Good Girl, Bad Blood

Connor was already there when they pulled up, his eyes alive and glowing in the full beam of Pip’s headlights. They were on Old Farm Road, right before the turning on to Sycamore. Ravi handed her the rucksack, his hand lingering over hers, and then they climbed out of the car.

‘Hey,’ Pip whispered to Connor. The midnight wind danced through her hair, throwing it across her face. ‘Did you get out OK?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Don’t think my mum was asleep, I could hear her sniffing. But she didn’t hear me.’

‘Where’s Cara?’ Pip said, eyeing her car parked thirty feet up the road.

‘She’s just inside the car, on the phone to her sister,’ Connor said. ‘Naomi must have noticed she’d snuck out. I don’t think Cara was trying to be that quiet on her way out because, in her words, “Both my grandparents are practically deaf”.’

‘Ah, I see.’

Ravi came to stand beside Pip, a shield between her and the biting wind.

‘Have you seen the comments?’ Connor said, his voice hardening. Was he angry? It was almost too dark to tell.

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘It’s been, like, three hours since you released the episode and a theory on Reddit has already gone viral.’

‘Which one?’

‘They think my dad killed Jamie.’ Yes, he was definitely angry, a sharp edge to his voice as he shot it towards her. ‘They’re saying he took the knife from our house and followed Jamie down Wyvil Road. Killed him, cleaned and dumped the knife and hid his body temporarily. That he was still out when I got home around midnight, because I didn’t “actually see” my dad when I got in. And then he was absent at the weekend because he was out disposing of Jamie’s body properly. Motive: my dad hates Jamie because he’s “such a fucking disappointment”.’

‘I told you not to read the comments,’ Pip said, calmly.

‘It’s hard not to when people are accusing my dad of being a fucking murderer. He didn’t do anything to Jamie. He wouldn’t!’

‘I’ve never said he did,’ Pip lowered her voice, hoping Connor would follow suit.

‘Well, it’s your podcast they’re commenting on. Where do you think they got those ideas?’

‘You asked me to do this, Connor. You accepted the risks that came with it.’ She felt the dead of night pressing in around them. ‘All I’ve done is present the facts.’

‘Well the facts have nothing to do with my dad. If anyone’s lying, it’s Nat da Silva. Not him.’

‘OK.’ Pip held up her hands. ‘I’m not arguing with you. All I’m trying to do is find Jamie, OK? That’s all I’m doing.’ Ahead, Cara had just stepped out of her car, a silent hand raised in greeting as she walked over.

But Connor hadn’t noticed. ‘Yeah I know.’ He also didn’t notice Pip raising her eyebrows at him in warning. ‘But finding Jamie has nothing to do with my dad.’

‘Con—’ Ravi began.

‘No, my dad is not a killer!’ Connor said, and Cara was standing right there behind him.

Her eyes clouded over and her mouth stiffened, open around an unsaid word. Finally Connor noticed her, too late, itching his nose to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. Ravi suddenly became keenly interested in the stars overhead and Pip stuttered, scrambling for what to say. But it was only a few seconds until the smile flickered back into Cara’s face, a strain in it that only Pip would notice.

‘Can’t relate,’ she said offhandedly, with an over-performed shrug. ‘Don’t we have a stake-out to do? Or are we gonna stand here chit-chatting like lost lemons?’

A saying she’d picked up in recent weeks from her grandma. And an easy way out of this awkwardness. Pip grabbed it and nodded. ‘Yeah, let’s go.’ It was best for all involved to gloss over those last thirty seconds like they’d never happened.

Connor walked stiffly beside her as they turned down the gravel road, the abandoned farmhouse facing them across the grass. And there was something else here, something Pip hadn’t expected. A car pulled up roughly off the road, close to the building.

‘Is someone here?’ she said.

The question was answered for her just a few seconds later as a white beam of light flashed behind the grimy windows of the farmhouse. Someone was inside, with a torch.

‘What’s the play?’ Ravi said to her. ‘The indirect or direct approach?’

‘What’s the difference?’ Connor asked, his normal voice returned to him.

‘Indirect is stay out here, hidden, wait to see who it is when they leave,’ Ravi explained. ‘Direct is, well, march the hell inside now and see who it is, have a little chit-chat. I’d lean towards a hider myself, but we’ve got an avid marcher here, so . . .’

‘Direct,’ Pip said decisively, as Ravi well knew she would. ‘Time isn’t on our side. Come on. Quietly,’ she added, because the direct approach didn’t necessarily mean giving up the element of surprise.

