---

‘Did you not get my text?’ I say, opening the door after Michelle has knocked hard a second time, clattering the letter box. I have to raise my voice to be heard over Victoria. She’s been interrupted during a feed.

‘No, sorry. What’s up? You alright? You look at bit…’ Michelle says, breathing heavily, face glowing as if she’s been running. She roots around and pulls her phone out of her bag. ‘Oh, sorry, mate. I didn’t see it.’

I try to hide my irritation. After Beth called, sleep wouldn’t come last night.

‘It’s just that I was going to say not to come round this morning, that’s all. We’ve had a bit of a bad night. Doubt I am the best company. Sorry. And you’ve probably got loads of stuff you need to be doing.’

Michelle has been coming round after work for a few days now, bringing carrier bags of reduced items from the supermarket, cleaning up the house for me. I should be grateful; I am. But I couldn’t face seeing her today. I don’t have the energy to make conversation.

I think she’s lonely, too. That’s why she comes. Occasionally over the years, right out of nowhere, I’ve thought of Michelle. Often when I haven’t been able to sleep. Lying awake in the darkness, suddenly feeling a creeping guilt for the way she was treated at school, for whatever part I might have played in it. I’ve wondered how things turned out for her, whether we affected the way her life went.

Seeing her standing there, I think now of the time we went to the pictures on the bus with her, Victoria and me. We wanted to go to the big cinema in the next town. The film was called Alive, about someone who had to eat their dead friend to survive after a plane crash. It was based on a true story. When it was our stop, we rang the bell and Michelle went down the stairs first and got off. Victoria pulled me back by the collar on my coat. I didn’t get it at first; didn’t know what was happening. We didn’t get off the bus. We stayed on and went all the way to the city. Victoria went to the window and waved at Michelle, laughing as the bus pulled away. Michelle just stood there until she became as small as a toy soldier. Victoria punched me lightly on the arm and I laughed too. Michelle never even mentioned it, not the next time we saw her and not after that either.

Michelle’s expression darkens for a moment. Then just as quickly it brightens again. ‘Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? And I don’t really have much on today anyway.’

She steps forwards to come into the house, pushing me gently out of the way, then giving me a short, shallow hug. Flopping down on the sofa, Michelle opens some crisps from a huge pack with a yellow 10p sticker on the side. She tips it towards me.

‘It’s a bit early for me,’ I say, wincing at the volume of Victoria’s wails.

Michelle covers her full mouth and blushes. She rustles the carrier bag. ‘And, my dear, I’ve brought something to get rid of our little furry friends.’ She makes a noose and hanging motion. ‘Leave it to me and they’ll be gone in no time. You’ll never know they were here.’

Her voice feels more distant, lower, a murmur.

‘You OK, mate? You don’t look too good.’ Michelle’s hand is on my arm, yellow crisp dust on her fingers, the smell on her breath. She manoeuvres me to sit down.

‘Victoria. She just won’t stop crying,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I just think I can’t take it any more; I feel like I’m going to lose it.’ The image of the doll in the pond breaks in.

She looks down at me, concern on her face. ‘Right,’ she says, dusting her hands off on her jeans, and I am relieved when she scoops Victoria out of my arms. ‘I’ll tell you what it is. You need to get out of here, pal. You need a break.’

She carries Victoria over to the window and opens the curtains. The light shocks my eyes and makes everything blur for a moment.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s nice of you, but I’ve not really left her at all before, only with…’

She turns to wait for me to finish the sentence, but I don’t. I don’t want her asking about Nathan now. Victoria lets out a fresh blast of rage. I consider doing the same myself. My ears ring, teeth grinding together.

‘Oh, come on. It’ll do you good. Two hours, one even. We’ll be alright, won’t we, baby?’

‘I’ll have a shower and I’ll think about it, OK?’

‘Suit yourself.’ Michelle turns back to Victoria, trying to engage her in looking out of the window, and they babble on together as if I’m not there.

