As Good as Dead: The Finale to A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder

Pip didn’t see them until she was standing right on top of them. She might never have seen them if she hadn’t stopped to re-tie the laces on her trainers. She lifted her foot and stared down. What the…

There were faint lines, drawn in white chalk, right at the top of the Amobis’ driveway, where it met the pavement just beyond. They were so faded that maybe they weren’t chalk at all, maybe they were salt marks left behind from the rain.

Pip rubbed her eyes. They were scratchy and dried out from staring at her ceiling all night. Even though yesterday evening with Ravi’s family had gone well and her face actually ached from smiling, she hadn’t earned back her sleep. There’d been only one place to find it, in that forbidden second drawer down.

She removed her balled-up fists from her eyes and blinked, her gaze just as gritty as before. Unable to trust her eyes, she bent to swipe a finger through the nearest line, held it up against the sun to study it. Definitely seemed like chalk, felt like it too, between the bulbs of her fingers. And the lines themselves, they didn’t seem like they could be natural. They were too straight, too intentional.

Pip tilted her head to look at them from another angle. There seemed to be five distinct figures; a repeating pattern of crossing and intersecting lines. Could they… could they be birds maybe? Like how children drew birds from a distance; squashed out Ms mounting cotton-candy skies? No, that wasn’t right, too many lines. Was it some kind of cross? Yeah, it looked like a cross maybe, where the longer stem split into two legs nearer the bottom.

Oh, wait – she stepped over them to look from the other side. They could also be little stick people. Those were their legs, the trunk of their body, crossed through with their overstraightened arms. The small line above was their neck. But then, nothing… They were headless.

So – she straightened up – either a cross with two legs, or a stick figure with no head. Neither particularly comforting. Pip didn’t think Josh had chalk in the house, and he wasn’t the kind of kid who enjoyed drawing anyway. Must be one of the neighbourhood kids then, one with a somewhat morbid imagination. Although, who was she to comment on that?

Pip checked as she walked up Martinsend Way; there were no chalk lines on anyone else’s driveway, nor the pavement or road. Nothing out of the ordinary, in fact, for a Sunday morning in Little Kilton. Other than an innocuous square of duct tape that had been stuck on to the black and white road sign, so it now instead read Martinsend Wav.

Pip shrugged the figures off as she turned on to the high street, chalked it up to the Yardley children from six doors down. And, anyway, she could see Ravi up ahead, approaching the café from the other end.

He looked tired – normal tired – his hair ruffled and the sun flashing off his new glasses. He’d found out over the summer that he was ever-so-slightly short-sighted, and you can bet he made as much fuss as he could at the time. Though now he sometimes forgot to even put them on.

He hadn’t spotted her yet, in his own world.

‘Oi!’ she called from ten feet away, making him jump.

He stuck out his bottom lip in exaggerated sadness. ‘Be gentle,’ he said. ‘I’m delicate this morning.’

Of course, Ravi’s hangovers were the worst hangovers the world had ever seen. Near fatal every time.

They made it to each other, outside the café door, Pip’s hand finding its home in the crook of Ravi’s elbow.

‘And what’s this “Oi” we’ve started?’ He pressed the question into her forehead. ‘I have an array of beautiful and flattering nicknames for you, and the best you can come up with is “Oi”?’

‘Ah, well,’ Pip said. ‘Someone very old and wise once told me that I am entirely without pizazz, so…’

‘I think you meant someone very wise and very handsome, actually.’

‘Did I?’

‘So,’ he paused to scratch his nose with his sleeve, ‘I think last night went really well.’

‘Really?’ Pip said tentatively. She thought it had too, but she didn’t entirely trust herself any more.

He broke into a small laugh, seeing her worried face. ‘You did good. Everyone loved you. Genuinely. Rahul even messaged this morning to say how much he liked you. And,’ Ravi lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘I think even Auntie Zara might have warmed to you.’

‘No?!’

‘Yes,’ he grinned. ‘She scowled about twenty per cent less than her normal rate, so I call that a raging success.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Pip said, leaning into the café door to push it open, the bell jangling overhead. ‘Hi Jackie,’ she called as usual to the woman who owned the café, currently re-stocking the sandwich shelves.

