Then She Vanishes(65)

It can’t be true. Flora would never say those cruel things about her. Never.

‘Get lost or I’ll tell the police you’re giving my sister drugs,’ she cried.

‘Yes. Go ahead. Call them.’ He lifted up his T-shirt. Four deep whip marks were visible along his tanned back. ‘I’m sure they’ll be interested to hear how you attacked me.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re a nutter.’ Then the smirk was back. ‘Flora knows where to find me. She can’t keep away. You’ll see.’

‘If you come back here my Uncle Leo will shoot you with his gun,’ Heather yelled.

He flicked his middle finger at her, then turned and trudged away. She watched his retreating back, angry at his words, yet mortified that she had lost control. Again.

Flora had seen him arrive. She was up in her bedroom listening to her favourite All About Eve album, sprawled on her window-seat and thinking of Dylan, their magical evening two nights ago. From her room she had a view of the Big Wheel’s flashing lights between the trees. She wanted to go to him, but knew she had to be careful. Uncle Leo had given her a stern talking-to about drugs, and warned her that if he ever found her in that state again he’d tell her mum and call the police about Dylan. She couldn’t risk it.

And then, as if her thoughts had somehow conjured him up, Dylan was there, in the garden, talking to Heather. Her heart swelled. He had come to see her. Oh, he was so beautiful, she couldn’t bear it. She touched the leaded-glass window with her palm, her eyes scanning the length of the garden and the accompanying fields for Uncle Leo. Was he out riding? In the caravan park with her mum? Or somewhere with that annoying girlfriend of his?

A yelp of pain made Flora’s eyes dart back to Dylan and her sister. She sat forwards, in shock, unable to believe her eyes. Heather was whipping Dylan, her face filled with hatred. Thwack, thwack, thwack, over and over again while he cowered like a poor animal in pain. No. What was she doing? She was hurting him. Stop! She banged on the glass but Heather kept up her relentless, torturous rhythm, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

She was going to kill Dylan. She had to stop it.

Flora ran from her room and down the stairs, almost tripping over her long skirt, and raced through the living room and out of the French windows, barefoot. But she was too late. Dylan was gone and Heather was standing alone, riding crop at her feet.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Flora screamed, grabbing Heather’s arms and shaking her violently. ‘I saw you! I saw you from my bedroom window.’

Heather hung her head, a patch of red had appeared on each cheek. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.’

‘You’re a little psycho,’ she cried, still gripping Heather. ‘Where has he gone?’

Heather shrugged. And Flora released her, pushing her hard in the chest so that her sister toppled backwards, landing with a thump on her bottom. Then Flora sprinted across the lawn, faster than she’d ever run in her life, her bare feet snagging on stones and thistles but she didn’t care. She had to catch him.

She spotted him in the distance, just as he was entering the fairground. She tried to call his name, but Flora was too out of breath, too unfit, and the word died on her lips. She panted, clutching her side. Come back! She had no choice but to walk through the fair barefoot. She winced as she imagined treading on gum, sweet wrappers and God knew what else. But she was so desperate to kiss him, to soothe away the sores inflicted by her headcase sister that she would have walked over razor blades if she had to.

Dylan paused at the entrance of the fair, squinting into the sun. He reached around and touched the place on his back, near his left shoulder, where Heather had struck him.

Her poor baby. Flora took a few steps forwards, her breath ragged, still clutching her side, trying to press the stitch away. ‘Dylan!’ she called.

‘Dylan!’ a woman’s voice echoed.

Flora’s voice was drowned by another. A woman, running up to her boyfriend, her love, and jumping into his arms, wrapping her long, brown legs around his waist, her copper curls cascading down her back.

Flora bent over, in physical pain, feeling as though she might throw up as the woman leaned forward, kissing her Dylan deeply on the lips.

She had lost him. And it was all Heather’s fault.





35


My brain feels woozy. The images of that day are still all jumbled up so that nothing is clear. I just wish I could remember more. Everything aches, my head, my limbs, and I never feel warm.

Underneath all the fear and the guilt, I know that Dylan is to blame. He was the one who caused a rift between us. He’s the one with the secrets.

Unfortunately he’s not the only one. Uncle Leo. My mind keeps going back to him yet I can’t quite figure out why. I only know that he’s an important piece in the puzzle I’m trying to work out in my chemically fogged brain.





36




Jess


When my alarm goes off the next morning I’m surprised to find myself lying on top of the duvet, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. Rory isn’t next to me. I touch his side of the bed, the covers still pristine and wrinkle-free. Did he come home last night? I feel a stab of fear and sit up, blinking in the early-morning light that seeps around the edges of the bedroom curtains, my mouth dry.