Cruel Summer (35 page)

Alisha sank and Katie sank with her. Katie kicked and kicked, but Alisha acted as an anchor. Once Katie was fully under, Alisha climbed up her body, keeping the other girl under the surface. For
the first time she felt like perhaps she was going to get the upper hand. Hate twisted Katie’s face into something ugly. She reached up and gouged at Alisha’s eyes with her thumbs.
Alisha had to let go or she’d lose an eye.

Her lungs were on fire as she surfaced and started to swim for the pool ladder. The steel poles jutted out of the water, just out of reach. Katie clawed at her legs – she wasn’t
going to give up – but Alisha kept swimming, ignoring the agony in her wrist.

Just as Alisha was about to reach the ladder and haul herself out of the pool, Katie suddenly rose up out of the water like a killer whale, grabbing Alisha again and pushing her under the
surface. Alisha went down, rolled over and lunged for Katie’s hair, clutching as many red tendrils as she could and yanking Katie’s head under. Katie screamed, the water mangling the
noise into something demonic.

Alisha braced herself. Both her hands were tangled in Katie’s hair. She looked her old friend right in the eye.
One girl gets out of this alive,
she thought
. And it’s
going to be me.

With everything she had, Alisha drove Katie’s head into the edge of the pool ladder. There was a terrible
crack
and a crimson cloud billowed into the water. This time
Katie’s eyes remained wide open. She looked shocked at this ending.

Alisha let go, the hair drifting away through her fingers. Through bubbles and blood, she watched Katie float away. She had to keep watching. She wasn’t taking any chances this time. To
her photographer’s eye, Katie looked beautiful, doll-like: her drifting auburn hair and china-white skin radiant in the underwater light.

Unable to stay underwater a second longer, Alisha kicked her way to the surface. She gulped in air, coughing and spluttering. With her good hand, she gripped the ladder and pulled herself out of
the pool. Water ran out of her vest and shorts in great rivers. She sat on the tiles, but well away from the edge, just in case.

Keeping one eye on the pool, Alisha checked herself over. Her knees and elbows were bleeding. Her wrist was definitely broken. It seemed likely there were other broken bits too. In a minute,
she’d set off in search of help but, right now, she needed to rest.
My name is Alisha
, she reminded herself.
I am alive. I live in Telscombe Cliffs. I want to go home.
The
last thought lifted her. She clung to that fact like it was a rubber ring. She was going home.

Then she thought about Greg and her heart sank all over again. For better or worse, he had been the most constant thing in her life. For some reason, an old photograph flashed into her head: she
and Greg as toddlers, in complementary boy/girl versions of the same dungaree outfit, sitting on the back step at home and looking utterly miserable. They’d hated those outfits so much, but
now both of them loved that photo more than anything.

Her brother was gone. And Alisha finally understood the rage he’d felt and where it had come from. He’d been weighed down by the secrets, hiding half of who he really was. Sitting on
the edge of the pool, Alisha made a vow. She wouldn’t tell anyone. Greg’s secret was now
her
secret. The real Greg would always be hers and the rest of the world could have the
guy in the posters. She badly wanted to say goodbye, but she
couldn’t
bring herself to go back inside that house.

It was time to go. Alisha struggled to her feet, gritting her teeth. She’d twisted her ankle going into the pool. She limped towards the water’s edge. She had to be certain. That
vivid red hair still drifted like pondweed. The water was now a faint rose-pink. Katie’s hands swayed with the motion of the water.

‘Alisha.’

She almost fell back in. She gripped the ladder to stop herself slipping. It was Ben. Ben Murdoch was lumbering down the stone steps, clutching his stomach. His skin was clammy and almost minty
white. He looked really bad.

‘Jesus, Ben! How . . . how did you?’

He reached the bottom step. ‘I didn’t drink that much. When she ran off after you I made myself sick. I saw it on TV . . .’ He let the last part hang. ‘I sorta passed
out, though. Sorry . . . sorry I couldn’t help you. I . . . I was too weak.’

Alisha couldn’t hold back. She fell into his arms. She wasn’t the last person on earth any more. He held her tight and she let it all go. She cried. She cried because Greg was dead.
She cried because Katie, the version of Katie that had been her best friend, had died a long time ago. She cried because she was still alive.

‘It’s OK,’ Ben whispered into her wet hair. ‘You saved us, Alisha. You saved us.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She felt his breath on her skin, and it was like a kiss.

‘What for?’

‘I really thought you were the killer. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s OK, it’s OK. It’s all over,’ he cooed.

