Chapter 16

Several bags of clothes joined the mirror on the landing as the afternoon went on, and Evie waited until she could hear her mother hoovering before she rapped on the bedroom door and announced that she was just nipping out to the shop.

The text had been brief.

You want to come round to mine?

It wasn’t that far, and Evie was a fast walker.

Kym’s house was small, and to Evie’s eye, reassuringly normal; a red-brick semi-detached, built in the early seventies. Her room was normal too, lots of books and a single bed, a dressing table heaving with products and make-up; the furniture was cheap and a little bit worn, but it felt comfortable, cosy.

‘I saw Tyler,’ said Kym, picking up a large, spiral-bound notebook and sitting on the bed. ‘He says it wasn’t him.’

‘And you believe him?’

Kym busied herself arranging and rearranging her notes. ‘No reason not to,’ she said. ‘He’s got an alibi.’

‘Oh.’ Evie looked around the room, wondering where she should sit.

‘He says he spent last night revising. With Beth Harland.’

‘Oh,’ said Evie again.

‘Yeah.’ Kym had given up with the papers, her head lowered, she began to pick at her nail polish.

‘Are you OK?’

Kym nodded, but she didn’t look up. ‘Sure,’ she said.

‘He’s an idiot,’ Evie went on, ‘if he thinks Beth is – well – you know . . .’

‘She’s not that bad,’ said Kym. ‘Not really. I just thought – he could have waited just a couple more weeks, couldn’t he? Now it’s like we – didn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.’

Evie sat on the bed, next to her. ‘You do though.’ She tried to keep her voice light. ‘Of course you do. And it’s just a rebound thing, isn’t it? He’s probably trying to make you jealous.’

Kym shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Or he’s getting his own back,’ Evie went on, ‘for being dumped.’

‘No.’ Kym looked up. ‘When me and Ty split – it wasn’t exactly like I said. I mean, it’s true about uni and stuff but, to be honest, we hadn’t been getting on for a while. And there was something else.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He said I was being unreasonable, he said . . .’ She wiped angrily at her face, smearing the thick black mascara. ‘Oh God,’ she went on, ‘the thing is – it’s all to do with my dad.’

The mild start to the day hadn’t held, and eventually another sea fret, clammy and grey, had driven them back to the house. Maude took up residence in her chair in the living room, and once she was certain she was settled, Nell took her sketchbook and the laptop into the other room to work on her designs at the dining table.