The hot water running over me, the zingy smell of the shampoo; I start to feel more wide awake than I have in a while. Just to have a moment to myself… some of the tension is already draining away with the water. I stay in the shower for a long time, letting the tightness go out of my shoulders and neck. Afterwards, I lie like a starfish on the bed, naked, and let myself air dry. Looking in the dressing-table mirror, framed with the pink feather boa and tiara, I rub a little make-up on my face.

‘Go on, then,’ I say, putting my coat on as I go into the front room. ‘I’ll just nip out and I’ll be back again by the time she needs feeding.’

‘Good lass.’ Michelle is sitting in the chair, legs hooked over the side. Victoria has stopped crying and is lying down on her back on the play mat, murmuring gently, reaching out into thin air. Michele looks up from the magazine she is reading, Lorraine Kelly chattering on the television.

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ I say, trying to stop the defensiveness showing in my voice.

‘Call me the baby whisperer,’ Michelle says, a huge grin on her face.

‘Right…’ I say, hovering in the doorway, looking at Victoria again, unable to believe she’s stopped crying, finally, after her marathon screaming session. Maybe it’s me.

‘Just go!’ Michelle says, tone light-hearted. ‘We will be fine. You’ll be fine.’

The day is surprisingly crisp and bright. Autumn is moving in fast now. I stand outside the house for a few moments, my ears still recovering from the onslaught. Feels like I can still hear faint, echoey cries but when I look through the window, Victoria is still on her mat, Michelle engrossed in some celebrity article.

I start to walk, feeling looser, lighter already. The sun is bouncing off cars and windows, making everything look softer, dreamy. It gives me that peculiar sensation of déjà vu.

I walk on towards town. Not having Victoria with me keeps making me panic momentarily, then I remember she’s with Michelle. I carry on, the fresh air making me feel cheerier. It will be good for me, Michelle is right. I stop and look in a few estate agents’ windows. The prices around here are higher than I imagined. I might get more than I expected for the house. It spurs me on to get it sorted out. A new start, another one.

When I get into town, I wander round some of the shops. I buy a couple of cheap lampshades and vases, thinking they’ll be handy for when I come to have people looking at the house. The agent needs to pitch it to someone who wants a ‘fixer-upper’, who sees the potential in the place, beyond the cosmetic, he says.

I sit by the fountain in the centre of the square for a while. A toddler in a bulky red coat runs unsteadily, making everything in me tense up. His grandmother bends down and gives him a bag of bread, and he throws chunks out onto the ground like firecrackers, shrieking with delight. What feels like hundreds of pigeons flock over, swooping in from every direction, pecking and bobbing their heads at the bread, their wings flapping so close to my face, the beating sound loud in my ears. The boy screams, excited or frightened, and runs into the crowd of birds, sending them exploding out in all directions.

When the commotion dies down, I move along and walk by the library where Mum used to take me. It’s glass-fronted now, where before it was stone, and islands of computers have replaced many of the shelves of books. Sometimes she’d drop me off at the library for a few hours while she went and did her shopping. She knew I wouldn’t go anywhere. I’d wander the aisles, running my hand along the spines of the books, picking one up at random, letting the pages fall open anywhere and starting there. I didn’t worry about what had gone before in them, what was going to happen next.

In the reflection in the glass I see it then, across the street. The building is there but it’s burned-out now and it stops me in my tracks. It is one of the last times Victoria and I went out together, as us: Victoria and Sylvie, Sylvie and Victoria. With distance I can see that night changed something between me and Victoria.

I turn and cross the street. As I get closer, I have to strain my neck to see the full size of it. It had been an old dance hall once, Mum told me when I was little.

A voice in my ear makes me jump.

‘Massive fire, year or so ago,’ an old woman standing at the bus stop close by says.

‘I used to go there,’ I tell her. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, it weren’t an accident, that’s for sure. Arson,’ she says, nodding her head enthusiastically. She looks around before she says the next bit, seemingly to check that no one is listening. ‘But most people reckon it’s an inside job. For the insurance,’ she says, rubbing her thumb against her fingers. ‘A money job.’

‘Aren’t they going to do anything with it?’ I say, looking up again at the dirty, white, art deco façade, the blackened inside visible through rusted window frames: twisted metal, tangled wires poking out.

