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  ‘What were they rowing about?’ Ellen asks Doreen. I’m no longer reliable enough to discuss events in which I played a key role.

  ‘He couldn’t hear well. The bush he hid behind was on the other side of the track. He’d gone to pick up Benny but Rob had already done it. Johnny said he remembers being excited at having a day off, and took the shortcut home to catch up with Jennifer.’

  I conceal my joy in hearing how he wanted to be with me. Besides, it’s not the case anymore.

  Doreen takes a breath. ‘As he approached the tracks, it sounded like someone was being attacked. He tiptoed around the trees that remained after the storm.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come out when he saw us?’ I ask. Is my anger really that frightening?

  ‘He was going to. Poor kid was terrified when you shoved Kelly and she lay bleeding on the ground.’ Doreen’s words are razor-sharp.

  ‘Did he help Kelly?’ Claire asks.

  ‘No. He’s regretted it ever since. The boy saw his best friend kill a girl. He was so tortured by it he didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘It must have been awful,’ Claire says.

  ‘I’ve forgiven him. But I will never forgive you.’ Doreen’s finger points at me.

  I seize a last opportunity for leniency. ‘But Claire said she spoke to Kelly after it happened. Kelly was conscious.’

  Doreen hugs herself. ‘It doesn’t mean she didn’t eventually die. Stop trying to wriggle out of it.’

  ‘Did Johnny’s family move because of me?’ I’m pushing my luck, but I have to ask. Although Doreen said Johnny kept it a secret, I wonder if he told Rose and she scooped her clan away.

  ‘For a while afterwards he was in a bad way and wouldn’t leave his room. You did that to him.’ Doreen raises the accusing finger again. ‘Rose fretted. When Rob got the opportunity to go into partnership at a garage in Little Parston, she jumped at it. Johnny practically begged her to get them off the estate. He couldn’t face me or bumping into Jennifer. The family moved on a few months after Kelly died.’

  My heart shattered that day, watching them filling up a van and Johnny refusing to acknowledge me. The Roses didn’t go far though. The information is useless. Still, something else nags at me. Knowing Constance’s version, this needs to be put into context.

  I grasp a fragile lifeline. ‘Did Claire tell you what Constance shared with us yesterday?’

  Claire startles as the pieces slot together. ‘Call myself a reporter? I was so wrapped up in you lying, Jen, I forgot. Constance spoke to Kelly after I did. Kelly was alive.’

  ‘She could have died slowly and painfully.’ Ellen’s face confirms the error of her harsh statement. ‘Sorry, Doreen.’

  ‘But that’s just it.’ I must speak now I’m convinced I’m not a killer. ‘Constance checked her over thoroughly. The wound was small. Head wounds sometimes bleed a lot but Kelly’s had stopped.’

  ‘Really?’ Doreen raises an eyebrow.

  Claire stands and squeezes my shoulder. I wonder if it’s excitement or a show of solidarity. ‘It’s true. Constance was great at her job, right, Doreen?’

  She doesn’t reply, probably recalling the times Constance patched her and Kelly up after altercations with Graham.

  Claire returns to reporter mode. ‘Constance was adamant Kelly didn’t die from the cut in her head. The one Jen caused, and which she needs to explain why she’s never mentioned it.’ She removes her hand from my shoulder. I’m still not forgiven for lying to my old friend.

  ‘Claire recorded it.’ Ellen passes Claire her mobile phone. ‘We need to listen to it.’

  Shaken by the series of revelations, Doreen visibly weakens. ‘Before we do, Jennifer owes us the truth about why she attacked Kelly and abandoned her.’

  It’s time to tell them what happened. There’s nothing left to lose. I allow my mind to travel back, taking these three women from the past and present with me.

  43

  16th October 1987

  Jen pounded out her hatred for Patricia with every step she took back from school. She’d told her mum it would be shut because of storm damage. As usual, Patricia ignored her. She banned Jen from turning on the radio to listen to closures updates. The disruption to her sleep when Jen asked if they had to go to school was bad enough. A string of curses served as answers from under Patricia’s duvet.

