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Chapter Three

Eleanor

*

Abigail Robbins was princess bitch of the county. Originally from a snooty village suburb in North London, she came late to our school, a mainly middle class Gloucestershire comprehensive. When she arrived, we were part way through the summer term of year eight.

The warm morning had been laid up with a dose of double History and everyone sweltered in the airless classroom while Mr Croft droned on about the War of the Roses. I was desperately trying to keep my eyes open when the door creaked open and a girl walked in, jolting us all out of our semi-comatose state.   She looked like something out of 90210 – perfectly groomed and perfectly cool. Nothing like us imperfect mortals. I could hear the collective inward sighs of fifteen adolescent boys.

‘I’m Abi Robbins,’ she said to Mr Croft, while gazing down at her immaculately shaped nails.

‘Yes? Are you lost?’

‘No, I’m Abi Robbins. I’m in your class.’ She spoke to him slowly as if he was the stupidest man on the planet.

Mr Croft ran his finger down a list in front of him.

‘Ah, yes. You’re new. You’re a bit late.’

She didn’t reply, just raised her eyebrows heavenward to imply the man was an idiot. Everyone sniggered and Mr Croft glanced up to see Abigail look innocently and expectantly at him.

‘Ah, yes, very good. Yes, if you could find yourself a seat we’re talking about the rival houses of Lancaster and York.’ His voice faded into the background.

Abigail glanced around the room until her eyes locked with mine. She gave me a conspiratorial smile and shimmied across the room to an empty desk behind me.

When the bell rang for break, she sought me out and confidently linked arms.

‘Hi, I’m Abi.’ She dazzled a smiled at me.

‘I’m Eleanor,’ I replied, looking sideways at her. She had almost white blonde hair and was every magazine’s version of how a girl should look.

‘Hey, Ellie.’ She nudged me playfully with her elbow. ‘So what d’you normally do in this dump then?’

‘Umm …’ I hesitated, taken aback by her familiarity and confidence. ‘Those are my friends over there on the wall.’ I pointed through the doors to a small group of girls I’d known since we were five.

She stopped walking and turned to observe me. ‘You’re quite pretty you know,’ she said. ‘But you should straighten your hair. It’s a bit wild.’ She laughed.

‘Oh, d’you think so?’ I twisted a curl self-consciously around my finger. ‘Takes ages though, straightening it.’

‘Yeah, but it would
so
be worth taking the time. I could do it for you.’

‘Yeah? That’d be great. So, d’you want to come and meet my friends then?’ I asked, aware of their eyes on me and Abi.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said. ‘But you could really do so much better than hanging round with
them
. They’re probably nice and everything, but they look a bit ... mmm … sad?’

It was an education, being Abigail
’
s friend. Outrageous, witty and beautiful, she could also be hard work, you might even say, exhausting. She had a gaggle of sycophants and anyone who didn
’
t do the prerequisite amount of forelock-tugging would be on the receiving end of some pretty harsh treatment.

I didn
’
t agree with a lot of her behaviour, but I didn’t disagree with her either and she never questioned my refusal to join in with her. In some ways I think she admired the way I resisted the group mentality and she never tried any of her bully-girl tactics on me. She knew I would never have stood for it.

From the ages of thirteen we did everything together: girly shopping trips, joint birthday bashes, pyjama parties and endless discussions about music, clothes and, of course, boys. I was fairly confident, but compared to Abi I was a dormouse.

Despite her popularity at school, her perfect stick-thin figure and platinum beauty, I sensed an unhappiness in her. I also had a vague awareness that she was jealous of me. But Abi was the prettier of the two of us and always went out with the best-looking boys, so why should she feel jealous?

I didn
’
t mind. I knew I was attractive enough in my own way, with my dark curls and violet eyes.
‘
Elizabeth Taylor eyes,
’
Grandaddy always called them, and I never ran short of admirers. But I was naïve and flattered by her attention. I didn
’
t sense the danger.

Chapter Four

Riley

*

The days loom ahead like tall grey mountains. I wake each morning with the same agonising realisation and it takes every ounce of willpower to drag myself out of bed. Ma
’
s mountains must be even taller than mine because she rarely makes it out of bed at all.

On the morning of Skye’s funeral I feel a mixture of terror and relief. This is the day I’ve been dreading, but it’ll soon be over. I shower, dress and go downstairs. Pa says little, walking around with red-rimmed eyes and a translucent pallor to his normally healthy bronzed skin.

‘Where’s Ma?’ I ask.

‘Where d’you think?’

