Chapter 1

Chapter 1

This is a bad idea.

As she climbs the steep woodland trail towards the top of White Cross Hill, Jennie trips over a rogue tree root and curses her decision to come here. Dusk is morphing into night and the beam of her phone’s torch is doing a poor job of lighting the dirt path beneath the ancient oak, pine and silver birch trees. Their gnarled and twisted trunks loom up out of the darkness like woody spectres.

A dry branch snaps beneath her trainers and Jennie leaps forward, her heart pounding.

Get a grip. It’s just a twig.

Thirty years ago, she’d known this route like the back of her hand. These woods were once her favourite place to photograph, and the top of the hill, marked by the 85-foot-high white chalk cross, was party central for all the kids who went to White Cross Academy. Jennie shakes her head. It’s been thirty years since she took a proper photograph and it feels almost as long since she went to a party.

The summit’s not far and as she gets closer, Jennie hears Duran Duran’s ‘Ordinary World’ playing somewhere up ahead. Slowing her pace, she pushes the fringe of her shoulder-length black hair out of her eyes and smooths her T-shirt down over the waistband of her jeans. She hopes she looks at least half decent.

Reaching the edge of the treeline Jennie flinches as a sudden blast of laughter cuts through the darkness, causing the birds roosting in the tree above her to take flight. She can hear the sound of people talking now as well as the music. Her stomach flips and she wonders if it’s too late to back out.

She hates parties. Why the hell did she say yes to this one?

Nostalgia. Betrayal. Regret.

When she’d first seen Lottie Varney’s post on the Class of ’94 Facebook group she’d scrolled past, not wanting the memories of that time in her life to come flooding back. But something about learning that her old school was going to be demolished and a shiny new apartment block erected in its place stayed in her mind, even though she’d only attended the school for the last year of sixth form. After thirty-six hours, she’d searched for Lottie’s post – an invitation to an impromptu reunion up here where they’d partied as schoolkids – and marked herself as attending.

She regrets it now, of course.

As she reaches the summit, the ground levels out and Jennie gets her first glimpse of the party. It’s far grander than she’d envisaged. Huge flaming torches are staked into the ground every few metres forming a large square party space. Groundsheets, blankets and cushions are spread artfully across the grass. Two trestle tables have been joined to form a makeshift bar laden with bottles nestling in enormous buckets of ice.

The party is already in full swing, with people silhouetted in the torchlight chatting and drinking. Jennie smells the unmistakable scent of weed and hears the braying laughter of Lorraine Chester, the ringleader of the mean girls.

This is definitely a bad idea.

Joining the sixth form for the final year hadn’t been easy. Jennie had been wrenched from Solihull High School in Birmingham and inserted into White Cross Academy. There might have only been seventy-nine miles separating the two places, but from the way Lorraine Chester and her bitchy friends treated Jennie, she might as well have been an alien. They laughed at her Brummie accent, mocked her fashion sense and, when she tried to ignore their taunts and jibes, upped their bullying game and got physical.

Jennie grimaces. Why the hell would she ever want to see people like Lorraine Chester again? She’s lived here in White Cross for the past thirty years and has managed to avoid them. There’s no sense in changing that now.

As her nerve fails her, Jennie turns away.

‘Jennie? Jennie Whitmore? Is that you?’

Jennie freezes. The woman’s voice is both a blast from the past and unfamiliar. Turning back towards the party, Jennie sees Lottie Varney hurrying across the grass towards her. She looks older than when they last met, but that was years ago, and her blonde hair is poker-straight and parted in the middle, rather than permed as it was back in sixth form. She’s still petite with a ballerina’s poise, and she looks expensive in the black Dior cocktail dress and spike-heeled sandals. Jennie has no idea how she’s able to walk on grass in them, or how she’s managed to hike up the hill for that matter.

‘Hi.’

‘Oh my God, it is you!’ says Lottie, reaching Jennie and pulling her into a hug. ‘It’s been forever . I’m so glad you made it.’