  Approaching the estate, Jen decided she had an advantage. While out of the house, she was away from Patricia. Mandy would be safe with Liz, who’d no doubt listened to the announcements and kept her at the flat. Liz had a week off work. She said she was looking forward to not delivering bouquets on behalf of guilty husbands and boyfriends. Jen knew she was joking. Flowers and people were Liz’s favourite things.

  On the way home, Kelly was chattier than usual. The noise went straight through Jen who’d woken in a foul mood. Facing Patricia’s bitchiness first thing did nothing to reduce it. When Kelly shrieked at the sight of the tree lying across the entrance to Troddington Secondary, Jen wanted to gag her. It was a tree. They fell in storms. Kelly could be so immature.

  Mrs Newton slouched against the gate, instructing parents and children to go home. She rued being the designated emergency member of staff this time. The head of department role had its drawbacks. She’d rather have been marking a stack of ever-increasing maths homework. Instead, she hoped another natural disaster happened soon. The science department were next on the cover list.

  ‘Mrs Newton, look at the tree!’ Kelly sought her teacher’s mutual enthusiasm.

  Mrs Newton’s disdain for Kelly pointing out the obvious was a thing of beauty. Jen liked her maths teacher even more as she reflected on the earlier scene.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ Kelly asked.

  Jen didn’t reply. On approach to the Rembrandt Estate sign, Kelly skipped. Jen wondered if she had been dropped on her head at birth. The girl wasn’t normal. Kelly beckoned Jen to catch up, frustrated with her slowness.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Lay off the constant questions.’

  Kelly interrogated Jen all the way home. She was nearing learning Jen’s inside leg measurement with the information she’d collated.

  As Kelly dropped behind, Jen knew she’d taken it too far. ‘Ignore me. I’m having a rubbish day.’

  Kelly smiled forgiveness. ‘I’ll try to be quieter. Mum says I’m a chatterbox and…’

  Jen signalled a zipping of the lips. Kelly giggled at her error. She tugged her sleeves, stretching an outgrown jacket Graham insisted still had plenty of wear.

  ‘Shall we see what the storm’s done to the railway track?’ Kelly said. ‘I bet loads of trees have fallen there.’

  ‘I need to check if Mandy is at Liz’s.’ Having a younger sister was useful for making excuses.

  ‘Okay.’ The excitement disappeared from Kelly’s face.

  ‘Only for a few minutes then.’ Jen didn’t want to upset her again. For the whole of their walk she’d inflicted her annoyance for Patricia upon Kelly. Kelly craved attention. She spent too much time alone.

  Kelly bolted across Turner Road, through the field of overgrown grass, and towards the railway track. Her flabby thighs rubbed against each other in tight trousers. Jen jogged behind, figuring the quicker they got there, the sooner she would see Mandy and Johnny. She wondered if he’d attempted to go to school.

  Hurtling down the embankment was always a thrill. They slipped down, with the momentum throwing them onto the track. An unguarded flash of affection hit Jen as she watched Kelly spinning in a circle with her arms wide open. Kelly’s impulsive delight was charming.

  ‘Look, so many fallen trees!’ Kelly became Dorothy seeing Oz; no longer in a dull life but captured by a strange and wonderfully altered world.

  None of the trees were on the line as the banks were set far back. The odd train still using the route would make it through. Jen studied timetables so she could watch them pass by. Creating stories for the commuters fired her imagination
. As fewer trains passed through the stretch of track, the opportunities to be creative there dwindled.

  Jen’s childhood had seen many changes in the estate’s landscape. Over the years, park equipment was removed, never to be replaced. All that remained were a set of swings with broken chains and split tyres. The square of concrete that once housed the park now memorialised a playful past. Depending on their occupants, houses were either neglected or extended. At its heart though, it was still the Rembrandt Estate. Jen hoped the community would endure against the supposed progress.

  Kelly examined the gravel at the side of the track, kicking away pieces of glass. Finding what she sought, she took a box of matches from the inside pocket of her satchel and lit the dog end of a cigarette.

  ‘That’s grim, Kelly.’

  ‘Want a puff?’

  ‘No way. Buy them from the ice cream van, like the other kids do.’ As Kelly dropped her hand, Jen realised she couldn’t afford it. ‘Don’t smoke. It’s not nice and you’ll stink.’

