WELCOME TO WONDERFUL WEST-ON-SEA.
The sign swung gently in the breeze as Mae smoked the last of a cigarette and watched a storm cloud edge in.
Rusting fishing boats bobbed in a marina that opened on to a vista of girls turning cartwheels on the beach, the falling sun blinding through the Vs of their legs.
When the heavens opened they screamed and lay back on the sand, arced like angels as rain pinned them down.
They hadn’t yet heard.
Another dead girl.
Another reminder of paradise lost.
In the small police station she took a seat opposite Beau Walters, whose uniform swamped him so totally he looked like a child dressing up in his father’s clothes.
He placed an old tape recorder on the desk and hit record with a trembling hand.
‘Was Abi Manton depressed?’
Mae picked dark varnish from her nails. ‘Depression is the inability to construct a future. Seeing as we have no future, we’re an army of depressives, Beau.’
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s Sergeant Walters now … till my dad comes back from the city.’
She glanced up at the photograph on the wall, Beau’s father, the chief constable, glared back. The kind of man who looked cold to the touch, who bled judgement from his unforgiving eyes.
‘We’ll stop Selena,’ Beau said. His hair was the colour of sand, his cheeks reddened by acne.
She wondered where that hope came from, that belief. She guessed it was what Morales told people to keep from total social breakdown.
This was a close call.
Life had stalled, but this was not the end.
This was a time for self-reflection.
‘What were you doing in the woods with Hugo Prince?’
‘You want me to draw you a picture?’
He slid a pencil and paper across the desk, calling her bluff.
She got to work, then slid it back.
He glanced down once, then again. ‘That’s disgusting.’
She stared at him through damp hair, unflinching till he looked away.
‘I need you to tell me what you saw.’
Rain drummed on the roof. Her arms were scratched, she licked at a small cut on the inside of her lip. Sometimes she drank so much she lost a whole night.
‘There was blood by her head. Her foot was twisted.’ She spoke without emotion, like she was reading from a schoolbook.
‘When was the last time you talked to her?’
Mae turned from him, though remembered Abi’s sweet sixteen. Abi’s father hired a yacht, seventy feet of gleaming white. The invitation had been placed in her locker, a long time after Abi left her behind. Mae put on the only decent dress she owned and headed down to the marina, only to see the boat leaving without her. Abi stood on the deck, raised a hand and mouthed, Sorry, like it was an accident Mae’s invite showed the wrong time.
‘Hugo said he heard you scream and came to help. I’m not sure I believe him.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t imagine you screaming.’
An old fan turned the close summer air.
‘You and Hugo, it doesn’t make sense to me. I see him with Hunter Silver, the headmaster’s daughter. And she’s … I don’t want to say the opposite of you, but … she’s the opposite of you.’
Mae swallowed. ‘Maybe I’ll do things Hunter won’t.’
Dusk fell.
Bruised sky over purple water.
She caught her reflection, dark hair and light eyes and too much attitude for a body that clung hard to a childhood she’d never known.
‘Tell me about Abi.’
Mae took a cigarette from her bag and gripped it between her teeth. ‘She was a bitch.’
He snatched it from her. ‘I know you don’t get on with my father, and you think he looks at you every time something bad happens in this town, but the Mantons … they’re broken.’
She felt her jaw tighten as she stared at the desk and finally talked. Abi used to live in the house next door. Her father built shelters, panic rooms, bunkers. Saviour 8 made him rich overnight as people scrambled for the illusion of safety. The Mantons moved to an Ocean Drive beach house and Abi jumped several rungs up the social ladder. Her hair, her clothes, the parties she held.
‘You’re saying she was popular.’
‘She was bland and beautiful and hateful. So, yeah, Abi was popular.’
Mae watched a fishing boat carve waves. On her arm were other tattoos, a moon and star, some dates that meant something to no one but her.
‘Abi’s boyfriend is …’ he checked his notes, ‘Theodore Sandford. The boy from the choir. I saw him sing last autumn at St Cecelia. That voice …’ He tapped his pen on the desk like he was lost in the memory. ‘I forget where the song is from –’
‘The Marriage of Figaro.’
She wore a short skirt and beneath that an old hunting knife strapped high on her thigh. People talked about her like they didn’t know, like she ever stood a chance.
‘Abi would have left before the dance. The Final – morbid name. Are you going?’
She ignored that.
‘She was wearing a purity ring. Theodore wears a matching one.’
‘Everyone’s looking for their angle.’
‘You know you can talk to the school counsellor,’ he said.
Mae thought of Counsellor Jane and her taut church smile, imploring eyes and beige trouser suits. ‘She’s not a real counsellor. She records the conversations. If she’s worried, if she thinks we might blow our brains out, then she sends them to someone qualified.’
‘Resources are stretched.’
She glanced at his badge. ‘No shit.’
‘Hugo … he said the popular kids have targets on their backs now. What does that mean?’
She spoke more to herself than him. ‘Maybe they’re trophies. Maybe the kid that gets bullied finally brings his father’s shotgun to school. Maybe the hot girl that treated the boy like dirt is finally forced to see him. What’s the worst that can happen? Maybe it’ll all be over long before punishment is served.’
‘It’s not the end, Mae.’
‘The way things are going, maybe we should all pray that it is.’
‘One last question. It’s just a formality. Where were you last night, Mae?’
She felt sweat roll down her spine.
And then the windows began to rattle as the ground shook beneath her feet.