‘Oh, hello dear,’ Jackie said with a quick glance back, almost losing a brie and bacon roll to the floor. ‘Hi, Ravi.’

‘Morning,’ he said, a thickness to his voice until he cleared his throat.

Jackie freed herself from the packaged sandwiches and turned to face them. ‘I think she’s out back, in a fight with the temperamental sandwich toaster. Hold on.’ She backed up behind the counter and called, ‘Cara!’

Pip spotted the topknot first, bobbing atop Cara’s head as she walked out from the kitchen through the employee’s entrance, wiping her hands on her green apron.

‘Nah, it’s still on the fritz,’ she said to Jackie, eyes focused on a crusted stain on her apron. ‘Best we can offer are marginally warm paninis for the time –’ She finally glanced up, eyes springing to Pip’s, a smile following close behind. ‘Miss Sweet FA. Long time, no see.’

‘You saw me yesterday,’ Pip replied, catching on too late to Cara’s waggling eyebrows. Well, she should have waggled first, then spoken; they established these rules long ago.

Jackie smiled, as though she could read the hastened conversation happening between their eyes. ‘Well, girls, if it’s been a whole day, you probably have a long overdue catch-up, no?’ She turned to Cara. ‘You can start your break early.’

‘Oh, Jackie,’ Cara said, with an over-flourished bow. ‘You are too good to me.’

‘I know, I know.’ Jackie waved her off. ‘I’m a saint. Pip, Ravi, what can I get you?’

Pip ordered a strong coffee; she’d already had two before leaving the house and her fingers were fast and fidgety. But how else would she make it through the day?

Ravi pursed his lips, eyeballing the ceiling like this was the hardest decision he’d ever faced. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I could be tempted by one of those marginally warm paninis.’

Pip rolled her eyes. Ravi must have forgotten he was dying of a hangover; absolutely zero willpower in the presence of sandwiches.

Pip settled on the far table, Cara taking the seat beside her, shoulders brushing together. Cara had never understood the concept of personal space, and yet, sitting here now, Pip was grateful for it. Cara wasn’t even supposed to be here any more, in Little Kilton. Her grandparents had planned to put the Wards’ house up for sale at the end of the school year. But minds changed and plans changed: Naomi found a job nearby in Slough, and Cara had decided to take a gap year to go travelling, working at the café to save up money. Suddenly, taking the Ward sisters out of Little Kilton was more complicated than leaving them here, so the grandparents were back in Great Abington, and Cara and Naomi were still in town. At least until next year. Now Cara would be the one left behind, when Pip left for Cambridge in a few weeks.

Pip couldn’t believe it would really happen, that Little Kilton would ever let her get away.

She nudged Cara back. ‘So, how’s Steph?’ she asked.

Steph: the new girlfriend. Although it had been a couple of months now, so maybe Pip shouldn’t think of her as new any more. The world moved on, even if she couldn’t. And Pip liked her; she was good for Cara, made her happy.

‘Yeah, she’s good. Training for a triathlon or something because she’s actually insane. Oh, wait, you’d take her side now wouldn’t you, Miss Runs-a-lot.’

‘Yep.’ Pip nodded. ‘Definitely Team Steph. She’d be a great asset in a zombie apocalypse.’

‘So would I,’ Cara said.

Pip pulled a face at her. ‘You would die within the first half an hour of any apocalypse scenario, let’s be honest.’

Ravi came over then, placing a tray down with their coffees and his sandwich. He’d already taken a massive bite before carrying it over, of course.

‘Oh, so,’ Cara lowered her voice, ‘big drama here this morning.’

‘What?’ Ravi asked between bites.

‘We suddenly had a bit of a rush, so there was a queue, and I was at the till taking orders. And then,’ her voice was a whisper now, ‘Max Hastings came in.’

Pip’s shoulders arched and her jaw tensed. Why was he everywhere? Why could she never get away from him?

‘I know,’ Cara said, reading Pip’s face. ‘And obviously I wasn’t going to serve him, so I told Jackie I’d clean the milk frother while she dealt with the customers. She took Max’s order, and then someone else came in.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘Jason Bell.’

