Prologue
“Four years?” my mother gasps. “That’s it? After what he did, he only gets four years and then he walks free? How the hell is that justice, Mark?”
She falls against my father on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. Dark circles frame her eyes, evidence that she hasn’t slept properly in weeks. I can see she’s exhausted as she cries softly into her outstretched hands. My stomach twists into knots. I hate seeing her so upset, but all she seems to do these days is cry.
“Shh, it will be okay.” Dad tries to sooth her, but she shrugs him off.
I can just make out the worn expression in his eyes from where I sit on the bottom of the staircase. I tense, sensing another fight is about to erupt. All they do nowadays is fight and cry. They think we don’t notice, but we do. Tully and I hear everything. I glance at my sister, who is crouched behind me, her eyes wide with fear. Her long blonde hair hangs limply around her shoulders, because it hasn’t seen a brush in days. She won’t let anyone other than Mum brush her hair, and she’s been too busy lately for anything that isn’t this court case. I touch her arm reassuringly, but we both know I’m as afraid as she is. I just wish there was someone to comfort me. Someone like Cecily.
“It will be okay?” She laughs bitterly. Her anger is misplaced at Dad, but he wears it like he always does, sitting there without saying a word. “Are you so naïve that you actually believe that?”
“Calm down, Sophie,” Dad says, hushing her. “It is what it is. We can’t change it. At least it’s over now, right? We can finally move on.”
“Move on?” Mum repeats. Her eyes, filled with disgust, settle on my father, then she turns away. He reaches for her but she shrugs him off, sobbing softly into her hands. I huddle in the dark, creeping farther behind the edge of the wall to make sure I’m not seen. They would kill me if they knew that, every night, Tully and I sit on the stairs for hours at a time, listening to them argue. She does it because she’s only eight. I do it because I have to know everything.
If I know what’s going on, then maybe I can help them. I can try and take away some of the pain and maybe stop the fighting. At ten, I should know better than that. I should know that nothing I do is going to fix anything. But I keep pushing because if I don’t, then everything becomes real.
My sister is really dead, and my family is slowly falling apart.
After leaving our life in Sydney early last year, we moved to Melbourne. Dad had a new contract for work, and that meant another school—our fourth in two years. In the past, the moves were just around Sydney, which meant keeping contact with our family and friends. But Melbourne was different. Everything was so new and scary.
Cecily made friends quickly, but they were the wrong type of friends. She went out of her way to impress them, doing things I never thought she would. Things like drugs and drinking became a regular part of her life. She went from being someone who wanted to spend time with Tully and me, to a stranger who hated us. I was crushed, because I had no idea what I did wrong.
Mum tried to assure me that my sister was going through some things that made it hard for her to relate to me, but I knew it was more than typical teenage angst. She was acting out to try and fit into a world she wasn’t meant for. She was fifteen and growing into her body. Boys were starting to take notice of her. But she only had eyes for one boy. The wrong boy. Declan James.
I was only ten, but I could see why she liked him so much. He was older than her, at sixteen, and very cute. When he first began to notice her, she was happier than I’d seen her in years. He had a reputation, which made my parents worry, but Cecily was stubborn and used to getting what she wanted, so she would sneak out to see him. He treated her like a princess. I knew he loved her, but he was part of the same, bad crowd. It was inevitable that things were going to go wrong, I just didn’t think they could go this wrong.
“Mark, trust me, I want this to be over as much as you do, but Cecily is dead. How do I move on from that? How can I go on like everything is fine, when in four years, he is going to be out, living his life like nothing happened?”
“You have to. For us.” The venom with which he spits the word ‘us’ makes me shiver. Are they going to get divorced? For Mum, everything has been about Cecily since she died. I knew Dad felt neglected, but I never thought he would leave her. “And if you won’t do it for me, then do it for Tully and Hannah. You have two other daughters, remember?”
