“Well, she wasn’t thin,” I said, and Julia made a strange noise, like a cross between a snort and a laugh, and when I looked at her, she was looking back at me like she hated me.
“Did people say that to her?” DS Morgan asked me. “At school? Were there comments made about her weight?”
“Jesus!” I was finding it so hard not to lose my temper. “No. Katie wasn’t being bullied. You know what? She used to call me skinny bitch all the time. She used to laugh at me, because, you know . . .”—I got embarrassed because Sean was looking right at me, but I’d started, so I had to finish—“because I’ve got no boobs. So she called me skinny bitch and sometimes I replied with fat cow, and neither of us meant it.”
They didn’t get it. They never do. And the problem was, I couldn’t explain it all properly. Sometimes I didn’t even understand myself, because although she wasn’t thin, it really didn’t bother her. She never talked about it the way the others did. I’ve never had to try, but Amy and Ellie and Tanya did. Always low-carbing or fasting or purging or whatever the fuck. But Katie didn’t care, she liked having tits. She liked the way her body looked, or at least she always used to. And then—I honestly don’t know what it was—some stupid comment on Insta or a dumb remark from some Cro-Magnon at school and she got weird about it. That was when she asked me for the pills. But by the time I’d got them, she seemed to be over it—and she said they didn’t work anyway.
I thought the interview was over. I thought I’d made my point, and then DS Morgan went off on a completely different tangent, asking me about the day Louise came round just after Katie died. I was like, yes, of course I remember that day. It was one of the worst days of my life. I still get upset just thinking about it.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I told them, “like the way Louise was that day.”
She nodded, then she asked—all earnest, all concerned, “When Louise said to your mother that she wouldn’t rest until she saw Nel pay, how did you take that? What did you think she meant by that?”
I lost it then. “She didn’t mean anything, you fucking moron.”
“Lena.” Sean was glaring at me. “Language, please.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but for God’s sake! Louise’s daughter had just died, she didn’t even know what she saying. She was crazy.”
I was ready to leave, but Sean asked me to stay. “I don’t have to, though, do I? I’m not under arrest, am I?”
“No, Lena, of course you’re not,” he said.
I spoke to him, because he understood. “Look, Louise wasn’t serious. She was totally hysterical. Off her head. You remember, don’t you? What she was like? I mean, of course she was saying all sorts of things, we all were, I think we all went a bit mad after Katie died. But for God’s sake, Louise didn’t hurt Mum. Honestly, I think if she’d had a gun or a knife that day, maybe she would have. But she didn’t.”
I wanted to tell the whole truth. I really did. Not to the woman detective, not even to Julia, really, but I wanted to tell Sean. But I couldn’t. It would have been a betrayal, and after everything I’d done, I couldn’t betray Katie now. So I said all I could. “Louise didn’t do anything to my mother, OK? She didn’t. Mum made her own choice.”
I got up to go, but DS Morgan wasn’t done yet. She was looking at me, this strange expression on her face, like she didn’t believe a word I’d been saying, and then she said, “You know what strikes me as odd, Lena? You don’t seem remotely curious as to why Katie did what she did, and why your mother did what she did. When someone dies like this, the question everyone asks is why. Why would they do that? Why would they take their own lives when they have so much to live for? But not you. And the only reason—the only reason—I can think of for that, is because you already know.”
Sean took me by the arm and led me from the room before I could say anything.
LENA
Julia wanted to drive
me home, but I told her I felt like a walk. It wasn’t true, but a) I didn’t want to be in the car alone with her, and b) I saw Josh, on his bike, across the road, going round and round in circles, and I knew he was waiting for me.
“’Sup, Josh?” I said when he came riding over. When he was about nine or ten, he started saying “’Sup?” to people instead of hello, and Katie and I never let him forget it. Usually he laughs, but this time he didn’t. He looked frightened. “What’s wrong, Josh? What’s happened?”
“What were they asking you about?” he said in this little whispery voice.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry. They found some pills that Katie took and they think that they—the pills, I mean—might have something to do with . . . what happened. They’re wrong, obviously. Don’t worry.” I gave him a little hug and he pulled away, which he never does. Usually he’ll use any excuse to have a cuddle or hold my hand.
“Did they ask you about Mum?” he said.
“No. Well, yeah, I suppose. A little. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said, but he wouldn’t look at me.
“Why, Josh?”
“I think we should tell,” he said.
I could feel the first spots of warm rain on my arms and I looked up at the sky. It was deathly dark, a storm coming over. “No, Josh,” I said. “No. We’re not going to tell.”
“Lena, we have to.”
“No!” I said again, and I grabbed his arm more tightly than I meant to and he yelped like a puppy when you step on its tail. “We made a promise. You made a promise.” He shook his head and so I dug my nails into his arm.