A Kiss in the Dark (22 page)

This was the moment I would tell them it had all been a terrible mistake. Mum had got her wires crossed and Alex hadn’t actually done anything to me and I was dreadfully sorry for wasting his time. I glanced at Mum and she smiled encouragingly. I took a deep, shaky breath and opened my mouth and lied.

I said that we’d been kissing one day and Alex had forced her hand inside my underwear and touched me and kept touching me even though I kept saying ‘no’. And I tried to push her off me but she was stronger than me. PC Mason blushed again when he asked if
she had penetrated me with her fingers and I must have blushed too when I nodded. He wrote everything down in an illegible scrawl.

He asked me where the ‘alleged offence’ had happened and the question threw me slightly, even though it was an obvious one. Every crime needs a crime scene. My bedroom. I said it had happened in my bedroom when Mum had been out. I said I couldn’t remember the date and I could tell that didn’t go down well. I didn’t want to risk picking a random date and having Mum say she hadn’t left the house that day. Just my luck to have a mother who writes everything down on the kitchen calendar. I said it was sometime in late November or early December. A Saturday or a Sunday. PC Mason pushed me to try and remember but I just shrugged and looked as apologetic as I could.

‘OK, well I think that’s about all we need for now.’ He read through his notes and said, ‘Just one more thing? Your mother mentioned that you were not … um … aware that Miss Banks was female?’

I nodded. He looked like he wanted to ask more, perhaps to ask how that was even possible, but he just shook his head. Mum chipped in, ‘That makes it worse, doesn’t it? What she did. It’s fraud, isn’t it?’

PC Mason shook his head. ‘There
is
an offence of obtaining sexual intimacy by fraud, but it looks like
what we’re dealing with here is sexual assault.’ He winced. ‘I mean, it
would
be, if the allegations–’

‘You are going to arrest the girl, aren’t you? She took advantage of my daughter. Kate’s not even sixteen yet!’

PC Mason stood. ‘I’m fully aware of that, Mrs McAllister. I’m sure the ages of both Kate and Miss Banks will be taken into consideration. From the looks of things, we certainly have grounds to talk to Miss Banks. One of my colleagues will be in touch to keep you up to speed and someone will be along to take a full statement from Kate.’

‘Alex is going to be arrested?’ I asked before I could stop myself. I hadn’t thought about the age difference between Alex and me. Surely it wasn’t relevant?

PC Mason turned towards me. ‘You
do
want to press charges, don’t you? You need to think about this very carefully. If there’s something you’re not telling me, now would be a good time to mention it.’

‘Of course she wants to press charges! And even if she doesn’t,
I
do.’ Mum stopped and narrowed her eyes. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean anyway?
Something you’re not telling me
. Kate told you exactly what happened.’

‘I wasn’t implying anything, I just want you both to be aware that these are very serious allegations.
In all likelihood Miss Banks will be arrested in the morning.’

Another chance to tell the truth. It wasn’t too late, even then.

This is wrong and you know it. This is not the kind of person you want to be
.

My mind snapped back to the scene at her house on Hogmanay. The horror and confusion and betrayal. Those feelings hadn’t gone away. If anything they were amplifying, getting uglier and uglier as they festered away inside me.

What that girl did to me was unforgivable, even if it wasn’t exactly what Mum and the police
thought
she’d done to me. It didn’t matter; Alex deserved to be punished for what she did. Maybe it was lucky that Mum had misunderstood what I was trying to say that night. And maybe I should be glad that Mags had talked her into calling the police. There was no other way Alex was going to get what was coming to her. It was her word against mine now. And I planned to make sure that my word was very, very convincing.

Mum wouldn’t let me stay home from school the next day. It was a Friday though, so at least I only had one day to endure before the weekend. Astrid was waiting for me, sitting on the wall next to the school gates, even though it was freezing cold. She’d tried to call me several times the night before but my phone had been switched off. She hugged me then grabbed my arm and marched me off round the corner so we could talk in private.

‘I’ve been worried sick! I thought you’d been, like, arrested or something! Why didn’t you answer my calls?!’

‘Mum took my phone. Sorry.’ The lie came easily.

