Megan knew there was something wrong when she got to the door of her tutor room after lunch, ready for afternoon registration. The few classmates who had preceded her were unusually silent and were staring alternately at the whiteboard and then at each other with looks of consternation. Megan looked around to see what the cause of such anxiety was. In massive red letters, written across the width of the board was:

MEGAN MILLAR IS A KILLER

For a second, Megan was as dumbfounded as they were but then the awfulness of the accusation hit her and she turned and ran, barging through the other pupils crowding to get into the room.

‘Megan,’ yelled Ashley who had just seen the words. Behind him, Lily and Summer gave each other a high five.

But Megan was oblivious to everything. Shocked, horrified and scared she wanted out of the classroom, out of the school, out of everything. She raced past teachers in the corridors, she almost bowled over Mrs Simmonds who was standing in reception, before she cannoned through the front door and ran till she was out of breath.

The stitch in her side was so intense she bent double to ease it and then, when she straightened, she took in where she was; by the gates to the park. She knew she was already in trouble for leaving school without permission so she didn’t think it was going to make much difference if she was absent for only five minutes or for the rest of the afternoon.

The play park was almost empty so she wandered over the grass and sat on one of the swings, her feet scuffing on the rubberised matting beneath it as she swayed to and fro.

She thought she’d be safe here in Little Woodford. Bex had promised no one would know. How on earth had anyone found out? Tears welled up and plopped onto her lap as terrible events, events that she’d thought she had left safely behind in London, began to crowd into her mind again.

It was the memory book. The memory book was to blame for everything. It was like it was cursed. She hadn’t even looked at it since they’d arrive in Little Woodford, she’d almost forgotten all about it in the chaos of the move and the business of settling into a new school. But she’d touched it last night and now look what had happened. And it had been the memory book that had sparked everything in the first place.

Why was life so unfair? Why her? But there didn’t seem to be an answer.

‘Megan?’

Megan looked up. ‘Mrs Simmonds.’

‘Do you mind if I join you?’

Megan wiped her nose on the back of her hand and used both palms to wipe away her tears.

‘If you want.’ She knew she sounded less than gracious but was past caring.

‘Do want to tell me what happened?’

Megan shook her head.

Mrs Simmonds pushed herself backwards a few inches with her feet and let the swing arc forwards. ‘I can’t remember the last time I sat on a swing. I was probably about your age. So... centuries ago.’

Megan gave her a wan smile.

‘I like this park,’ said Mrs Simmonds. ‘I love the way everyone uses it. The old folks who live in the bungalows over there use it as a short cut, the mums bring the little ones here for picnics and the older kids all hang out here – well, apart from the ones on the alcopops down at the nature reserve.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ mumbled Megan.

‘I should hope not,’ said Mrs Simmonds. She pushed backwards again, this time more vigorously, and the swing zipped forwards so that Megan’s hair was ruffled by the breeze it created. She let the momentum run its course. When the swing finally stilled again, Heather said, ‘Have you texted your mum to tell her that someone upset you?’

Megan shook her head. ‘Who said someone upset me?’

Heather stared at her. ‘So what was it? A B minus for your science homework? I don’t think so. You left school like the hounds of hell were after you and I knew that something really serious had happened – something at afternoon registration. I’m not stupid, Megan. Someone in your tutor group has said, or done, something really mean, haven’t they?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So... have you told your mum?’

‘I don’t want to worry her.’

‘Don’t you think, when the school tells her that you took an unauthorised leave of absence...’ Heather smiled at her. ‘That’s the official jargon for bunking off, by the way – that your mother will want to know what’s at the bottom of it?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I don’t think there’s any sort of “maybe” about it.’ The pair sat on the swings in silence for a few seconds, using their feet to rock backwards and forwards a few inches while Megan considered her options.

‘When will the school tell her?’

‘I think it’ll be quite soon. You missed afternoon registration.’

Silence fell again and the pair swung gently to and fro.

‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ said Heather. ‘I’m a good listener.’

‘I...’ Megan sagged. ‘It’s all to do with my old school. Bex said that no one here would know.’

‘And now someone has found out, found out about whatever it was you didn’t want anyone to know. Is that it?’

Megan nodded. ‘And told the rest of the class.’

‘That was mean.’

‘They wrote it on the board.’

‘What did they write?’

Megan turned sideways and looked Heather Simmonds straight in the eyes. ‘“Megan Millar is a killer.”’

‘They wrote what?’

Megan nodded and repeated the phrase.

‘Is it... is it true?’ The incredulity in Heather’s voice rang out.

A tear ran down Megan’s face. ‘Kind of.’

‘Kind of?’

‘A girl... Stella... died. Some of the kids blamed me.’

‘But that’s awful. I take it you weren’t at fault.’

Another tear plopped onto Megan’s school skirt. Heather pulled out a wad of tissues from her sleeve and handed one to Megan. ‘It’s clean,’ she promised.

Megan wiped her face and blew her nose. ‘Thanks.’ She scrunched the tissue in her hand.

‘Do you want to tell me about it? I’d like to hear your side of the story then, if I hear anything else, I’ll know what the truth is. I might even be able to persuade people not to listen to ugly rumours.’

‘I suppose.’ Megan stared at her hands in her lap as she pulled at the tissue, tearing little bits off which drifted away like snowflakes. ‘When Dad died, Bex suggested we should make a memory book – some counsellor told her it would be a good idea. So we bought this lush notebook and began to fill it full of things about Dad – a piece of his favourite sweater, a CD he really liked, pictures, photos... just stuff, really.’

‘Lovely idea,’ murmured Heather.

