Читать книгу Good Girl, Bad Blood – The Sunday Times bestseller and sequel to A Good Girl's Guide to Murder - Holly Jackson - Страница 18

Seven

The Reynoldses’ house on Cedar Way had always looked like a face. The white front door and the wide windows either side were the house’s toothy smile. The mark where the bricks were discoloured, that was its nose. And the two squared windows upstairs were its eyes, staring down at you, sleeping when the curtains were closed at night.

The face usually looked happy. But as she stared at it now, it felt incomplete, like the house itself knew something inside was wrong.

Pip knocked, her heavy rucksack digging into one shoulder.

‘You’re here already?’ Connor said when he opened the door, moving aside to let her in.

‘Yep, stopped by home to pick up my equipment and came straight here. Every second counts with something like this.’

Pip paused to slip her shoes off, almost over-balancing when her bag shifted. ‘Oh, and if my mum asks, you fed me dinner, OK?’

Pip hadn’t told her parents yet. She knew she’d have to, later. Their families were close, ever since Connor first asked Pip round to play in year four. And her mum had seen a lot of Jamie recently; he’d been working at her estate agency the last couple of months. But even so, Pip knew it would be a battle. Her mum would remind her how dangerously obsessed she got last time – as if she needed reminding – and tell her she should be studying instead. There just wasn’t time for that argument now. The first seventy-two hours were crucial when someone went missing, and they’d already lost twenty-three of those.

‘Pip?’ Connor’s mum, Joanna, had appeared in the hallway. Her fair hair was piled on top of her head and she looked somehow older in just one day.

‘Hi, Joanna.’ That was the rule, always had been: Joanna, never Mrs Reynolds.

‘Pip, thank you for . . . for . . .’ she said, trying on a smile that didn’t quite fit. ‘Connor and I had no idea what to do and we just knew you were the person to go to. Connor says you had no luck trying again with the police?’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Pip said, following Joanna into the kitchen. ‘I tried, but they won’t budge.’

‘They don’t believe us,’ Joanna said, opening one of the top cupboards. It wasn’t a question. ‘Tea?’ But that was.

‘No, thank you.’ Pip dropped her bag on to the kitchen table. She rarely drank it any more, not since fireworks night last year when Becca Bell slipped Andie’s remaining Rohypnol pills into her tea. ‘Shall we get started in here?’ she said, hovering beside a chair.

‘Yes,’ Joanna said, losing her hands in the folds of her oversized jumper. ‘Best do it in here.’

Pip settled into a chair, Connor taking the one beside her as she unzipped her bag and pulled out her computer, the two USB microphones and pop filters, the folder, a pen, and her bulky headphones. Joanna finally sat down, though she couldn’t seem to sit still, shifting every few seconds and changing the positions of her arms.

‘Is your dad here? Your sister?’ Pip directed the questions at Connor, but Joanna was the one who answered.

‘Zoe’s at university. I called her, told her Jamie’s missing, but she’s staying there. She seems to have come down on her father’s side of things.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Arthur is . . .’ Joanna exchanged a quick look with Connor. ‘Arthur doesn’t think Jamie’s missing, thinks he’s just run off again and will be back soon. He seems very angry with the whole thing – with Jamie.’ She shifted again, scratching a point just under her eye. ‘He thinks Connor and I are being ridiculous with all this –’ She gestured to Pip’s equipment. ‘He’s gone to the supermarket but he’ll probably be back soon.’

‘OK,’ Pip said, making a mental note, trying to betray nothing with her face. ‘Do you think he’ll talk to me?’

‘No,’ Connor said firmly. ‘No point even asking.’

The atmosphere in the room was tight and uncomfortable, and Pip’s armpits prickled with sweat. ‘OK, before we do anything, I need to speak honestly with you both, give you . . . I guess, a kind of disclaimer.’

They nodded at her, eyes wholly focused now.

