Friend Request(61)

Of course this has occurred to me, but I can’t let that distract me right now. My mind is too full of other things.

‘We weren’t snuggled up. And he’s not a murderer. He’s a nice bloke.’ Why am I defending him?

‘Oh my God, do you fancy him? You do! You fancy the murderer!’

At any other time I would be delighting in Polly’s ability to lighten any given situation, however grim. This one can’t be lightened though. It’s too dark.

‘No, it’s not that.’ I don’t really know how I feel about him. Maybe, if things were different, there would be something there. But they’re not different. They are dark and ugly and Pete is entangled in it somehow.

‘And seeing Sam? How was that?’ she asks as she sits back down at the breakfast bar.

‘Fine,’ I say, thinking of wine running down my wrist, Sam’s eyes on my tongue.

‘Just fine?’ says Polly, instantly suspicious.

‘Yes, honestly. I hardly spoke to him.’ More lies.

‘Good,’ says Polly. ‘Probably just as well you ended up sleeping with that Pete bloke.’

‘I didn’t sleep with him! Not like that anyway.’ It was probably the most peculiar night I’ve ever spent with anyone, and that’s saying something.

‘I know, you said. So what did the police say about the fact that you spent the night with him?’

I consider lying again but I can’t bear for this to get any more complicated than it already is. ‘I didn’t tell them.’

‘What? Why on earth not?’

Oh God, how to explain this to her?

‘It was instinctive. I didn’t really think about it. It just seemed better if they didn’t know.’

‘But why? Louise, don’t be crazy, you can’t lie to the police. Call them now – tell them you made a mistake. It’s better if it comes out now, from you, rather than down the line.’

It’s so hard to make her understand without telling her the truth about what I did to Maria.

‘It’s complicated. It’s all to do with stuff that happened when we were teenagers. There’s something I don’t want the police to know. I… I can’t explain.’ My voice catches and Polly looks at me in concern.

‘What on earth do you mean? Why can’t you tell me?’

I shake my head, my face in my hands.

‘Louise.’ She pulls my hands away and looks me in the eye. ‘There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Come on, we’ve been friends for what… thirteen years? You won’t get rid of me that easily. What is it?’

I want so badly for her to understand. I can’t bear feeling so alone with this. Before Sophie was killed, I could cope, I could manage it, but everything’s spiralling out of my control. The thought of telling Polly everything, letting her in, feels like sinking into a feather bed.

‘You know I told you that Sophie got the Facebook request too, from Maria, the girl who drowned? Well… I didn’t tell you everything.’ I breathe deeply, trying to get my voice under control.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Sophie and I, we… we weren’t always very nice to Maria.’

Polly frowns. ‘Not very nice how?’

If I look up, I’ll lose my nerve. ‘We were… mean to her. When I told you that I’d experienced something similar to what Phoebe’s going through… well, I did, but more from the other side.’

I daren’t look at her. I swallow and continue.

‘I was friends with Maria when she first joined the school, and then, later, well… I wasn’t. Sophie didn’t want me to be friends with her, you see, and Sophie was so… And then on the last night, at the leavers’ party, the night she died, we did something terrible.’

‘What did you do?’

I glance up quickly. Polly’s face is pale, confusion written all over it.

Just say it. I close my eyes.

‘We spiked her drink with Ecstasy. Nobody ever saw her again. She must have wandered off and fallen from the cliff.’ I open my eyes and risk looking up. Straight away I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Polly is staring straight at me, white-faced and horrified.

‘You spiked her drink? Were you not listening to me at all when I told you what’s been happening with Phoebe? I can’t believe you talked to my daughter about it, gave her advice when all the time you…’ She pushes her stool back and stumbles off it, backing away from me until she hits the kitchen worktop, clutching it for support.

‘Do you know why I look like shit this morning?’ Her voice is harsh with accusation. ‘It’s because I’ve been up half the night with Phoebe. She was meant to be at a sleepover last night but I had to go and get her in the middle of the night after the mother became “concerned” because Phoebe was causing trouble and upsetting another girl. No prizes for guessing which particular girl came up with that little story. She cried for two hours when we got home. Two solid hours. Do you know what that’s like, to watch your child like that?’

I shake my head.

‘I’m sorry about what happened last night. It’s awful. But it’s not a good day for you to be telling me all this, Louise. Not after what I’ve just been through. I’m not in the mood to be understanding or forgiving, or whatever it is you want me to be. Not about this, not about teenage girls being fucking vile to girls who are supposed to be their friends.’