‘She can’t still be in bed. It’s today. She has to …’

‘I know,’ he interrupts. ‘We have to wake her up, get her dressed.’

‘God.’ The thought of dealing with Ma makes the funeral seem like a walk in the park. I force myself back up the stairs and into my parents’ bedroom. She’s lying curled up under the covers.

‘Hi, Ma. Are you okay? You have to get up.’

‘I mean, h
ow could I not have known?’ she says, without opening her eyes. ‘How could I not have known my fourteen-year-old daughter wasn’t upstairs asleep in bed where she should have been? What kind of mother am I?’ Her eyes snap open.

‘Come on, Ma, you have to get up.’ I swoosh back the curtains and open the window, letting a warm summer breeze dilute the stale bedroom air.

‘
Never mind she was only with Lucas Donovan!’ she continues. ‘He
’
s a hormonal boy and she’s a young girl.
’

‘It’s not your fault, Ma,’ I say uselessly, knowing my words won’t stop her from berating herself over and over.
She keeps ignoring my attempts to reassure her. ‘Come on, you really have to get ready. I’ve put your clothes on the chair.’

‘Come on,’ Pa echoes, walking into the room. ‘We can’t let Skye down today. We have to be strong.’

But she goes on and on, repeating the same things. Blaming herself, making Pa and me want to scream. We coax her out of bed and between us manage to get her dressed.

To my relief, Grandma and Grandpa finally arrive by helicopter. Grandma pays extra special attention to me and, although she hugs Ma close and kisses and strokes her hair, I can tell that she’s also cross with her for leaving me to fend for myself in my grief. Grandma’s appalled at the state Ma is in; by that I mean her drinking. They conduct all their conversations in rising whispers but I can hear them perfectly well.

It’s wonderful to have such gentle attention lavished upon me after the barrenness of the past few days and, in amongst my sorrow, I feel safer and calmer. I’m dreading my beloved Grandparents going back home.

Grandpa chides Grandma for being too hard on Ma.

‘She’s just lost her baby you know,’ he reminds.

‘Oh darling, I know. I‘m so sorry,’ cries Grandma and holds Ma close. Ma cries some more and clings onto her parents like they’re Skye come back from the dead. Grandpa just stands solidly there, looking very old and very sad.

The funeral service takes place beneath the fruit trees at the bottom of our garden. Close to three hundred people come to mourn and the whole day is slow-moving and surreal. I don’t remember much of the service. Only that there were people talking about me as if I wasn’t there, which I don’t suppose I was really.

In bed I finally weep for Skye. I cry and cry until sleep dries my tears.

The days drag on like stubborn weeds that refuse to be pulled and everything seems fuzzy and disjointed. Even our Collie-cross, Woolly, lies dejected at the back door, with his black nose resting on his paws and his eyes cast downwards.

A few days after the funeral, I answer the front door to see Luc standing there with a carrier bag in his hand and a nervous expression on his face.

‘Hi, Riley. How you doing? Stupid question. Can I come in?’

‘Course.’

He follows me into the kitchen and sits at the breakfast bar while I make us a cup of tea. We don’t say much but it feels comfortable and natural. I put our mugs on the counter top and he passes me the carrier bag.

‘What’s that?’

‘They were Skye’s DVDs. She lent them to me a while back. I thought you’d …’

‘S’okay, you keep them,’ I say.

‘No, no,’ he starts to protest and holds them out for me to take.

‘Please … I can’t … I don’t want them.’

He
realises
I mean it and dumps the bag on the floor by his feet.

Luc and I have known each other since forever. Whenever he was at a loose end he would always make time for my little sister. She would bug the hell out of him and he always gave in and paid her some attention. Ma thought Luc was an angel.

He and Skye were constantly laughing and mucking about together but I was never included in their games, or rather, I chose to exclude myself and then found it too hard and undignified to let myself back in. The stupid thing was, I knew they would have had me in their little gang in a heartbeat. But I always felt too nervous. I thought I wouldn’t be enough fun, I
’
d be dull and boring and I wouldn’t know how to act around him.

We sit in awkward silence for a minute and then do that hideously embarrassing thing of talking at the same time,
apologising
and then asking the other person to carry on.

‘God, how lame are we,’ I say and we smile at each other.

Skye’s name hangs in the air between us like a great big invisible banner. I don’t want to say it aloud in case I start to cry, but then I guess Luc doesn’t want to bring up the subject either. He’s too wary of upsetting me. Eventually the need to find out more overcomes my reticence.

‘D’you think you could tell me what happened? When you last saw her.’