Jennie feels awkward. What do you say to someone you used to be friends with but haven’t seen in nearly thirty years? There’s no rulebook for this, not given their history. ‘I just—’

‘Come and get a drink,’ says Lottie, taking Jennie’s arm and leading her into the torchlit area. ‘And then I want to know everything that’s going on with you.’

Jennie realises resistance is futile. Resolving to have one drink and then leave, she follows Lottie across to the makeshift bar. Duran Duran’s slow-tempo song transitions into Corona’s ‘The Rhythm of the Night’ dance track and Jennie feels her mood lift a little. She recognises a few people as they pass them. Johnny Mackenzie, the top scorer in the school football team, who looks greyer but as athletic as ever. Polly Bisley, the maths genius, who barely looks a day older than she did in sixth form. And the Winkleman twins, Carl and Daisy, who Jennie’s shocked to see are still wearing colour co-ordinated outfits.

‘Here we go,’ says Lottie as they reach the bar. ‘What’s your poison?’

Jennie looks at what’s on offer in the buckets of ice. There’s Smirnoff Ice, Hooper’s Hooch, pre-mixed Archers and lemonade, and several buckets overflowing with Bud Light. She hesitates. There don’t seem to be any soft drinks and she’s never been a big drinker. ‘I—’

‘Fun, aren’t they?’ says Lottie, her overzealous expression only rivalled by the whiteness of her teeth. ‘I thought it would be nice to have retro drinks, you know, like we had back in the day?’

Jennie nods. She feels dull, lethargic even, standing next to Lottie and her megawatt smile. If she’s going to survive this party, she’s going to need some help. Forcing a smile, Jennie reaches into the closest bucket and takes a bottle.

‘Smirnoff, great choice,’ says Lottie. She grabs a bottle for herself, removes the cap and then passes the bottle opener to Jennie. Lottie clinks her bottle against Jennie’s. ‘To friends reunited.’

Jennie forces another smile. ‘To friends.’

‘So tell me, what have you been up to all these years?’ says Lottie. ‘You know I married Nathan? When we met at Exeter in freshers’ week I just knew he was the one straight away. And I was so right. He’s a sweetheart and he’s doing brilliantly in his career. I mean, I know people don’t like bankers very much, but the perks are just phenomenal and the quality of life we have makes it all so worth it.’

Jennie nods along. It’s clear she’d have no hope of getting a word in even if she wanted to. Instead, she drinks the Smirnoff as quickly as she can without seeming rude. Once the bottle’s empty she’ll make her excuses and leave.

‘So, we’re out in Upper Heydon now,’ continues Lottie. ‘It’s only four miles from here, but so much easier for the school run to Stockley House. Octavia, our eldest, started there last autumn, and Anthony and Katelyn are down for places when they leave Bassington Prep. They’re supposed to take the entrance exam too, of course, but the bursar says it’s really just a formality.’

‘Sounds great,’ says Jennie, taking another swig of Smirnoff and taking a quick glance over Lottie’s shoulder to see if there’s anyone else here she recognises. She’s hoping, and yet also fearing, that Hannah might have come, that this reunion might have lured her closest friend back to White Cross. That this might be the day Jennie finds out why Hannah abandoned her all those years ago.

Lottie doesn’t seem to notice as she continues her monologue. ‘Oh, and we have ponies now. Ponies! Of course everyone does really, these days, so it’s no big thing, but Octavia is a such a keen horsewoman and her trainer tells us she has the most wonderful natural talent for it. It’s so important to encourage your kids to follow their passions, don’t you think?’

Jennie doesn’t have kids and she’s never wanted them. She’s not sure how to answer. After all, it’s not as if her own mum ever encouraged her in anything. ‘I—’

‘Oh look, there’s Elliott,’ says Lottie, waving frantically. ‘Elliott, over here!’

