Norah sat there for a long time, staring at the paper—at Valerie’s soft, round handwriting, so different from the tone of her letter.

When Norah had read the letter back then, as a teenager, she’d immediately panicked and tried to call Valerie. She was just setting off to look for her when she heard she’d been found. Milo told her. It was the last time they spoke.

She never showed anyone the letter or told anyone about it. She felt too ashamed, too guilty.

But she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away either. And now she wondered what would have happened if she’d spoken out back then, instead of keeping silent. If she’d shown someone the letter. Would she have been told what she needed to hear? That it wasn’t her fault. That Valerie was sick. That she was probably more unstable than anyone had realised. That a healthy girl didn’t kill herself just because one of her friends went out with a boy she’d have liked for herself. Would Norah’s life have been different without the burden of her secret?

She thought of Grimm. The rational part of her must have known all along that he was innocent—that Valerie had killed herself.

But there was another part to her. The part that had a but for every fact—that was always asking are you sure?

Valerie killed herself. Are you sure?

She wrote me a suicide note. Are you sure? How do you know she wasn’t forced to write all that?

And so on.

She had wanted to believe that it wasn’t her fault. That there was some other explanation. Any explanation.

Carefully Norah folded the letter and put it away. She knew what she had to do. It was time for a confession.

65

The lake was still frozen, like back then, but Norah didn’t venture out on it. The ice looked thin and fragile; it wouldn’t hold a grown woman. The trees at its edge were dripping.

Norah looked out over the lake.

This must have been where Valerie waited that night. Norah had imagined it so often—seen her standing here, on the ice, or at the edge of the woods, waiting. How long had she waited before she realised that no one was going to come this time—that she was alone. An hour? Two hours?

Norah shivered. How this place had haunted her.

She no longer knew the exact wording of the dozens of texts she’d received that evening, but she remembered the gist. All those big words. Betrayal, deceit, malice. And the threats.

We are meeting by the lake, aren’t we?

If you don’t come you’ll see what I’m capable of.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t answer. She knew what Valerie could be like and she decided she’d had enough. She wasn’t going to put up with it anymore—wasn’t going to follow that girl’s every command. It wasn’t as if anything dramatic had happened. Okay, so she’d fooled around with Milo. And yes, Valerie had fancied him since primary school—but then, so had Norah. And if he’d suddenly fallen in love with Valerie, would Norah have flipped out like that? No way.