Luc looks at me, working out whether or not I’ll be able to handle what he has to say. I steel myself and it takes all my strength not to let any tears fall. I know he won’t say anything if he sees me getting upset.

‘Well you know she came round the night before ... before she ...’

‘Before she died,’ I say, shocking myself at the baldness of the words. Luc’s eyes bore into mine, assessing the damage, but I stare back, dry-eyed. He judges it safe to go on.

‘It was about two in the morning. She could’ve just rung the doorbell but, typical Skye, she threw some stones at the window to wake me up. She’s a nightmare sometimes!’ Luc smiles, then sucks in his breath and looks down when he realises he’s just used the present tense. I touch his arm to reassure him and prompt him to continue. We both take a sip of tea.

‘She always liked to be a bit of a rebel and kind of show off in front of me. But I didn’t mind. I think waking me up at two in the morning was her way of telling me she wasn’t a little kid anymore, that she was cool. Do you know what I mean?’

I do know what he means. It’s just the sort of thing Skye would do. Anything fun and off limits had instant appeal for her. Visiting Luc at two in the morning fell into both these categories.

‘She woke me up from a really deep sleep and I wasn’t in the mood. I got a bit annoyed. But then she guilt-tripped me with her cute face and sad eyes.’

‘I know what that’s like.’ We flash knowing grins at each other.

‘She said she was bored. Bored! At two in the morning! So she persuaded me to come down for a swim. We swam and mucked around for about half an hour. But then it got a bit weird and awkward and it looked like … it looked like she was going to kiss me.’ Luc’s face flushes and he raises his eyes to me, embarrassed.

‘Well, she did have the most massive crush on you, so I’m not really surprised. What did you do?’ I asked.

Skye was so unlike me in that respect. If she wanted something, she just went for it without overthinking things. I’ll always envy her that. Life was simple for her. She wore her heart on her sleeve and didn’t embarrass easily.

‘Well, it kind of dawned on me she wanted something more to happen between us.’ Luc looks at me, awkward at having to tell me this. ‘To be honest, it scared me. She’s only fourteen, she’s way too young and anyway I’m not interested in Skye like that. I really like her, she’s a laugh and sweet and everything but she’s ... she was more like a mate, like a little sister I suppose. I really didn’t want to hurt her feelings.’

I listen to it all with a lump in my throat. I can picture Skye getting excited at the thought of telling Luc how she felt. Believing he would have felt the same way about her. My heart thumps. It’s hard to listen to this but I need to know.

‘So I panicked,’ Luc continues, ‘and before she could make any sort of move on me, I told her I was really tired and going to bed and I’d see her the next day.’

He pauses and I can see how hard it is for Luc to talk about this. The memory itself must hurt enough, but telling
me
, Skye’s sister, must be doubly bad.

‘She looked a bit upset and said ‘okay’, in a way that meant it obviously wasn
’
t o
kay
. But I was more worried that she was going to tell me she liked me and then I’d have the whole nightmare of trying to let her down gently. I was being a coward.’

‘No you weren’t. You just didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Anyone would have felt the same.’ I try to comfort Luc but at the same time I think of Skye and her disappointment, of the fact she’d died with Luc’s unspoken rejection in her ears.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, ‘and I can’t change anything now. I did what I did. I went back to bed. I just left her sitting there on the edge of the pool with her legs dangling in the water. I thought she
’
d get dried off, get dressed and go home. That was the last time I saw her ... alive.’

Luc drags the back of his hand across his eyes and blinks, not looking at me. He jumps up and paces around his stool before sitting back down. He doesn’t elaborate on how he found her body the next day and I don’t ask.

‘Riley, I am so sorry. You do know this will haunt me for the rest of my life. If I could go back to that night, I would never have left her there.’ He’s on the edge of tears, but he continues. ‘I don’t know which is worse – that Chambers could’ve been lying in wait the whole time we were outside, or that I left her alone while he broke in. You’ve got to believe me, I
wish
I hadn’t left her alone. I know it was just a crush and I could’ve easily let her down gently instead of running away.’

He’s going round in circles now, blaming himself. I do my best to try to reassure him that he couldn
’
t have known and that of course it isn
’
t his fault. But all these conflicting thoughts zigzag across my brain.

Part of me
does
blame Luc. Part of me is actually furious with Luc and furious with Skye. Why on earth did she have to go round there at two in the morning? I wish that Skye had been a little older and I wish that Luc had been attracted to her, because if he
had
let Skye kiss him, then maybe she
would
still be alive today.