Jennie turns to see Elliott Naylor walking towards them from the other side of the torchlit area. She hasn’t seen him in years but aside from a few fine lines around his eyes and a smattering of grey in his otherwise black hair, he looks just as she remembers. She’s relieved he’s dressed as casually as she is, rather than in full glam mode like Lottie. His dark blue jeans, checked Superdry shirt and Converse trainers don’t look that different from what he used to wear, but his glasses are stylish black Gucci frames rather than the round John Lennons he wore at school.

‘Hey,’ says Elliott. He air kisses Lottie on both cheeks and then grins at Jennie, his voice sounding as if he can’t quite believe she’s there. ‘Jennie Whitmore? Wow. It’s great to see you.’

Jennie feels her face flush. Elliott’s always had this effect on her, even though she knows he’s gay. ‘It’s good to see you too.’

Elliott gestures towards her bottle of Smirnoff. ‘Another?’

‘Please,’ says Jennie. Anything to stop feeling so awkward.

‘Good idea,’ says Lottie, putting her hand on Elliott’s arm and giving it a squeeze. ‘Thanks, darling.’

As Elliott heads to the bar, Jennie manages to get a question in. ‘There are so many people from school here. You must be in touch with loads of our year group?’

Lottie gives a little smile, clearly pleased with the compliment. ‘I’m only in contact with them through the Class of ’94 Facebook group really, although I catch up with Elliott and Rob from time to time.’

Rob Marwood was another of their friendship group. Super intelligent, but under a lot of pressure from his parents to get the best grades at every subject, Rob could be funny, moody, and rather off-the-wall. He was obsessed with Flatliners and wore a big grey coat like the one Kiefer Sutherland had in the film, even in the height of summer. When he’d told them he was applying to study medicine at uni, Jennie had been pretty sure he’d made his career choice based on that film.

‘Is Rob coming?’ asks Jennie, although what she really wants to ask is whether Hannah’s coming tonight and whether Lottie has had any contact with her.

Lottie shakes her head. ‘No, he’s on another one of his luxury holidays. Jammy git, he’s always off somewhere exotic or other. I suppose that’s one of the perks being a super successful anaesthesiologist.’

‘Here you go,’ says Elliott, returning from the bar and handing both Jennie and Lottie a cold Smirnoff. ‘You talking about Rob?’

‘Of course,’ Lottie replies, rolling her eyes, but smiling with it. ‘It must be tough having all that money to spend.’

Elliott shrugs. ‘We’re not doing so bad ourselves, and money isn’t everything, is it, Jennie?’

She opens her mouth to agree, but Lottie cuts her off.

‘So says the man who just finished renovating an old chapel into a home. I drove past it the other day on the way to hot yoga. That place must have cost you a fortune.’

‘Not a fortune, but it was a bit of a stretch.’ Elliott looks bashful. ‘We felt it was important that the restoration was done as sympathetically as possible. It’s our home now, and we wanted the community to be happy with what we’d done.’

‘Where is it?’ asks Jennie, taking a sip of her drink.

‘In Whitchurch,’ says Elliott. ‘The station is just a couple of minutes’ walk away, so it’s handy for travelling to work. And Luke, my husband, works from home, so he can live anywhere.’

‘Nice,’ says Jennie. Whitchurch, a small town about fifteen miles away, is one of the most sought-after and expensive places in the area.

‘And how’s baby?’ says Lottie. ‘How long is it now?’

Elliott grins. ‘Just over a month. We’re so excited, but nervous too. There seems so much to prepare. Every time I come home from the lab Luke has ordered a whole load more baby stuff.’

‘Congratulations,’ says Jennie. She imagines Elliott will be an amazing dad. ‘I’m really happy for you.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’ He holds her gaze and reaches out to give her hand a squeeze. ‘It really is great to see you, Jennie.’

‘It is,’ says Lottie, the over-brightness of her voice seemingly at odds with the rictus smile on her face. ‘It’s been so long. What happened to you, Jennie? It seemed like you just vanished after we got our A level results.’