‘Oh, really?’ Ravi said.

‘Yeah, he was standing in line behind Max. And even though I was trying to hide from them, I could see him kind of eyeballing the back of Max’s head.’

‘Understandably,’ Pip said. Jason Bell had just as much reason to hate Max Hastings as she did. Whatever the outcome of the trial, Max had drugged and raped his youngest daughter, Becca. And as horrific and unspeakable as that was, it was even worse than that. Max’s actions were the catalyst for Andie Bell’s death. You might even say a direct cause. Everything came back to Max Hastings, when you really thought about it: Becca traumatized, letting Andie die in front of her and covering it up. Sal Singh dead, believed to be Andie’s killer. That poor woman in Elliot Ward’s loft. Pip’s project. Her dog, Barney, buried in the back garden. Howie Bowers in prison, sharing whispers about Child Brunswick. Charlie Green arriving in town. Layla Mead. Jamie Reynolds missing. Stanley Forbes dead and blood on Pip’s hands. She could trace it all back to Max Hastings. The origin. Her cornerstone. And maybe Jason Bell’s too.

‘I mean, yeah,’ Cara said, ‘but I wasn’t expecting the next part. So, Jackie handed Max his drink, and as he was turning to walk away, Jason held out his elbow and nudged right into Max. Spilled coffee all down his T-shirt.’

‘No?’ Ravi stared at Cara.

‘I know.’ Her whispers strained into an excitable hiss. ‘And then Max was like, “Watch where you’re going,” and shoved him back. And Jason grabbed Max’s collar and said, “You stay out of my way,” or something like that. But anyway, by this point Jackie had inserted herself between them, and then this other customer escorted Max out of the café and apparently he was going on about “You’ll hear from my lawyer”, or something.’

‘Sounds like Max,’ Pip said, pushing the words through her gritted teeth. She shivered. The air felt different now she knew he’d been here too. Stuffy. Cold. Tainted. Little Kilton was just not big enough for both of them.

‘Naomi’s been wondering what to do about Max,’ Cara continued, so quiet you couldn’t even call it a whisper any more. ‘Whether she should go to the police, tell them about New Year 2012 – you know, the hit-and-run. Even though she’ll get in trouble, she’s saying at least it will get Max in trouble too, as he was the one driving. Maybe it’s a way of putting him behind bars, at least for a short while, so he can’t hurt anyone else. And put an end to this ridiculous lawsuit thi—’

‘No,’ Pip cut across her. ‘Naomi can’t go to the police. It won’t work. She’ll only be hurting herself and nothing will happen to him. Max will win again.’

‘But at least the truth will be out and Naomi –’

‘The truth doesn’t matter,’ Pip said, digging her nails into her thigh. The Pip from last year wouldn’t recognize this one today. That lively-eyed girl and her school project, naïvely clinging to the truth, wrapping it around herself like a blanket. But the Pip sitting here was a different person and she knew better. The truth had burned her too many times; it couldn’t be trusted. ‘Tell her not to, Cara. She didn’t hit that man and she didn’t want to leave him, she was coerced. Tell her I promise I will get him. I don’t know how, but I will do it. Max will get exactly what he deserves.’

Ravi stretched an arm around Pip’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘Or, you know, instead of revenge plots, we could focus our energy on going off to university in a few weeks,’ he said brightly. ‘You haven’t even picked out a new duvet set; I’m told that’s a very important milestone.’

Pip knew that Ravi and Cara had just flashed each other a look. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

Cara looked like she was about to say something more, but her eyes drew up as the bell jangled above the café door. Pip turned to follow her gaze. If it was Max Hastings, she didn’t know what she might do, she –

‘Ah, hello gang,’ said a voice Pip knew well.

Connor Reynolds. She smiled and waved at him. But it wasn’t just Connor, Jamie was here too, closing the café door with another chime of the bell. He spotted Pip a moment later and a grin split his face, wrinkling his freckled nose. Frecklier now, after the summer. And she would know; she’d spent that entire week he was missing studying photos of his face, searching his eyes for answers.

