Her Deadly Secret: A gripping psychological thriller with twists that will take your breath away. Chris Curran

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СКАЧАТЬ the cards and bits of damp paper on the flowers and the balloons attached to the fence and the gateposts.

       Lily, can’t believe you’re gone.

       One more angel in heaven.

       Missing you, babe.

      All the usual stuff. Then, without turning, she said, ‘You were friends of Lily’s.’ It was better to make it a statement rather than a question. Hope they’d assume she knew already.

      ‘Monique was her best mate.’ Again, it was the blonde talking. Her head jerked to one side, indicating the tall, dark girl who was pulling threads from the zip of a bag on her shoulder that bulged with coloured folders and files. Blondie again, ‘Go on, Mon, tell her.’

      Monique looked up through a curtain of dark strands. ‘We started at St Mary’s together.’ She had an unusually deep voice for such a thin girl, seemed shy but sensible, and for some reason, Loretta was reminded of her own daughter, Pearl. Pearl, at 16, was more assured. But then, her friend hadn’t just been murdered.

      ‘The primary? You were – what – 4, 5?’

      The girl nodded, staring at the ground, still pulling those threads, and scraping the toe of one shoe on the pavement.

      ‘I’m sorry. You must miss her.’

      Another nod, but something else was going on here. The other two girls exchanged a glance. Looked from Monique to Loretta. The third one, small and pretty, with mousy hair streaked with one or two fake strands of bright red, elbowed Monique, who shrugged and shot a fierce glance at her, letting out a flamboyant, ‘Ow,’ as she rubbed her arm.

      ‘What?’ Loretta made the question light, smiling and looking from one to the other.

      They didn’t speak. Blondie shrugged and crossed her arms, as if it was nothing to do with her. The other girl looked at Monique still scraping the pavement.

      It probably was nothing, schoolgirl gossip or fantasy, but she needed to clear it up, in case it came out later that she’d missed something. They’d love that down at the station, Maggie and her crew. She turned as if to go, her voice even lighter, unconcerned. ‘OK.’

      This was too much for blondie. ‘Go on, Monique, tell her.’

      Take it easy now. Get her confidence. ‘If there’s anything at all then you should tell me. You won’t get in trouble, and Lily would want you to help us. You know that, don’t you?’ For a moment, she almost mentioned Lily’s mum and dad, but, of course, whatever the girl was revving up to say might be about them – or one of them, at least.

      Monique shuffled and twitched and the other two closed in, arms around her back, heads close to hers. She looked up and her lips were pressed tight together, the soft little chin wobbling. ‘It’s just – well – we didn’t. You know, we weren’t, anymore.’

      ‘You weren’t friends anymore?’

      ‘No. Well, not really.’ Her eyes dropped again and a tear ran down her cheek.

      ‘So you fell out? You had a fight?’

      Silence. Monique was crying lumpy sobs from deep in her chest, and blondie could stand it no longer. ‘She didn’t want to see none of us. It was that boyfriend, that Samuel. That’s all she was interested in.’

      ‘Do you know this boy’s other name?’

      Scrabbling in her bag for a tissue Monique shook her head.

      And Loretta looked at the others. ‘What about you two?’

      Blondie again. ‘Nah. Lily didn’t talk about him. Just stopped going around with us, but I saw them together, once, and asked her who he was. She said his name was Samuel.’

      ‘So he doesn’t go to your school?’

      Monique crossed her arms tight over her chest and looked at Loretta with big brown eyes. They were red-rimmed but looked more angry than unhappy. ‘He don’t go to school at all. He’s with that mad lot – The Children, or whatever they call themselves.’

      ‘Do you mean the commune that runs a farm out in the country? The Children of Light?’ From what Loretta had heard they were some kind of semi-religious sect.

      Blondie said, ‘Yeah, those nutters. Hardly talked to us after she got with them.’

       Chapter Three

       Rosie

      On the afternoons when she wasn’t working as a supply teacher at one or other of the local comprehensives, Rosie always walked to Fay’s school. Today, the stroll through tree-lined streets in the June sunshine soothed her. When the doors opened she saw her daughter break away from the teacher, her face creased with delight as she ran through the jostle of little figures.

      But Fay wasn’t looking at her today and she was shrieking, ‘Nana, Nana,’ as she ran.

      Rosie closed her eyes. Please, no. But it was too late; her mum was beside her, and Fay dropped her book bag and lunchbox and threw her arms around her grandmother’s waist.

      ‘Nana, you came to meet me. Mummy said we couldn’t see you. Why not? I’ve been missing you.’

      Marion knelt, looking at Rosie over Fay’s head with the apologetic smile she always seemed to use lately. ‘I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ve been busy, but I’m here now.’

      ‘Can we come for tea then? Please, Nana.’

      Rosie looked around and saw the second little girl running towards them, dark pigtails bouncing. She had her excuse. ‘No, darling, you know we can’t. We’re looking after Harriet; she’s having tea at ours. Say bye to Nana. We’ll see her again soon.’ She took Harriet’s sticky hand and reached for Fay, but her daughter clung, mule-faced, to her nan and kicked the lunchbox that still lay on the ground.

      ‘Tell you what …’ Her mother picked up Fay’s things, avoiding Rosie’s eye. ‘I’ve got the car. Why don’t I take you all into town? We can get some ice cream to eat on the beach. Maybe go to the amusement arcade.’ This was greeted by bounces and shrieks from the girls.

      Fay pulled her grandmother towards the car, calling behind her, ‘Come on, Harriet, come on, Mummy.’

      Rosie stayed where she was for a moment, shaking her head, but there was nothing she could do as her mother opened the car and the two girls climbed into the back. Harriet, dark plaits as chunky and neat as the child herself. Fay, a total contrast, with her thin little legs in her favourite lace-trimmed socks, and the untidy honey-coloured hair she’d inherited from Rosie floating around her pointed face. Fay’s bright eyes looked back at her, their expression a mixture of triumph and pleading. Don’t be cross, Mummy, was the message. Rosie knew she risked a major tantrum if she tried to intervene and, anyway, what could she say? How could Fay understand that they could no longer trust her grandmother?

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