Mrs Mangan opened and shut her mouth before looking across at the detective. His nod was almost imperceptible, hers, in return, more emphatic. ‘I’m afraid’ – she angled her body to face our mother and daughter tableau vivant – ‘Jemma’s injury was more serious. She didn’t make it.’
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to portray the correct expression… the confused shock that would be the natural reaction for someone of my years. I was afraid relief and a certain measure of satisfaction at a job well done might leak into my face. For safety, I turned my face away and buried it in my mother’s chest. When she spoke, I could feel the echo of her words reverberating through her body. ‘Didn’t make it?’ I could feel her shocked confusion. ‘Are you saying Jemma is dead?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
It seemed a good time to speak. Lifting my head, I looked first at Mrs Mangan, then at the policeman, slightly taken aback to find his eyes fixed unblinkingly on me. ‘But she just fell, she just cut herself like I did.’ I raised my trophy arm again. ‘How can she be dead?’ The words were out before I thought to stutter or stumble, and I was immediately worried I sounded too calm. To make up for it, I wiped a hand across my eyes and nose and snuffled.
Hynes sat back on his seat and laced his fingers together. ‘Your friend, Marie, has told us what happened.’
I wanted to argue with him. Marie wasn’t my friend. She hadn’t been Jemma’s either… at least not in the first circle of friendship, not until recently. I wondered what Marie had said. She’d screamed… I remembered that.
The detective spoke gently. ‘We’d like you to tell us, in your own words, what happened. Is that okay?’
My mother’s grip tightened. ‘Is this necessary? Lissa is a child. She’s been injured. She should be at home, not being interrogated.’
Hynes unlaced his fingers and held his hands out. ‘If Lissa is feeling up to it, it’s better to get her story out while it’s fresh in her mind. Better for her to talk about it too.’
My story. Did that imply he thought it was going to be fabricated, or was I overthinking things, letting the stress get to me.
‘Well, it’s up to Lissa,’ my mother said.
Hynes nodded. ‘Is it okay with you, Lissa? To tell me what happened?’
What happened… better. I’d rehearsed this moment carefully, had practised the words I would say. It was all going to plan except for one shocking truth… I’d never really expected to do it.
‘I was in the p-playground,’ I said, keeping my voice to a barely audible whisper. Hynes had to lean forward again to be able to hear. ‘The sun was bright, and I saw something shining in the b-bushes the other side of the railing. I was able to reach it, it was a pretty bottle.’ I stopped, allowed my lower lip to tremble and gave a noisy sniff. ‘We’re not supposed to have glass in the playground, but it was p-pink and had…’ – I lifted both my hands and wriggled my fingers as I lowered them in the air – ‘lines cut into the glass. I thought I could bring it home and Mum could put flowers in it.’
‘Oh, darling,’ my mother said. Her voice had thickened. I knew if I looked up, I’d see tears in her eyes.
‘What happened then?’ The detective’s voice was encouraging. I wondered how fast it would change if he knew the truth.
‘I walked over to show it to Marie and Jemma.’
‘They’re both friends of yours, are they?’
I could have lied, said we were besties, but Mrs Mangan would know the lie.
‘No, but they were the nearest to me and I wanted to show off my p-pretty p-prize.’
‘Right, and what happened then?’
‘I fell.’ Another hesitation for a bit of lip trembling. I lifted my arm. ‘The b-bottle broke and cut me. I got up, then I saw the blood on my arm, and it must have made me weak because next I knew, I was lying on top of Jemma, so I hurried to get up.’ I frowned as if puzzled by what I was remembering. ‘Jemma didn’t, I think she must have b-banged her head or something when she fell. Marie was screaming so loud that the playground monitors came rushing over. When the teachers came out, we were taken away.’ I didn’t mention Jemma’s eyes. I didn’t want to think about them. I saw the detective frown. Was he looking through me, seeing the blackness of my soul, the rot at my core?
‘When you got up, after falling the first time, why did you hold on to the end of the broken bottle?’
A question I’d anticipated. ‘D-Did I?’ I took a shaky breath. ‘I didn’t know I had, why would I do that?’
‘You don’t remember falling on top of your friend with the glass in your hand?’
She wasn’t my friend. I wanted to shriek the words; the desire so strong that once more I turned my face into my mother’s chest.
‘Lissa has said she doesn’t remember, Inspector,’ Mrs Mangan said. ‘You can’t badger the child.’
My mother had gone rigid. I didn’t look up to see the shock on her face. I knew it would be there as the realisation sunk in. ‘Are you saying that it was glass Lissa held that…’ She didn’t finish. I pictured her lips trembling. It was where I’d learnt my act from.
‘It was a tragic accident, Mrs McColl. The glass caught Jemma across the neck. There was nothing they could do for her.’
A tragic accident. I slumped in relief within the cradling arms that held me. After some talk about signing a statement, words that floated over my head, we were allowed to leave.
At home, my mother brought me straight to my room and, for the first time in many years, she helped me off with my clothes and into the childishly patterned pyjamas I had stuffed under my pillow that morning. A lifetime before. When I had been a child. Now… I didn’t know what I was.
My father wasn’t due to return for a couple of days, but Mother must have rung him and begged him to come home early because later that afternoon, to my delight, I heard his voice. I wanted to run down and tell him what had happened, explain that I hadn’t… really hadn’t… meant for my plan to work. He would take me on his knee, and I’d tell him about Jemma’s eyes, how I could see them when I shut my own, ask if the memory would fade with time or haunt me forever. Of course, I couldn’t do any such thing. Instead, I lay tucked under the duvet and listened to the low-pitched words that drifted up the stairway.
They looked in on me, minutes later, but I kept my eyes shut, my breathing slow and regular, even when, one after the other, they leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. When they’d gone, leaving the door ajar so they could peek in on me later, I opened my eyes and sighed.
When night came, if the cloud cover was heavy, the velvety blackness was absolute. That night, the sky was clear, twinkling with a million stars and strangely bright. I threw back the duvet and crossed to the window to look out.
A harvest moon, a big fat circle of light cut into the darkness, peered down on me. Usually, it would have fascinated me.
But usually, the moon didn’t have Jemma’s eyes.
Eyes that looked down on me and promised retribution.