‘If you’re asking me to investigate, to help find Jamie, we have to agree upfront where this could potentially take us and you need to be happy to accept that or I can’t do it.’ Pip cleared her throat. ‘It might lead us to potentially unsavoury things about Jamie, things that might be embarrassing or harmful, for you and him. Secrets he might have kept from you and wouldn’t want exposed. I agree that releasing the investigation for my podcast is the fastest way to get media attention for Jamie’s disappearance, bring in witnesses who might know something. It might even get Jamie’s attention if he really has just left, and bring him back. But with that, you have to accept that your private lives will be laid bare. Nothing will be off-the-record, and that can be hard to deal with.’ Pip knew this better than most. The anonymous death and rape threats still came in weekly, comments and tweets calling her an ugly, hateful bitch. ‘Jamie isn’t here to agree to this, so you need to accept, for him and yourselves, that you’re opening up your lives to be scrutinized and when I start digging, it’s possible you’ll learn things you never would have wanted to know. That’s what happened last time, so I . . . I just want to check you’re ready for that.’ Pip trailed into silence, her throat dry, wishing she’d asked for another drink instead.

‘I accept,’ Joanna said, her voice growing with each syllable. ‘Anything. Anything to get him home.’

Connor nodded. ‘I agree. We have to find him.’

‘OK, good,’ Pip said, though she couldn’t help but wonder if the Reynoldses had just given her permission to blow up their family, like she had with the Wards and the Bells. They’d come to her, invited her in, but they didn’t really understand the destruction that came in with her, hand-in-hand through that front door which looked like a grinning smile.

It was just then that the front door opened, heavy footsteps on the carpet, the rustling of a plastic bag.

Joanna jumped up, her chair screeching against the tiles.

‘Jamie?’ she shouted, running towards the hallway. ‘Jamie?’

‘Just me,’ said a male voice. Not Jamie. Joanna immediately deflated, like she’d just halved in size, holding on to the wall to keep the rest of her from disappearing too.

Arthur Reynolds walked into the kitchen, curly red hair with wisps of grey around the ears, a thick moustache that peppered out into well-trimmed stubble. His pale blue eyes seemed almost colourless in the bright LED lights.

‘Got more bread and –’ Arthur broke off, his shoulders slumping as soon as he spotted Pip, and the laptop and microphones in front of her. ‘For goodness sake, Joanna,’ he said. ‘This is ridiculous.’ He dropped the shopping bag on the floor, a tin of plum tomatoes rolling out under the table. ‘I’m going to watch TV,’ he said, marching out of the kitchen and towards the living room. The door slammed behind him, ricocheting through Pip’s bones. Of all her friends’ dads, she would have said Connor’s was the scariest; or maybe Ant’s. But Cara’s dad would have been the least and look how that turned out.

‘I’m sorry, Pip.’ Joanna came back to the table, picking up the lonely tin on her way. ‘I’m sure he’ll come round. Eventually.’

‘Should I . . .’ Pip began. ‘Should I be here?’

‘Yes,’ Joanna said firmly. ‘Finding Jamie is more important than my husband’s anger.’

‘Are you –’

‘I’m sure,’ she said.

‘All right.’ Pip unclipped the green folder and pulled out two sheets. ‘I need you to sign release forms before we begin.’

She handed Connor her pen, while Joanna fetched one from the counter. As they read through the forms, Pip awakened her laptop, opened up Audacity and plugged in the USB microphones, readjusting the pop filters over them.

Connor signed his name, and the microphones came alive, picking up the scratching of his pen, the blue soundwave spiking from the centre line.

‘Joanna, I’ll interview you first, if that’s OK?’

‘Sure.’ Joanna handed her the signed form.

Pip shot Connor a quick, close-lipped smile. He blinked vacantly back at her, not understanding the signal.

‘Connor,’ she said gently. ‘You have to leave. Witnesses must be interviewed separately, so they aren’t influenced by anyone else’s account.’

‘Right. Got it,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ll go upstairs, keep trying Jamie’s number.’

He closed the kitchen door behind him, and Pip adjusted the microphones, placing one in front of Joanna.

‘I’m going to ask you questions about yesterday,’ said Pip, ‘try to create a timeline of Jamie’s day. But I’ll also ask about Jamie in recent weeks, in case anything is relevant. Just answer as truthfully as you can.’

‘OK.’

‘Are you ready?’

Joanna breathed out, nodded. Pip slipped on her headphones, securing them around her ears, and guided the on-screen arrow towards the red record button.

The mouse lingered over it.

Pip wondered.

Wondered whether the moment of no return had already been and gone, or whether this was it, here, right now, hovering above that red button. Either way, going back didn’t exist any more, not for her. There was only forward. Only onwards. She straightened up and pressed record.