  ‘My dad smokes,’ Kelly said.

  Jen decided not to state Graham was no one’s role model.

  Kelly regarded the cigarette. ‘I don’t smoke much, only when he leaves longer bits of fags in the ashtray. I like seeing the smoke trail into the air.’

  ‘You can do that watching someone else smoking, you goon.’

  A visible lump forced its way down Kelly’s throat. Jen was tiring of the girl’s fragility. Kelly deserved to be bullied if she didn’t toughen up.

  ‘I enjoy stealing Dad’s ciggies. It makes me feel stronger than him when I do.’ Kelly paused then crushed the cigarette under her foot. ‘You’re right though. Smoking is bad for me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t Graham do his nut if he found out?’ Jen heard the rumours about the Pratts. She wasn’t usually bold enough to discuss the family dynamic with Kelly.

  ‘He’d lose it big time, but he’s not sussed it out yet,’ Kelly said.

  Jen didn’t reply. The conversation about domineering parents was taking a difficult turn.

  ‘He hits me a lot anyway, so it wouldn’t make much difference.’ Kelly shrugged and then jumped over the tracks. It reminded Jen of the game they used to play. If you stood on a crack, you broke your mother’s back. She willed Kelly to hit the line if they could change it to disabling your abusive father.

  ‘Does your mum try to stop him?’ Jen’s curiosity won against her uneasiness.

  ‘She does her best. Sometimes I don’t tell Mum when he hits me so she doesn’t get walloped too. Mum always defends me, you see. I’m an expert at holding in tears. Dad hates it because he likes to see me upset.’

  Kelly plucked a robust white flower bursting through from the gravel. A single flower bloomed in autumn. A girl spoke of violence inflicted upon her as a normal occurrence. Jen felt heady with the world around her no longer making sense.

  ‘Does Patricia enjoy making you cry?’ Kelly asked.

  Jen pretended not to hear. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Does your mum like hurting you?’

  Kelly’s second question dripped poison in Jen’s ears. The storm inside her gathered momentum.

  Jen swivelled around, stomping towards Kelly. ‘You’d better shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you, permanently.’

  44

  16th October 1987

  Kelly stared at Jen. ‘I’m sorry Patricia hurts you. That’s not nice.’

  Jen moved closer. ‘Mum’s never touched me. I don’t know where you got that idea from.’

  ‘My mum said Patricia’s been hitting you and Mandy for years. Mum says when you’re being hit yourself you can spot others who get belted a mile off. She’s seen the bruises you try to hide.’

  The space between Jen and Kelly’s faces narrowed but Jen couldn’t see the person in front of her. Kelly disappeared and became another obstacle to living a normal life.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Jen tried to focus on the other girl. ‘You don’t know me or my family, Smelly Kelly.’

  ‘There’s a bruise on your wrist.’ Kelly looked at where Jen’s sleeve had ridden up.

  Jen gripped the cuff. ‘I did it in P.E.’

  ‘I use that excuse too. Do you tell people you have accidents as well?’

  ‘We’re not the same. My parents love me and we’re a decent family. Not like you weirdo Pratts.’ Jen refused to unite with Kelly on the basis of being a punch bag.

  Kelly stepped away.

  Jen lost reason. A girl she’d been kind to was taunting her. The rage Jen harboured for Patricia unleashed.

  Jen snatched Kelly’s collar.

  Kelly propelled forwards.

  Jen saw ridicule in sympathetic eyes.

  Kelly’s ankle rolled.

  Jen pushed.

  Kelly toppled back.

  Silence descended.

  Kelly lay upon the track. Blood spooled from her head. Her eyes were shut.

  Jen slumped to the ground to check if Kelly was breathing. Glass pierced Jen’s palm as she steadied herself. Panic diagnosed Kelly must be dead. Scarlet stained the stones. Kelly’s chest appeared still.

  Jen’s survival instinct directed her to Liz and Freddie, her protectors. They would know what to do.

  Running through the estate, her mind spun with how to confess. Would she lose the only adults who cared about her? Would Johnny no longer be her friend? Would she be arrested? Sobbing made sprinting harder but she continued, afraid of discovery.

