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Chapters (61)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. Books by Emily Barr
  4. DEDICATION
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. Epilogue
  58. Acknowledgements
  59. Read on for an extract from …
  60. 12 December
  61. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

JEMIMA SAUNDERS: Mother of three still lives in town, sells crafts online.

ALICIA KAMINSKY: I think she married, changed her name and moved to Australia, though not 100% sure it’s the right person.

LUCY JONES: Married and changed name, lives in Brighton, 12k Instagram followers.

Teachers: MRS DUPONT no longer at the school and probably retired by now.

MR PATEL: Teaches us both, doesn’t seem the murdering kind.

The angry guy at Beachview: ??

CLAIRE SIMPSON: Joe doesn’t see her on the last day, and she’s not a suspect, but also impossible to track down.

On one of the other pieces I sketched a really terrible map of the area, from Joe’s old house to the school, to Beachview. The whole thing had happened on streets I walked every day. I was in the right place, but at entirely the wrong time.

Penguin walking logo

22

I’m at the train station at seven in the morning. I got up early and left a note for Dad, though I’m almost sure that even if he’s worried it doesn’t matter because this isn’t real Dad. I hope Ariel managed to ask Gus about the car thing, so we know for sure, but I think these people are kind of avatars of themselves.

I hoist my bag on to my back. It’s just my schoolbag, but I’ve packed a few things from home in it. They’re nonsense things: I don’t need food, but I put in a multipack of Club biscuits because there was something poignant in the fact that they’re always in the cupboard today. I have my Discman, which only ever has Different Class in it, and I have a book with me, by Margaret Atwood, recommended by Ariel. The one she wanted me to read (Oryx and Crake) hasn’t been written yet, so I bought The Handmaid’s Tale instead. I’d never have chosen it myself, but I like it.

The morning is cold and the platform’s busy. I look at a man standing near me. He’s wearing a work suit and carrying a work bag. I guess he’s about thirty-five. Me too, I want to say. I’m thirty-five like you. The man is frowning and staring across the train track at nothing in particular. I see his breath huffing out around him in the cold air. I look for my own breath.

My breath isn’t huffing.

The nearly empty train comes along and everyone starts doing polite shoving to be sure of getting a seat, because it only has two carriages and there are loads of people waiting.

I pause at the back of the little huddle around the door. Am I doing this? Catching a commuter train on a school day?