‘It was once school had finished last Friday,’ I said. ‘She was in a car … with one of the English teachers.’

  Mum made a strange sound. I didn’t look at her, didn’t look at anyone. At anything. Except the tissue I was shredding in my lap.

  ‘Which English teacher would that be?’ Blonde Bob asked.

  ‘Mr Bacon,’ I said. And it’s all so vivid in my mind. The way he was leaning towards her. The way he tucked her hair behind her ear. Just like he always did when he was about to kiss me.

  ‘What were they doing?’ Blonde Bob asked. The room fell silent. I could feel everyone’s gaze on me. My heart began to race.

  And then he looked over Sophie A’s shoulder at me, and our eyes locked, and I ran. I ran, I ran.

  ‘They were kissing,’ I said.

  I hate him.

  I hate him.

  I hate him.

  DAY 2

  This morning, I woke with a sore throat. And a headache. Maybe because I’ve been crying half the night. But the more hours that pass, the worse I feel. I’m exhausted. My legs ache. I guess I deserve it.

  Sophie A’s family are driving all over the place, trying to find her. So are the police. It’s only a matter of time before the cops come to talk to me.

  I’m trying to get my story straight in my mind. Writing it all down.

  I figure I can tell the truth about everything. Except for when I last saw Sophie A. And my relationship with James. That’s called lies of omission, I think. They’ll never think to ask — and I’ll never tell.

  He’s given up trying to contact me. After yesterday. That’s because I broke up with him.

  Broke up with him. Before he breaks me.

  It’s early afternoon now. I’ve been sleeping most of the day. Even though to sleep is to dream. That’s a quote from somewhere but I can’t remember where. To sleep is to dream. And to dream is to have nightmares.

  My life has become a nightmare.

  If I hadn’t been grounded, maybe none of this would have happened.

  A month of being grounded meant Jimmy and I saw a lot less of each other. I couldn’t afford to miss all my Monday shifts at the supermarket. We resorted to snatched lunchtimes at his house. But only when Jimmy was extra sure his brother wasn’t in town.

  Something else was changing too. Before, I’d been the sole focus of Jimmy’s attention. But now he was seeking distractions — because most of the time I wasn’t around. Indoor soccer. Poker nights. After-school drinks with the other teachers. Our relationship began first to fray — and then to unravel.

  It was the first Friday in June. Jimmy told me he was going away.

  ‘Away? Where?’ It was lunchtime. We were at his house — stealing half an hour before we had to be back at school.

  Jimmy slid out of bed. Plucked his shirt off the floor. ‘Next weekend. I’m going to Rotorua with the boys.’

  ‘Next weekend?’ I sat up. ‘But that’s my first free weekend.’

  ‘Your first free weekend?’ Jimmy zipped up his trousers.

  ‘As in, the first weekend of me not being grounded in four weeks. Or did you forget?’

  He took a deep breath. Sat next to me. What were his exact words? ‘I didn’t forget. But I couldn’t really say no.’

  ‘Why not?’ The air was cold on my bare shoulders, but I didn’t move to cover myself.

  ‘Because it’s a boys’ weekend. If I say no, then I mightn’t get invited again.’

  ‘Why not?’ I didn’t have to ask who the boys were — Jimmy had started hanging out with Mark Wilkinson, one of the science teachers at school, along with Mr Wilkinson’s poker buddies. Jimmy had even started going to their poker nights every Wednesday.

  Jimmy tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Look,’ he said, kissing me before continuing, ‘it’s not that easy to make friends around here. I know it’s bad timing, but believe me, we can make up for lost time.’

  I shrank away. ‘If Patrick lets us.’ In less than two weeks, Patrick would be moving to Auckland — yet another brake on our relationship.

  ‘Let me handle my brother, OK?’ He stood up and walked out of the room. White-hot anger flared behind my eyes. I wrapped the duvet around my shoulders. Stalked out into the lounge. Jimmy was sitting on the couch, tugging on his socks.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re going away next weekend, when it’s our first chance to have more than half an hour together.’