She shakes her head, checking whether her bus is coming. ‘Listed building so they’ve got to be careful how they use it. We’ve been going to have a posh furniture shop, a restaurant, another bloody nightclub, but here it still is.’ Her voice is getting more distant, and I turn to realise she has drifted towards her bus as it approaches, her arm shoved out into the road.

I go right up to the building and look through the old doors into the foyer of the ice rink. The coloured, swooshing stars on the purple carpet remain visible in some places under the dust. There are still vending machines in there too, the chocolate rotting inside. Here and the shopping centre would be my and Victoria’s favourite places to come on the weekend or in the holidays. The memory of the excitement that would build is still vivid, the military planning of what to wear.

The nights lived up to the build-up, too. Not many things do. The chill coming off the ice, the swooping coloured lights like a gymnast’s ribbon, the feeling of gliding, like flying. I push my fists into my pockets instinctively. Mum said that’s what you had to do, and wear gloves. She didn’t like me and Victoria going there. If you fell and put your hands out, your fingers might get skated over, sliced off by the blades.

I pull myself out of the world of the ice rink and that summer, and back into my own. I have time for a quick coffee before I need to get back. It’s something I miss, sitting on my own, watching the world go by.

---

I sit outside the Coffee Pot café this time, a half-hearted attempt at café culture that doesn’t quite come off here in Conley. Pigeons strut close by.

I reach for my phone to give Michelle a quick ring to check in on Victoria and I realise I don’t have it: I must have left it back at the house. I neck the coffee back quickly, relaxation bubble burst immediately. A black, solid-looking cloud is looming now, the same colour as the concrete. It makes the shopping centre look like a collage picture.

My stomach drops when I realise that I don’t have my purse with me either. I rush back into the café, trying to remember where I put it down. The girl behind the counter spots me and looks confused.

‘I left my purse in here and maybe my phone too, I think.’ I can’t get the words out quickly enough and she doesn’t look as if she is trying to keep up.

She scans vaguely around the room, without actually looking. ‘Sorry, nobody’s handed anything in.’

‘They must have done; I was only in here a minute ago.’ My hands are in my hair and she eyes me from a distance. Her expression makes me wonder if she thinks I’m lying. I duck down and underneath the tables, some people tutting and looking annoyed at me, others making a show of having a look around themselves.

‘Are you sure?’ I go back to the girl at the counter.

She’s frothing milk. ‘Sorry, love,’ she shouts over the sound of the hissing steam, gives me a not-my-problem shrug.

A little girl looks up at me, her eyes quickly looking away again when they meet mine.

‘You couldn’t lend me some money, could you?’ I say to the waitress behind the counter.

She doesn’t come any closer and looks at me with suspicion, like I might attack her.

‘Sorry, it’s just I need to get back to my baby. I was just here the other day? I’ll drop in and pay you back tomorrow.’ I think this will soften her but she takes another step back.

‘Sorry, love, I can’t. I would but I just can’t.’ She gives a little shake of her head then refuses to look at me again. I can feel other people prickling around me, on edge.

I relent and leave the café. When I glance back, the waitress is whispering to her colleague, looking out after me. Outside the sky has lightened, but it has started to rain too. I root in my pockets, praying for some loose change for the bus or to use the payphone. I don’t know Michelle’s number anyway, but I remember Mum’s house phone number still. I need to get that cut off. Disconnecting it; it feels very final. I remember Judith and Peter’s – Victoria’s – number off by heart too.

I open my mouth a few times to ask people for some change for the bus, but they flinch as I come towards them or turn away, pretending to be busy. May as well walk, even though the rain is getting heavier, making my clothes stick to me. It will take me over an hour. I’m already late. Victoria will be hungry. I hit every traffic light, every slow walker, old person and pushchair, impatience bubbling in me. The rain slows down and a rainbow breaks through, picture-book colours against the dark grey.

When I get to Mum’s street, there’s a car outside the house and I recognise it from the other day when he knocked. It’s Sam’s, and my pace quickens. I’m out of breath, a stitch gathering in my side.

Through the window I can see Sam sitting talking to Michelle, his ankle rested on his knee, leg bent at a right angle. They’re drinking tea and there’s a plate of biscuits on the table, as if Michelle owns the place. They don’t see me.

