Bella

EDDIE LIFTS HIS EYES FROM the page. All of a sudden he looks a great deal older than his nineteen years, like someone who's aged in a very short space of time. "There's nothing left," he says. "It looks like... it looks like the diary ends here."

"Yes," I say. "I couldn't write any more."

"So she gave the brownies to all of you," he says. "To you and Jake, too. She could have killed you all."

"Yes, but I didn't take one. And Jake hadn't eaten his, it turned out, because he hated—"

"Chocolate. Yeah. My parents told me that about him." He shakes his head. "That poor woman. And Jake. Oh God. What it must feel like to see someone die in front of you like that."

"I can tell you," I say. "It ruins you."

"And he was my age. I can't imagine... we never knew..."

"He was amazing," I tell Eddie. "You need to know that. He was the only one of us thinking clearly. He wanted to call 999."

"And did he?"

I hesitate. "No."

I tell him the rest. How Jake carried Cora out of the wood, set her down gently on the lawn. I was blinded by headlights on the drive, dazzlingly bright after the darkness of the wood. The ambulance was here, then... maybe the police, too. I longed for someone to take over, to determine what would happen next... whatever that might mean.

But when the lights turned off I saw it wasn't an emergency vehicle after all. It was a Range Rover, burgundy red. The same one that always sat in the driveway of Tome Manor. Frankie ran round to the driver's side and I saw a tall, white-headed figure step out. The two of them began conferring in urgent murmurs.

I think that's when it dawned on me that this wasn't going to go as I'd expected.

At that moment I remember turning back, sharply, at the sound of a sudden commotion from the woods. An explosion of movement in the topmost branches of the nearest trees. A hundred horrible, hoarse, cackling cries as a flock—a murder—of crows rose up from the treetops into the sky. And beneath them crouched the dark woods, silent and watchful.

I REMEMBER FRANKIE and her grandad breaking up their little conference, walking toward us.

"Is the ambulance on the way?" Jake asked.

"You can rest assured that the right and proper course of action is being taken," her grandad said. "But what we definitely don't need is any meddling." He turned to me. "I hope you're not thinking of doing anything stupid."

"I've told Grandfa everything," Frankie said. "How you were the one who picked the mushrooms and gave them to me."

Jake took a step toward her. "You were the one who cooked them into some fucking brownies and fed them to her."

"And I told you we couldn't take them," I said. "I texted you."

Frankie rolled her eyes. The fear I'd seen in the woods was gone. "Yeah, like I said. I never got it."

"Why didn't you eat one, then?" Jake asked. "Because you didn't, right?"

Frankie shrugged. "You always need a spotter. I was being responsible."

"I think it's quite clear neither of you ate yours either," Grandfa said. "Otherwise you'd be in the same unfortunate predicament. On that count you appear just as culpable."

"I felt sick," I said. Jake said: "I hate chocolate." Both answers sounded so stupid, so arbitrary. This wasn't lost on Grandfa. "I'm sure that would all sound very convincing to the authorities," he said, laconically.

"You hated her," Frankie said, rounding on me. "I saw the way you looked at her. You were so jealous."

I swallowed. I hadn't realized I had been so obvious. "I would never have—"

We all startled at a shriek from the direction of the swimming pool—a cackle of laughter. "Frankie," Grandfa said. "Go and tell your brothers it is time to end the party. I will deal with this."

I supposed by "this" he meant us. Also, I realized, the lifeless form on the lawn. I couldn't bring myself to think of it as "Cora."

When Frankie had gone, Grandfa turned back to us. To me. "I don't think you'd want to throw it all back in our faces, would you?" he said. "Not after everything we've given you. I don't think you'd show that kind of ingratitude. You've been very happy to swim in our pool, eat our food, sun yourself in our garden... Step up in the world from Tate's Holiday Park, isn't it? You've done very nicely for yourself." I hated how he made me sound: grasping and calculated. "And now we're asking something of you. There's nothing anyone can do for this woman now. I think we all see that. What happened tonight was a terrible mishap. We can agree on that too, I think?"

