53. Now

I hear myself saying that I don't know if what I'm about to say is useful, that I've realised something, and it might have something to do with Jenna going missing.

He nods. He tells me not to worry about if it's useful or not, to tell him everything.

And then I'm there again. It washes over me like the breaking of a dam.

Dry earth, hot grass, salty air. The smells of the summer fill my head and I'm running, Don, Spanish, Whip running with me.

That's what they call us:

Tristan is Don.

Lydia is Spanish.

Mina is Whip.

I'm Princess.

I skipped my one-to-one. I'll make up some excuse when I next see Miss Smith.

We sneak to the clearing the back way, over the school fence. We hide in the bushes, watching as Georgia – my ex-best friend, who we call Barbra – steps closer and closer to Tristan. Part of me wants to run out, tell her to piss off, put an end to it.

But part of me wants to see what she'll do. After all we've done to her, will she fall for it? Will she finally get her first kiss with my brother?

And that part of me wins.

But it goes wrong.

Georgia falls and Tristan climbs on top of her. I see his knee pressing between her legs and I feel like my heart has frozen. He pins her arms back, and Lydia and Mina go silent beside me. The breeze in the leaves becomes a roar filling my ears.

I jump up and run out and Mina and Lydia run after me.

It's all a joke. It's nothing. Stupid Georgia falling for our trick. I wrench her arm up and we carry her to the stream and toss her in and keep running, not looking back, out of the clearing, through the trees, back to the fence.

I feel sick but I laugh, wild and high.

We streak across the field and Tristan checks his watch. ‘Just in time,' he says, then he grins. ‘Don't want to keep Miss Smith waiting now, do I?' He pauses to unzip his bag, checking he has the tape he borrowed from me this morning. It's bright pink and has a smiley-face sticker on it, wearing thin.

‘Oh, she's waiting,' says Mina, and we all laugh, even though we made it all up. Even though when Miss Smith followed Tristan into the store cupboard it wasn't to reach into his pants like we told the whole school, but to ask him to get some chalk.

But it didn't matter. It was the truth now. Everyone knew it.

He laughs. ‘Maybe Baa Baa Barbra's too frigid for me, but she's just a little girl.' He keeps talking but I drown it out with thoughts of finally being free of the Smiths, those hippies posing as normal people, infiltrating our lives and trying to take it apart at the seams.

Because there's no way Georgia can come back to school. How much more can a person take?

Guilt slices through me but I pause by the school doors to catch my breath and push it far away.

They're dirty, evil, sick. Unchristian. They deserve everything they get.

We sneak round the empty school, waiting for Tristan to finish his one-to-one so we can all get a lift back from my mother. Mina and Lydia are staying with us for the weekend.

The only sounds are coming from the kitchen. It's Friday so no clubs or study hall. All the boarders are in their dorms or on the fields. I think dinner is at six.

I see again my brother kneeling in front of Georgia, prying her knees apart. I dig my thumbnail into the side of my finger to force the image away and I streak down the corridor and screech as I push into the assembly hall.

‘Let's celebrate!' I shout, and Mina and Lydia race after me. We run loops on the parquet, Mina starts singing ‘We Are the Champions', and then we collapse in a pile on the floor.

But staying still brings back the sight of Tristan's hand reaching up Georgia's skirt and I jump up again. ‘What are we doing inside?' I shout. ‘It's such a beautiful afternoon!'

We race outside and kick off our shoes and sit with our feet in the fountain. We joke about the porn we'd plastered across the common room, about Georgia sneaking it home for her own pleasure. We laugh about her hair.

We don't talk about what just happened.

Our smiles are too wide, too fixed.

Some boarders walk by and Lydia kicks water at them and they laugh and jog away.

It's almost six when Mother pulls up in our Rolls Royce. She leans out of her window. ‘Should you really be doing that?' she asks.

‘Oh, Mother,' I say.

She purses her lips and turns off the engine.

Then I see him, Tristan, leaning against the door-frame, just inside the school, half obscured by the light on the door's windows. There's something dark on his face and he's not coming out, just standing there.

I know immediately that something is wrong. I feel compressed, like there's going to be a thunderstorm.

I jump up, wanting to get to him before anyone else sees him.

I pull open the door. ‘Tris?'

His eyes are so round. His skin is pale. The dark stuff is blood. There's an open wound on his cheek.

‘Oh my God!' I reach for him and he holds out a hand.

‘Is Mother here?' he asks, even though he must've seen our car.

I nod.

‘Get her.'

I don't ask, I just run over, and Mother sighs and pulls herself out with some effort as I crawl in the back, feeling cold.

Lydia drops off the lip of the fountain and sticks her head into the car. ‘Princess?'

I shake my head and hug my knees.

She and Mina come in and sit either side of me.

‘What's wrong?' Mina asks.

Lydia takes my hand but I shrug her away.

I can't see my mother or Tristan. They must've moved out of the doorway.

‘Frances?' says Lydia.

‘Tristan's been hurt.'

‘What do you mean?' says Mina.

I lay my hand on the side of my face. ‘He has a cut – a gash – on his cheek.'

‘What?' says Mina.

‘How?' says Lydia.

I shake my head.

And then Tristan comes out of the school, looks both ways, hurries down the steps, and I push Lydia so I can get out and run over. ‘Tris? What happened?'

His eyes are still wide and vague. He waves a hand, looking past me. ‘Stay in the car,' he says to Mina and Lydia, and they do what they're told. He pulls me over to the fountain. Blood runs in a ribbon down his neck, staining his white shirt.

‘Tris,' I say, trying to get a closer look at his cheek, but he rears away.

‘Miss Smith – she attacked me.'

‘What?'

‘We were… We were getting along fine. And then she lashed out.'

‘She what?'

He shakes his head. ‘I don't know. She pulled me and I pushed back and she fell.' He puts his head between his knees and blood drips onto the gravel.

‘I don't think you should sit like that,' I say, and I haul him up and sit with my arm around him. ‘Where's Mother?'

‘What?'

‘Where's Mother?'

He looks at me, thinking. ‘She went in to check on Miss Smith.'

‘Check on her?'

He shakes his head. ‘I don't know.'

My stomach drops.

He whispers something.

‘What?'

He looks right at me. ‘I think she's dead, Frankie.'