Pip:	OK, before we get into the questions, Joanna, could you introduce yourself and Jamie a little?
Joanna:	OF COURSE, MY NAME IS –
Pip:	Sorry, Joanna, you don’t need to speak directly into the microphone. It picks you up just fine if you sit normally.
Joanna:	Sorry. My name is Joanna Reynolds, I’m Jamie’s mum. I have three children, Jamie is the oldest, my first. He just turned twenty-four, his birthday was last week. We celebrated here, had Chinese take-away and a Colin the Caterpillar birthday cake. Connor just managed to fit twenty-four candles on it. Oh, sorry, my other children: my daughter Zoe, she’s twenty-one, at university. And Connor, he’s my baby, eighteen and in his last year of school. Sorry, that was terrible, should I try it again?
Pip:	No, that’s OK, it was perfect. This is just a raw interview; I’ll edit all of this with sections of me talking and explaining in between so you don’t need to worry about consistency or sounding polished or anything.
Joanna:	OK.
Pip:	And some things, I obviously already know the answer to, but I have to ask so we can present all the information in the episode. Like for example, I’m going to ask you: Does Jamie still live at home with you?
Joanna:	I understand. OK. Yes, Jamie still lives at home with me and my husband, Arthur, and my youngest son, Connor.
Pip:	And does he have a job currently?
Joanna:	Yes, you know he works with your mum, Pip.
Pip:	I know, I just need you to say –
Joanna:	Oh, sorry, I forgot. Let me try again. Yes, Jamie is currently working part-time as a receptionist at a local estate agency, Proctor and Radcliffe Homes. He’s been there for almost three months now. It was very kind of your mum to give him the job, Pip, I’m very grateful. Since dropping out of uni in first year, Jamie’s been struggling to find a job, or stay in the ones he does get. He’s been a bit lost the last couple of years, can’t decide what he wants to do or what he’s good at. We’ve tried helping him but, with Jamie, the more you push him towards something, the more he pulls away from it. That’s why Arthur gets so frustrated with him. But I’m glad Jamie seems to be enjoying his job, at least for now.
Pip:	And would you say Jamie struggles to commit to things? Is that why he dropped out of university?
Joanna:	Yes, I think that’s part of the problem. He tried, he really did, but he found the pressure too much and just shut down, had a panic attack during one of his exams. I think some people just aren’t made for that sort of academic environment. Jamie . . . he’s a very sensitive boy . . . man. I mean, you know him, Pip. Arthur worries that he’s over-sensitive, but he’s been like this since he was a child. A very sweet little boy, all the other mothers used to say so.
Pip:	Yeah, he’s only ever been nice to me, was never Connor’s scary older brother or anything. And everyone else seems to like him. Speaking of, who are Jamie’s closest friends? Any in Little Kilton?
Joanna:	He still occasionally talks to one guy from university and I think he might have some internet friends too, he’s always on that computer. Jamie’s never been too good at friends; he makes fierce one-on-one friendships and falls in deep, so he’s always devastated when they don’t work out. I’d say his closest friend, at the moment, is Nat da Silva.
Pip:	I know Nat.
Joanna:	Yes, of course. There’s not many from their school year still living here in Kilton, apart from Naomi Ward and M-Max Hastings. Sorry, shouldn’t bring him up. But Nat and Jamie seem to have a lot in common. She also had issues at university and left early, and she’s struggling to find a job she really wants because she’s got a criminal record. I think they both feel left behind in this town, and it’s nicer to be left behind with someone else. Everything that happened last year sort of brought them together too. Nat had been friendly with Sal Singh, and Jamie was friends with Andie Bell; he spent a lot of time with Andie during rehearsals for school plays. Jamie and Nat were on the periphery of everything that happened, and I think they bonded over it. They’ve become really close since last year, talk all the time. She’s probably his only real friend at the moment. Though, truth be told, I think Jamie sees her in a different way than she sees him.
Pip:	What do you mean?
Joanna:	Well, oh god, Jamie is going to be furious I’m saying this. But I did agree nothing was off-record . . . I know my son very well and he’s never been good at hiding his feelings. I could always tell, by the way he talked about her, how he kept finding ways to bring Nat up into every single conversation that he was quite enamoured with her. Smitten. They spoke on the phone almost every day, always texting. But, of course, things were different after Nat turned up with a new boyfriend a couple of months ago. I don’t think Jamie ever mentioned his name but he was devastated. I found him crying in his room; he said it was because he had a stomach-ache, but I knew. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him like that. I knew it was because his heart was broken, and it was probably about Nat.
Pip:	How long ago was this?
Joanna:	Must have been early March. There were a couple of weeks without much contact, I think. But they’re still friends now; in fact Jamie’s always on his phone texting and it must be her because he jumps up so none of us can see. I can hear him up late sometimes too, on the phone. By his voice, I can tell it’s Nat he’s talking to.
