Unspeakable (25 page)

‘You couldn’t have known that Sadie and Owen would move the swing,’ I say quietly. ‘Neither of us could. Just come down.’

There’s the crackle of a radio behind us and we all turn, looking past Jasmine to two police officers, breathing deeply after the sprint up to the ridge.

‘Stay away!’ Luke shouts, brandishing his knife. ‘I’ll do it!’

The officer nearest to us – a freckled guy with a mop of ginger hair – stops and tells his colleague not to move.

I hold out my hand to Luke, even though there’s no way I can reach him. My throat is clogged with all the words I want to say, but I have to get them out. ‘I know you. This isn’t you. This isn’t the same guy who used to swap the pickled onion crisps in his lunch box for my KitKat, or the guy who spent half an hour chasing my gerbil around the living room when it escaped. You’re still Luke.’

He stares at me for what seems like an age. Then he nods once. Luke’s face crumples and his hands tense into claws as he starts to wail. The knife falls through his fingers and hurtles into the ridge.

Seconds later, the ginger-haired policeman is deftly climbing the tree, all the time talking to Luke, reassuring him.

I stagger back to Jasmine.

‘What just happened?’ she asks. ‘What the hell just happened?’

As she starts to cry, I hold her, murmuring into her hair, telling her it’s OK, it’s over now, she’s safe.

We don’t move for a long time. We just sit on the grass, clutching each other, listening to the wail of sirens in the distance. The other police officer – a doughy, middle-aged woman – comes to check if we’re all right. She says there’s more help on the way, then she returns to Luke, who’s sitting at the base of the tree, staring at nothing.

‘How did he get you up here?’ I ask Jasmine.

‘I was so stupid!’ she cries. ‘I bumped into him on my way home. I was in a state – completely in shock – and he was so
nice. Said he’d tell me everything, the whole story, if I came here with him. I didn’t even think. I just got on the back of his bike. Such an idiot!’

‘Shhhh. You weren’t. It was my fault,’ I whisper. ‘I shouldn’t have let you leave without explaining properly.’

We hear the brush of grass against Sadie’s trainers as she approaches. She’s trying not to meet our eyes, but she doesn’t seem to know where else to look. Sadie wraps her arms around her waist. She looks so different today, in a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a black hoodie, her hair unstraightened and tied loosely in a ponytail.

Sadie sighs. ‘Well, that was … God, I don’t even know what to say.’

I frown, wondering – for the first time – what she’s doing here. She reads my expression and holds up a bunch of wilting flowers. ‘You don’t have the monopoly on guilt, Megan. If we hadn’t moved the stupid thing … Plus, I was the one who dared her to get on it. My so-called friends think I messed with the rope. Did you know that? They’re actually scared of me!’ She laughs without humour.

Jasmine and I just look at her.

Sadie glances at Luke. The police have handcuffed him, but wrapped him in a blanket, and they’re both talking to him earnestly. ‘I’m – er – sorry about Luke,’ Sadie mutters.

‘Thanks for … Well, thanks for distracting him,’ Jasmine says. ‘I think …’ She blinks several times, as if she’s only just imagined what might’ve happened if Sadie hadn’t arrived. ‘I think you might have saved us.’

Sadie kicks at a tuft of grass, picks a snapped flower head off the bunch, rolls it in her fingers, then lets it drop to the ground. ‘God, this is so messed up.’ She stares hard at the crushed flower. Her skin flares. ‘Um, listen, Megan. I found this in my room the other day. I … well … I hadn’t looked at it properly. How was I supposed to know who it was from? You should’ve just told me. Anyway. Sorry.’

She digs through her cavernous handbag, pulls out a creased envelope, chucks it down, mutters something about checking where the paramedics are, then leaves.

I stare at it. I can’t pick it up. If I do, it might disintegrate, disappear.

‘What is it?’ Jasmine asks.

I swallow, manage to push each word out. ‘It’s Hana’s last letter.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A couple of days later, Jasmine and I are sitting beneath a beech tree. There’s a stream close by and it tinkles in the background, relaxing and hypnotic. I pick a blade of grass and lift it to my nose, breathing in the heady, familiar smell.