The window is open slightly and their voices are drifting out, distorted and vague at first, but eventually my ears adjust and I can tune in.

‘Victoria… School… That night?’ It’s Sam. I want to barge straight in but I force myself to wait and listen.

‘You know there were all those reports of some weird guy around that time, don’t you? Someone was going round flashing at people,’ I hear Michelle say.

‘I heard something about that, yes.’ Sam sounds casual, but something about his voice tells me that’s manufactured. He’s squirrelling every word away.

‘Did you also know that Sylvie and Victoria saw him?’ Michelle sounds proud of herself, as if she’s telling someone about a personal achievement.

‘When?’ The question flies out of Sam’s mouth like he’s caught wind of some especially juicy gossip.

‘Dunno. One night in town. You’d have to ask Sylvie. She’s a bit moody at the minute.’ Michelle gives a strange laugh. Is she flirting?

‘Assume this flasher was mentioned at the time?’ There’s a definite hardness under Sam’s chatter.

‘People knew, yeah. Not that Sylvie and Victoria saw him – maybe the police and papers didn’t want to scare people or maybe they caught him already. I dunno. Probably long gone by now. Or dead. Or watching telly with his wife!’

Michelle’s laugh sets my teeth on edge.

‘Did Sylvie and Victoria report seeing him?’ Sam again. I dare not look, but I picture him pulled forwards to the edge of his seat.

‘Dunno. Like I said you’d be best off asking Sylvie. It wasn’t like they were bothered by it. If you weren’t here asking me stuff, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. I didn’t even connect it at the time, to be honest. Just thinking now. They just laughed about it.’

The sound is muffled then for a moment, clattering of crockery.

Then I hear Michelle say, ‘I mean, Sylvie seems to have reinvented herself as this mousey little bookish thing.’ My jaw clenches. ‘But at school, Sylvie and Victoria were the popular ones.’

‘What do you mean by “popular”?’ Sam asks, emphasising the word.

‘Well,’ Michelle says, conspiratorial, ‘I mean they were popular – people liked them. Teachers, they had friends, all that. But they were popular popular too, if you know what I mean? Victoria especially.’ She makes a horrible clicking noise with her tongue and teeth and I imagine a wink going with it.

I hear the inflection of a question, Sam’s voice, but I can’t hear what he says. Then, ‘Mmm-hmmm,’ like he’s scribbling furiously in a notebook, or maybe the camera is rolling, recording everything, immutable.

Michelle’s fake girly giggle again. ‘Victoria was the first to do a lot of things at school – if you catch my drift. I mean it’s fine, I have no problem with it, of course I don’t. I’m not going to get quoted on this, am I? In the film?’

Sam’s response is inaudible.

‘Where’d they hang out then?’ he says, clearer.

‘Usual places, you know. I doubt it’s changed much today. Parks, people’s houses, the lake… Anyway,’ Michelle says. ‘Victoria got a boyfriend then, Ryan, so she was suddenly always with him.’

‘Boyfriend?’

I barge in then, I can’t stand it any more. Sam glances up then puts his cup down on the table, but Michelle jumps up from her seat.

‘You OK, Sylvie?’ Michelle says, her face tight. ‘Did you have a nice time in town?’

I fake being a little out of breath. ‘Yes, just got a few bits for the house. A lampshade and a couple of—’

Michelle and Sam look at my empty hands. I have left the things I bought at the café. I can picture them pushed under the silver table where I drank my coffee.

‘I lost my bloody purse and phone, didn’t I? Such an idiot.’ My voice cracking.

Michelle guides me to sit on the arm of the sofa.

‘I had to walk home and I was so worried about Victoria. And…’

Sam stands up. ‘I’ll let myself out. Maybe it’s not a good time.’

Michelle is rubbing my back, like my mum used to when I was little and being sick in the night.

‘There is something though, Sylvie, that I need to talk to you about pretty urgently.’ Sam’s eyes lock on mine.

‘What’s it about?’

‘It’s just some basic details I need to check about the night,’ he says. ‘I think it’s best if I hear them from you.’ He says the last bit with his back to Michelle, blocking her out. His voice is unmistakably lowered so she doesn’t hear.