Pip:	OK, thank you, I’ll certainly talk to Nat as soon as I can. So, Connor said to me that he’s more worried about Jamie this time because he’s been acting strangely in the last few weeks. Distant and short-tempered. Have you noticed the same?
Joanna:	He’s not been quite himself the last couple of weeks. Up late, coming in at all hours, over-sleeping and almost missing work. Snapping at his brother when they normally get on so well. I think it’s partly everything with Nat, but also, like I said before, feeling like he’s been left behind, watching all the people he went to school and uni with starting successful careers, settling down with partners, moving out of their parents’ houses. Jamie’s very self-conscious; he’s told me before he often feels worthless, never quite good enough. He’s been struggling with his weight too over the last six months or so. I told him it doesn’t matter as long as he is healthy and comfortable in his skin, but . . . well, you know how the world tries to make anyone over a certain size feel ashamed of that. I think Jamie’s been unhappy the last few weeks because he’s comparing himself to everyone else, feeling like he’ll never catch up. But I know he will.
Pip:	Sorry, Joanna, I don’t want to ask this, but you don’t think . . . you don’t think he could be at risk of harming himself?
Joanna:	No, absolutely not. Jamie wouldn’t do that to me, to his family. He wouldn’t. That’s not what this is, Pip. He’s missing. He’s not dead. And we will find him, wherever he is.
Pip:	OK, I’m sorry. Let’s move on. Jamie went missing yesterday, Friday evening, but can you talk me through what happened during the day?
Joanna:	Yes. I woke up around nine; my hours on a Friday are late, I don’t start till eleven. Arthur was already at work – he commutes in – and Connor had already walked into school. But Jamie was still fast asleep, so I told him he was going to be late for work and he left the house around twenty past nine, said he would grab breakfast from the café on the way. Then I went to work. Arthur left work early, to get home in time for the memorial. He texted around five that he was home. I left work soon after, stopping by the supermarket and got home maybe six or six thirty. Did a quick turnaround and then the four of us left for the memorial.
Pip:	What was Jamie wearing that evening? I can’t remember.
Joanna:	He was wearing jeans and his favourite shirt: it’s burgundy and collarless. Like the Peaky Blinders, Jamie always says.
Pip:	Shoes?
Joanna:	Oh, um, his trainers. White.
Pip:	Brand?
Joanna:	Puma, I think.
Pip:	Did you drive to the memorial?
Joanna:	Yes.
Pip:	And was Jamie acting strangely before the memorial at all?
Joanna:	No, not really. He was quiet, but he was probably just thinking about Andie and Sal. Everyone was being quiet, in fact. I think we had an almost silent car journey. And when arrived at the pavilion, around seven, Connor went to find his friends, you guys. And Jamie left too, said he was going to stand with Nat during the memorial. That was when I last saw him.
Pip:	I saw him after that. He did find Nat, he was with her and Naomi. And then after that he came over to talk to Connor briefly. He seemed fine to me, both those times. And then during the memorial, before Ravi’s dad spoke, Jamie walked past, knocked into me from behind. He seemed distracted, maybe even nervous. I don’t know what he saw that made him want to struggle through the crowd right in the middle of the ceremony. But it had to be something.
Joanna:	When was that?
Pip:	Maybe ten past eight.
Joanna:	So now you’re the last person to see him.
Pip:	I guess I am, for now. Do you know if Jamie had any plans for after the memorial?
Joanna:	No, I thought he’d go home. But today Connor told me that Jamie mentioned seeing Nat, or something.
Pip:	OK, I’ll get that from Connor first-hand. And where did you go after the memorial?
Joanna:	Arthur and I went out for dinner, to the pub. With some friends: the Lowes – Ant’s parents – and the Davises and the Morgans, you know, Mrs Morgan and her husband. The date had been in the diary for ages.
Pip:	And when did you both get home?
Joanna:	Well, we actually came back separately. I was driving so I didn’t drink, but some of our party who weren’t supposed to be drinking said they needed one after the memorial. I said I’d drop the Lowes and the Morgans home, so they could drink. Of course, that meant the car was full, but Arthur didn’t mind walking home; it isn’t far.
Pip:	What time did you leave the pub? Was this the King’s Head?
Joanna:	Yes. I think we all left just before eleven. Everyone was tired and it felt wrong staying out too late enjoying ourselves, after the memorial. The Lowes live in town, as you know, but the Morgans are out in Beaconsfield and, as Arthur says, I’m terrible for chatting, so I didn’t get back until quarter past twelve at least. Connor and Arthur were there, in bed. But no Jamie. I texted him before I went to sleep. Look, I’ll read out what I said. Going to bed now, sweetie, will you be home soon? xx That was at 12:36. Look. It never delivered. It hasn’t gone through.
Pip:	It still hasn’t gone through?
Joanna:	No. That’s bad isn’t it? His phone is still off and it must have already been off before 12:36 . . . or something, something bad . . .
Pip:	Please don’t get upset, Joanna. OK, let’s stop there.

