She could picture them driving out of Hollow Falls. Frankie would turn and show the rear window her middle finger, and her dad would laugh and put some rubbish music on. Then the end credits would roll.
She couldn’t wait to get to that moment.
She reached the Butlers’ cabin and knocked on the door. The lights were off. The windows were black, opaque. Now she was outside, Frankie had a horrible bubbling sensation in her belly. Maybe he had gone out. She didn’t believe that Ryan would be asleep at this time, or sitting in there in the dark. Unless he was afraid. Too afraid to open the door.
‘Ryan,’ she called. ‘It’s Frankie. I need to know if you’re all right.’
She banged on the door. No response. No sound from inside.
I should go back and wait for Dad, she thought.
But what if something had happened to Ryan?
What if he was hurt? What if, before going to find their dad, Buddy or Darlene had come looking for Ryan’s phone? What if they’d got in and— And what?
Killed him.
She reminded herself that the twins were by the bonfire now and went round to the back of the cabin, to where she knew Ryan’s room was. She rapped on the window, then put her face right up to the glass. She was almost convinced something awful had happened to him. That he was dead. She had only known him a few days but she couldn’t bear it. Last night, she had hated him. Never wanted to see him again. But after what had happened earlier, she was sure they would be bonded forever. They would keep in touch by WhatsApp and FaceTime, and when they were older they would meet up and he would show her California, take her surfing, teach her to parkour. Introduce her to his boyfriend, Glen, and give her advice about the boys she liked. But now, if he was dead, none of that would happen. All she would have was a hole in her life where Ryan ought to be. A sadder future.
She went back to the front of the cabin and peered down the path. There was still no sign of her dad. Should she go back, find him, look for David and Connie and beg them to come back here and open the cabin? Now she felt paralysed by indecision.
She went up on to the deck and put her face to the front window.
The room was dark. But she could see a darker shape on the floor.
She almost cried out.
It was a body.
Chapter 32
I followed Nikki to the bar, which had been set up close to the picnic tables. We stood in line, silent. All around us, people were having fun, drinking, laughing, sprawling on the grass or dancing to the music.
Nikki asked for a large glass of wine and, needing something to calm my own nerves, I bought myself a bottle of beer. We took the drinks over to an empty patch of grass and sat on the ground. Even though we were a fair way from the fire, its heat touched my face and the flames flickered in Nikki’s eyes as she spoke. I could still make out Greg in the distance, and was sure his offspring must be with him.
‘Okay,’ Nikki said. ‘Greg.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘He and I were friends when we were kids. We were at the same school, except we didn’t become friends there. It was outside the classroom . . .’
She shook her head like she was struggling to organise her thoughts.
‘I was a total loser back then. I mean, even more than I am now.’ She gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘A loser and a loner. None of the other girls in my class liked me at all. The popular girls thought I was weird because I wasn’t into all the bullshit they were into. I was, like, so introverted it was unreal. I wasn’t interested in clothes or boys or sleepovers. All I cared about was reading and animals.’
‘A bit like Frankie.’
‘Maybe. Though Frankie’s way cooler than I ever was. She’s much more of a city girl. I was a total country bumpkin. I just wanted to hang out in the woods. I was building camps and climbing trees way past the age when you’re supposed to stop being into that shit.’ She gestured around us. ‘This is where I used to hang. And it’s where I met Abigail.’
‘Abigail?’
‘Yep. A local hippie woman. Actually, she wasn’t from around here originally. She married a guy from Penance, Logan his name was, but she never really assimilated. The first time I met her, she was collecting mushrooms.’
‘What, magic mushrooms?’
She laughed. ‘Ha, no. Regular mushrooms. She was on her hands and knees, wearing this long skirt that was just dragging in the mud, all this wild blonde hair around her face. I’d never seen a grown woman – she was in her forties – do anything like that before, and I was entranced. When she saw me watching her I nearly ran off but she called me over. Showed me what she was picking. How to tell the poisonous fungi apart from the edible ones. And I guess that’s when we became . . . well, “friends” isn’t really the word. It was more like guru and student. I started meeting her after school most days, and she’d show me stuff, teach me. I worshipped her. My mom and dad were distant, working all the time, kinda strict. They didn’t get me. But Abigail really did. Said I reminded her of herself when she was younger. But then, after a little while, it wasn’t just me and her any more. It turned out Abigail enjoyed collecting misfits and strays.’