Mishap.That word. How it diminished everything.

"If you did feel tempted to go off on a folly of your own," he went on, speaking slowly enough that every word landed, "I can tell you now it would be very unwise. As we have established it could look far worse for you than for Francesca if the police were to become involved. This family has certain—resources. We will not hesitate to use them. I know people at the very highest level in this country."

I could see why he'd been such a successful Whip; he'd encircled me python-like with his words. No doubt he'd done the same with rebel MPs, bringing them back into line with threats and coercion. And we were just frightened children. No match for him at all.

Then he turned to Jake. "And I happen to know that your father has contravened the law in several ways with his farming practices. Practices that could get him thrown off his land if I were to speak to the right people." He let this sit for a moment, then: "Here's what I propose," he said, so measured, so reasonable. "No one will call anybody. And both of you will stay here tonight. It's late. You're tired. You should get some rest."

I sensed it, even then: he was running the clock down on us. Every minute that we didn't call the police made it a little less likely that we ever would.

We were shown into the library downstairs. He left us for a few minutes then returned to hand us each a thick envelope.

"Take a look," he said. "Please."

Inside was more money than I had ever seen in one place. Three thousand pounds, it turned out. Such a lot at sixteen. A serious, adult sum. Just the physical act of receiving our envelopes, accepting them from his hand, had changed something. Even if we'd thrown them back at his feet that simple, split-second act made us in some way complicit.

"Get some rest," Grandfa said, before he shut the door. The silent coda to his words: and keep your fucking mouths shut.

Jake turned to me. In the dim glow of the standard lamp he looked drawn and pale. Like the night had washed away all traces of the tanned, happy boy I knew.

"Cora. I was so confused when she turned up here tonight."

"Why?"

"She has a kid," he said. "She's a mum."

"What?" My first thought was he'd made a mistake. Cora couldn't be a mum. The tattoos, the piercings and eyeliner, the topless sunbathing... surely not?

"Yeah—you know him. Shrimp, from the caravan park. She had him when she was like, sixteen. Oh my God."

Then he doubled over and I could hear him sobbing. But after a while he stopped and when he next looked up his face was white, angry. "We can't let them get away with it," he said. "She should pay for what she's done."

"But you heard what her grandad said," I told him. "They'll say it was us just as much as her." What I really meant was: they'll say it was me. I was the one who picked the mushrooms after all. "And he threatened your family."

I saw the fight go out of him then.

"I can't do this," I remember him whispering into the dark, over and over. "I can't do this."

I LOOK AT Eddie. "I don't think I slept at all," I say. "But I must have done, at least for a few minutes, because when I woke up your brother was gone. That was the last time I saw him."

Eddie swallows. "So that's what it was," he says, hoarsely. "I'd always wondered. And my parents. They never knew..."

"I texted him the next day," I say. "I never heard back. Thought maybe it was my phone, after all. Tried to call. And then eventually—the day we left—I went to talk to him. I felt like I was going crazy. Trying to act half normal in front of my parents. Wanting to check the news somehow—and dreading it. But when I got to the farm I saw the police car, the blue lights flashing. A woman was at the gate, sobbing; a man had his arms around her. Your parents: it must have been. I thought—he's told them. He's told the police. And I ran all the way back to the caravan park and waited for it to be over."

Later when Dad came back to the caravan he looked somber. I hid in my little cabin, my heart thumping so hard I thought my parents must be able to hear it, and listened through the paper-thin door.

"Graham told me something awful," I heard him say to Mum. "It almost makes me glad we're leaving. Puts a bit of a cloud over everything. I mean... God. It's just tragic." And then I seemed to hear the rest in fragments. "Young lad from the farm—moped went over the cliffs last night—searching for the body right now..."

I'VE RECOUNTED THE last part to Eddie without meeting his eye, because I won't be able to get it all out if I see his expression. "So you see, it was my fault," I continue. "I brought him to The Manor. I got him involved with this place and Frankie's fucked-up little game." Finally, I look up and hold his gaze. "So that's the truth. If it hadn't been for me, your brother never would have died."