They traipsed towards the house together, steps falling in time.

‘Are we squad goals?’ Ravi whispered to Pip. Cara heard and snorted.

‘I said quietly. That means no jokes and no pig snorts.’ Which was exactly how each of them reacted to nervous energy.

Pip was the first to reach the open door, the silvery, spectral light of the moon on the walls of the hallway, like it was lighting the way for them, guiding them towards the living room. Pip took one step inside and paused as a guffaw rang out up ahead. There was more than one person. And from their choral laughter, it sounded like two guys and a girl. They sounded young, and possibly high, holding on to the laughter long after they should.

Pip moved forward a few more silent steps, Ravi following close behind her, holding his breath.

‘I reckon I can fit, like, twenty-seven of them in my mouth at once,’ one of the voices said.

‘Oh, Robin, don’t.’

Pip hesitated. Robin? Was this the Robin she knew – the one in the year below who played football with Ant? The one she’d spied buying drugs from Howie Bowers last year?

She stepped into the living room. Three people were sitting on the upturned bins and it was light enough in here that they weren’t just silhouettes detaching from the darkness; a torch was resting in the top drawer of a warped wooden sideboard, pointing its bright silver light at the ceiling. And there were three bright yellow pinpricks at the ends of their lit cigarettes.

‘Robin Caine,’ Pip said, making all three of them jump. She didn’t recognize the other two, but the girl shrieked and almost fell from her bin, and the other boy dropped his cigarette. ‘Careful, you don’t want to cause a fire,’ she said, watching the boy scramble to retrieve it whilst also pulling up his hood to hide his face.

Robin’s eyes finally focused on her and he said, ‘Urgh, not fucking you.’

‘It is fucking me, I’m afraid,’ Pip said. ‘And co.,’ as the others piled into the room behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Robin took a long drag on his joint. Too long, in fact, and his face reddened as he fought not to cough.

‘What are you doing here?’ Pip returned the question.

Robin held up the joint.

‘I got that bit. Do you . . . come here often?’ she said.

‘Is that a pick-up line?’ Robin asked, shrinking back immediately as Ravi straightened up to full height beside Pip.

‘The crap you’ve left behind answers my question anyway.’ Pip gestured to the collection of wrappers and empty beer bottles. ‘You know you’re leaving traces of yourselves all over a potential crime scene, right?’

‘Andie Bell wasn’t killed in here,’ he said, returning his attention to his joint. His friends were deadly quiet, trying to look anywhere but at them.

‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’ Pip shifted her stance. ‘Jamie Reynolds has been missing for five days. He came here right before he disappeared. You guys know anything about that?’

‘No,’ Robin said, quickly followed by the others.

‘Were you here on Friday night?’

‘No.’ Robin glanced down at the time on his phone. ‘Listen, you’ve really gotta go. Someone’s turning up soon and you really can’t be here when he does.’

‘Who’s that, then?’

‘Obviously not going to tell you that,’ Robin scoffed.

‘What if I refuse to leave until you do?’ Pip said, kicking an empty Pringles can so that it skittered between the trio.

‘You especially don’t want to be here,’ Robin said. ‘He probably hates you more than most people because you basically put Howie Bowers in prison.’

The dots connected in Pip’s head.

‘Ah,’ she said, drawing out the sound. ‘So, this is a drug thing. Are you dealing now, then?’ she said, noticing the large black, overstuffed bag leaning against Robin’s leg.

‘No, I don’t deal.’ He wrinkled his nose.

‘Well that looks like a lot more than personal use in there.’ She pointed at the bag that Robin was now trying to hide from her, tucking it behind his legs.

‘I don’t deal, OK? I just pick it up from some guys from London and bring it here.’

‘So, you’re, like, a mule,’ Ravi offered.

‘They give me weed for free,’ Robin’s voice rose defensively.

‘Wow, you’re quite the businessman,’ Pip said. ‘So, someone’s groomed you into carrying drugs across county lines.’

‘No, fuck off, I’m not groomed.’ He looked down at his phone again, the panic reaching his eyes, swirling in the dark of his pupils. ‘Please, he’ll be here any minute. He’s already pissed off this week ’cause someone skipped out on him; nine hundred pounds he’ll never get back or something. You have to go.’

And as soon as the last word left Robin’s throat, they all heard it: the sound of wheels crackling against the gravel, the low hum of a car pulling in and cutting out, the after-tick of its engine puncturing the night.

