A large red circle was drawn around a photograph halfway down the page. Helen knew that photo well. It was her. The girl with her hair in a high ponytail that hung long over one shoulder. The girl with the black and red tie knotted perfectly at her throat. The girl with the crisp white school shirt, clean for school photos day, but soon would have specks of blood staining it.

Helen’s own photo was just below it. Her face was missing. Someone had scratched at the photograph with something sharp, leaving a scarred, torn mess in its place.

Underneath, written in red, was the word MURDERER.

She pushed the book away. It slid to the floor with a sound like a judge’s gavel.

Her ears whistled and her chest tightened, like a strap was being pulled taut, to the point where she could feel her ribs and lungs constricting. She rushed into the back room and retched over the sink, nothing coming up but bile and regret.

She remembered that day so well. The day the school photos were taken. Stains on the white shirt almost as damning as the stains left on their souls when it was all over.

Helen remained leaning over the sink, breathing in the smell of bleach that barely covered the sour stench of the blocked drain beneath it. She ran some cold water and splashed her face, but her cheeks continued to burn.

She approached the desk again like she was expecting a landmine. She could see the book lying spreadeagled on the floor, open, exposed. She bent to pick it up, ready to toss it into the bin where it belonged when she noticed that other pages had been vandalised too.

She sat on the floor beneath the desk and flicked through the rest of it.

Every group photo that Helen featured in had been scratched, her face obliterated.

Every photo of her was circled with a red ink heart.

24

THEN

It is decided that we will have the party next weekend. Well, Eloise has decided. That gives me next to no time to lose more weight before I have to parade around in a bikini. I’ll have to mention the party to Martha. She will certainly notice if a crowd of teenagers turns up. It’s too late for her to object though.

“Martha, I’m having a party next weekend. Nothing big – just a few friends around to hang out at the pool house. A belated birthday party since I didn’t do anything for it in June. My parents know about it. I told them before they left and they were fine with it.” I look at my fingers, suddenly interested in a speck of dirt under my nail.

“Oh, ok, that sounds fine. As long as there aren’t too many people. Can I prepare some food for it? Would you like a cake?”