All Fall Down: A gripping psychological thriller with a twist that will take your breath away (10 page)

G
eorgia hadn’t been nearly
as sleepy as she’d made out to Wendy. In fact, she’d been awake on and off for hours, curled up and crying, steeling herself to check the latest hateful updates on social media.

She’s a sicko

A fucking freak

She tries to pretend he’s not her brother! #deluded #headcase

Did SHE kill the guy in the garden? U gotta wonder. . .

It took off after someone got hold of separate pictures of Georgia and Evan and used Photoshop to make it look like they were kissing. The result was posted on Instagram, and now half her year group were adding insults and jokes. A whole shitstorm of abuse, and there was nothing Georgia could do. She just had to ride it out.

This morning she’d tried retreating into her most cherished fantasy – the one where her real father suddenly turned up, whisking her away from her troubles. She’d obsessed over his identity for years – not so much when she was first adopted, because she could see that Rob and Wendy were trying their best. But the longing to be rescued came back when Rob’s business partner screwed them over. They’d tried to pretend everything was fine, but Georgia had picked up on the tension; so many nights when she’d lain awake and listened to them arguing, terrified of what might come next: a punch, a scream, one of them grabbing a knife. . .

It had never come to that, and up till the past few months things hadn’t seemed too bad. But she could sense it slipping away again, an uneasy truce starting to break, and what happened on Sunday seemed to have made things worse.

The trouble was, deep down Georgia knew her real dad was never going to turn up; and if he did he wouldn’t fit the fairytale profile of a rich, kind, handsome prince. More likely he’d be just another doped-up loser.

W
endy got
out of the car. The sky was clearing, allowing a little sunshine through, and the air was agreeably warm, with a hint of wood smoke and more than a hint of diesel fumes.

The interior of the pub looked dark and gloomy. It was ten fifteen, so presumably not long till opening time. As she approached the building she heard dogs barking inside. Undeterred, she pushed against one of the double doors and was surprised when it swung open. She called out a greeting and heard, over the whine of a vacuum cleaner, the dogs silenced by a shout.

Wendy took a step inside, holding the door in case a quick exit was necessary. There was a large dining area to her left, and a smaller lounge to her right. The bar was directly ahead, with an open door behind it. A woman strode out and said curtly, in an Eastern European accent, ‘Closed now.’

She was in her thirties, Wendy thought, slim and attractive but very much off-duty: no make-up, hair tied back, and dressed in a cheap grey tracksuit.

Wendy said, ‘I wanted to see Kevin, if he’s around?’

She regretted the intonation – framing it as a question gave the woman an opportunity to deny his presence – but after a vaguely hostile appraisal she nodded. ‘Wait.’

There was a brief, muffled exchange in the back room, before the vacuum cleaner started up again and Kevin Burroughs strode into the bar. Wendy had last seen him on a TV news bulletin, leading a group of the accused’s supporters away from the cameras after the verdict had been announced. He was an overweight man in his sixties, with thinning red hair and a bulbous nose. He wore a grubby white vest and jogging pants with holes at the knees. A pair of Rottweilers accompanied him into the bar, silent now and studying Wendy with mild interest, as if she could only ever represent a side dish rather than a main course.

‘You from the council?’ Burroughs said, and frowned when she shook her head. ‘So how do I know you?’

‘I’m Wendy Turner. My husband and I adopted—’

‘Georgia.’ Burroughs gave a bitter snort, then moved towards a low table in the lounge area and dragged a stool out with his foot. The Rottweilers lumbered alongside, never more than inches from his legs. Like him, they were carrying too much weight, but Wendy guessed they were more than capable of maintaining order if things got rowdy.

Remembering her training, Wendy held her head up and tried to appear confident as she strode to the table. She wasn’t afraid of dogs in general, but this pair made her nervous – or, rather, it was their owner who gave her reason to be wary.

S
taying
in bed didn’t help her mood, and Georgia felt a spark of anger at the idea that she was lying low at home. Better to get out there and show everyone she wasn’t bothered by the taunts.

Knowing there was likely to be a crowd at Heath Pond, she took a detour towards town, then doubled back along a smart residential road called The Avenue. A couple of times she had the feeling that she was being followed, or watched, but she didn’t see anyone.

The road was elevated above the park, and it came to a dead end with pedestrian access down a set of walled-in steps. Either side of the steps there was a bench with views across the lake. One of the benches was occupied by an old couple with a little dog. Georgia sat down on the other one, shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the kids’ playground. No sign of Paige, but Amber was there, along with a fair few of the BitchWorld crowd, including some who’d put comments on Instagram.

Georgia took out her cigarettes, went to light up and thought:
Nah
. She didn’t really enjoy smoking, so why do it? Who cared about being seen as cool? It was bullshit.

She reminded herself that none of this came close to the trauma she’d gone through with her mum’s murder – or months later, having to deal with the humiliation of the trial, when the barrister who represented Burroughs tried to make it seem like
she
was the one who’d caused the violence, bringing in evidence from a local shopkeeper who claimed Georgia was a ‘feral’ child, completely out of control.

A savage
, he had called her, in front of a court full of people. Georgia would never forget how she had felt in that moment; the damage she’d have done if she’d had the chance.

You can’t prove them wrong, so better to prove them right.

It was like with Mark Burroughs. She knew Wendy was petrified of the day he got released from prison. Georgia wasn’t. She wanted Burroughs to see how she lived now. In her fantasy he would stand miserably on the pavement, begging for a handout like the whiny little loser he was; meanwhile Georgia would sneak behind the wheel of Rob’s Land Rover and run him down. Squash the fucker flat!