Pip:	Recording. You need to stop chewing your nails though, the mike’s picking it up.
Connor:	Sorry.
Pip:	So I wanted to focus on that comment you made earlier, that Jamie had been acting strangely the last few weeks. Short-tempered and distant. Can you give me specific instances and dates?
Connor:	Yeah, I’ll try. It’s been the last couple of months, really, that Jamie’s mood has seemed kind of erratic. He was fine, just normal Jamie, and then at the start of March he seemed really miserable and quiet, would hardly talk to anyone. A ‘black cloud hanging over him’, to use my mum’s words.
Pip:	Your mum seems to think Jamie was upset when Nat da Silva got a new boyfriend, as they’d been getting so close. Could that have explained Jamie’s mood then?
Connor:	Yeah maybe, that probably matches up timewise. So he was like that a couple of weeks and then, suddenly, he was OK again, smiling and joking, spending a lot of time on his phone. We have a ‘no phones with Netflix’ rule, otherwise Mum just goes on Facebook and we have to rewind when she misses stuff. But I noticed Jamie was always on his, and not just on Reddit, it looked like he was typing, talking to someone.
Pip:	And he seemed in a good mood during this period?
Connor:	Yeah definitely. For like a week and a half, he was on really good form: chatty, smiley. Normal Jamie. And then it switched back again, just as suddenly. I know exactly which day it was, because we all went to see the new Tomb Raider film, which was the 30th March. Before we left, Jamie comes out of his room and says he’s not coming, and I could tell from his voice he was trying not to cry. But my dad told him he had to because we’d already bought the tickets. They got into a bit of a row about it, and in the end Jamie did come. I sat next to him, could see him crying during the film. He didn’t think anyone could see, because it was dark.
Pip:	Do you know what made him so upset?
Connor:	No idea. He carried on like that for a few days, locking himself in his room, straight after work. I asked him if he was OK one night, and he just said, ‘Yeah, fine,’ though we both knew he wasn’t. Jamie and me, we’ve always told each other everything. Everything. Up until recently. I don’t know what happened to us.
Pip:	And after those few days?
Connor:	Well, then he kind of went back to normal. He seemed happy, not like happy happy, but better than before. And on his phone the whole time. I just wanted us to be close again, to play around like we always used to, so one day when he was typing away on his phone, a few weeks ago, I ran past and grabbed it, saying, ‘Who’re you texting then?’ It’s just a joke, he always does it to me. But Jamie didn’t take it like that. He snapped. Pushed me up against the wall until I dropped the phone. I was never going to actually look at it, it was just a joke. But when he had me up against the wall like that, it . . . it didn’t feel like my brother any more. He said sorry afterwards, said something about privacy, but it was . . . you know, it felt wrong. And I’ve heard him, up really late on the phone. In fact, almost every night the last two weeks or so. And a couple of times over the last week or so, I’ve heard him sneak out of his room once Mum and Dad have gone to bed. Don’t know where he goes. He did that last week, on his birthday night. I heard him sneak out before midnight. I waited up, listening. He came back in around two and when I mentioned it the next morning he said I must’ve been hearing things. And I woke up randomly at three a.m. Monday night this week; I’m pretty sure it was him sneaking back in that woke me.
Pip:	I see.
Connor:	But this is not normal Jamie. You know him, Pip, he’s usually so easy-going, calm. And now his mood is suddenly up and down. Keeping secrets, sneaking out. Getting angry. Something’s wrong, I just know it. My mum showed you the text, right? She sent it to Jamie around half twelve last night and it’s still not delivered. His phone’s been off since before then. Or broken.
Pip:	Or out of battery?
Connor:	No. It was on almost full-charge. I know because when we were in the car, I asked Jamie the time and he showed me his screen. He was on eighty-eight percent or something. It’s a newish phone, it wouldn’t die that quickly. And why would he turn it off when he was out and about? Doesn’t make sense.
