A Good Girl's Guide to Murder. Holly Jackson

happened, I spent a lot of time with Sal. I helped him with his personal statement before he sent his uni applications off. When he got his interview at Oxford I helped him prepare for it, both in school and outside. He was such a bright kid. Brilliant. He got his offer from them too. When Naomi told me I bought him a card and some chocolate. Pip: So Sal was very intelligent? Elliot: Yeah, oh absolutely. Very, very smart young man. It’s such a tragedy what happened in the end. Such a waste of two young lives. Sal would have got A stars across the board, no question. Pip: Did you have a class with Sal on that Monday after Andie disappeared? Elliot: Erm, gosh. I think so actually. Yes, because I remember talking to him after and asking if he was OK about everything. So yes, I must have done. Pip: And did you notice him acting strangely at all? Elliot: Well, it depends on your definition of strange. The whole school was acting strangely that day; one of our students was missing and it was all over the news. I suppose I remember him seeming quiet, maybe a bit tearful about the whole thing. Definitely seemed worried. Pip: Worried for Andie? Elliot: Yes, possibly. Pip: And what about on the Tuesday, the day he killed himself. Do you remember seeing him at school that morning at any point? Elliot: I . . . no, I didn’t because on that day I had to call in sick. I had a bug so I dropped the girls off in the morning and had a day at home. I didn’t know until the school rang me in the afternoon about this whole Naomi/Sal alibi thing and that the police had interviewed them at school. So, the last time I saw Sal would have been that Monday lesson time. Pip: And do you think Sal killed Andie? Elliot: (Sighs) I mean, I can understand how easy it is to convince yourself he didn’t; he was such a lovely kid. But, considering the evidence, I don’t see how he couldn’t have done it. So, as wrong as it feels, I guess I think he must have. There’s no other explanation. Pip: And what about Andie Bell? Did you teach her too? Elliot: No, well, um, yes, she was in the same GCSE history class as Sal, so I had her that year. But she didn’t study history any further so I’m afraid I didn’t really know her that well. Pip: OK, thanks. You can go back to peeling potatoes now. Elliot: Thanks for your permission.

      Ravi hadn’t mentioned that Sal had an offer from Oxford University. There might be more he hasn’t told me about Sal, but I’m not sure Ravi will ever speak to me again. Not after what happened a couple of days ago. I didn’t mean to hurt him; I was trying to help. Maybe I should go around and apologize? He’ll probably just slam the door on me. [But anyway, I can’t let that distract me, not again.]

      If Sal was so intelligent and Oxford-bound, then why was the evidence that linked him to Andie’s murder so obvious? So what if he didn’t have an alibi for the time of Andie’s disappearance? He was clever enough to have got away with it, that much is clear now.

      PS. we were playing Monopoly with Naomi and . . . maybe I overreacted before. She’s still on the persons of interest list, but a murderer? There’s just no way. She refuses to put houses down on the board even when she has the two dark blues because she thinks it’s too mean. I hotel-up as soon as I can and laugh when others roll into my death trap. Even I have more of a killer’s instinct than Naomi.

       Seven

      The next day, Pip was doing one final read-through of her information request to the Thames Valley Police. Her room was sweltering and stagnant, the sun trapped and sulking in there with her, even though she’d pushed open the window to let it out.

      She heard distant knocking downstairs as she verbally approved her own email, ‘Yep, good,’ and pressed the send button; the small click that began her twenty-working-day wait. Pip hated waiting. And it was a Saturday, so she had to wait for the wait to begin.

      ‘Pips,’ came Victor’s shout from downstairs. ‘Front door for you.’

      With each step down the stairs, the air became a little fresher; from her bedroom’s first-ring-of-hell heat into quite bearable warmth. She took the turn after the stairs as a sock-skid across the oak but stopped in her tracks when she saw Ravi Singh outside the front door. He was being talked at enthusiastically by her dad. All the heat returned to her face.

      ‘Um, hi,’ Pip said, walking towards them. But the fast tap-tap of claws on wood grew behind her as Barney barged past and got there first, launching his muzzle into Ravi’s groin.

      ‘No, Barney, down,’ Pip shouted, rushing forward. ‘Sorry, he’s a bit friendly.’

      ‘That’s no way to talk about your father,’ said Victor.

      Pip raised her eyebrows at him.

      ‘Got it, got it, got it,’ he said, walking away and into the kitchen.

      Ravi bent down to stroke Barney, and Pip’s ankles were fanned with the dog-tail breeze.

      ‘How do you know where I live?’ Pip asked.

      ‘I asked in the estate agents your mum works in,’ he straightened up. ‘Seriously, your house is a palace.’

      ‘Well, the strange man who opened the door to you is a hot-shot corporate lawyer.’

      ‘Not a king?’

      ‘Only some days,’ she said.

      Pip noticed Ravi looking down and, though his lips twitched trying to contain it, he broke into a big smile. That’s when she remembered what she was wearing: baggy denim dungarees over a white T-shirt with the words TALK NERDY TO ME emblazoned across her chest.

      ‘So, um, what brings you here?’ she said. Her stomach lurched, and only then did she realize she was nervous.

      ‘I . . . I’m here because . . . I wanted to say sorry.’ He looked at her with his big downturned eyes, his brows bunching over them. ‘I got angry and said some things I shouldn’t have. I don’t really think you’re just some kid.