The It Girl(75)



She’s staring at him now, as if a stranger is standing in the corner of her kitchen.

“Will, are you seriously saying that if April’s murderer is still out there you don’t care?”

“I’m saying that April’s murderer—as tried and convicted in law—died in prison and that was the best thing for everyone! What good are you going to do by digging all this up—finding motives where there were none, and unearthing decade-old dirt? I mean, so what if April sent Ryan a pregnancy test—are you really going to the police with that? For what? So that a bloke in a wheelchair with two little girls and a wife who adores him can rot in prison instead of John Neville?”

“I’m not saying Ryan did it—” Hannah says hotly, but Will interrupts her.

“Then who? Hugh? Emily? Me?”

“Don’t be stupid, you weren’t even in college that night,” Hannah snaps. “But there were hundreds of other students and staff members who were, and who weren’t investigated because of my evidence against Neville. I can’t let that go, even if you don’t give a toss about what happened to April!”

She shuts her mouth at that and stands there, panting, horrified at her own words. She knows she went too far with that. Will is not stupid, anything but. And he certainly cares about April, just as she does.

She waits, expecting him to call her out on it—on the unfairness of what she just said, on her irresponsibility in pursuing this. She’s waiting for him to call her selfish, or obsessive, or to point out that she had no problem in letting Neville rot for ten years so why now, what does his death change?

And she wouldn’t be able to answer any of it. Because if he said any of those things, he would be right.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just turns away from her, puts the pan back on the heat, and goes on stirring.





BEFORE


“She’s coming,” Hannah said to Ryan, looking up from her mobile phone. As promised, Hugh, stationed in a room above the Porters’ Lodge, had texted her when the group of actors came in through the main gate. “They’ll be here in five. Someone turn off the music.”

Where are you???? she texted to Emily as the lights dimmed.

There was a kerfuffle behind the bar and, in the nick of time, the sound of Beck’s Odelay got muted and everyone went silent, or as close to silent as a room of fairly drunk students could pass for. “Turn the bloody lights back on!” someone grumbled from the far side, but the barman shook his head good-naturedly.

“Ah, give ’em a break, it’s only five minutes, mate.”

They crouched there in a greenish darkness, lit only by the illumination from the fridges behind the bar and the glow from the emergency exit signs. There was a momentary squeak of excitement as the main door creaked open, but it was swiftly quelled by Hugh’s voice whispering, “It’s only me, they’re right behind me,” as he slipped in beside Hannah, behind a table.

The silence was thick with tension, and when Hannah’s phone beeped, there was a gust of nervy laughter. Getting it out of her pocket was awkward, given her crouched position, but she knew it was probably Emily, hopefully on her way but running late.

It was Emily. But she wasn’t running late.

Sorry. Work.

Hannah stared down at it, half-shocked, half-furious. Sorry. Work. was all Emily could manage? The exams were over. April was supposed to be her friend. But there was no time to compose a response. The door to the bar was swinging open once again, wide this time, letting in a gust of summer night air, and Hannah heard April’s distinctively carrying tones.

“… and I said to him, that’s a bloody joke and a half, and I’m not having it. Hey, what’s happened to the lights?”

“Surprise!” The shouts rang out across the room, and the lights came up. The little group of cast members were standing just inside the door in full costume, looking appropriately stunned. April was squealing and putting her hands to her face in a very good impression of someone who had no idea this was happening, even though, as Hannah knew full well, she had helped direct everything from the guest list down to the exact proportions of the signature Medea cocktail.

“Oh my God!” she was saying, hugging person after person, wiping away what Hannah was pretty sure were nonexistent tears. “You guys! You didn’t! I can’t believe you did all this.”

“Congratulations, April,” Hannah said. “You were amazing, all of you.” She walked across and gave April a hug, feeling the unfamiliar roughness of April’s wig against her cheek, and very much hoping that the terra-cotta makeup wasn’t coming off on her top. “But especially you,” she whispered.

“Bloody well done you, putting all this together,” April whispered back. Then she pulled away and did a twirl, her toga fanning out as she did. “Like the getup?”

“Very much! I wasn’t expecting you to be in full costume, though. What brought this on?”

“Well, it was already half nine when the curtain came down. I thought no point in wasting more time when we could be drinking. Luis and Clem brought a change of clothes in a bag. I don’t know about Rollie or Jo.”

“Do you want to go up and change?” Hannah asked. “We can hold off on the speeches until you get back.”

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