‘Someone’s here,’ Connor said needlessly.

‘Ah shit,’ Robin said, stubbing out his joint on the bin beneath him. But Pip was already turning, passing between Connor and Cara, down the hall to the gaping front door. She stood there at the threshold, one foot curled over the ledge and into the night. She squinted, trying to sculpt the darkness into recognizable shapes. A car had pulled up in front of Robin’s, a lighter coloured car but –

And then Pip couldn’t see anything at all, blinded by the fierce white of the car’s full beams.

She covered her eyes with her hands as the engine revved – and then the car sped off down Sycamore Road, disappearing in a cloud of dust and scattering pebbles.

‘Guys!’ Pip called to the others. ‘My car. Now. Run!’

She was already moving, flying across the grass and into the swirling dust of the road. Ravi overtook her on the corner.

‘Keys,’ he shouted, and Pip dug them out of her jacket pocket, throwing them into Ravi’s hand. He unlocked the Beetle and threw himself into the passenger side. When Pip slammed into the driver’s side, climbing in, Ravi already had the keys in the ignition waiting for her. She turned them and flicked on the headlights, lighting up Cara and Connor as they sprinted over.

They flung themselves inside and Pip pulled away, accelerating before Cara had even slammed the door behind her.

‘What did you see?’ Ravi asked as Pip rounded the corner, chasing after the car.

‘Nothing.’ She pressed down on the pedal, hearing gravel kick up, dinging off the sides of her car. ‘But he must have spotted me in the doorway. And now he’s running.’

‘Why would he run?’ Connor asked, his hands gripped around Ravi’s headrest.

‘Don’t know.’ Pip sped up as the road dropped down a hill. ‘But running is something that guilty people do. Are those his tail lights?’ She squinted into the distance.

‘Yeah,’ Ravi said. ‘God he’s going fast, you need to speed up.’

‘I’m already doing forty-five,’ Pip said, biting her lip and pushing her foot down a little harder.

‘Left, he turned left there.’ Ravi pointed.

Pip swung around the corner, into another narrow country lane.

‘Go, go, go,’ said Connor.

And Pip was gaining on him, the white body of his car now visible against the dark hedgerows at the side of the road.

‘Need to get close enough to read his number plate,’ Pip said.

‘He’s speeding up again,’ Cara said, face wedged between Pip and Ravi’s seats.

Pip accelerated, the speedometer needling over fifty and up and up, closing the gap between the cars.

‘Right!’ Ravi said. ‘He went right.’

The turn was sharp. Pip took her foot off the pedal and pulled at the steering wheel. They flew around the corner, but something was wrong.

Pip felt the steering wheel escape from her, slipping through her hands.

They were skidding.

She tried to turn into it, to correct it.

But the car was going too fast and it went. Someone was yelling but she couldn’t tell who over the screaming of the wheels. They slid, left then right, before spinning in a full circle.

They were all yelling as the car skidded to a stop, coming to rest facing the wrong way, the bonnet half embedded in the brambles that bordered the road.

‘Fuck,’ Pip said, hitting her fist against the steering wheel, the car horn blaring for a split second. ‘Is everyone OK?’

‘Yeah,’ Connor said, his breath heavy and his face flushed.

Ravi looked over his shoulder, exchanging a look with a shaken Cara before passing it on to Pip. And she knew what was in their eyes, the secret the three of them knew that Connor never could: that Cara’s sister and Max Hastings had been involved in a car accident when they were this age, Max convincing his friends to leave a severely injured man on the road. And that had really been the start of it all, how Ravi’s brother was eventually murdered.

And they’d just come recklessly close to something like that.

‘That was stupid,’ Pip said, that thing in her gut stretching out to take more of her with it. It was guilt, wasn’t it? Or shame. She wasn’t supposed to be like this this time, losing herself again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s my fault.’ Ravi tucked his fingers around hers. ‘I told you to go faster. I’m sorry.’

‘Did anyone see the number plate?’ Connor asked. ‘All I saw was the first letter and it was either an N or an H.’

‘Didn’t see,’ Cara said. ‘But it was a sports car. A white sports car.’

‘A BMW,’ Ravi added, and Pip tensed, right down to the fingers gripping his hand. He turned to her. ‘What?’

‘I . . . I know someone with that car,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, yeah, so do I,’ he replied. ‘More than one someone probably.’

‘Yeah,’ Pip exhaled. ‘But the one I know is Nat da Silva’s new boyfriend.’