You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

They take their drinks outside to the balcony, which is another surprise. A vertical garden on one wall, shelves with plant pots on the other. Two chairs with printed cushions. This is a grown-up apartment. It belongs to someone who knows who they are, how they want to live. Megan can’t help feeling inadequate by comparison, still living in her childhood bedroom. It’s little consolation that her living arrangements are about to change.

‘Is that you, Jessica?’ a quivery voice calls from next door.

Jess’s smile obliterates the sharp angles from her face. ‘Morning, Helen. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ A loud sigh. ‘Another blue sky. It’s a curse!’

Jess smiles again, then whispers, ‘Helen is a darling. Alex and I are the youngest here by at least forty years!’

This is a new Jess. A benign, more domesticated Jess. Megan feels sheepish when she thinks back to their meeting at the café. Her blunt accusations. No wonder Jess was affronted.

Megan sits back in her seat. ‘So, now Thomas Malouf … What’s going on?’

Jess shrugs, drawing attention to her thin shoulders. ‘Stuffed if I know! Good thing I have people who can vouch that I was at work both those nights. That detective looked like she didn’t believe a word I said! Suppose it didn’t help that I was at the train station not long afterwards.’

It’s beyond bizarre. Megan being with William Newson during the last hours of his life, and Jess minutes away from where Thomas Malouf died. Something is going on, some sort of masterplan. Can they work it out if they put their heads together?

Megan chooses her words carefully. ‘Bridget Kennedy seems suspicious of Mum, too.’ She isn’t ready to admit that she’s had her own doubts about Roslyn.

Jess’s eyebrows, tinted a shade too dark for her hair colour, shoot upwards. ‘That’s ridiculous!’

Megan sips her tea, once again casting around for the right words. ‘Mum can’t prove she was home on those nights because I was at work. And she said some pretty bad stuff at the trial.’

Megan hasn’t checked her mum’s search history for a few days, but she’s willing to put money on Thomas Malouf featuring heavily.

Jess snorts. ‘You don’t need to worry about people who proclaim their feelings out loud. It’s the ones who let it fester that you need to watch out for!’

That’s a fair point, and applies to both Jess and Roslyn. But what about Alex? Does he let things fester? Is there a way to ask Jess without offending her?

Jess has moved on. ‘Dylan O’Shea phoned out of the blue. He wants to meet up.’

‘He contacted me, too. Are you actually going to see him?’

‘Yep. Tomorrow.’

Megan cannot think of anything more excruciating than seeing Dylan O’Shea after all these years. No doubt he’ll have matured. Instead of one mental image, she’ll be haunted by two: the younger version and the older one.

‘Is that wise? Given everything that’s going on?’

Jess’s bony shoulders rise in another shrug. ‘I don’t really care what’s wise. I want to get some things off my chest.’

Megan is caught between admiration and apprehension. ‘At least don’t go alone!’

The dark eyebrows rise again; Jess’s eyebrows and shoulders seem to be in constant movement. ‘Are you offering to come?’

‘Sorry, I couldn’t bear it – and anyway, I have work. But now I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I can more than take care of myself.’

True. Not that long ago she was a professional fighter, one of the best in the world. Quite suddenly, Megan wants her to punch Dylan O’Shea. A fist straight in the face, that he didn’t see coming. A follow-up to the ribs, where it would hurt the most. Something unwinds in Megan at the thought. Something that’s been coiled up for a very long time.

She drains the last of her tea and sets the cup down. ‘I’m confused, Jess … Why is this restarting now? Why does it feel like we’re being implicated? Is someone trying to punish us or set us up?’

Jess is suddenly still. ‘Neither … I actually think someone is trying to vindicate us. It reminds me of Helen’s cat, next door.’

Megan is lost. ‘What?’

‘How it brings its killings to the back door, drops them on the step for someone to find first thing in the morning. As if to say, “Look what I’ve done! Aren’t you proud of me?”’

That’s an appalling analogy. But it has an undeniable ring of truth.

A door slams in the apartment.

Alex’s voice booms out. ‘Hey, babe, you still here? Forgot my phone.’

Megan and Jess stare at each other. Then Jess stands up to go and greet her boyfriend.

34

JESS

These girls knew how to protect themselves. William Newson was correct in that regard. The question that should have been asked was what stopped them from protecting themselves, from fighting back? Jess and Megan had bruising and chafing, but nothing that indicated a true struggle. Even if the boys had overpowered them, what happened to their voices? Why didn’t they scream the house down?

The possibility of date-rape drugs didn’t come up during the trial because there was no trace in their blood or urine samples (which were tested a week later, due to Megan dragging her feet). Jess held the possibility at the back of her mind, though, because it was the only plausible explanation for their docility and patchy memories. Many years later it came to the fore of her mind. She was suffering from a broken nose and several cracked ribs as a result of a fight; the pain was intense. The doctor prescribed painkillers that had a sedative effect, to help her sleep. She woke the next morning with very little memory. She couldn’t remember eating dinner, or what time she’d gone to bed. She’d slept in track pants and a sweater, hadn’t even loosened her hair from its ponytail. Alex said that she’d been ‘out of it’, walking and talking but acting really weird. Something clicked in Jess’s brain. This had happened