Mary-Jane Riley - After She Fell - A haunting psychological thriller with a shocking twist

They had a point.

And it was so easy to shut myself in my room and devour pro-ana sites and think all that shit was real. Poor fuckers. I was lucky. Mum got me help and I came out the other side. I think it made me stronger. What doesn’t kill you and all that.

But then Mum’s job became more important; she became more important, and everybody wanted a piece of her. She’d get invited to all sorts of things, and at some fundraising event for a cancer charity she met Mark, and boom! that was it. I ceased to be the most important thing in her life and dropped down to third. Plus, I don’t know what Mark’s real motives are for marrying Mum. He’s a bit too young for her so I reckon he’s in it for the reflected glory or something. And I think he was quite pleased when Mum came up with the idea of sending me to The Drift. ‘It’s a good school and you’re really clever,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want to leave you on your own when I’m away, and I can’t expect Mark to look after you.’

Guess not.

And she said she’d spoken to Tara’s mum (who writes the most salacious bonkbusters and has made a fortune) who was looking for a new school for Tara, and they both agreed The Drift – in the back of beyond and then some – was a good idea.

So now I’m here.

Sometimes I want to blame Mark for it all, and hope that one day Mum’ll see sense. Sometimes I think Mum really believes she has my interests at heart. Sometimes I think she and Mark really do love each other. And sometimes I see pigs flying.

But I long for my old London school in the middle of the city: a vibrant centre, full of life. I miss the constant noise, colour, and the different mix of people. I like the never-ending procession of traffic, the street lights that block out the sky, the green parks that give areas of calm among the madness; whereas here it’s dark nights, starry skies, hooting owls, and spoilt rich kids of fading TV stars or blockhead footballers. And the rich kids, who all seem to have been together since day one at the school, and often before that – attended the same prep school, darling – are obsessed with looks and fashion. Tara doesn’t stand a chance. And I don’t want to be a clone. A drone. A Queen Bee. After all, I’ve been there, done all that dieting stuff and it almost killed me. Never again. And as for boys, I can’t see what all the fuss is about. And that’s the problem. I have naff all in common with the Queen Bees, or with any of them. Nor does Tara, but she can’t see that.

‘Come on Lee, come over here. Leave fatso where she is.’ Naomi laughs, and the other members of the gang sitting with her dutifully follow suit.

‘No thanks, Naomi,’ I shout back. ‘I want to stay with my friend. She’s more interesting than you.’ And I grin like a mad woman.

Naomi waves, not fazed by or bothered by the sarcasm. ‘Suit yourself.’

I look at Tara, see her bottom lip wobble. ‘Come on, Tar, they’re not worth it.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ sniffs my friend. ‘You could go and be at one with the Queen Bees any time you like. I haven’t got a fucking chance.’

‘Tar. Haven’t heard you swear before.’ I am admiring.

‘Now you have.’ She is grumpy.

My phone pings.

hi gorgeous.

I look around again. Heart-throb Theo is looking straight at me. It must have been his eyes I felt on me. He smiles.

Oh God, I can do without this. As I say, neither he nor any of his mates interests me. No time for them. He might be the hottest dude in town but, you know, the Queen Bees can have him. I am about to fling my phone down on the grass when I think of something – it might be worth a flirtation just to piss off the Queen Bees. Yeah, could be fun. I text back, hiding a smile.

hi.

I don’t have to wait long for his reply.

wanna hook up later?

Nice chat-up line.

maybe

the old summerhouse?

Original in his destinations too. He sure knows how to woo a girl.

maybe

’bout 8?

maybe. If I can get out

course you can. see you then.

Actually, I feel normal doing that. Not that I have any intention of going. I look across at him. He gives me a small wave and then turns back to talk to his group of mates.

They are laughing, and my face burns.

The skin on the back of my neck prickles. I know someone is watching me. And it’s not Theo.

Hey you, it’s me.

That was when it first started, wasn’t it? You … lying there on the grass, long, tanned legs stretched out in front of you, talking to Tara, texting that boy. And there I was. Looking at you. I couldn’t stop it you know, looking and wondering about you. Thinking, you don’t know how gorgeous you are. Wondering if you would let me get close to you or if you wouldn’t want to know. That’s when I thought: I will try. I couldn’t waste the opportunity. You see, I thought my life wasn’t going anywhere, that I was trapped. But I was frightened, worried about how you might react if I made a move. Then I told myself I shouldn’t worry about it, that I should go slowly and test the water. I looked at you again. You felt me looking at you, didn’t you? You even turned and looked at me, but didn’t see me.

But you didn’t know then that it was me.

June

Murdered.

The blunt word hung heavy in the air.

‘Cat,’ began Alex, her voice still gentle, ‘is that right?’ She’d had plenty experience of living with the thought that someone you loved had been murdered. It was something that never left you: that feeling of helplessness; the useless ‘if only’ thoughts that came in the depths of the night. Alex was still trying to live with all of that.

Catriona sighed long and hard, then sat up straight, her mouth in a determined line. ‘Yes. It is. I feel it in here.’ She thumped her breastbone with her fist. ‘Elena wouldn’t have done that to me. We went through a lot together, especially after her dad died. She wouldn’t leave me this way.’

Alex nodded and thought back to what she knew about the 17-year-old’s death. The teenager had been found in the early morning at the bottom of cliffs not far from her very exclusive boarding school, only days before the school broke up for the Christmas holidays. Alex could imagine what sort of Christmas the Devonshires would have had. She’d been through many of those when her sister’s children had disappeared. She frowned. ‘Cat, forgive me but the police found a text on her phone, didn’t they? To you from her?’

‘Yes, there was no doubt about that. But—’

‘And she had been depressed and anorexic or bulimic or both,’ Mark Munro cut across his wife.

‘No, she had not been either of those things.’ Cat balled her fists. ‘She was well. Completely well.’ The strain on her face deepened the lines around her eyes.

Alex frowned. ‘What made you think she was ill, Mark?’

‘I—’ His eyes darted around the room.

‘Mark?’ Cat’s voice was sharp.

‘Catriona. Can we do this when we’re alone, please?’ He had regained control and his voice was stern.

Cat looked at him then shook her head. ‘No. I want Alex to help me. Us. I don’t want to hide anything from her. But if you’re hiding something from me—’

He stared at Cat for a few moments before wiping his face wearily with one hand. ‘Very well. If you must know I spoke to her. A couple of weeks before … before she died.’

‘What? You never told me that.’

‘I didn’t think it would get this far.’ He went over to a cupboard in the corner and took out a bottle of whisky. ‘Drink?’

‘Mark, you can’t solve this with a drink.’ She let out a hiss through her teeth.