And Pip didn’t hear what he said next because her ears flooded with blood, a rushing sound, like a windstorm trapped inside her head. Her hand found the wall beside her and she leaned into it, lowering herself down to sit on the cold concrete pavement.
‘No,’ she whispered, because if she said it any louder, she would scream. She still might scream; she could feel it clawing at her insides, fighting to get out. She grabbed her face and held her mouth shut, fingernails digging into her cheeks.
‘Pip,’ Ravi said, gently. ‘I’m so sorry. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. It isn’t fair. This isn’t right. If there was anything I could do to change this, I would. Anything. Pip? Are you OK?’
‘No,’ she said through her hand. She would never be OK again. This was it; the worst thing that could have happened. She’d thought about it, had had bad dreams about it, but she’d known it couldn’t really happen. It wouldn’t happen. But it just did. And the truth no longer mattered. Max Hastings, not guilty. Even though she had his voice on a recording, admitting to it all. Even though she knew he was guilty, beyond any doubt. But no, she and Nat da Silva and Becca Bell and those two women from university: they were the liars now. And a serial rapist had just walked free.
Her mind turned to Nat.
‘Oh god, Nat,’ she said, removing her hand. ‘Ravi, I have to go, I have to go back to see Nat. Make sure she’s OK.’
‘OK, I lo—’ he said, but it was too late. Pip had already pressed the red button, pushing herself up from the ground as she turned back down Gravelly Way.
She knew that Nat hated her. But she also knew that Nat shouldn’t be alone when she heard the news. No one should be alone for something like that.
Pip sprinted, her trainers slapping uncomfortably against the pavement, juddering up through her body. Her chest hurt, like her heart wanted to give out already, give up. But she ran, pushing herself harder as she turned the corner on to Cross Lane, back to that painted blue door.
She knocked this time, forgetting about the bell because her mind was already stuttering, rewinding the last few minutes. It couldn’t have happened, could it? This couldn’t be real. It didn’t feel real.
Nat’s silhouette emerged in the frosted glass, and Pip tried to read it, study it, work out if Nat’s world had already been blown apart.
She opened the door, jaw clenching as soon as she saw Pip standing there.
‘What the fuck, I told you to . . .’
But then she must have noticed the way Pip was breathing. The horror that must be written all over her face.
‘What is it?’ Nat said quickly, pulling the door open fully. ‘Is Jamie OK?’
‘H-have you heard?’ Pip said, and her voice sounded strange to her, not her own. ‘The verdict?’
‘What?’ Nat narrowed her eyes. ‘No, no one’s called me yet. Are they done? What . . . ?’
And Pip could see the moment it happened, the moment Nat read what was on her face. The moment her eyes changed.
‘No,’ she said, but it was more a breath than a word.
She stumbled back from the door, hands snapping up to her face as she gasped, her eyes glazing over.
‘No!’ The word was a strangled yell this time, choking her. Nat fell back into the wall in the hallway, slamming against it. A picture frame dropped from its hook, cracking as it hit the floor.
Pip darted forward, inside the house, catching Nat around the arms as she slid down the wall. But she lost her footing and they slid down together, Nat right down to the floorboards, Pip to her knees.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Pip said. ‘I’m so so so sorry.’
Nat was crying, but the tears stained as they ran through her make-up, black tears chasing each other down her face.
‘This can’t be real,’ she cried. ‘It can’t be real. FUCK!’
Pip sat forward, wrapping her arms around Nat’s back. She thought Nat would pull away from her, push her off. But she didn’t. She leaned into Pip, arms climbing up and around her neck as she held on. Tight. Her face buried into Pip’s shoulder.
Nat screamed, the sound muffled, burrowing into Pip’s jumper, her breath hot and jagged as it spread down into Pip’s skin. And then the scream broke open and she cried, shaking the both of them with the force of it.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Pip whispered.
Twenty-Nine
Nat’s scream never left her. She could feel it there, slinking around beneath her skin. Feel it simmering as she walked into her history lesson eighteen minutes late and Mr Clark said, ‘Ah, Pip. What time do you call this? Do you think your time is more valuable than mine?’
And she’d replied, ‘No, sir, sorry sir,’ quietly, when really all she wanted to do was let the scream out, tell him that yes, it probably was. She’d taken her place next to Connor at the back, her grip tightening on her pen until it snapped, pieces of plastic scattering between her fingers.
