The Hiding Place(61)

“Was I?”

“You were.”

“The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“Something like that.”

“We fell out, badly, in our teens. Stupid, looking back. Over a girl, as these things usually are.”

“Was the girl Marie Gibson?”

“Yes.”

The lie comes easily.

She sips her drink. “I wouldn’t have had her down as your type.”

“Why? What do you think is my type?”

“I mean, she’s pretty but—”

“But what?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way—”

“Okay.”

“I know this seems a shitty thing to say with the cancer and everything, but she always seemed a bit of a bitch.”

I’m slightly taken aback. “Well, she could be tough when she wanted to be.”

“I don’t mean tough. I mean a bitch. She would throw her weight around because of Hurst. I’ve seen her reduce a teacher to tears at a parents’ evening. Once, she went around to another mother’s house because their kid had accused Hurst Junior of bullying. This woman worked part-time for the council. Next day—contract terminated.”

I frown. I suppose Marie could be a bit of a firecracker. And a mother can’t always see their offspring’s faults. Still, it doesn’t sound like the Marie I remember.

“Well, people change, I suppose.”

“Not that much.”

“And I was young and foolish back then.”

“What are you now?”

“Old and cynical.”

“Join the gang.”

No, I think. She puts on a good front. But I don’t believe that. I can see it in her eyes. The light hasn’t gone out. Not completely. Not yet.

“That reminds me,” I say. “You never told me which one you are?”

Her forehead creases. “Which one of what?”

“Want to make a difference or can’t get a job anywhere else?”

“Well, obviously, who wouldn’t want this?” She spreads her arms.

“So, you want to make a difference?”

“Is this an interview now?”

“No, I was just wondering.”

“About me?”

“About Emily Ryan.”

Her face changes. The softness is gone.

“She was the student you were talking about, wasn’t she? The one who killed herself?”

“You really know how to ruin a mood.”

“You said she was a student of yours. But you weren’t teaching here when she died.”

“Been doing your research?”

“Just call me Columbo.”

“I can think of other names. And I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“True.”

“I barely know you.”

“True.”

“You’re fucking irritating when you’re agreeable.”

“Also—”

She holds up a hand. “Okay. You’re right. Emily wasn’t my student.” A pause. “She was my niece.”


—



“My sister was a few years older than me. No dad around and Mum wasn’t exactly Mum of the Year, so we were close. We grew up in Edgeford—you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it—not the best area of Nottingham.”

“Anyway, Carla—my sister—she got pregnant pretty young. Following the family tradition, the dad didn’t hang around, but she was a brilliant mum. She brought Emily up while training to be a nurse. Emily was a sweet kid; she grew up into a pretty okay teenager.”

“That’s a feat.”

“I was teaching at a school in Derby, so I couldn’t come and see them that much. But Emily and I would text or FaceTime. She came to stay with me a few times. We’d go shopping, to the movies and stuff. I was the cool auntie, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s what cool aunties are for.”

A tiny smile. “Don’t get me wrong. She was thirteen, she could be moody sometimes but overall she was good to be around—bright, funny, inquisitive.”

I feel my heart give a little. I wonder what sort of teenager Annie would have been. Loud, outgoing, funny, sporty? Or would she have reverted into herself, like so many do?

“Then, Carla got a job. A good job. They moved. Emily had to change schools.”

“Let me guess. They moved to Arnhill?”

She nods. “The job was at the hospital in Mansfield. Arnhill wasn’t far, houses were cheap and the school was within walking distance. It seemed to make sense.”

Most bad decisions do at the time.

“Moving schools—to any school—is tough when you’re thirteen,” I say.

“To start with, it seemed okay—”

“But?”

“It was too hunky-dory. You know—when everything is so frigging fine, it just can’t be.”

“What did your sister say?”

She sighs. “She didn’t get it. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She loved that girl’s bones, but it was like she just didn’t see the problem. Or she didn’t want to.”