  Jimmy stared at me for a moment. ‘Well, whose fault is that, Sophie?’ That should have been the first clue. That he was about to lose his temper. But I ignored the fact he never called me Sophie — not without an adjective in front of it.

  ‘Are you saying it’s my fault?’

  ‘It sure as hell isn’t mine. It’s not easy, you know, going out with a seventeen-year-old.’

  More flares went off. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t bother, if it’s that hard.’

  Jimmy shook his head. Reached for a shoe. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, fuck you,’ I shot back at him, shaking with anger and — by then — a sharp surge of fear. Because by then I did have an inkling of what might happen next.

  It wasn’t really a surprise. When he jumped up and pushed me backwards. So hard my head hit the wall behind me. It wasn’t really a surprise. When he held me while I cried. Told me he was sorry — and he loved me — over and over.

  I’ll always love you. I’ll never leave you. Please, please, don’t make me angry with you.

  It wasn’t a surprise. Because he’d done it so many times before.

  DAY 1

  I spent all day in bed today. I told Mum I felt sick. It wasn’t a lie. I’ve got the worst hangover ever. And I’m freaking out. Not just freaking out — fighting the thick black fog in my brain.

  Jimmy has messaged me three times.

  0700: We need to talk.

  1232: Mac it wasn’t what you think. Please give me a chance to explain.

  1537: Sophie A was upset and needed to talk. I think you know why. But you have to believe me, I would never do anything to jeopardise what I have with you.

  Shaking. Crying. I finally messaged him back: What you have with me is nothing, not anymore. We’re over. If you come near me or try to contact me again, I’m calling the police. I mean it.

  Then I deleted all his messages — and blocked his number.

  We’re done. I’m done.

  I don’t know if it’s possible to love and hate someone at the same time — but that’s exactly how I feel.

  And now there’s no one to talk to. No one.

  I can’t — I won’t —

  I wish someone would tell me what to do.

  DAY 0

  Dear Diary … Is that how you start a diary? There’s nothing dear about this diary. I’ve already crossed out a line. But I need to write this down. Pin this down in words. Before the memories start to fade and blur.

  Oh my God, oh my God.

  I don’t know what to do. I should call the emergency services. I should call Sophie A’s parents. I should talk to my mother.

  But I can’t — how can I — when I should have done all that several hours ago, and now I—

  It’s nearly midnight. All I’ve done since I got home is shower. And sit in my room. The full moon staring at me through my window. Drinking my way through the bottle of cooking wine — found in the bottom of our pantry. Chewing my fingernails until my cuticles bleed.

  Blood. It seems right that I should be bleeding. Right that I should suffer.

  Oh my God, oh my God.

  I need to get this straight in my head — what happened — or didn’t happen — starting with what I saw Jimmy and Sophie A doing in his car this afternoon.

  Today was cold — about as cold as it gets in winter. Stainless-steel skies. Wind that sliced straight through my windbreaker. When the last bell rang for home time, I went to the library. I spent half an hour in there, studying. I was killing time — what am I saying? Waiting for everyone else to go home before I went to Jimmy’s house.

  If only I’d waited a bit longer — maybe I wouldn’t have seen … and then maybe we wouldn’t have—

  But then I’d never have known what that two-timing bastard was doing. With Sophie A.

  Fuck.

  At half-past three, I left the library, went to the girls’ loos to fix up my hair, put on the new lip gloss I’d bought with my last payment from Twiggy, and I’d just walked back into the corridor when a message came through on my phone.

  Bit held up, see you around six?

  It was Jimmy. He’d said to go straight to his house. When I left school. So much for that, then. I wondered what could be holding him up — marking? Surely not — he had all weekend to do that. Probably he’d been invited out for after-work drinks. A new habit that I’d started to hate.

  Hate, I hate.

  Shit.

  OK … I replied. Before going outside. Had he got my pissed-off undertones from the dot dot dot bit?