I stiffen at the sound of my name. It’s rarely mentioned these days. Would they even notice if I wasn’t here? Maybe I should run away and find out. A wave of guilt hits me for even having the nerve to consider that. They have more important things to worry about than me. I know my life is low on their radar at the moment, and I get it, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Nobody likes to feel like they’ve been forgotten, and when you’re ten, it’s magnetized a thousand percent.
“This whole trial has taken so much out of this family, Sophie. It’s time to move on and live our lives. I’m sick of the media being in our face twenty-four hours a day. This has been such a high price profile case because of who he is. Maybe if he was a nobody, she would still be here.”
“You think that matters?” Mum gasps, sounding outraged “She was raped, Mark. He raped her, then she killed herself. It’s his fault. Don’t make our daughter’s death a circumstance, for God’s sake.”
“You think I don’t know that?” my father growls, his eyes blazing. He’s angry, and when he’s angry, I get scared, not because I’m scared he will hurt Mum, or us, but because I’m scared he will hurt himself. He bottles things up, and I know that’s not a good thing. “You think I haven’t lived through every second of this, wishing I could fix it?”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Mum whispers. She puts her hand on his arm and strokes it. It’s an empty gesture, because I can see the hollow look in her eyes. These past few months I’ve witnessed the love slowly drain out of their relationship. “Look, we’re both stressed. It’s been a long day. Let’s just go to bed and figure this out in the morning.”
I shuffle Tully back upstairs and put her to bed, lying beside her, until she falls asleep. I lay in her bed, with my head underneath my pillow. I try and block out the sounds of them arguing in their room, but it’s no use. It’s all I can hear. It’s everywhere.
I wish we’d never left Sydney. I want things to be like they were, but I know they’re never going to be. I don’t even fully understand what happened. My parents think they’re protecting Tully and me by keeping the details from us. But, people talk, and I listen.
I know enough to have pieced together a lot of that night. I know enough to know that she was raped by Declan and that his family dragged her reputation through the mud. I sigh and rest my head against the pillow behind me. I still can’t believe he would do that to my sister. I thought he was nice. I liked him. Rolling over, I cry myself to sleep, my arm wrapped protectively around Tully. Eventually, I fall asleep, listening to the sound of my parents still arguing in their room.
I wake up a few hours later, disoriented, until I remember I’m in Tully’s room. I creep out of the bed, careful not to wake her. Daylight is just starting to break through the cracks in the drapes, so I know it’s early. I couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours’ sleep, but I’m used to broken sleep. These days, I can’t seem to get more than a few hours before something—usually a nightmare—wakes me.
I pad down the stairs, my heart racing. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, but I always feel on edge these days. I’m never sure what each day is going to bring.
Rounding the corner of the last stair, I step into the kitchen. Mum sits at the table, crying in the dark. I switch on the light, my eyes taking a moment to adjust. She looks up at me, her red eyes telling me that this is serious. My heart pounds, because I know right away this isn’t the usual fighting and arguing. This is something else entirely. I’m not sure I’m ready to find out, but I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly. I sit down in the same seat I sat in nearly a year ago when they told me Cecily had died. A shiver spills down my spine. Surely not again…
“It’s your father,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
“What happened?” I repeat. My heart pounds. She doesn’t even have to say it, because I know. I can see it in her eyes, and the way they won’t meet mine. I can’t hide from this, as much as I want to pretend it isn’t happening.
“We had a fight last night and he stormed out.” She stops, her voice breaking. She buries her head in her hands and releases a sob. “The police were just here. He had an accident. He lost control of his car and … he’s ...”
“No,” I whisper. I shake my head, angry. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.
“I’m sorry, Hannah; I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I knew he wasn’t coping…”
She stands up and steps toward me, wrapping her arms around me but I pull away because it’s her fault. It’s her fault for pushing him so hard until he broke. It’s my sister’s fault for getting mixed up in things that she knew weren’t going to end well, and it’s his fault. Declan James. More than anything, it’s his fault.
Because if my sister had never met Declan James, then none of this would be happening.