up my bag and make my way outside. Kimbolton Prep School. That has to be what Zan and Ben would call ‘a good shout’. There’s nowhere else nearby that looks like the sort of place Lewis Braid would choose for his child. And he always made all the important decisions.
Did Flora want to ring me yesterday or did he force her to, and then tell her when to end the call and that she mustn’t ring me back? Did he make her withhold her number so that I couldn’t phone her back later?
Dom didn’t originally want me to contact Lewis, but he couldn’t stop me, just like I couldn’t stop him from spending too much money on pub meals all those years ago, to support The Olde Jug’s new owners before they were our friends. That’s because neither one of us controls the other; we’re both free agents. Flora and Lewis, on the other hand …
What if he’s always manipulated her, and I just didn’t realise? So often she would say, ‘Lew-is’, as if she wished he would stop whatever he was doing. I interpreted it as her trying and failing to control him, but what if it was the other way round: him controlling her, keeping her alert and in check by demonstrating how far he was willing to go? Like the two-grand changing room …
When you’re young, you don’t seriously wonder whether your friends might be terrible people. You’re naive and optimistic; you assume anyone occupying the structural position of best friend must be a good person deep down.
What if Lewis isn’t? What if, as well as being an entertaining, outrageous and occasionally offensive weirdo, he’s also something much worse?
Or I might be getting stupidly carried away. There’s no way of knowing, not without an answer to the more immediate question: what are he and Flora so determined to hide, and how does it relate to all the bizarre things I’ve seen and heard? That’s the mystery – the one Dom can forget all about, apparently, and I can’t. At least we agree on one thing: the Braids are hiding something.
In my hurry to get to the library, I forgot to notice where I left my car, and I have to walk up and down the car park for a few minutes before I spot it. I’m reaching into my bag for my phone when I feel someone’s eyes on me.
I look up, and my phone slips from between my fingers. She’s standing directly in front of me, about ten feet ahead.
It’s Flora.
She must have been coming this way, then seen me and come to a standstill. Her eyes are wide with shock, and she’s lowering her arm, as if she’s been pointing at me, or pointing me out to somebody … but there’s no one with her. She’s alone.
She stares at me as if she’s never seen anything more terrifying. Feeling as if the ground I’m standing on is falling through space beneath my feet, I take a step towards her, opening my mouth to speak, but she’s already turning away, walking fast in the opposite direction. Running.
‘Flora! Wait!’
I think about chasing her, but there’s too much distance between us already and something’s nagging at the back of my mind, telling me I mustn’t go anywhere, not without …
My phone.
I dropped it. It made a crunching noise. The screen was already cracked; now it’s probably damaged beyond repair. In normal circumstances, I’d be feeling sick about the cost of a new phone.
Amazingly, it still works, though it looks like something anyone sensible would chuck in the bin. Dom has tried to call me four times. I send him a quick message saying, ‘Out for the day. Don’t worry, all fine!’ and end up with a small piece of glass in my forefinger. Parts of the screen are missing around the button at the bottom. I can see silver-grey innards. And more silver in front of me, now that I’ve turned round: Flora’s Range Rover, standing out glossily in a row of smaller, less shiny cars. I must have walked straight past it and not noticed – because I wasn’t looking out for it, not here.
To be strictly accurate, I suppose I should say, ‘A silver Range Rover’. I didn’t notice the number plate on Saturday, so there’s no way of knowing if this one is Flora’s.
It is. It’s her car. She was on her way back to it, walking across the car park, when she saw you