‘God, Kate … I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell me about Alex?!’ As if that was the most important issue here – Astrid being kept up to date at all times.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know until …’ I dissolved into
tears. They were real tears – they just happened to be extraordinarily well-timed. Astrid patted my back and muttered apologies and words of comfort. By the time I stopped crying the bell had gone and we had to go our separate ways for registration. Before she left I asked her if she’d told anyone.

‘No! What do you take me for?! Give me
some
credit!’ She turned away and then back again. ‘I mean obviously I told Justin, but I tell him
everything
. And he’d
never
say anything, so there’s nothing to stress about. Listen, let’s go to the park at lunch. No one else will be there in this weather.’ She gave me another quick hug. ‘I’m here for you, Kate. And I really want you to know that I don’t think any less of you or anything.’

She left me leaning against the wall, wondering what possible reason she could have for thinking less of me. I wasn’t remotely reassured by what she’d said. As far as I knew the news had spread round Justin’s school by now; it would only be a matter of time before the same thing happened here.

Astrid and I didn’t sit together in English; Ms Churchill had devised a seating plan to make sure no one sat next to their actual friends. God knows how she managed to procure that information. I saw Astrid talking to Ms Churchill at the start of the
lesson, obviously trying to explain why she hadn’t done the assignment. I watched as Churchill’s face changed from sceptical to neutral to downright sympathetic, but not once did she look over at me. I took that to mean that Astrid hadn’t used me as her excuse after all. That was something to be grateful for.

I had Maths with Stella after break. I hadn’t seen her at all over the holidays and had barely spent any time with her since going out with Alex. She was always better friends with Astrid than she was with me; Astrid was the pinnacle of our bizarre little isosceles triangle of a friendship.

Here was the real test of Astrid’s loyalty. I hugged Stella and sat down next to her. I asked about her Christmas, and thanked her for the card she’d sent to my house. I hadn’t bothered with cards this year, and even if I had they’d have been tiny cheapo ones handed round at school, rather than the huge fancy embossed ones with first-class Christmas stamps on the envelope that Stella had sent. Stella talked a bit about her Christmas and the fact that her sister had flown back in the middle of her gap year in Guatemala to spend it with her family. I think that was when I knew. Stella’s not really one for elaborating – at least not with me. The best I can usually get out of her when
I ask about her weekend or something is ‘fine thanks, how was yours?’ but this time she said at least seven consecutive sentences. When it was her turn to ask about my holidays, she couldn’t quite meet my eye. I could tell she was trying really hard but the closest her gaze got was somewhere above my left shoulder, as if there was a parrot perched there. Astrid had told her. The lying bitch.

I didn’t let on to Stella that I knew she knew – I didn’t want Astrid knowing that I was on to her. I
knew
she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut. For the rest of the lesson I was acutely aware of Stella stealing glimpses when she thought I wasn’t looking. I wondered what kind of spin Astrid had put on the story. Was I the poor, pathetic, innocent victim or had she sown a seed of doubt in Stella’s mind? ‘
She must have known … surely
.’ Maybe she’d dropped in a little comment about that time she’d supposedly caught me staring in the H&M changing rooms. Whatever Astrid had said, Stella couldn’t escape fast enough after Maths, muttering something about having to take books back to the library. In all the time I’d known Stella she had never once borrowed a book from the school library. It was a little bit tragic that she couldn’t come up with a better excuse for abandoning me.

*

I waited outside the classroom and watched carefully as everyone rushed to the canteen or to get their coats for the lunchtime dash to Greggs. Every time someone looked in my direction I examined their face for signs that they knew. It definitely seemed like more people were looking at me. I could usually walk the corridors without anyone paying me any attention; it was a simple matter of staying close to the wall and keeping your head down. It was the exact opposite of Astrid’s method. She walked the halls like she was on a catwalk. It didn’t matter to her in the slightest that people thought she looked ridiculous and sometimes even laughed in her face. She was so secure in who she was that she didn’t need any outside validation. You had to admire that.

