said.
“She’s not. She’s worse.”
“Not possible.” A man stood in the doorway, short and thin, a Daily Mail in his hands. “Surely,” he added.
“Hi, Dad,” said Cassie, staring at Danny with narrowed eyes. “You’re home early.”
Out in the garden a few minutes later, they sat in the summer house, cans of Pepsi and their maths books spread out on a picnic table in front of them.
“So your dad’s visiting, is he?” asked Danny. “He doesn’t look –”
“What? Bent as a nine pound note?”
“You said your parents had split up.” She was staring down at her exercise book, but he knew she wasn’t reading her work. He’d upset her. He’d messed things up.
“Okay,” she said softly. “You found me out. My big dark secret. Every family has to have one, don’t they? A skeleton in the cupboard. You know what mine is? My big secret that I try to hide? It’s that I’m the ordinary, dull one. I’m an only child, with happily married parents, in a comfortable little picturebook cottage in a commuter village. Mum and Dad love me. We go on holiday every August, and every October half-term we stay with Nan in Prestatyn. It’s such an ordinary life. And then ... then I meet you and I’m like, how can I make myself seem interesting?”
She looked away again. After a few seconds, she said, “Forgive me?”
He shrugged. She confused him all the time, whether she was telling the truth or not. It didn’t make that much difference. “Maybe,” he said.
“You can kiss me again later, if you want. Not now, though. Not here. Dad’d brain you. See him there in the window?” She waved at her father, who turned away from the window instantly.
“I’ll think about it,” said Danny.
“D’you believe in ghosts?” she said, sparking off in a completely new direction in that way of hers.
“Hmm?”
“Life after death, that kind of thing.”
Rattled, he struggled for an answer.
“There’s this cool website, that’s all. Do you have a computer at home?”
“There’s one I use,” he said.
“Cool. I’ll text you later. So: what’s yours?”
Another change of tack. “My what?”
“Dark secret. Everyone has one, like I say.”
“You wouldn’t want to know.”
“Go on,” she said, pushing him on the arm. “Tell me what it is. Give me a clue.”
He shook his head. “Really,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to know.”
~
Later, she walked with him from the house. At the top of Swiss Lane they came to the gap in the hedge where she had hidden from him last week. She stepped into the gap and he followed.
She reached up, pulled his head down, kissed him. Longer this time and, briefly, their teeth scraped together.
“I’ll text you,” she said.
He left her in the hedge, and walked home, his head full of Cassie Lomax. Somehow, she had a way of breaking through all his carefully-constructed barriers. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
~
Back at home, Val was red-eyed with recent tears.
She sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine that was almost the same shade as her recently-hennaed hair.
“Danny,” she said, brightening up as he came into the room. “Did you get your work done?”
He nodded. “What’s up?” he said.
She hesitated, and then slid her newspaper across the table towards him. It was the Echo , folded open to the National News page.
He spotted the single paragraph instantly.
Killer Appeals
Anthony Smith, found guilty in 2001 of five murders, is to appeal against his conviction. Smith claims new evidence shows psychiatric reports used in his trial were misleading. His five mutilated victims, killed on a single night in April 2001, included Smith’s aunt and a close friend. No date has been set for the hearing.
“It’s all opening up again,” said Val, sloshing the wine briskly around her glass. “I don’t want to lose all this.” She flicked her head, indicating the flat, the Hall, Hope Springs, their new life, in that
“She’s not. She’s worse.”
“Not possible.” A man stood in the doorway, short and thin, a Daily Mail in his hands. “Surely,” he added.
“Hi, Dad,” said Cassie, staring at Danny with narrowed eyes. “You’re home early.”
Out in the garden a few minutes later, they sat in the summer house, cans of Pepsi and their maths books spread out on a picnic table in front of them.
“So your dad’s visiting, is he?” asked Danny. “He doesn’t look –”
“What? Bent as a nine pound note?”
“You said your parents had split up.” She was staring down at her exercise book, but he knew she wasn’t reading her work. He’d upset her. He’d messed things up.
“Okay,” she said softly. “You found me out. My big dark secret. Every family has to have one, don’t they? A skeleton in the cupboard. You know what mine is? My big secret that I try to hide? It’s that I’m the ordinary, dull one. I’m an only child, with happily married parents, in a comfortable little picturebook cottage in a commuter village. Mum and Dad love me. We go on holiday every August, and every October half-term we stay with Nan in Prestatyn. It’s such an ordinary life. And then ... then I meet you and I’m like, how can I make myself seem interesting?”
She looked away again. After a few seconds, she said, “Forgive me?”
He shrugged. She confused him all the time, whether she was telling the truth or not. It didn’t make that much difference. “Maybe,” he said.
“You can kiss me again later, if you want. Not now, though. Not here. Dad’d brain you. See him there in the window?” She waved at her father, who turned away from the window instantly.
“I’ll think about it,” said Danny.
“D’you believe in ghosts?” she said, sparking off in a completely new direction in that way of hers.
“Hmm?”
“Life after death, that kind of thing.”
Rattled, he struggled for an answer.
“There’s this cool website, that’s all. Do you have a computer at home?”
“There’s one I use,” he said.
“Cool. I’ll text you later. So: what’s yours?”
Another change of tack. “My what?”
“Dark secret. Everyone has one, like I say.”
“You wouldn’t want to know.”
“Go on,” she said, pushing him on the arm. “Tell me what it is. Give me a clue.”
He shook his head. “Really,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to know.”
~
Later, she walked with him from the house. At the top of Swiss Lane they came to the gap in the hedge where she had hidden from him last week. She stepped into the gap and he followed.
She reached up, pulled his head down, kissed him. Longer this time and, briefly, their teeth scraped together.
“I’ll text you,” she said.
He left her in the hedge, and walked home, his head full of Cassie Lomax. Somehow, she had a way of breaking through all his carefully-constructed barriers. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
~
Back at home, Val was red-eyed with recent tears.
She sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine that was almost the same shade as her recently-hennaed hair.
“Danny,” she said, brightening up as he came into the room. “Did you get your work done?”
He nodded. “What’s up?” he said.
She hesitated, and then slid her newspaper across the table towards him. It was the Echo , folded open to the National News page.
He spotted the single paragraph instantly.
Killer Appeals
Anthony Smith, found guilty in 2001 of five murders, is to appeal against his conviction. Smith claims new evidence shows psychiatric reports used in his trial were misleading. His five mutilated victims, killed on a single night in April 2001, included Smith’s aunt and a close friend. No date has been set for the hearing.
“It’s all opening up again,” said Val, sloshing the wine briskly around her glass. “I don’t want to lose all this.” She flicked her head, indicating the flat, the Hall, Hope Springs, their new life, in that
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