Jennie drops her eyes to hide her anger and discomfort. That’s not how she remembers it at all . At first, after Hannah had disappeared, she’d joined forces with Lottie and they’d spent hours together designing and photocopying ‘missing’ posters. They’d gone around town putting them up in shops and on community noticeboards and lampposts. They’d even spent a couple of weeks posting them through as many letterboxes as they could. But nothing had worked. And when, almost a month later, an eyewitness came forward saying they’d seen Hannah at the train station the night she disappeared, the police decided that Hannah was just another teenage runaway fleeing a troubled home.

The news had broken Jennie. She’d been certain Hannah had been taken against her will, that she had been on the way to meet her at the bus stop as they’d planned. That she’d never leave her without saying goodbye. When the evidence disproved that, Jennie’s world imploded. She started to believe that maybe Hannah had chosen to leave without her, and she couldn’t cope. The rest of the summer passed in a daze of grief and self-imposed isolation. She barely got out of bed and she listened to Metallica’s Black Album , especially ‘Nothing Else Matters’, on repeat. By the time Jennie had felt able to venture out again, Lottie and the others had become distant, distracted by university and new relationships, until their friendship with Jennie seemed entirely forgotten. It was as if Hannah had been the glue that held them together, and without her their friendship group failed to function.

Jennie realises that Lottie is staring at her, still waiting for an answer to her question. ‘I’ve always been here. I never left.’

There’s an awkward pause in the conversation. Lottie gives Jennie another forced smile. Elliott looks sympathetic but unsure how to respond. Jennie fiddles with the label on her bottle, peeling it in thin strips from the glass. Behind them the conversations and laughter continue. On the speakers, Stiltskin’s ‘Inside’ fades and Spin Doctors’ ‘Two Princes’ takes its place. Jennie swallows hard. Hannah loved this song.

It’s Lottie who finally breaks the silence. ‘Have you heard from her?’

‘Not once. You?’ says Jennie.

‘No, although there have been plenty of sightings reported on the Class of ’94 page, and even that grainy photo of her taken in Ibiza a few years ago.’

So Lottie’s just as much out of the loop. Jennie tries not to let the disappointment crush her. She knows about the sightings, and she saw the photo Lottie’s talking about, although it was so out of focus it was impossible to tell if it really was Hannah or just some other flame-haired woman.

‘I miss her,’ says Lottie. ‘She was my best friend, and I know I’m so blessed with my life now, but it still feels weird that she’s not part of it.’

‘Yeah.’ I miss her too. Lottie always maintained that she was Hannah’s best friend, but from the way Hannah acted it never seemed that way to Jennie.

‘I got us some refills,’ says Elliott, holding up three more bottles of Smirnoff.

Jennie hadn’t even noticed he’d gone back to the bar, but she gratefully takes a fresh bottle, knocking back half of it in one long chug. She knows she’s drinking too much and too fast, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is numbing the pain of the Hannah-shaped wound the conversation has reopened. The music isn’t helping as the Spin Doctors fade and Prince’s ‘The Most Beautiful Girl in the World’ begins. This song has always reminded her of Hannah.

‘So what are you up to?’ asks Elliott. ‘Tell us about your life now.’

Jennie is grateful for the subject change, even though she hates talking about herself. Putting on a bright tone, she says, ‘I joined Thames Valley Police in ’95 and made detective a few years later. I’m a DI now and run a team in the Major Crime Unit based here in White Cross.

‘A detective, that’s very cool,’ says Elliott. ‘Well done you.’

‘Totally,’ says Lottie. ‘And do you have a husband, a family?’

Jennie takes another mouthful of Smirnoff before answering. ‘I don’t have time for that sort of thing. My work is my life.’