‘Fancy seeing you guys here,’ Jamie said, overtaking Connor as he strolled towards their table. He placed a fleeting hand on Pip’s shoulder. ‘Hey, how’re you doing? Can I get you guys a drink or something?’

Sometimes Pip saw that same look in Jamie’s eyes too, haunted by Stanley’s death and the parts they’d both played in it. A burden they would always share. But Jamie hadn’t been there when it happened, he didn’t have blood on his hands – not in the same way.

‘Why is it whenever I’m on shift, the whole bloody circus turns up?’ Cara said. ‘Do you guys think I’m lonely or something?’

‘No, mate.’ Connor flicked her topknot. ‘We think you need the practise.’

‘Connor Reynolds, I swear to god if you order one of those iced pumpkin macchiatos today, I will murder you dead.’

‘Cara,’ Jackie called cheerily from behind the counter. ‘Remember lesson number one: we don’t threaten to kill customers.’

‘Even if they’re ordering the most complicated thing just to annoy you?’ Cara stood up, with an exaggerated side-eye at Connor.

‘Even then.’

Cara growled, calling Connor a ‘Basic White Bitch,’ under her breath as she made her way towards the counter. ‘One iced pumpkin macchiato coming up,’ she said, with the fakest of enthusiasms.

‘Made with love, I hope,’ Connor laughed.

Cara glowered. ‘More like spite.’

‘Well, as long as it’s not spit.’

‘So,’ Jamie said, taking Cara’s empty seat, ‘Nat told me about the mediation meeting.’

Pip nodded. ‘It was… eventful.’

‘I can’t believe he’s suing you.’ Jamie’s hand tightened into a fist. ‘It’s just… it’s not fair. You’ve been through enough.’

She shrugged. ‘It’ll be fine, I’ll work it out.’ Everything always came back to Max Hastings; he was on every side and every angle, pressing in on her. Crushing her. Filling her head with the sound of Stanley’s cracking ribs. She wiped the blood off her hands and changed the subject. ‘How’s paramedic training going?’

‘Yeah, it’s going well,’ he nodded, broke into a smile. ‘I’m actually really enjoying it. Who would have thought I would ever enjoy hard work?’

‘I think Pip’s disgusting work ethic might be contagious,’ Ravi said. ‘You should stay back, for your own safety.’

The bell clanged again and from the sudden way Jamie’s eyes glowed, Pip knew exactly who had just walked in. Nat da Silva stood in the doorway, her silver hair tied up in a small, stubby ponytail, though most of the hair had made a break from the scrunchie, fanning around her long neck.

Nat’s face lit up as she surveyed the room, rolling up the sleeves of her plaid shirt.

‘Pip!’ Nat made a beeline straight for her. She bent down and wrapped a long arm around Pip’s shoulders, hugging her from behind. She smelled like summer. ‘Didn’t know you’d be here. How are you?’

‘Good,’ Pip said, their cheeks pressed together, Nat’s skin cold and fresh from the breeze outside. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, we’re doing good, aren’t we?’ Nat straightened and walked over to Jamie. He stood to offer her his chair, pulling another for himself. They paused as they collided, Nat’s hand pressed to his chest.

‘Hey you,’ she said and kissed him quickly.

‘Hey you, yourself,’ Jamie said, the colour rising to his already red cheeks.

Pip couldn’t help but smile, watching the two of them together. It was… what was the word… nice, she supposed. Something pure, something good that no one could take away from her; to have known each of them at their lowest and to see how far they’d come. On their own and together. A part of their lives, and they a part of hers.

Sometimes good things did happen in this town, Pip reminded herself, her gaze catching on Ravi, finding his hand under the table. Jamie’s glowing eyes and Nat’s fierce smile. Connor and Cara bickering over pumpkin spice. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Just this. Normal life. People you could count on your fingers who cared about you as much as you cared about them. The people who would look for you if you disappeared.

Could she bottle this feeling, live off it for a while? Fill herself with something good and ignore the slick of blood on her hands, not think about the gun in the sound of that mug hitting the table or those dead eyes waiting for her in the darkness of a blink?

Oh, too late.