Rachael Meadows walked past with a girl whose name I didn’t know and I could have sworn Rachael said something like ‘That’s her’ or ‘Did you see her?’ Her eyes swept over me as if I wasn’t even there, but that could have been down to her being a lot more subtle than Stella. I couldn’t tell if the other girl was looking at me, because her fringe hung too far down over her eyes. I bet she was though.

Astrid must have told more people. It was far more likely that she’d been the one to spread it around rather than Stella. I caught a boy from the year below
looking at me and smiling. I wanted to storm up to him and ask him what was so funny or tell him to wipe that smile off his face. That was what people did on TV. It’s a lot easier to be brave when you’re fictional.

*

I’d ‘forgotten’ to bring my lunch with me. The salad that Mum had carefully prepared that morning was still in the fridge at home. I’d only had half a piece of toast for breakfast but I wasn’t hungry. Astrid had finished eating her sandwich by the time we got to the park. She offered me a bite when she’d eaten all but the last corner; I said no. I let her witter on and on about the fact that she was sure her Maths teacher had had a boob job over the Christmas holidays and did I think Suzanne Perkins had put on weight.

I’ve always liked the park next to school, but I only like it when it’s quiet. I like to look at the trees and the ducks and the swans and the ripples across the pond. I don’t mind the old ladies or the dog-walkers or the little kids on their scooters – they
belong
. But I hate it when other kids from school are there – they ruin it somehow. That freezing cold day in January the park was practically deserted. There was a bald man walking a poodle wearing a camouflage coat (the poodle, not the man) and a woman sitting on a bench. She was sitting up straight, feet neatly together,
handbag on her lap. She was staring at the pond, which was half-frozen. All the birds were clustered in the unfrozen patch of water right in the middle.

Astrid and I stopped at the huge tree stump next to the pond, where there was at least some shelter from the wind. She hopped up on the felled tree next to the stump and sat there looking at me expectantly.

‘What?’

‘Are we going to talk about this or are you just going to let me talk
at
you for an hour?’ She was infuriating.

I was considering the best response other than pushing her from her perch when my phone buzzed in my bag. There was a missed call from Mum; she’d left a message. It wasn’t a long message. Her voice was very matter of fact. Straight to the point, she didn’t ask how I was getting on or say that she appreciated how hard it must be for me being back at school. I stared at Astrid as I listened to the message and then listened to it again, as if I hadn’t quite understood the first time. She was on her phone, probably texting Justin to say she was just about to get the lowdown and she’d tell him
everything
later.

My phone slipped out of my hand on to the frozen mud. I didn’t drop it out of shock or anything dramatic like that, it just slipped from my fingers because of the
cold. I picked it up and promptly dropped it again. My hands had somehow lost the capacity to grip.

‘Kate? Are you OK? You look really weird.’

I swallowed, with difficulty. ‘Alex has been arrested.’

Arrested. By the police. Like a criminal. When I pictured the scene, Alex was
my
Alex. A boy wearing jeans and a shirt and the hat I’d got him for Christmas. His hands were behind his back because he had been handcuffed. A faceless policeman (not PC Mason, for some reason) was pushing down on Alex’s head to make sure he didn’t bang his head when he was bundled into the car. Not because he cared whether Alex hit his head or not, but so that there couldn’t be any accusations of police brutality. The car door would slam and Alex would flinch. He’d look out of the window at his mother. She would be standing on the stone steps in front of their flat, sobbing. A single tear would trickle down Alex’s face and he wouldn’t be able to wipe it away because of the handcuffs.

Or maybe it had happened at school – wherever that might be. I’d already realized that he’d (she’d)
lied about going to Fettes – which explained why he (she) had been clueless about the head boy when Justin asked in the café.

‘Arrested? Seriously? That’s, like, serious.’ Astrid frowned and wrinkled her nose. ‘But what have they arrested him – sorry, her – for? That Mags woman wouldn’t say, even though I’m your best friend and I said you’d tell me anyway. Is it fraud or something? For pretending to be a guy? Kate? Hellooooo?’

I pictured Alex (
my
Alex) in a prison cell. I’d never seen a prison cell in real life but the one in my head was dark and smelly, with a filthy yellowing mattress in the corner. Alex was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, hugging his knees.