Page 35 of The Guilty Girl

The exhilarating feeling died fairly quickly after I’d left. I thought I’d be able to fly high on my imaginary wings, but my feet remain rooted to the ground. Stuck. This isn’t good.

What can raise me up again?

I need to take something young and shiny for myself. My very own treasure.

That motivates me.

Now that I have started my quest, there will be no stopping me. I feel I might fly as my mind conjures up the image of young, tender untouched flesh, soft and supple beneath my fingers. I imagine caressing the skin, teasing open a quivering mouth and staring into terrified, questioning eyes.

I know what I have to do. Someone needs to suffer to restore my euphoria.

So be it.

17

Hannah had never felt so rotten in her life. Her head throbbed and her body shook all over. She was hot and cold simultaneously. She’d told the detectives Cormac’s name because they’d have found out about him anyhow. But the blood under her nails … what did that mean? How could Lucy be dead? And why was her memory so blank?

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ her mother urged. ‘You did nothing wrong, pet.’

She couldn’t even if she wanted to. ‘I can’t remember anything. This looks bad, doesn’t it, Mam?’

‘Yes, so please keep your mouth shut.’

‘I want to go home.’

‘They say a doctor has to examine you and take blood to see if you were drugged. They mentioned a psychiatric evaluation, so you’ve to wait for that too.’

‘Do you think I need a solicitor?’ Hannah felt close to tears again.

‘Please, Hannah, I’m trying to think of a way around this.’

‘Free legal aid is for people who can’t afford a solicitor.’

‘Shut up. I’m thinking.’

Hannah recoiled from her mother and watched her walking up and down behind the table in the small, suffocating room they’d been moved to. Suddenly her brain flashed with a horrific memory. She slammed her fist into her mouth to keep from crying aloud.

There’d been a photo, hadn’t there?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to recall it. Some kind of half-naked photo that everyone had seen. She ran her fingers in and out of her hair, desperate to remember. Had Lucy sent it? Or Ivy? Who was in the photo? Breasts on show? Was it a flat chest? Hers? God, no, please don’t let it have been me, she silently pleaded. It might ruin her athletics career before it started. And what would it do to her mam?

Why was she even thinking of some random photo when she couldn’t remember anything to help herself? She pressed her knuckles either side of her temple as if willing a truth to make itself known.

A faint thread was there, if only she could catch it. She dropped her hands as a sliver of truth slowly wended its way from her mind’s eye to nestle like thorns in her brain.

What had she done?

18

Sharon Flood woke up and felt the emptiness in the house. She jumped out of bed and slipped into Jake’s room. Scratching her head sleepily, she scrunched up her eyes and wondered why her brother wasn’t there. He always slept in, even on school mornings, but this was holiday time and today was Saturday.

She looked out of the window, craning her neck, but her mother’s car wasn’t parked on the road. Checked her mother’s room. Empty. Opened the bathroom door. Also empty. After peeing, washing her hands and face and brushing her teeth, she headed downstairs.

The small sitting room was deserted, as was the kitchen. Where was everyone? As she traipsed back up the stairs, she heard a key turn in the front door lock. Standing on the top step, she watched her mother creep into the hall and hang up her black gilet on the hook behind the door.

‘Mam, where were you?’

‘Jesus Lord almighty, Shaz, you frightened the living daylights out of me. Be a star and put the kettle on while I jump under the shower.’