Chapter One
The Present Day
Cassie Rafferty wanted to die. Go to her grave and let the worms consume the shitty contents of her brain. This was no attention-seeking gimmick running around her head to post on social media. It was the real deal. The end. Her Nanna Joyce had died when she was eight, and she’d lost three hamsters and a gerbil before her fourteenth birthday, but none of those losses compared to this. It felt as if stomach acid had leaked into her heart and was trying to digest her boyfriend’s betrayal.
As if sensing her mood, the sky had emptied a month’s rain in half an hour. Good job too! No one could see the tears streaming down her face or the snot leaking from her nose. She was only wearing a thin red summer t-shirt and pink shorts. Her pink and cream canvas handbag swung on her shoulder like a pendulum. At least it was waterproof, unlike the mascara running in black rivulets behind her glasses.
The day had started off hot and bright when she’d left home to walk the two miles to her boyfriend’s house. Darren wanted to tell her something, but he wouldn’t say what it was on the phone. Cassie had foolishly believed he was going to ask her to get engaged. They’d been going out for over a year now, and her sixteenth birthday was less than a month away. The more she’d thought about it, the more excited she’d become. He might even have a beautiful diamond ring sitting in a velvet-lined box waiting for her.
Cassie had always wanted to get married on her eighteenth birthday. That would mean a two-year engagement and plenty of time for them to find jobs and set up a home together. The thought of sharing a flat with Darren made her tummy tingle. He had some nasty habits to iron out – you only had to look at the chaos in his bedroom to see that. Clothes didn’t need hangers or a wardrobe in Darren’s world, and his bed always looked as if it had just spent the night hosting a pack of wild dogs. But a girl could work on these things. Men just needed convincing that they no longer lived in caves.
Darren had looked nervous from the minute he’d opened the door and invited her inside. His parents were at work, and Darren, like Cassie, was sitting GCSE exams at school. She’d walked into the lounge and sat in a leather recliner. It was a disgusting lime-green colour but comfortable enough to put an insomniac to sleep.
Cassie kicked off her shoes and asked for a glass of cold lemonade.
Darren looked at her for a few seconds before heading off through an archway into the kitchen. She had no idea what to read into that look, but he seemed to be on the verge of saying something important. And he was sweating badly enough to stain the back of his t-shirt.
‘What do you want to ask me?’ Cassie said, as he handed her the drink.
He sat down opposite her on a brown leather sofa. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’
Cassie grinned. She was now certain he was going to propose. ‘Course.’
‘And you know I want to be with you for, well, forever.’
She took a sip of lemonade. The gassy liquid brought tears to her eyes. She nodded. Waited. Prepared her answer. Her don’t-rush-in answer. Her don’t-give-yourself-away-too-cheaply answer.
‘And if we’re going to be together, we have to be honest with each other, right?’
‘Right.’
‘No secrets that might come out later?’
‘You’re starting to scare me, Darren.’
‘I want you to promise not to fly off the handle.’
Cassie’s vision of rings and proposals and happy-ever-afters evaporated. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because I don’t think you’re going to like what I’m about to say.’
Cassie put her glass on the oak coffee table. She fiddled with the rim and searched Darren’s face for clues.
He looked away. ‘I want you to know I’m sorry. I’m the dumbest twat on the planet. But it was just a… stupid mistake.’
Cassie’s tummy flipped over. ‘What have you done?’
‘I didn’t mean nothing by it.’
Cassie stopped fiddling with the glass. ‘Just spit it out, Darren.’
‘I… kissed someone.’
Cassie felt her heart jump, pumping blood to her face. She must have misheard him. ‘Say that again.’
‘I kissed someone.’
She was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming urge to hurl the glass at him.
‘I didn’t mean it.’
‘You’re telling me it was an accident?’
‘I–’
‘Who was it?’
‘Huh?’
‘Who did you kiss?’
‘Does it matter?’
Cassie picked up the glass. Gripped it tight enough to break it. ‘Of course it fucking matters.’
‘Hailey Connor.’
Cassie’s heart plummeted. Hailey Connor was just about the biggest tart in the school. With her stupid dyed blonde hair, false eyelashes and orange foundation, she looked like a cross between a pumpkin and a whore.
‘But it meant nothing. I swear.’
‘Where did you kiss her?’
‘At school.’
‘When?’
‘Three days ago… after the history exam.’
Cassie laughed. ‘Appropriate.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Seeing as that kiss means you and me are history.’
‘Don’t say that. It was nothing. A stupid mistake.’
‘Yeah. And you’re going to spend the rest of your life regretting it.’
‘I’m only telling you because I don’t want no secrets.’
Cassie shook her head. ‘No, Darren, you’re telling me before someone else does.’
‘But no one else saw us.’
‘I’m not talking about anyone else. I’m talking about that tart. She’ll get a kick from spreading it around.’
Darren opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it.
Cassie’s dream of marriage and living with Darren in a flat of their own vanished like steam from an open window. She put the glass on the table and stood up. ‘Take a good look at what you’re going to miss, Darren Clarke. And remember, when you’re all alone and no one gives a toss about you, I loved you. Loved you more than life itself.’
‘I know you’re angry, but–’
‘I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken.’
Darren stood up and took a few steps towards her. ‘We can put this behind us. We just give it time.’
Cassie flounced into the hallway. ‘Piss off, Darren. We’re finished. And don’t bother trying to call me because I won’t answer. I never want to see you again.’
Darren made a half-hearted attempt to grab her as she opened the front door and stepped outside. She strode up the garden path towards the main road, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Within ten minutes of leaving his house, the skies had opened. And with the rain, a resolve to never go near another boy again. By the time she’d crossed Feelham Bridge and turned right along the dirt track by the derelict pub, she’d just wanted to go to a place where no one could ever hurt her again.
Cassie usually walked home through the town and along St George’s Road. It was a practice born of her mother’s frequent warnings not to go anywhere isolated on her own. But the track was familiar. The school used it as a route for cross-country runs, and it didn’t seem very threatening in daylight.