She walked to the men’s toilet and swung open the door. “Anybody in here?” she called.
There was no answer, but she heard a little gasp of breath. The stall doors were closed and no feet showed underneath when she bent to look. But he hadn’t managed to pick up the dance bag when he tucked himself up on top of the toilet lid.
Gemma leaned against the sink. “Jess, come on out. It’s Gemma James. I know you’re in there.”
There was no response.
After a moment, she said, “Jess, you have to come out sometime. I’m not going away. Look, I promise I won’t tell your mum where you are.”
After another long moment, there was a shuffling noise and the boy’s feet dropped into view. “You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said, but he didn’t unlatch the stall door. He sounded as if he’d been crying.
“There’s no one up here. And if someone comes in, I’ll tell them it’s out of order.”
More shuffling, but the door stayed closed.
“You must be hungry,” said Gemma. “I’ve got a PowerBar in my bag.”
“I could have it?”
“Absolutely. Chocolate and peanut butter.”
Slowly, the stall door creaked open and Jess Cusick came out, clutching his bag. He ducked his head, but not before Gemma saw that his eyes were red and swollen.
She was shocked at the sight of him. The skin was stretched across his cheekbones, with hollows beneath. He looked as if he’d lost pounds since she’d seen him a few days ago. “We could go into the vestibule,” she said, to cover her dismay.
He shook his head violently, his ash brown hair flying, and half-retreated into the stall. “No. I don’t want anyone to see me.”
“Okay,” Gemma said quickly. She glanced round the small space. “Look. We could sit over there.” With the PowerBar in her hand, she gestured to the few feet of wall at the back of the room. His eyes followed the motion. She might have been enticing a stray dog.
Gemma slipped past him, careful not to touch him, and sat down against the wall. When she started to unwrap the bar, Jess sat down beside her and said, “I can do it.” He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, rather than his school uniform, and had that particular boy-sweat smell she recognized from her own sons. His trainer-clad feet stuck out in front of him, too big in proportion to the rest of his body.
She handed the PowerBar over, politely looking away as he tore the rest of the wrapper away and wolfed the bar down.
When he’d finished and balled up the paper, he said, hesitantly, “Thank you.”
“It’s hard to think when you’re hungry.”
Jess nodded, glancing warily at her. “Are you going to tell my mum where I am?”
“Not if you don’t want me to. But maybe you should tell me why you skived off school this morning.”
Jess worked at the paper wrapper, balling it more and more tightly. Finally, he said, “I had to do . . . something.” When Gemma didn’t speak, he went on after a bit. “In the garden. I wanted to see where she . . .” His voice trembled. A sideways glance showed Gemma that his jaw muscles were clenched tight. “Died,” he managed. “I couldn’t look before. But I had to see.”
“Why did you have to see, Jess?”
“Because . . . because it was all my fault.” He was fighting back tears in earnest now.
“How could it be your fault?” Gemma asked. It occurred to her that if this boy had done what Kerry suggested, she was alone with him in a deserted place, but she didn’t feel the least bit frightened.
“Because of Henry.”
“Henry Su? The boy who died?”
Jess nodded, gulping. “His dad, Mr. Su, came up to Re-Reagan and me at the garden party. He said horrible things. That it was my fault that Henry died and that I was going to pay for it. Reagan told him to shut up, that it wasn’t true and that he couldn’t say things like that. I thought he was going to hit her. He said she’d be sorry, too. He was . . . I think he was drunk.”
“Then what happened?” Gemma said, but she was thinking frantically that they had checked Ben Su’s alibi and his colleagues had confirmed it. Had they lied for him?
“Reagan took me away. She said he was a bully and she wasn’t going to put up with it. But I didn’t want him to hurt her, so I told her . . . I told her it was true.”
“You what?” Gemma scooted back on the cold tiles so that she could look Jess in the eyes.
He looked determined now, and the tears had stopped. “I told her it was true. It was my fault Henry died.”
“But—”
“He was always teasing me. He was . . . rotten. You know? Mean. He did . . . things . . . to Arthur, until Arthur’s parents sent him away. Then he started on me, but he said I couldn’t tell because I’d get into trouble for lying. I couldn’t—I couldn’t make him leave me alone.” The words were pouring out now. “The only thing that bothered him was if he couldn’t find his inhaler. He was always going on about his bloody inhaler.
“That day, it fell out of his pocket and he didn’t notice. I picked it up. I thought I’d let him sweat a bit when he noticed it was gone. I didn’t know he was going to shut himself in the stupid shed. I just went home. And then . . . and then he was”—Jess took a gulping breath—“he was dead. And I couldn’t tell anyone what I’d done.”
“Oh, Jess,” Gemma breathed. “How awful.”
“I worried all week. And then I told her,” Jess said. “I told Reagan. I told her I still had the inhaler.”
“What did she say?”
Jess swallowed. “She said I had to tell Henry’s parents. She said that it was a dreadful accident, but that if I didn’t tell, I would carry it round with me my whole life.” He looked earnestly at Gemma. “She didn’t mean the inhaler, you know.”
Gemma nodded. “I know.”
“But she said that first my mum had to know.”
“Of course she did,” said Gemma, and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold tile.
“So I—I told her. I told Mum. She said they would have me arrested—Henry’s parents—and that I could go to jail. That I’d never dance again. She said Reagan was going to ruin my life, giving me ideas like that.”
Gemma sat for a moment, trying to formulate a question. “Jess, when was this? When did you tell your mum?”
“On Friday. Reagan came into my room after. Mum must have talked to her. She said she was very sorry, but she wasn’t sure she could stay with us any longer.” He was crying again, the tears slipping down his cheeks. “I was mad. I went to bed. She came in to talk to me again before she went out, but I pretended I was asleep.”
“And on Saturday?”
“When I woke up, my mum was gone, and Reagan was gone. At first, I thought maybe she’d gone away, but her things were still there. So I—”
When he halted, Gemma gave his arm a pat. “So you got on the bus and went to the tryouts at the London Boys Ballet School.”
Jess stared at her. “How did you know?”
“I spoke to your dad. He guessed.”
“But— Was he—”