Good Girl, Bad Girl(56)

“Did he ever compete?”

“For a while but he didn’t have the support to make it to the top. Instead he turned to coaching. He taught Jodie how to skate. She took to it like a . . .” She looks for the right phrase. “Do penguins skate?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, she was a natural.”

Felicity opens the biscuits and arranges them on a plate. “People think figure skating is graceful and gentle, but you have to be hard as nails to survive. The injuries. The falls. Jodie could be a proper little madam when she lost a competition, blaming everyone but herself—the judges . . . Bryan . . . her mum.”

She jiggles teabags in two mugs.

“My sister-in-law is a complete saint. I can’t remember the last time she bought a new dress or had a holiday or got her hair done, but Jodie always had a new costume. Her skates cost a thousand quid a pair and she needed new ones every year. And don’t forget the ballet lessons, gymnastics, physio, and choreography. Bryan was coaching her for free, but it still cost a fortune.”

Felicity tucks hair behind her ear. It falls across her cheek immediately.

Aiden yells from the living room. “Hey, Mum, get us a Red Bull.”

“Get it yourself—I have company.”

Aiden mutters sullenly and appears in the kitchen. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up close. He has an almost genderless face, full of straight lines and sharp angles, except for large eyes and long dark lashes that brush his cheeks when he blinks. It gives him a strangely androgynous beauty.

“This is Cyrus Haven,” says Felicity. “He works with the police.”

“Are you a detective?”

“A psychologist.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, without offering to shake my hand. Instead he takes a can of Red Bull from the fridge and goes back to the sofa and his guitar. The girl dangles her legs across his lap. Aiden pushes her feet away. She tries to nuzzle his neck, but he’s not interested. Eventually she picks up her phone and curls up on the opposite end of the sofa, looking bored.

Felicity settles again, curling her fingers around the mug and blowing gently across the top. “I thought Jodie would be fine, you know. She was going to make something of her life. She’d skate to Olympic glory, become famous and cash in.”

“Is there money in skating?”

“Oh yes. She could have become a TV presenter or done Disney On Ice shows in Las Vegas or gone on Dancing with the Stars. If I’d been given even a tenth of her talent . . .”

She doesn’t finish the statement, but I catch the hint of regret in her voice.

“What was your ambition?” I ask.

She smiles wistfully. “I’m not the ambitious type. I did once think of applying to British Airways to become a flight attendant, but then I met Bryan. We both wanted kids, but it proved harder than we hoped.”

“In what way?”

“I struggled to get pregnant. We used up all our savings on IVF. Maggie had Felix by then and I felt like such a failure. I didn’t have a career and I couldn’t have a baby.”

“What happened?”

She glances towards the sitting room. “Aiden came along like a gift from God. I was so relieved. Sometimes at parties when women ask me what I do, I feel guilty about being a stay-at-home mom and not having had a career. But I’m good at this. It’s all I ever wanted. It’s enough.”

The fridge rattles to life, as though punctuating the statement.

“I was hoping to ask you about Jodie,” I say.

“I thought the police had arrested someone.”

“They still have to prepare a case.”

Felicity nods.

“You watched her grow up,” I say.

“I was like her second mum.”

“What was she like?”

“Precious.”

I struggle with terms like “precious” or “treasure” or “princess,” because they tell me nothing. I need more. Was she flirtatious, brash, self-assured, or was she quiet, withdrawn, or self-conscious?

“She was very good to our Tasmin,” says Felicity.

“In what way?”

“Teenage girls can be very cruel. Tasmin has been bullied since she was in primary school. Don’t ask me why. I know she’s not the prettiest girl and she isn’t sporty or coordinated—her dance teachers used to hide her in the back row whenever they did recitals—but my girl has a good heart.”

Her voice has grown thick and she looks at her tea as though she’s forgotten whether she’s sugared it or not.

“Jodie stood up to the bullies. She made sure Tasmin was included.”

“Can I talk to Tasmin?”

Felicity glances at the ceiling. “She’s upstairs now. Some girls from school dropped round. They brought flowers.” I notice a ragged bunch of carnations in a vase. “It’s ironic really.”

“What is?”

“The same girls who used to exclude Tasmin now want to be her best friend. I’m not stupid. I know they’re up there now, pumping her for details, wanting to be involved.”

As if summoned by a bell, I hear running above my head and jostling on the stairs. Three teenage girls appear.

“We’re hungry,” says Tasmin, reaching for the biscuits. Felicity slaps her hand away. “They’re for guests.”