‘Maybe not now, eh,’ Michelle says to Sam, guiding him to the door.

‘I’m staying at the Travellers’ Rest anyway,’ Sam says to no one in particular.

They talk on the doorstep for a minute, and I take a deep breath before I go to pick up Victoria. I don’t like her to see me upset, worried about what she’s absorbing, what she’ll remember. But when I go over to her, she’s fast asleep.

Michelle comes back in, slamming the door shut, whole room rattling. Even then, Victoria doesn’t wake.

I touch her cheek, afraid she’ll be hot. Or worse, cold.

‘We need to wake her, Michelle. She hasn’t eaten in hours.’ I’m trying to wrangle out of my clothes and pick Victoria up at the same time.

‘It’s fine,’ Michelle says, lowering her voice, beckoning me into the kitchen. She looks sheepish. I sense that something is up. I look back once more and follow her in.

‘What’s wrong? Is Victoria OK? Tell me what happened. I knew I should never have gone out, Michelle!’ I’m shouting and she hushes me to lower my voice.

‘She’s fine. It’s just…’

Then I see it over her shoulder. A bottle and the tin of formula milk on the worktop. The steriliser out of its box.

‘Michelle. You didn’t… That isn’t for you to do!’

She holds her hands out, palms towards me. ‘I’m sorry, Sylvie, but what could I do? I couldn’t contact you. It was there. I knew you were trying with it anyway so I assumed you’d be OK.’ She looks down at her own chest and then at me. ‘She’s fine, Sylvie. She needed to eat. You weren’t here. I couldn’t reach you. I mean, what would you have had me do?’

‘And what was that stuff you were telling Sam?’

‘What stuff?’ She talks down to the floor.

‘About me and Victoria basically being the school slags?’ I can feel my temple pulsing, a sharp headache gathering behind my eyes.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sylvie. I didn’t say that. At all. I wouldn’t say that.’ Her face is flushed.

‘And about me and Victoria seeing that creepy guy?’

‘Well, you did, didn’t you? I remember Victoria telling me.’

‘They aren’t your stories to tell, Michelle. You weren’t even there.’ That makes her flinch and I half regret my spite. I notice bright blotches on her neck now like pink dandelions.

‘You don’t own all the stories about her,’ Michelle says, casting her eyes down, and guilt starts creeping in more, but it gives way to anger again.

‘I think you should just go.’

Michelle recoils slightly, flinching.

Does she really think I would hit her?

‘Your phone,’ Michelle says, gesturing towards the dresser in the living room, where it’s lying face down. ‘You left it here. You had loads of missed calls. Nathan?’

I must have left my phone here and put my purse down somewhere in town.

‘Have you been riffling through my phone as well?’

‘It just rang, Sylvie.’

Michelle reaches into her bag and takes out some notes and holds them up at me, before placing them on the dresser next to the phone.

‘What the hell is that for?’ I take a step back like the money is a firework that hasn’t gone off yet.

Michelle looks down, deflated. ‘Your purse?’ she says. ‘I thought you’ll probably need some money to tide you over?’

She looks at me again, hesitates, and then grabs her coat and leaves. She turns back once more and the expression on her face triggers shame in me. I think of the bus pulling away that night. I go to call after her, but no sound comes out. She’s already slammed the door and she’s away down the street.

---

That night sleep refuses to come. In the space in between, I hear a banging noise downstairs. This time I don’t creep down the stairs or grab a weapon; I walk straight into the kitchen and put the light on. The noise stops for a second or two then starts up again. Rustling and clattering. It’s coming from the cupboard. I think about opening it, but instead I grab some parcel tape from one of the overstuffed drawers. There are eight rolls to choose from, more of Mum’s clutter. I tape up the cupboard so the mouse can’t get out. If I cut off the food supply, it can go back to where it came from. Outside. Then I add on extra tape for good measure.

I grip the side of the sink, my head pulsing. Through the window, I notice Michelle has hung washing on the line, and arms and legs jerk themselves out at impossible angles in the wind. Victoria’s Babygros like small, headless ghosts.