His & Hers

Zoe tucked her strawberry blonde hair – which did not look natural – behind her pierced ears. Then she raised her shirt high enough to display a pierced belly button, as though that were her idea of a greeting. I soon discovered just how good Zoe was with a sewing machine; half the school had paid her to take up the hems of their skirts.

Helen, ‘the clever one’, had Cleopatra-style black hair, and cheekbones so defined they looked like they hurt her face. She quickly lost interest in me, and went back to what she had been doing – stapling sheets of pink A4 paper, to make them into what I would later learn was the school newspaper. She was using her full weight to push down on the stapler, and the sound of it repeatedly firing seemed to rattle my remaining nerves. It made me think of a gun.

Rachel reached inside her bag and produced a Kodak disposable camera. I’d never seen one before, but soon discovered that it required film and patience. There were no such things as digital cameras in those days, we didn’t even have mobile phones. The whole camera had to be sent off to be developed, which could take days, in order to see a single picture taken on it.

I always remember the sound it made when Rachel took a photo of me.

Clickety-click. Clickety-click. Clickety-click.

She had to wind the film on afterwards, every time, and the little grey plastic wheel would make a sound, as well as leave a mark on the skin of her thumb.

‘Take a picture of me and the new girl on her first day,’ Rachel said, smiling that pretty smile before giving the camera to Helen, who looked slightly cross about having to pause her stapling.

Rachel posed with her arm around me. I blinked when the flash went off, so two pictures were taken in case I ruined the first.

‘This way we’ll have a before and after,’ Rachel said, snatching the camera from Helen and putting it back inside her bag. I didn’t think to ask before or after what. ‘The rest of them are all losers, especially her,’ Rachel added, glancing around at the rest of the class. I turned to see a girl sitting alone at her desk reading a book. ‘That’s Catherine Kelly, odd as you like and best avoided. Stick with us and you’ll be OK, kid.’

I stared at the lonely-looking girl, with hair and eyebrows so blonde they were almost white. Her skin was also unusually pale, making her look like an apprentice albino. I couldn’t help but notice the ugly braces on her teeth, as she chomped away on a chocolate bar for breakfast. Her clothes were creased and covered in stains. Like the girl wearing them, they looked in need of a wash. As soon as she finished eating one chocolate bar, she opened the lid of her desk and took out another, tearing the wrapping as though she were famished. She was a skinny little thing, despite the snacks. Her big eyes reminded me of Bambi, munching on fresh grass, completely clueless that the hunters were watching. Deciding to stay away from her was not a problem. It was deciding not to that would result in disaster, but I didn’t know that at the time.

All I wanted to do for so long was to leave Blackdown and never return. Looking around the hotel bedroom now, I don’t understand how I have ended up back here. I take one last look at the photo of five girls, whose lives were changed for ever not long after it was taken, then I flip it upside down and put it back on the desk. I don’t want to look at their faces anymore.

I go to the bathroom, wash my hands as though the memories have made them feel dirty, then splash some cold water on my face. When I come back out into the bedroom, the photo catches my eye again. It is faceup, even though I could have sworn I turned it over. And that isn’t all. Someone has used a pen to mark a black cross over Rachel’s face.

Him

Wednesday 05:55

The race to sleep is beaten by the sound of my phone ringing, rather than the alarm.

It’s Priya, again, and I have to tell her to slow down. My head hurts from the cheap red wine, and she’s speaking too fast for my brain to process what she is saying. I’ve slept in my clothes, lying on top of the bed in the room that was mine as a boy. I am so cold my hands struggle to hold the phone to my ear. I don’t understand at first, but then I can see that the window is open where I had a cigarette late last night. If Zoe finds out I smoked in the house – with my niece sleeping in the room next door – she’ll kill me.

I remember how good it felt at the time, not just the rush from the nicotine, but the natural high from doing something wrong and thinking I’d gotten away with it. I also remember that feeling disappearing when I sensed I was being watched from the street below. It was so dark outside that someone could easily have been staring right up at me from the shadows and I’d never have known. I try to forget about last night, but when I sit up my head hurts even more, and I know I need coffee.

I make Priya repeat her final words, just to be sure I’ve understood them, and she says it again.

‘A second body has been found in Blackdown.’

I try to formulate a response, but nothing comes.

‘Did you hear me, boss?’ she asks, and I realise I still haven’t said anything.

‘Where was the body found?’

My voice sounds strange when I finally remember how to use it.

‘St Hilary’s. The girls’ grammar school,’ she says.

I take a moment to think. I want to smoke, but I only have one cigarette left after last night, and it feels like I should probably save it.

‘Did you say the girls’ school?’

‘Yes, sir.’

My mind races my reactions. Two murders within two days, here, suggests we might be dealing with a serial killer. The bosses will be all over it once they know, like flies on fresh shit.

‘I’m on my way.’

I shower quickly and quietly then head downstairs, trying not to wake anyone. I needn’t have bothered. Zoe is already up, fully dressed for a change, and in the kitchen. She’s watching the BBC Breakfast programme.

‘Want some?’ she asks, sliding a pot of coffee in my direction, without looking away from the screen.

‘No, I’ve got to go.’

‘Random question before you do, have you seen the nail clippers? They seem to have disappeared from the bathroom and I need them,’ she says.

My mind flashes to the Tic Tac box, and I stare at Zoe for a long time without answering.

‘What?’ she asks.

‘Nothing. No, I haven’t seen them. Speaking of missing things, have you seen my Timberland boots?’

‘Yes. They were by the back door yesterday, covered in mud.’

My blood seems to chill in my veins.

‘Well, they’re not there now,’ I reply.

‘And I’m not your mother, find them yourself. Why the rush to leave so early?’

‘Work stuff.’

‘Because they’ve found another body?’

I stare at Zoe again, taking in the fact that she is fully dressed, the way her cheeks look rosy – like they do when she has been for a rare run – and how her car keys are on the kitchen table, as if she has just come back from somewhere. It’s six in the morning, and I can’t think of anywhere in Blackdown that is open at this time of day.

‘How do you know they found another body?’ I ask.

‘Because I’m the murderer.’

She doesn’t smile and neither do I. Zoe has always had a warped sense of humour, but a tiny part of me wonders if that’s all this is. I’ve never known the real reason she fell out with Rachel Hopkins, or the other girls she went to school with.