Good Me Bad Me(69)

‘Sorry about that. Have you made a decision?’

‘Yes, these five.’

‘Great choice, they’ll be hard to beat, that’s for sure. Janet just reminded me that the Muse gallery on Portobello Road has a fantastic exhibition of charcoal sketches on at the moment. It’s a shame it’s the last night, I think you’d have enjoyed it.’

‘We could still go, couldn’t we? Tonight? I’d have to ask Mike but he won’t mind if it’s for school.’

‘Actually, I meant for you, you should go. I didn’t mean we’d go together.’

‘Oh, okay, sorry, it just sounds really great but I don’t think Mike will let me go on my own.’

Anxious, a bit overprotective since court, wants me home every night until the verdict’s announced.

‘I’d really like to go, Miss Kemp, especially after the procedure I had last week.’

‘Yes, how was that by the way?’

‘It was okay, it’s over now.’

‘Something to be glad about, I’m sure. I’m not promising anything, I have plans tonight, but I might try and pop into the gallery around sevenish. I wouldn’t mind a quick look myself. Why don’t you go with Mike and if I see you there, great.’

‘Okay, sure, I’ll ask him. You’ll be there at seven?’

‘I’ll try.’

Mike offers to accompany me to the gallery, I say no, it’s only a short walk away. I left out the part about meeting MK, told him all of the entrants for the art prize were going. He was unsure at first but I persuaded him, I’m good at that. After everything that’s been going on, I say. He nods. Understands.

Before I leave he checks I have my phone, tells me I look lovely, grown up even. I hope I haven’t got it wrong, chosen the wrong dress. I wait for her outside the gallery, it’ll be nice to walk in together I think. A few people drift in and out, I was a little early, so when it gets to ten past seven I’ve been standing there for almost twenty minutes, can barely feel my feet, pull my school coat tight round my body. I check my phone which is pointless as she doesn’t have my number nor do I have hers.

When it gets to twenty past I try to stay calm, reassure myself she’s just a bit late, that her artistic chaos will wrap round me when she arrives, making everything feel better. Timekeeping and discipline are the keys to success you used to say but I don’t want to think about you.

‘MK’s nothing like you.’

‘Sorry?’ comes a reply.

I realize I’ve spoken out loud as a trio of women exit the gallery and pass by. I mumble an apology, say something about practising my lines. They smile as they remember their schooldays long gone, happy days, judging by their smiles. Or the fact that time dilutes the bad memories as I hope it will mine.

I look at my phone, twenty-five to eight. She’s not coming, I know that now. When I get home I go straight to my room, hug a pillow to my chest. I long for the one from Mike’s office, blue, so soft.

You whisper in my ear, remind me that you’re my mummy, and what MK did was wrong. I put the duvet over my head, but your words get to me anyway and after a while I begin to listen to what you’re saying, begin to agree. You’re right, I know you are, what MK did wasn’t nice.

I hear it when you reply, the excitement in your voice.

THAT’S MY GIRL, ANNIE. WHAT WILL YOU DO?

TELL ME, WHAT WILL YOU DO?





30


The verdict comes in on Wednesday, just under a week after I was in court. I check my phone as usual on the way back from school, three missed calls from Mike in the past half hour. I log on to the BBC news web page, your picture. The word: sentenced.

Guilty.

Guilty.

Guilty times twelve.

You go down for all nine murders, the judge passed sentence immediately. Life, no chance of parole. Mike’s waiting for me by the front door, opens it as I arrive. I nod to let him know I’ve seen the news. He says, come here, shh, it’s okay.

I thought I’d be happy, relieved. That after the trial was over I’d be able to leave behind what I did to Daniel. I did what I did to be good, to save him, yet it still makes me bad. It makes me the same as you.

Saskia comes into the hallway, rubs the spot in between my shoulder blades.

‘I’m sorry, Milly. But at least it’s over now, we can start planning your birthday,’ she says.

When I look up I see Mike signal no with his eyes. Too soon, he means. She clocks it, looks disappointed for getting it wrong. Again.

‘Whenever you feel ready then, Milly,’ she says, walking away.

Mike asks me if I’d like to catch up, he’s keen, the next chapter of his book to be written I bet. The day of the verdict. I tell him no, I’d like to be alone.

I sit on the floor, my back against the end of the bed. I sit and think of you. Of the times we had. The times you sat there in your chair, no such thing as underwear. A programme on killers, brethren you said, though I’m better than them, I won’t get caught. How will they catch me? You berated their inadequacies, their failings. It’s because they’re men, you said, being a woman gives me a shield and you do too, Mummy’s little helper.

The press, the name they gave you, you’ll have heard, and seen your face on the front of the newspapers. Your nickname, my favourite book, written in bold: