‘We’ll stay,’ she says. ‘But, Kate, we have to –’
I don’t know what she was about to say. We have to discuss this? Talk to each other? Whatever it was, Kate interrupts.
‘Don’t worry.’ Her voice is weary. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’ll call Mark Wren in the morning. I’ll tell him everything.’
‘Everything?’ I manage. Kate’s mouth twists in a wry, tired smile.
‘Not everything. I’m going to tell him I acted alone. I won’t bring you into it.’
‘He’ll never believe you,’ Fatima says falteringly. ‘How could you have dragged Ambrose all that way?’
‘I’ll make him believe,’ Kate says flatly, and I think of the drawings, the way Kate made the school believe what she wanted them to, in the face of all the evidence. ‘It’s not that far. I think with a tarp someone could – could drag a –’ But here she chokes. She cannot say the words. A body.
I feel a sob rise in my throat.
‘Kate, you don’t have to do this!’
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I do.’ And she comes across the room, and puts her hand on my cheek, looking into my eyes. And her mouth flickers in a little sad smile, just for a moment. ‘I want you to know this, I love you all. I love you so much, all of you. And I am so, so sorry, more than I can express, that I dragged you all into this. But it’s time I ended it, for all our sakes. It’s time I made it right.’
‘Kate –’
Thea looks shaken, her face is white. Fatima is standing, and she rubs her hand over her face as if she cannot believe it has come to this, that our friendship – the four of us – is going to end this way.
‘Is this it?’ she asks uncertainly. And Kate nods.
‘Yes. This is it. This is the end. You don’t need to be afraid any more. I’m sorry,’ she says again, and she looks from Fatima, to me, and last of all to Thea. ‘I want you to know that. I’m so, so sorry.’
I think of the lines from Ambrose’s letter. I am so sorry, I’m so very, very sorry to be leaving you like this …
And as Kate picks up the lamp and walks up the stairs, into the darkness, with Shadow a glimmer of white at her heels, I feel the tears begin, falling down my face like the rain that is spattering the windows, for I know she is right. This is it. This is the end. And I can’t bear for it to be so.
WHEN I EVENTUALLY make my way up the stairs to Luc’s room, I’m not expecting to sleep. I’m expecting another night of lying there, questions churning in my head as Freya slumbers beside me. But I’m tired – more than tired, exhausted. I climb into bed fully clothed and as soon as my head touches the pillow, I fall into uneasy dreams.
It’s some time later – I’m not sure how late – that I am jerked awake by the sound of voices in the room above. They are arguing, and there is something about the voices that prickles at the back of my neck.
I lie for a moment, dragging myself out of disturbing dreams of Kate and Ambrose and Luc, trying to orientate myself, and then my eyes adjust. Light is filtering through the gaps in the floorboards of the room above, flickering as someone prowls back and forth, voices rising and falling, and a thud that makes the water in my glass ripple, as of someone hitting a wall in barely contained frustration.
I reach out for the bedside light, but the switch clicks uselessly before I remember about the electricity. Damn. Fatima took the lamp to bed with her, but in any case, I have no matches. No means of lighting a candle.
I lie still, listening, trying to work out who is speaking. Is it Kate, ranting to herself, or has Fatima or Thea gone up to confront her for some reason?
‘I don’t understand, isn’t this what you wanted all along?’ I hear. It’s Kate, hoarse and ragged with weeping.
I sit up, holding my breath, trying to hear. Is she on the phone?
‘You wanted me to be punished, didn’t you?’ Her voice cracks.
And then the answer comes. But not in words, not at first.
It’s a sob, a low groan that filters through the darkness, making my heart leap into my throat.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this.’
The voice is Luc’s, and he sounds beside himself with grief.
I don’t think. I slip out of bed and go to Fatima’s door, rattling the handle. It’s locked, and I whisper through the keyhole, ‘Fati, wake up, wake up.’
She’s there in a moment, her dark eyes wide in the blackness, listening as I point to the creaking boards above. We hold our breath, trying to listen, trying to make out who’s speaking.
‘What did you want then?’ I can hardly understand Kate, she’s crying, her words blurred with tears. ‘What did you want if not this?’
Fatima’s fingers close on my arm, and I hear her intake of breath.
‘Luc’s up there?’ she whispers, and I nod, but I’m trying to hear Luc’s words, between the sobs.
‘I never hated you …’ I hear. ‘How can you say that? I love you … I’ve always loved you.’
‘What’s going on?’ Fatima whispers frantically.
I shake my head, trying to replay everything from last night in my mind. Oh God, oh Kate. Please tell me you weren’t …
Luc says something, Kate’s voice rises above in anger, and then there’s a crash, and a cry from Kate – of pain or alarm, I can’t tell – and I hear Luc’s voice, too choked for me to make out words. He sounds on the verge of losing it.
‘We need to help her,’ I whisper to Fatima. She nods.
‘Let’s get Thea, and we’ll go up together. Strength in numbers. He sounds drunk.’
I listen as I follow Fatima down the landing, and I think perhaps she’s right. Luc is beside himself.
‘It was only ever you,’ I hear as we run down the stairs. His words are anguished. ‘I wish to God it wasn’t, but it’s true. I would have done anything to be with you.’
‘I would have come for you!’ Kate sobs. ‘I would have waited, made him change his mind. Why couldn’t you have trusted him? Why couldn’t you have trusted me?’
‘I couldn’t –’ Luc chokes, and then his words come faintly as I run down the corridor to Thea’s room. ‘I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t let him send me back.’
Thea starts up from bed as we burst in, her face wild with fear, changing to shock as she sees Fatima and me standing there.
‘What’s going on?’ she gasps.
‘It’s Luc,’ I manage. ‘He’s here. We think – oh God, I don’t know. I think we might have got it all wrong, Thea.’
‘What?’ She’s out of bed in an instant, pulling her T-shirt over her head. ‘Fuck. Is Kate OK?’
‘I don’t know. He’s up there now. It sounds like they’re fighting. I think one of them just threw something.’
But she’s already out of the room, running towards the stairs.
She’s barely reached the bottom step when there is another crash – this one much louder. It sounds like someone pulling over a piece of furniture and we all freeze, just for a moment. Then there is a scream, and the sound of a door opening, running footsteps.