Jasmine tilts her face up and her lips find mine. She kisses me tenderly, stroking my face as though she’s making a map of it in her mind. I tangle my fingers through her glossy hair, breathing in the floral scent that wafts up from it.

We break apart, smiling, then link hands. We are silent. Still. Content.

I reach for my rucksack, unzip the front pocket and draw out Hana’s letter. I take a deep breath. Let it out. I trace the groove where she scribbled my name.

‘OK,’ I say.

Jasmine gives my hand a squeeze. ‘It’s all right. Whatever it says, it’s all right.’

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I try to swallow. I tear the envelope open. I’m so shaky I can barely pull out the letter.

‘Will you read it to me?’ Jasmine asks.

I nod, careful not to let my tears drip on the paper.

Hana’s writing is scruffy, frenzied, and slants across the page at an angle, as though she wrote it in a rush. ‘
Dear Megan
,’ I read in a wavering voice. ‘
I’m on my way to the ridge. I just wanted to stop and write you a quick note to say I’m sorry for being an arse about this whole thing. I hate fighting with you. I’ve missed you loads this week
.’

The tears are coming so fast I can barely see. But Jasmine’s here, holding me. ‘Read the rest,’ she prompts. ‘Finish it.’

I shake my head, but Jasmine points to the letter, insisting, so I continue, dragging the words out between sobs. ‘
Even if I do start hanging around with Sadie and Grace again, I promise – I swear, Megan – I’ll never leave you behind. You’re my best friend. You always will be. Nothing and no one will ever change that. Love, Hana
.’

The letter falls from my hand and flutters to the ground. I watch it, stunned. I’m drowning again, but this time, Jasmine’s keeping me afloat. I clutch her, crying, and she doesn’t let go until I’m done.

We stay for the rest of the afternoon. I lie with my head in Jasmine’s lap. I think I maybe doze a little. I try to pick out the different birdcalls as they chatter in the trees above, remembering
what Grandpa taught me. I imagine him cocking his head to one side as he listened, then pulling out his dog-eared bird book and asking me to point to those I recognised.

I catch a movement in the grass not far away. It’s a bird: skinny and scraggly. I think its wing is injured. I nudge Jasmine and we both watch it try to fly. Every time it manages to lift a few centimetres, it falls back down again. I know how it feels.

I glance up at Jasmine. She’s chewing her lip, watching the poor creature intently, willing it on. Then a smile breaks across her face and her eyes shine with delight. I look back. The bird has taken off and is flying higher and higher towards the sky.

The next day, I burst through our front door, clutching an envelope.

Mum’s at the kitchen table, and instantly leaps up. ‘Have you opened it?’ she demands.

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, come on then. Quickly!’

I hold out the letter. ‘You do it.’

The corners of her eyes crinkle. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, but now!’

Mum rips the envelope, then scans my results.

‘Well?’

She grins. I think I can see the glisten of tears. ‘Three As, six Bs, one C. You clever cow! I’m so bloody proud of you.’

Wow. I did well. Really well!

My smile falters. ‘What do you think will happen to Luke’s results?’

‘I suppose his mum will take them to him.’

Luke’s in some kind of secure unit now. Mum spoke to Sandra, who said it’s early days, but he’ll be getting really good psychiatric care. I just hope he’s not too far gone to be helped.

Mum tilts my chin so I have to look at her. ‘There’s nothing you could’ve done, Megan. You’re not taking responsibility for this.’

‘No. I won’t. I’m not.’

No more guilt.

There’s an impatient knock on the door. I grin at Mum and rush to open it. Jasmine bounds in. ‘What did you get? Tell me, tell me!’ she squeals.

I laugh as she heads down the corridor, hobbling slightly on her bad ankle.

‘Three As, six Bs, one C,’ Mum calls from the kitchen. ‘Think I’ve got a genius on my hands.’

‘Megan, that’s amazing!’

‘What about you?’ I ask.

‘Two As, four Bs, a couple of Cs. I can’t remember the rest! I just know it’s enough to get me into Barcham Green,’ Jasmine says as we join Mum in the kitchen. ‘So, are you packed?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Have you got sun cream?’ Mum asks.