The lunch bell rang and they followed it out of the room, she and Connor. He’d heard about the verdict from Cara because Ravi had texted her, worrying when he hadn’t heard back from Pip. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all Connor said as they traipsed towards the cafeteria. That’s all he could say, all Pip could say too, but there was no amount of sorrys that could ever fix this.
They found the others at their usual lunch table, and Pip slotted in beside Cara, squeezing her hand once in greeting.
‘Have you told Naomi?’ Pip asked her.
Cara nodded. ‘She’s devastated, can’t believe it.’
‘Yeah, that sucks,’ Ant said loudly, cutting in as he tore into his second sandwich.
Pip turned to him. ‘And where were you yesterday, during the search party?’
Ant rearranged his eyebrows, looking affronted as he swallowed. ‘It was Wednesday, I was at football,’ he said, not even looking at Connor.
‘Lauren?’ Pip said.
‘Wh . . . my mum made me stay in to do French revision.’ Her voice was high and defensive. ‘I didn’t realize you expected us all to be there.’
‘Your best friend’s brother is missing,’ Pip said, and she felt Connor tensing beside her.
‘Yeah, I get that.’ Ant flashed a quick smile at Connor. ‘And I’m sorry, but I don’t think Lauren or I are going to change that.’
Pip wanted to carry on picking at them, keep feeding the scream under her skin, but she was distracted by someone behind Ant, her eyes pulling her up. Tom Nowak, loudly laughing with a table of his friends.
‘Excuse me,’ Pip said, though she was already gone, skirting around their table and across the loud chaos of the cafeteria.
‘Tom,’ she said, and then again, louder than their guffawing.
Tom put down his open bottle of Coke, twisting to look up at her. Pip noticed some of his friends on the opposite bench, whispering and elbowing each other.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ he said, his cheeks indented with a laid back smile, and Pip’s rage flared at the sight of it.
‘You lied to me, didn’t you?’ she said, but it wasn’t a question and she didn’t wait for an answer. At least he’d surrendered his fake smile now. ‘You didn’t see Jamie Reynolds on Friday night. I doubt you were anywhere near Cross Lane. You said that road because it was near the site of the calamity party, and then the rest was on me. I accidentally led the witness. You saw my reactions to that road name, to the colour of the front door, and you used those to manipulate me. Made me believe in a narrative that never even happened!’
People were watching now from nearby tables, a wave of half turned heads and the prickle of unseen eyes.
‘Jamie didn’t go to Nat da Silva’s house that night and you were never a witness. You’re a liar.’ Her lip curled up, baring her teeth at him. ‘Well, well done, good job Tom, you got yourself on the podcast. What were you hoping to achieve with that?’
Tom stuttered, raising his finger as he scrambled for words.
‘Internet fame, is that it?’ Pip spat. ‘You got a SoundCloud you want to promote or something? What the fuck is wrong with you? Someone is missing. Jamie’s life is at stake, and you decide to waste my time.’
‘I didn’t –’
‘You’re pathetic,’ she said. ‘And guess what? You already signed my consent form to use your name and likeness, so this will also be going on the podcast. Good luck being universally hated by the entire internet.’
‘No, you’re not allowed to –’ Tom began.
But the rage took hold of Pip’s hand, guiding it as she reached over to snatch Tom’s open bottle of Coke. And without a second thought – without even a first thought – Pip upturned the bottle over his head.
A cascade of fizzing brown liquid fell over him, soaking into his hair and over his face, eyes screwed shut against it. There were gasps around the room, titters of laughter, but it was a few seconds before Tom himself could react through the shock.
‘You bitch!’ He stood up, hands to his eyes to clear them.
‘Don’t fucking cross me again,’ Pip said, dropping the empty bottle at Tom’s feet with a clatter that echoed around the now almost-quiet room.
She walked away, flicking droplets of Coke from her hand, a hundred eyes following as she went, but none of them, not any of them, would meet hers.
Cara was waiting for her by the usual spot, at the double doors near their English classroom, the second last lesson of the day. But as Pip crossed the corridor towards her, she noticed something: a quieting of voices as she passed, people gathering to talk behind their hands, looking her way. Well, they couldn’t all have been in the cafeteria at lunch. And anyway, Pip didn’t care what they thought. Tom Nowak was the one who should be walking through whispers, not her.
‘Hey,’ she said, arriving at Cara’s side.
‘Hey, um . . .’ But Cara was acting strangely too, scrunching her mouth in that way she did when something was wrong. ‘Have you seen it yet?’
‘Seen what?’