  That’s called an ellipsis, apparently. The dot dot dot bit. Jimmy taught me that — back when we were still happy together.

  Screw you, you two-timing bastard. If you hadn’t — then I wouldn’t have—

  And I’m crying as I remember this next bit. Stuffing my knuckles into my mouth. So I don’t wake my mother with my sobs.

  I’m so, so drunk.

  I wish I was drunker. Is that correct English, James Bacon? No? Well, fuck you.

  I didn’t exit through the back gates — as I usually did — as Jimmy probably expected me to. Instead, I walked through the front entrance. And turned right. Towards Twiggy’s house. I’d planned on asking Jimmy to drive me to her place — so I could feed Jandals, her cat.

  Never mind, I’d thought. I’ll walk instead, and drive her car back to my house. Twiggy loaned me her car this weekend — for the first time ever. I’ve been looking forward to it for ages — dreaming about taking Jimmy for a drive to one of the black-sand beaches out west — for a change.

  I don’t know if I’ll ever dream again. Let alone sleep.

  Go back, go back. I need to get this right. Get down what really happened. In case someone questions me.

  There will be questions. Soon, I think.

  I’d been walking for a few minutes. Had just crossed at the traffic lights — when I saw a familiar black Ford Falcon. Parked on the side of the road. At first I figured Jimmy must still be at school — but why had he parked so far away, when there were staff parks in the school grounds? When I got closer, I saw movement in the front of the car. Smiling, I picked up the pace. Maybe he’d changed his mind — wasn’t going to be late after all.

  Yeah, smiling. I was so fucking oblivious.

  I can hardly bear to think about this. My head is swimming. I feel like I’m going to puke.

  But I can’t. I need to record this, exactly as it happened.

  Jimmy wasn’t alone. There was someone in the passenger seat. Someone with golden-blonde locks spilling to her shoulders. She was facing away from me. But I would have known that silhouette anywhere.

  What? I froze. Unable to look away. As I watched, Jimmy reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Sophie A’s ear.

  He’s going to kiss her he’s going to kiss her he’s going to—

  He couldn’t have heard the strangled noise in the back of my throat. Perhaps I moved. Perhaps he just sensed I was there.

  Jimmy looked over her shoulder — his lion eyes locking on mine.

  I turned and ran.

  I ran and ran.

  This is what happened. Between going to Twiggy’s house and Sophie A messaging me.

  I held my tears. Until the minute I stepped through Twiggy’s door. How I managed that, I don’t know. Once inside, I began bawling — so loudly I scared the cat away.

  My phone was ringing inside my bag. I ignored it. Instead, I flung cat biscuits into Jandals’s bowl. Before sinking onto the tiles. I sobbed for fifteen minutes. Maybe more. Until I couldn’t ignore my beeping phone any longer.

  There were two missed calls — and a message from Jimmy. There was a message from Sophie A too.

  Jimmy: It’s NOT what you think. Can you please call me back?

  Sophie A: I need to talk to you.

  I sat up. Blew my nose. Stabbed a reply to Sophie A: I really need to talk to you too. Are you at home?

  And so it began.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ I asked, two minutes after picking up Sophie A. Two minutes when neither of us had said a thing. Two minutes when we’d both filled the silence with our wet breathing.

  ‘I don’t know. Somewhere far away. Shit.’ Sophie A tipped her head. So it was resting against the window. I felt like hitting her — but of course she didn’t know about me and Jimmy … did she?

  ‘Fine,’ I said. Struggling to control the tremor in my voice. ‘Let’s go to Muriwai.’

  It was a crazy suggestion. It’d be dark in an hour. And it was starting to rain.

  Sophie A didn’t argue. She didn’t say a thing. So I drove — and drove — and drove. Outside, the pressure was falling. Storm front coming.

  By the time we reached the beach, the light was fading. Fast. There were only two other vehicles in the car park. A station wagon with roof racks and a VW Kombi van.

  I parked facing the beach. Killed the engine. The car radio was on low — Sia singing ‘Elastic Heart’. We sat there — for a couple of minutes. The wind buffeted the car. The rain had stopped.

  ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Sophie A said — her voice flatter than I’d ever heard it.

  The tide was out. Slab-like waves pushing into shore. There was no one else on the beach. But when I squinted, I was pretty sure I could see a surfer. Out beyond the break zone. Crazy.

  Yeah. Really crazy.

  We went left — towards the rock path. Lighting our way with the torches on our phones.

  ‘So,’ I said, my tone cool, ‘did you decide what you’re going to do?’ I’d kept Sophie A’s secret for two days — two fucking days. And now I knew who the father must be.

  Jesus — how long has this been going on under my nose? How could I have been so blind?

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sophie A’s head was lowered. Her torch beam trembling in front of us. ‘I told him after school — and he freaked out.’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘That’s hardly a surprise.’ We’d reached a wider part of the path. Where a flat rocky area jutted out into the sea.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me who it is?’ Sophie A stepped towards the edge of the rocks — looked down into the churning water.

  ‘I know who it is,’ I said, halting just behind her. I was gazing at the perfect shiny locks falling out of the hood of her windbreaker. Of course he wouldn’t have been able to resist her. Who could resist the golden girl with the silver spoon?

  Sophie A faced me. ‘What?’

  ‘I said, I know who it is.’ I clenched my fists at my sides. ‘How long has it been going on for?’

  ‘It was just once.’ She faltered. ‘What’s going on, Mac? Why are you so angry?’

  ‘I knew something like this was going to happen,’ I spat. ‘I saw the way you’ve been looking at each other at lunchtime. While we’ve been playing cards.’

  She gasped. ‘Oh my God, you think it was Will? He likes you, not me.’ Salt spray rose behind her — like a cloud. The rain fell. Harder and faster.

  ‘I mean James Bacon.’ I started yelling, couldn’t help it. ‘Did he tell you about me? Did he?’

  ‘Mac, what are you talking about?’ Sophie A was crying again. And I was too. Rain, tears, what was the difference? ‘I had no idea about you guys — oh, my God — but you’ve got to believe me, it wasn’t him.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ I’d never been hysterical before — but I think I was then. Rage whirling out of me — like a tornado. ‘You could have any guy you wanted, but you had to take him away from me. He’s mine, don’t you understand?’

  I moved towards her — Sophie stepped back — I saw the wave loom behind her — I saw it — and I jumped backwards. Even as she spread her arms—

  And then she was gone.

  And it was raining — pouring — and all I could see was the waves — surging against the rocks — no Sophie A — and there was no way I could jump in there — and I ran and ran — but when I reached the beach the surfer was gone.

  And I paced the sand — I even waded into my knees — but the waves were so big — and I knew if I went in there I’d drown.

  And my phone was flat, fuuuck.

  So I ran back to the car — and I meant to drive to the nearest house — I meant to.

  But it was too late — it was already too late — and I think

  I think

  I think she must have

  No one could have survived

  And it was an accident — it was — but what if no one else sees it that way?

  Now I’m home. Shivering in the midnight. It’s six hours since Sophie A fell into the waves. I’m wondering if she’s playing a trick on me — hiding from me and yet I think

  I think

  She might have fallen back on purpose

  Or maybe I wanted, at that moment, for her to

  Fall

  And the rain fell and fell and fell

  And I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong — what’s black and what’s white

  And if I tell myself enough times what really happened, what really happened

  Then maybe that will become the truth.

  PART II

  DAY 65

  Today I decided to take up running again — partly for something to do, and partly because I’m putting on weight again. My appetite seems to have returned. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not. Does that make me heartless?

  I do have a heart, but it feels as though it has unspooled, and is lying in a tangled mess in the middle of my chest.

  Will isn’t helping.

  This afternoon, I ran down to the beach and along the rock path to the next bay. By the time I got back to our bay, my breathing was out of control and my legs were aching. Maybe I’d been a bit ambitious, considering I’d only been on one short run in the past few months.