Megan nodded. ‘Anyway, it was World Book Day and we had to take our favourite book into school.’

‘And you took the memory book.’

Megan nodded again. ‘I didn’t tell Bex. She said the book wasn’t to leave the house, she said it was too precious.’

‘Oh.’

‘I know.’ Megan sniffed. ‘Anyway, we had to tell the class about our book and why we liked it – so I did. But afterwards, Stella told me she thought my book was lame and that I ought to get over my dad and that no one was interested or cared and then she snatched it out of my hand and ran off with it.’

There was a long pause. ‘Go on,’ prompted Heather, gently.

‘So, I chased her.’ Megan turned to look at Heather. ‘I had to get the book back. I’d disobeyed Bex and everything was going horribly wrong. I was scared Stella was going to chuck the book in the school pond or in one of the bins. Bex would have been so angry with me. It would have been awful.’

Heather nodded.

‘Anyway, Stella was running away from me, and she turned to look to see if I was catching her, and she tripped... she fell... she hit her head on a low wall.’ Megan paused as she recalled the awfulness of the event, then she began to cry; huge juddering sobs. ‘They sw-sw-sw-switched off her life su-su-su-pport a c-c-c-couple of weeks later.’

Heather’s heart broke for the teenager she barely knew. She got up from her swing, crouched in front of Megan and took her hands. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You aren’t to blame.’

‘But I wa-wa-wa-was. I chased her.’

‘That doesn’t mean you caused her death. It was a ghastly accident.’

Megan blew her nose again and Heather handed her another tissue. ‘That’s what the police said.’

‘There you go then.’

‘But everyone at school said it was my fault. That’s why we had to move.’

‘Oh, sweetie, it doesn’t sound as if the others at your school were very nice. And Stella certainly wasn’t. What she said and did were hateful.’

Megan nodded. Then she said, ‘Other people didn’t think so. She was form captain. Everyone liked her.’

‘Ah – another Lily Breckenridge? She likes to think she’s the most popular girl in the school too.’

‘Kind of. Ashley doesn’t like her, though.’

‘Ashley Pullen is a fine judge of character.’

Megan smiled weakly and blew her nose again.

‘So,’ said Heather. ‘Don’t you think you ought to tell your mum what happened? Apart from anything else, if I were her, I would want to have a word with Mr Smithson about it.’

‘He won’t be able to do anything.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that. And when he finds out who wrote that horrible message on the board, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes.’

‘I suppose.’ Megan wasn’t convinced.

‘How about I come back home with you?’

‘She won’t be there, she’ll be at work.’

‘At the pub?’ Megan nodded. ‘I’m sure she could be allowed a quick break.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I am totally certain Belinda will let her have a few minutes to talk to you. Come on.’ Heather let go of Megan’s hands and stood up, groaning as her knees cracked as she straightened.

Megan got off her swing and the pair left the park and headed through town.

‘Here we are,’ said Heather, pushing open the door to the bar.

‘I’ve not been in a pub before,’ muttered Megan as she followed Heather inside.

They approached the bar where Bex was busy putting clean glasses on a shelf.

‘Bex,’ said Heather.

She turned. ‘Hel—’ She stopped mid-greeting. ‘Megan, what on earth are you doing here?’

The lunchtime regulars all put their drinks on the tables and swivelled to look at what was going on.

Bex lifted the flap in the bar and ushered the pair through. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen,’ she muttered.

Her visitors followed her through and a hubbub of speculation did too until the swing door closed softly.

‘’Scuse us, Miles,’ she said to her bemused boss.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Hello, Heather – and this is...?’

‘My stepdaughter, Megan.’

‘Ooh-kaaay.’ He looked completely at sea. ‘What is this? Bring Your Child to Work Day?’

‘Don’t be facetious,’ snapped Heather.

‘Sorry.’ Miles glared at her. ‘Want me to make myself scarce?’

‘If you don’t mind,’ said Heather.

‘Sure thing. I’ll mind the bar, shall I?’ he offered sarcastically as he left.

‘So what’s all this about?’ asked Bex.

Heather glanced at Megan who nodded.

‘You tell her,’ whispered Megan.

Heather began to recount the goings-on of the past hour, looking at Megan every now and again to check that she was getting her facts right as she told the tale.

Bex looked alternately as if she were on the brink of tears or furiously angry.

‘So, who did it?’ she demanded to know at the end.

Megan shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You must have some idea.’

Megan looked as if she might burst into tears again. ‘But I don’t,’ she wailed.

‘Someone must know,’ hissed Bex. ‘And when I find out...’

‘Please don’t,’ said Megan. ‘You’ll make it worse.’

‘Worse?! How could it be worse? Some little toerag has made an unfounded and libellous accusation, upset you and made me spit feathers... And how did they find out, that’s what I want to know?’ Bex’s eyes blazed with anger and upset and righteous indignation. ‘No, I’m sorry, Megan, but as soon as I get home I’m going to ring Mr Smithson and demand he takes action.’

Megan looked upset.

Bex’s tone softened. ‘Megan, you can’t let people get away with things like this.’

‘I agree,’ said Heather.

Miles opened the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got an order for a toasted BLT.’ He shuffled awkwardly.

‘And we’re cluttering up your kitchen,’ said Bex.

‘Look, I’ll get Belinda down from upstairs. She’s only catching up with the accounts and I’m sure she can cover for you. Why don’t you push off – you’ve obviously got more important things going on than pulling pints.’

‘Well...’ started Bex.

‘Excellent idea,’ said Heather firmly. ‘Come on, you two.’ She took Bex’s arm and pulled her towards the door. ‘Bye, Miles, and thank you.’