Pip:	Yes, the text not delivering at that time certainly is significant.
Connor:	What do you think it means?
Pip:	I can’t speculate until I know more.
Connor:	It means he’s in trouble, doesn’t it? You just don’t want to say. That someone’s hurt him. Or taken him?
Pip:	Connor, we don’t know anything yet. I’m not ruling anything out, but we can’t settle on conclusions without any evidence, that’s not how this works. Let’s move on to yesterday. Can you talk me through your day, your interactions with Jamie? Anything significant?
Connor:	Um.
Pip:	What?
Connor:	Well, there was something.
Pip:	Connor . . . ?
Connor:	You won’t tell my mum, will you?
Pip:	Remember what you asked of me? This will go out to hundreds of thousands of people. Your mum is going to hear it, so whatever it is, you need to tell me and then you need to tell her.
Connor:	Shit, yeah. It’s just . . . OK, so Jamie and my mum, they get on really well. They always have done. I guess you might call him a mama’s boy; they just click. But Jamie and Dad have a tricky relationship. Jamie’s said to me before that he thinks Dad hates him, that Dad’s constantly disappointed by him. They don’t really talk anything through, they just let things build up until they occasionally explode into big arguments. And then once that’s done and the awkwardness has gone, they go back to normal and the cycle resets. Well . . . they had one of their big arguments – yesterday.
Pip:	When?
Connor:	At, like, half five. Mum was at the supermarket. It ended before she got back, she doesn’t know. I was listening from the stairs.
Pip:	What was it about?
Connor:	The usual things they fight about. Dad telling Jamie he needs to buck up his ideas and sort his life out, that he and Mum won’t always be there to pick up the pieces. Jamie said that he was trying, that Dad never notices when he’s trying because he presumes Jamie’s going to fail anyway. I couldn’t hear the whole fight, but I remember Dad saying something like, ‘We aren’t a bank, we are your parents.’ I don’t know what that was about, I guess maybe Dad brought up that he thinks Jamie should pay rent to still live here. Mum thinks that’s ridiculous and will never allow it, but Dad’s always, going on about ‘How else will he learn?’ The last thing they said to each other before Mum came back was . . .
Pip:	What?
Connor:	Dad said, ‘You’re a waste of space.’ And Jamie said, ‘I know.’
Pip:	Is this why everyone was quiet on the drive to the memorial? Your mum picked up on that.
Connor:	Yeah. Oh god, she’s gonna be so upset when I tell her.
Pip:	You should tell her tonight, when I’m gone.
Connor:	I guess.
Pip:	So, back to that night. You arrive at the memorial, and you go off to find our friends, and Jamie goes off to find Nat. But then Jamie did come up to you at one point. When Zach and I were talking to my new neighbours, Jamie came and spoke to you.
Connor:	Yeah.
Pip:	What did he say then?
Connor:	He apologized. Said sorry about the argument with Dad; he knows I hate it when they fight. And then he told me that after the memorial, he was going to go to Nat da Silva’s house for a bit; spend the evening with her. I think they thought it was only right, to be in the company of someone else who knew Sal and Andie. He said he’d back home that night, though. And as he walked off, the last thing he said to me was, ‘See you later.’ I don’t think he’d lie to my face like that, if he knew he wasn’t coming back. But Mum and I called Nat this morning; Nat never saw Jamie after the memorial. She doesn’t know where he is.
Pip:	And where did you go, after the memorial?
Connor:	Well me and Zach didn’t fancy going to the calamity party with Ant and Lauren, because they ignore everyone else anyway, so I went back to Zach’s new house and we . . . we played Fortnite, so now the world knows that then. And later Zach dropped me home.
Pip:	What time?
Connor:	We left Zach’s just after half eleven, so I must have been back around twelve. I was tired, went straight to bed, didn’t even brush my teeth. And Jamie never came back. I was sleeping, went to bed with no second thought about Jamie. It’s so stupid, really, how you take things like that for granted. I was stupid. I thought he’d come home. He was supposed to come home. And now he’s . . .