Lottie’s expression changes to a pained look that Jennie’s used to seeing from parents who learn she doesn’t have kids. It’s as if they can’t comprehend why a woman might not want to have children. Lottie turns to Elliott and changes the subject. ‘Speaking of time, I can’t believe they’re demolishing the school tomorrow. I really thought the Historical Society’s petition would’ve stopped the redevelopment plans, but the council don’t seem to care about our town’s history.’

‘The place is falling down,’ says Elliott. ‘It’s beyond saving.’

‘But surely they could have done something?’ Lottie replies, her voice getting louder. ‘It’s been standing over a hundred years. The developers should be renovating it, not razing it to the ground.’

Elliott shrugs. ‘That school is a derelict death trap and the land it’s on is worth a premium.’

Jennie agrees, but stays silent. She takes another gulp of Smirnoff instead and looks past the makeshift bar at the view beyond. The school building is too close to the foot of the hill to been seen from here, but across the valley the lights of White Cross town twinkle like stars in the darkness.

‘It’s the end of an era,’ says Lottie, sadly. ‘I’m going to watch tomorrow. I think it’s important to bear witness to these moments in history, even if you don’t agree with them.’

Later, Jennie wobbles her way home through the lanes, so drunk it’s a struggle to keep her bike going in a straight line. She has no idea how many Smirnoffs she had; all she knows is that each one helped her feel less weird about seeing the schoolfriends she lost touch with so many years ago. She even managed to stay put when Lorraine Chester briefly joined their group to say hello. The weirdest thing was how Lorraine was so nice to her, greeting her like a long-lost friend rather than the Brummie-accented girl with the embarrassing mum who Lorraine and her mean-girl clique had bullied so mercilessly.

Braking to a halt outside the house, she dismounts and pushes the bike as she snakes her way up the front path.

As she tries for the third time to get her key in the lock, Jennie wonders if she’ll hear from Lottie and Elliott. They hugged at the end of the night and swapped numbers with emphatic promises of staying in touch. Maybe they will. Maybe that would be nice.

Staggering up the front step, she wheels her bike inside and props it in the hallway before closing the front door. Bending down to pick up the post, Jennie’s stomach lurches and the hallway seems to spin. The Seventies flowered wallpaper and peeling paintwork kaleidoscope before her eyes. She puts her free hand on the wall to steady herself and wonders if she’s going to be sick.

Once the moment has passed, Jennie walks to the kitchen and downs a pint of water before refilling the glass and carrying it through to the lounge, along with the post. She flops down onto the threadbare brown sofa and starts to open the envelopes. There are a couple of bills in her mum’s name, a letter from the solicitor handling the probate of her mum’s estate, and a final statement and confirmation that the refund of her security deposit has been actioned by the estate agent she rented her apartment from until last month.

She looks around the lounge. It hasn’t changed since her mum bought the place, back in 1993. Or rather, it’s aged badly. Nothing has been mended or updated. The only modern things in here are Jennie’s laptop and printer, and they’re hardly state of the art. When Mum died seven months ago, Jennie had been adamant she wouldn’t move back into the house. But when the landlord increased the rent on her flat, keeping the house going and renting an apartment didn’t really make sense. So she moved in, telling herself that she’d clear out the place in her spare time.

Jennie’s been here five weeks, but all she’s managed to do so far is box up her mum’s knick-knacks and start to recycle the mountains of old magazines her mum seems to have hoarded for the last ten years. She needs to hire a skip really, or a house clearer. The whole thing feels exhausting.

The cuckoo clock in the kitchen chimes midnight and Jennie flinches. She swears under her breath and vows that the stupid clock is going to the charity shop at the weekend. She’s always hated it.

Putting the post down, Jennie takes another long drink of water and tries not to think about how awful she’s going to feel in the morning. This is why she doesn’t usually drink.

Finishing her water, Jennie sits alone in the crushing silence, surrounded by the debris of her mum’s life. She thinks about Elliott and Lottie, both married and living in fancy houses, and sighs. How the hell have things come to this?