‘Yes.’

‘A hat?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t wait!’ Jasmine shrieks, clapping her hands together. ‘I’m going to take you to all the best places, introduce you to loads of my old friends. We’re going to stuff ourselves with amazing food. You’ll have put on half a stone by the time I’ve finished with you, Megan. Oh, and I know the best bar to buy cocktails.’ She glances at Mum. ‘Non-alcoholic, of course.’

Mum rolls her eyes and smiles.

Jasmine follows me around the house as I finish packing, providing me with detailed descriptions of everything we’re going to do, eat and drink in Cyprus. I can’t believe I’m really going! My first holiday abroad.

We lug my suitcase down the stairs and leave it by the front door.

‘Dad will be here in an hour,’ Jasmine says. ‘Is that everything?’

I reach into my bag and feel a familiar shape. ‘I’ve just got to do one thing first.’

Jasmine squeezes my arm, plants a soft, sweet kiss on my lips, and heads off to find Mum.

I drag my bike from the utility room and head out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the top of Stonylea Hill. I leave my bike at the side of the road and enter the forest, instantly feeling the effect of its quiet calmness. As I follow my own, personal trail, my fingers brush against spiky holly leaves, coarse twigs and spongy moss. I come across a couple of ponies whose shaggy manes flop around their faces. They stare at me for a moment, then continue foraging in the undergrowth.

When I reach the fallen oak, I kneel beside it, lean my forehead against the bark, and take a moment to breathe in the forest.

I pull a letter from my bag, read her name one last time, then place it in the hollow beneath the tree.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Dear Hana,

I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. I’ll always miss you.

Goodbye.

Megan xxx

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish there were space on the cover to mention all the wonderful people who gave something to this book. First, my thanks to Mum and Dad, for filling my childhood with stories, for their support – emotional and financial – from the beginning; for all the writing courses, retreats, workshops, conferences, the degree … I’ll stop now! Thank you.

My love and gratitude to my grandparents, particular thanks to Gran Sylvie, for telling me such beautiful tales about her and Grandpa Joe, and letting me share some of them here.

To my agent, Jodie Hodges, for her hard work, dedication and perseverance; for never losing faith.

Thank you to my editor, Kate Agar, for welcoming me so wonderfully to Little, Brown, for her incredible enthusiasm, for understanding the heart of Megan’s story and helping me remain true to it, while pushing me to make it better.

Rather greedily, I have two writing groups. To everyone in WordWatchers: thank you for providing encouragement, criticism and cake in equal measures. I’m also grateful to the members of Swallows, particularly Nick Cook, for their honest feedback and their passion for
Unspeakable
.

I’m very lucky to count some talented editors among my friends. Thanks to Ali Pickford, who carefully teased out my plot holes, and Kersti Worsley, who is always so generous with her time, support and creativity.

I owe so much to Saras Grant and O’Connor and the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, who helped this undiscovered voice become discovered. Big love to the Undiscovered Voices 2010 gang.

To Charlie Evans, for her constant belief, and for telling me what I needed to hear. Also Katy Parks, for being such an inspiration. Thanks as well to Kerry Steed, for being honest about her early experiences, and for critiquing with such a professional and experienced eye.

To everyone who has offered expert knowledge to stop me from embarrassing myself, in particular Emily George and Jane McLoughlin. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Finally, to my fiancé, Nick, who will be my husband by the time this is published. Thank you for always saying the right thing, for listening, sympathising, gently nagging. For tidying up around me, making sure I was fed, and for the many, many cups of tea. Where would I be without you?

Abbie Rushton
grew up in a small village near Newmarket, Suffolk. She has a degree in English Literature with Creative Writing from the University of East Anglia, and is an editor at a leading educational publisher.

Whilst working as a part-time bookseller during her studies, Abbie rediscovered a love of children’s and young adult books. In 2010, she was a winner of Undiscovered Voices, a writing competition run by the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators.

Abbie lives near Newbury, Berkshire. She is a keen traveller and is never happier than when she is planning her next adventure.