  I’m evil, she decided. I’m worse than Mum. She’s never killed anyone. She has the perfect reason to hate me.

  Her thoughts turned to Mandy. Resting in an alleyway, Jen took a moment to think. If she went to prison, what would happen to her sister? Patricia wouldn’t allow Freddie and Liz custody. With Jen locked up, Mandy would take the full brunt of their mum’s spite.

  Jen had a sickening decision to make between Mandy and Kelly. Mandy was alive and reliant upon her. Devastating as it was, Kelly was probably dead. Jen hated herself for the lie she made in that moment, and one she’d always have to tell. She ran once more.

  …

  Liz opened the door. She gasped at the sight of the sweating and injured girl. As Jen recounted how a group of kids tripped her and she’d landed on glass, Jen hoped Kelly still had a chance. Liz poured out love, along with TCP, upon Jen’s wounds.

  Jen grieved for the end of childhood innocence.

  45

  Present

  The room is heavy with confessions and revelations. I’ve given my version of the altercation with Kelly. Claire has also played the recording of our meeting with Constance. Lying for decades has taken its toll. My speech will be more economical and I refuse to offer excuses. Kelly’s death began with me and I accept responsibility.

  Doreen gathers strength. ‘Kelly always was chatty. I said her mouth would get her into trouble eventually.’

  I daren’t ask what she means. Stretching my limbs, I check if I’m real. I’ve shared my biggest secret and I’m no longer sure who I am. Killer and liar were my main identities.

  Claire fidgets with her hair. Ellen focuses on Doreen. We look to Doreen for a final verdict.

  ‘You hurt Kelly,’ Doreen says.

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Their stares make me conscious of showing weakness. I remove the fingers curled into my palm.

  ‘But you didn’t kill her.’

  All heads turn from me to Doreen. I await the dramatic gasps of the courtroom spectators, astounded at the judge’s leniency. Nothing comes.

  The masochist within me has to ask, ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘I do. God help me, I do. Constance should’ve been a doctor. She said the senior staff admired her work. If she says Kelly’s wound wasn’t life-threatening, it must be true.’

  It’s callous to show relief when Doreen’s sobbing. Instead, I go to her, offering a hug she might rebuff. She lifts her arms and I kneel. The embrace feels right this time.

  ‘I can’t forgive m
yself for pushing Kelly and leaving her there.’

  Doreen touches my cheek. ‘Don’t you see? You were a kid.’

  I’ve never allowed myself to consider how I was a fourteen-year-old impetuous abused girl. When I told the story to Doreen, Ellen, and Claire, the terror I felt back then returned. I didn’t want to be like Kelly and couldn’t bear the similarities of our circumstances. The truth is though, she was stronger than I ever was.

  Aware that kneeling appears as if I’m begging for leniency, I stand.

  ‘I should’ve told someone Kelly was hurt.’ I can’t allow myself to go unpunished. Losing part of years to addiction and self-hatred isn’t enough for what Doreen has endured.

  ‘Yes, you should have,’ Doreen says, ‘but you were scared and protecting your sister. You thought it was the right thing to do, but you could’ve told us. If anyone is to blame for this, it’s your mother.’

  I can’t speak. It will take time to unlearn defending Mum.

  Claire places an arm around me.

  Ellen blows her nose. ‘I should’ve done something about Patricia.’

  I shake my head, asserting everyone needs forgiveness for what we did and didn’t do. We need to begin the process of moving on.

  ‘That was intense,’ Claire says, as we sit.

  Doreen yawns.

  ‘Let’s get you to bed.’ Ellen moves to help.

  ‘Let Jen do it,’ Doreen says.

  I hold her elbow as she negotiates the stairs. The care assistant is due soon, but Doreen needs to sleep. She insists I wait outside the bedroom while she undresses, intent on keeping her dignity for as long as possible.

  ‘You can come in.’ Doreen’s faint voice battles through the closed door.

  She sits on the edge of a bed topped with a duvet of chintzy flowers. The pattern explodes across the room, covering walls, lampshades, and cushions. Doreen takes pride in her home. Many council estate women aimed for a showroom standard. Their houses were their palaces.