She looked up at him, a tiny vestige of hope still alive. Maybe if
Ben
had survived . . . ‘What about my brother? And Ryan?’

He shook his head. ‘I— it was too late. I’m sorry.’

Alisha held him again, pressing her face into his chest. She hoped Ben wouldn’t mind the fact that she was never going to let him go.

‘There was nothing you could do.’ He stroked her hair.

‘Are you OK?’ She cupped his sickly face in her hands. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I don’t know. It hurts. I need to get to a doctor.’ He assessed her body. ‘So do you.’

Alisha nodded.

‘I have my phone. We’ll walk until we get a signal. Can you walk?’

Alisha nodded and limped towards the sand. Ben hooked his arm under hers, taking most of her weight. She smiled, and even that hurt her cheekbone. ‘I bet we look bloody
brilliant!’

‘Pair of invalids, limping down the beach. We rule.’

This was gonna take a while, Alisha thought, as she saw the endless sand stretching out before them. It could be worse. There was the breeze, the tide, the moon and Ben Murdoch on her arm. They
had all night. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? Alisha knew, as definitely as she’d ever known anything, that they’d have to tell the truth. It was the only way.

She looked out over the rippling silk of the sea and, in her head, apologised to Roxanne Dent. It was high time she let go of grudges, let go of never feeling good enough, let go of the past.
Those things had kept her stuck in Telscombe Cliffs. Alisha breathed it all out. After tonight, all of those high-school dramas seemed stupidly small and insignificant.

‘You were amazing, Alisha,’ Ben said.

Alisha didn’t say anything because she knew she’d only burst into tears. Instead, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tight. Ryan would have rubbed his hands with glee at
this plot twist – two characters unexpectedly getting together in the series finale.
Oh, God, poor Ryan.
Alisha banished such thoughts. Who knew what would happen between her and
Ben? There wasn’t a master plan, this wasn’t TV, and it was all for later. It was enough that they were both alive. The future didn’t matter; they had now.

FADE OUT

They call it the ‘Difficult Second Album’ for a reason, so there’s lots of people to thank for all the work and support that’s gone into
Cruel
Summer.
It’s been a true team effort.

You’ll note a lot of these people were thanked the first time round, but it bears repeating. SO! A
big
thank you to my agent, Jo, and also Ant, for their continuing support, and
everyone at Orion (especially the tireless Amber, Jenny, Nina and Louise). Thank you, as always, to my mum, dad and sister – when things weren’t going so well, you listened to some
quality moans.

Kerry, Sam and Kat – thank you so much for reading
Cruel Summer
and for all your feedback. You’re the best good cop/bad cop team any writer could have.

To Catrin, Nic, Steve and Niall, thank you for making my first year in London so special. To the Brighton Crew – thank you for letting me escape to the seaside whenever I like!

Some things
are
different this time around, however. In London, I’ve made some precious new friendships with fellow authors and I can’t stress enough how valuable these are
to me. So to Tom Pollock, Cat Clarke, Tanya Byrne, Den Patrick, Sarwat Chadda, Will Hill, Kim Curran, James Smythe, Laure Eve, Amy McCulloch and
all
the UKYA Massiv, a heartfelt
THANKYOUILOVEYOU. Finally, Patrick, thank you for all the sage advice over burgers.

Hollow Pike
had the best christening EVER thanks to the army of YA book bloggers, booksellers, teachers and librarians who supported me every step of the way. Over book tours and panel
events I’ve gotten to know some of you as friends and I look forward to getting to know those I haven’t. I can’t say thank you enough and I hope you love
Cruel Summer
!
See you on Twitter, lovelies.

To the First Story group at Lambeth Academy – you’re so sickeningly talented, you make
me
raise my game. Keep writing and believe you have something to say.

Last, but by no means least, a thank you to Agatha Christie, RL Stine and Christopher Pike for the inspiration.

Find James on Twitter @_jamesdawson and at facebook.com/jamesdawsonbooks

www.jamesdawsonbooks.com

She thought she’d be safe in the country, but you can’t escape your own nightmares, and Lis London dreams repeatedly that someone is trying to kill her.

Lis thinks she’s being paranoid – after all who would want to murder her? She doesn’t believe in the local legends of witchcraft. She doesn’t believe that anything bad
will
really
happen to her.

You never do, do you?

Not until you’re alone in the woods, after dark – and a twig snaps . . .

AN INDIGO EBOOK

First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Indigo.
This eBook first published in 2013 by Indigo.
Copyright © James Dawson 2013

The right of James Dawson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in
writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978 1 78062 011 4