She reaches down to give her sister a hand up. They trot through the tall grass and into the woods behind the small house, their laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves. The air is crisp, and fallen leaves crunch beneath their feet as they make their way to their favourite oak tree, its branches sprawling like a giant’s arms. With practised ease, they scramble up the sturdy trunk, branches swaying gently under their weight. High above the ground, they settle on to their usual perch, legs swinging in the air. Nicola tilts her face up to the sun that filters through the canopy above, imagining she’s in a magical world where there’s no one else but the two of them, except maybe a unicorn and some friendly fairies. But definitely no adults. She grins at her sister, fascinated by the dappled shadows flickering across Penni’s cheek.
Penni clears her throat. ‘Gracie Nugent asked if we want to go round to her house after school one day next week.’
Nicola doesn’t even pause to think about it. ‘No,’ she replies abruptly.
‘Why not?’ Penni persists, which isn’t like her. Usually, she defers to her sister.
‘Because she’s a show-off,’ Nicola says, her voice sharp.
‘No she isn’t. She’s nice.’
That stings more than Nicola wants to admit. Sends a sliver of something twisting in her belly. Jealousy, probably. For as long as she can remember, it’s always been just the two of them, clinging to each other and the precarious world they share. They’ve been abandoned more times than they can count. Their real parents didn’t want them, and they’ve drifted through four different foster homes over the past ten years. This latest one isn’t too bad. They’ve been here just over a year. Mike and Janet are fine. Not great, but fine. They prefer Penni, that’s for certain, but the worst thing about living here is that their new school decided to put them in different classes. Penni loves her teacher, Miss Curtis, and has made a few friends, but Nicola hates her teacher, Mrs Appleby, and hasn’t made any friends at all, apart from Sonia, who’s mean.
‘Well, I don’t want to go to Gracie’s house,’ Nicola says, folding her arms and scowling.
‘Okay,’ Penni replies.
Relief blooms in Nicola’s chest for half a moment until her sister’s next words, not mean or spitefully meant, but wounding just the same: ‘I can go on my own.’
Heat floods Nicola’s face, and a tightness pulls at her throat. ‘Fine!’ she snaps. ‘Go! I don’t care.’
‘You should come too,’ Penni coaxes, placing a hand on her sister’s arm. Her voice is soft, just like it always is. ‘It’ll be fun. She’s got a trampoline.’
But Nicola won’t be soothed or cajoled. She doesn’t want either of them to go to Gracie’s no doubt perfect house with a matching set of perfect parents. She’s terrified that Penni will prefer Gracie to her. It’s already bad enough hearing all about her after school. What will happen if they become best friends? Where will that leave Nicola?On her own, that’s where.
‘It won’t be fun and I hate trampolines!’ Nicola cries, shoving her sister’s hand away in frustration.
Penni’s eyes widen in surprise as she loses her balance and slips forward. She slides off the branch with a startled cry, crashing through the branches before landing with a sickening thud on a jagged tree stump below.
Nicola screams, horrified at the sight of her sister lying on her side in a crumpled heap on the forest floor, hair tangled with dirt and leaves. Fear races through her veins as she frantically clambers down, her heart pounding, hands gripping the rough bark, eyes wide and wild, her mind spinning in terrified circles.
‘Penni!’ she cries, crouching beside her sister. She doesn’t know what to do, can’t think straight. ‘Penni, are you all right?’
Her sister’s eyes flutter open, and then close, but she doesn’t reply.
What should Nicola do? She’s petrified about getting into trouble, but she can’t do nothing. She has to get help. Please let Penni be okay.Please.
Chapter Seven
Bella
Rarely have I felt less like a person who belongs at a yacht party than I do right now, but no one else seems to notice. I’m not sure whose birthday it is, exactly – a vague friend-of-the-family situation. I want to say someone called Miranda or Miriam? Maybe one of Mum’s old business acquaintances, or a pal from the golf club. All I know is that we’re bobbing in the dock, three decks of strangers wearing pastels and enough sunscreen to make everyone’s skin gleam, even beneath the goosebumps. The boat is so big that it’s disorienting – a kind of floating hotel with function rooms, a half-hearted dance floor, little alcoves crowded with people, and above it all, the gentle sway you only notice when you try to walk in a straight line after too many glasses.
Reece couldn’t make it and I tried to cry off too, but Mum wouldn’t take no for an answer. She wanted to show me off to all her friends. It didn’t help that she was late – a meeting with her pensions advisor, or something – so Dad and I had to keep each other company for half an hour while smiling at people we’ve never met before. But now that Mum’s here, she’s already disappeared into a knot of Pilates acquaintances.
Dad is in the engine room with the only other two men present who give off the vibe of people who could plausibly operate a mechanical device, and I’m left on the upper deck with a clutch of partygoers I vaguely recognise from school, all of whom seem to have become more physically attractive and successful since I last saw them. School reunion, but with sea legs.
I keep checking my phone, waiting for the notification to tell me that Harriet – who’s supposed to be letting me know about the possible business investment – has finally replied. I’ve established an elaborate superstition in my head that if I let the battery drop below 50 per cent, I’ll somehow jinx the whole deal, so I’m obsessively rationing every swipe and scroll, glancing at the percentage in the top corner like it’s a countdown to destruction. There is, of course, no message from Harriet.
My hands are shaking in a way that I blame on the wind, but when I try picking up a canapé, it wobbles on the napkin. I want to tell my parents about the investment – how close it is, how it could actually change everything – but the prospect of opening myself up to their scrutiny, or their disappointment, makes me want to leap overboard. I think I’ll wait until it’s a done deal. No point mentioning anything if it all ends up falling through. My stomach twists. If it does fall through, that will be even worse than a confrontation with my parents.
The party is now in full swing, and I wonder how long I have to stick around here. Will anyone notice if I just slope off? Some joker has put on ‘Come On Eileen’at a punishing volume, and a group of women in nautical stripes and blinding white trainers are dancing and clapping along, as if the song is some kind of naval anthem. I drift to the rail to get away from them, staring down to where the dock is quickly becoming crowded with overlapping shadows and the occasional burst of laughter. My phone buzzes, and for a moment my heart judders, but it’s just a pointlessnotification about the weather. I look at it anyway. ‘Unseasonably cold’, it states, which feels like deliberate trolling.
Out of nowhere, my old school friend Tori leans in next to me. She now works in media marketing – or marketing media, it changes each time we meet – and she’s already noticeably tipsy, her blonde hair blowing horizontally as she tries to light a cigarette.
‘Bells, I swear to God I saw you down on the dock earlier.’ She squints at me over the tiny flicker of her lighter.
‘Hi, Tori.’ I lean in to kiss her cheek and get a mouthful of hair instead. ‘Didn’t know you were going to be here. Glad you are though.’