Mrs. Bentham is our annoying religious studies teacher. She wears the most hideous open-toed sandals, the sort of thing my dad wears on the beach, and her breath always smells of garlic. But before long, I’m giggling, too, and for the next few minutes I impersonate Mrs. Bentham for Alice’s amusement, even down to breathing out gusts of imaginary garlic breath in her face as I tell her off for being a disruptive influence.

“I bet that’s why your mum wants you to spend more time with Churchy Staunton,” Alice says. “Because she thinks I’m a disruptive influence.”

She fiddles around with the bulldog clip at the back of her head. Strands of hair have escaped and are falling down her neck, but it looks nice. Sexy. I hope she doesn’t start wearing it like that all the time.

“Catherine said it made me look grown-up, but she’s done it a bit too tight. She’s given me this jacket, too. Said I could keep it.”

I try not to look bothered, but I am. I’d love a denim jacket like that. How come Alice gets all the good stuff? It isn’t fair.

14

NOW

Gloria sweeps round my feet with the dustpan and brush, asking me to step aside for a minute. Two people are sponging wine off the wall. The faces peering round the living-room door withdraw and conversation resumes. Normality is being restored, except nothing about this situation is normal. Nothing about this situation is right.

Now Ross’s hand is on my elbow and he’s leading me gently into the study, away from the scene of destruction and the other guests. Away from the ghost in the hallway.

But the ghost follows us in.

Instinctively, I back away till I’m standing as far from her as possible, which isn’t nearly far enough in this small square room. My bottom knocks into the unit where Ross keeps his vinyl collection, and that’s where I stay, pressed up against the shelves. Her perfume reaches my nostrils. It smells of coconut. Maybe if she wasn’t Catherine Dawson, I might be complimenting her on it, asking her what it is, but right now it’s an affront to my senses. It repulses me.

Ross hovers between us. One minute he’s fussing over me, checking I’m okay, the next he’s apologizing to Catherine. Why is he apologizing to her? What the hell is going on? How does she know Ross?

“Lizzie? Lizzie Molyneux? Is it really you?” Her voice makes my scalp shrink. “You’re Ross’s girlfriend?”

Ross looks from me to Catherine and back to me again. “Is one of you going to tell me what’s happening here? Do you two have some kind of history?”

I gulp. “You could say that.” I’m amazed I can speak at all.