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Chapters (93)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Part One
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Part Two
  17. Chapter 1
  18. Chapter 2
  19. Chapter 3
  20. Chapter 4
  21. Chapter 5
  22. Chapter 6
  23. Chapter 7
  24. Chapter 8
  25. Chapter 9
  26. Chapter 10
  27. Chapter 11
  28. Chapter 12
  29. Part Three
  30. Chapter 1
  31. Chapter 2
  32. Chapter 3
  33. Chapter 4
  34. Chapter 5
  35. Chapter 6
  36. Chapter 7
  37. Part Four
  38. Chapter 1
  39. Chapter 2
  40. Chapter 3
  41. Chapter 4
  42. Chapter 5
  43. Chapter 6
  44. Chapter 7
  45. Chapter 8
  46. Chapter 9
  47. Part Five
  48. Chapter 1
  49. Chapter 2
  50. Chapter 3
  51. Chapter 4
  52. Chapter 5
  53. Chapter 6
  54. Chapter 7
  55. Chapter 8
  56. Chapter 9
  57. Chapter 10
  58. Chapter 11
  59. Part Six
  60. Chapter 1
  61. Chapter 2
  62. Chapter 3
  63. Chapter 4
  64. Chapter 5
  65. Chapter 6
  66. Chapter 7
  67. Part Seven
  68. Chapter 1
  69. Chapter 2
  70. Chapter 3
  71. Chapter 4
  72. Chapter 5
  73. Chapter 6
  74. Chapter 7
  75. Chapter 8
  76. Chapter 9
  77. Chapter 10
  78. Chapter 11
  79. Part Eight
  80. Chapter 1
  81. Chapter 2
  82. Chapter 3
  83. Chapter 4
  84. Chapter 5
  85. Chapter 6
  86. Chapter 7
  87. Chapter 8
  88. Chapter 9
  89. Epilogue
  90. Acknowledgments
  91. Reading Group Guide
  92. About the Author
  93. Copyright

Meanwhile, St. Oswald’s did what St. Oswald’s has done for five hundred years. It carried on with business—in forty-minute segments, with emphasis on clean shirts, House ties, Assemblies, Parents’ Evenings, neat lawns, and no running in corridors. We wrapped our everyday routine around us like a blanket, secure in the knowledge that nothing would change, that life would go on as always. Even the Harry Clarke affair would turn out to be no more than a storm in a teacup, we told ourselves, while outside our windows the gathering clouds were heavy with foreboding.

As the weeks and months went by, we became increasingly sure of ourselves. The case seemed to be at a standstill. No one had responded to the appeal by the police, or even phoned the hotline. We heard nothing at all about Spikely, or the exact nature of his claims. No one expected the case to go any further than a magistrate.

And then, after Christmas, we heard the news. Harry was going to trial. The Malbry Examiner went into throes of unbridled joy. The evidence gathered over six months, it seemed, pointed to something more serious than mere sexual misconduct. Along with the charges of assault, my friend had been charged with murder.

Chapter 3

3

Michaelmas Term, 2005

Dear Mousey,

The first thing I did when Charlie left was to ask to speak to a therapist. My parents were surprised, but pleased (I’d refused therapy for over a year); and when I then asked to go to Church, their happiness was touching. I talked to the pastor who had come in to speak to the congregation, and then I joined a prayer group. Over the next few weeks or so, I became a regular. I found the courage to confess a few things (in fact, I quite enjoyed it). I talked about my feelings. I wrote down my dreams in a notebook. And most of all, I remembered.

Oh, just little things at first. But memories are like dominoes, laid out in rows, ready to fall. And once the process had started, I was remembering things that I’d almost forgotten I knew. My therapist got excited, and urged me to go deeper. Her name was Liz McRae, and she reminded me a bit of Miss McDonald. She was blond, and pretty, and sweet, and very sympathetic. She told me I’d been damaged, that it wasn’t my fault I’d turned out this way; that if I could identify the source of the pain, then I could put it behind me.