. Please,’ Natasha said. The teenager was clearly embarrassed, but Jamie was surprised by how she spoke about her mother, as if the woman wasn’t even there, as if their roles as parent and child were reversed. He was even more surprised that she got away with it. Alison didn’t say a word, but instead gave an apologetic shrug. Maybe she was too relieved to have her daughter home in one piece to tell her off, but there was something
ingrained
in it. Natasha had said it so easily. ‘We know that if you remembered anything you’d have told the police,’ Natasha finished. ‘And I’m sure my memory will come back when it’s ready and it will be all my fault, just a stupid accident.’

She sipped her tea. From upstairs in the attic studio came the sound of guitar-playing. Aiden couldn’t have closed the door properly.

Biscuit, hearing the noise and always looking for distraction, padded out of the room.

‘So much for my charm,’ Natasha said.

‘He likes it in the studio. It’s always warmest up there in the evening.’

‘You work at night?’ Natasha’s eyes widened momentarily. ‘Till late?’

‘Sometimes. When I’m in the middle of a project.’

She looked stunned. ‘Wow. How come you always walk your dog so early, then? Is it before you go to bed?’

‘Occasionally yes, but I’ve never been a great sleeper. I don’t normally sleep more than four hours. And I find it’s good to tire Biscuit out early because otherwise he drives me crazy.’

‘I’m not sleeping so brilliantly, either,’ she said, softly, a small cloud on the perfection of her youth, but it lifted, her thoughts returning to the dog. ‘He’s so sweet, though.’ She waggled a finger at Jamie. ‘But don’t let him hide his collar again! A girl’s life might depend on it.’

Jamie laughed with her, glad she could make fun of it. It lightened his irrational guilt. She was fine. It had all turned out okay. Natasha got to her feet and her mother followed suit.

‘Well, we should leave you to it, but I just wanted to put your mind at rest about the photo thing the paper wanted to do? I’ve said no. I know you’re a private person – the papers have harped on about that – and to be honest, I just want to go back to school and get life back to normal. I bet you do, too.’

Jamie couldn’t help feeling a wave of relief. ‘Yes. I’d have done it if you asked, but it’s not really my thing. If I wanted attention I’d be in a band, not working on soundtracks.’

‘I figured.’ She reached up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. ‘Thank you again.’

He saw them out, Biscuit darting around his feet, having flown down the stairs when he heard them moving, and then, leaving the tray where it was, took his tea up to the studio.

‘They gone?’ Aiden asked.

He nodded.

‘She seems like a nice kid.’

Aiden shrugged. ‘Yeah, she probably does.’

Jamie almost asked what he meant, but left it alone when he saw that Aiden’s face had dropped, hidden behind his hair. Sometimes Jamie forgot that Aiden wasn’t long out of school himself. The same school Natasha went to. Maybe they had some history. It wasn’t his business to pry, though. Instead, he sat at the desk and studied the various computer screens. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this into the mix. And close that door. I could hear you downstairs.’

Biscuit whirled in and thumped into his basket, the door closed and, unheard by the outside world, Aiden started to play.