She grinned, just as one of the boys noticed her and drew the others into a huddle. Georgia pretended to read something on her phone. She heard scornful laughter but ignored it. There were little kids in the park, running and screaming, and a dog was barking somewhere. Then came the wet clatter of geese taking off from the water, something she loved to watch, so she risked a look and saw the group ambling across the playground in her direction. They were all grinning, giggling, ready to have some fun at her expense.

Well, let them try. She’d take them on, if she had to.

Directly below her, a young man was crossing the lower road that ran alongside the park. He trotted up the steps and then stopped, peering at her over the wall. When he smiled, there was such a light in his eyes that for a moment Georgia was dazzled by it.

He nodded at the bench. ‘Mind if I sit there for a minute?’

W
endy took a seat opposite Burroughs
, and decided there was no point being coy. ‘How is Mark doing?’

He scowled. ‘Like you care.’

‘Do you visit him very often?’

‘Not really,’ he admitted, before adding, sourly, ‘His choice.’

‘Well, I’m sorry about that – from your point of view, I mean.’

‘Yeah, you don’t have no sympathy for Mark.’

Wendy was genuinely taken aback. ‘Do you think I should? For a man who murdered his partner?’

Burroughs shifted unhappily, the stool scraping against the laminate floor. ‘They fought all the time, those two. Drank like fishes, and couldn’t handle their booze.’ He flinched, as if embarrassed to make such an admission on licensed premises. ‘Get her in one of her rages and she’d smack the hell out of him – I saw the bruises, more than once.’

‘That doesn’t excuse what he did. And what about chasing Georgia through the house? Slashing at a ten-year-old girl with a knife? He’d have killed her, too, if she hadn’t got away from him.’

This time Burroughs looked sorrowful. ‘The madness was on him by then, I reckon. But yeah, it was wrong. He had to serve his time for that, and he is.’

There was a moment of silence. Just as Wendy was about to speak, Burroughs said, ‘But that relationship weren’t so straightforward, not by a long chalk.’

Wendy gasped. ‘What?’

‘Georgia and my lad. She’d wind him up something rotten. Not scared of a bit of blackmail, either. Threatening to tell people he’d done stuff to her, unless he gave her money, or let her stay out late.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘Why not? You think little girls are all sweetness and light?’

‘Of course not.’ Wendy added some steel to her voice. ‘I was a social worker, Mr Burroughs. I’ve dealt with all manner of human beings.’

He caught the disdain in her voice, and knew that he was supposed to. ‘Bloody meddlers,’ he said. ‘So what d’you want?’

‘A guarantee that he’ll leave her alone.’

‘He’s serving a life sentence, for Christ’s sake! And so are we.’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘If something’s happened to Georgia, it’s nothing to do with my lad, so don’t you go dragging his name through the mud.’

The dogs had begun to growl at such a low pitch that the floor almost vibrated. Wendy felt cold sweat on her back.

‘I care about my daughter.’ She stood up, clutching her bag to stop her hands from shaking. ‘I’ll do anything to protect her.
Anything
. And I want that message passed on.’

Burroughs studied her intently. One of the dogs started to rise but he nudged it with his foot. ‘You got other kids, yeah?’

‘Yes.’ Wendy braced herself for some kind of threat, but Burroughs had a reflective look in his eyes.

‘You probably think I’m making excuses for my boy, but it’s only ’cause I can’t give up on him. It ain’t easy, accepting your own kids have done terrible things. It hurts more than you can believe.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘I pray you never find out how that feels.’

G
eorgia cringed
a little as the man sat down and threw one arm along the back of the bench. She wasn’t sure why she’d nodded, rather than saying no. In the park, Amber and the others were staring in disbelief.

They think this is my brother – and the gossip is true
.

Then she remembered the faked picture they’d all been sharing. This guy next to her was nothing like Evan: he was shorter, heavier, with dark wavy hair and a rounder face. Quite cute, as well, though not as fit as he’d looked from a distance—

Amber’s seeing him at a distance!

The thought thrilled her. Maybe they’d get the impression that he was interested in her, making the rumours about Evan easier to shrug off.

He was wearing good clothes, too: Levi’s, a Jack Wills t-shirt and black Timberlands. After a couple of casual remarks about the weather, which she thought wise to ignore, he said, ‘Not much going on.’

‘Nah.’
Play it cool, Georgia.

‘Pretty dead, this town.’

‘It’s
sooo
boring,’ she agreed, and before she knew it they were chatting away like best buddies. His name was Milo, and he was starting uni at Winchester in a couple of months. In answer to her question, he said he was nineteen, though he looked a year or two older than that.

Then came the dreaded question: ‘Do you have a boyfriend right now?’

Georgia shook her head, inwardly furious that an image of Evan had flashed through her mind. Her feelings for him were so complicated, so painful that most of the time she buried them deep and tried to focus instead on Livvy, on imagining how it would be to live inside Livvy’s skin.

Anything but another day as Georgia the Savage.

Milo brought his left leg over his right, his knee gently bumping against her thigh. ‘You must get asked a lot.’

She shrugged, aware that she was blushing but unable to control it. Milo’s eyes were blue and bright, though there were dark crescents beneath them. He looked tired but also strangely energised, and she wondered if he was on something.

‘Boys around here are lame, I bet that’s what it is. Boys your own age, I mean.’ His dirty little laugh felt like it had poked his fingers through her eyes and opened up her brain.

Did he know about Evan
?

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’

Georgia gave a flick of her head: crazy thoughts. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Probably coming on too strong. Sorry.’ He smiled, holding eye contact, and said, ‘But you really are gorgeous, you know?’

She snorted. She didn’t believe it, but the compliment sent a warm glow through her all the same.

She found herself staring straight at Amber, and couldn’t resist a quick sarcastic grin. Looking in the same direction, Milo said, ‘Friends of yours?’

‘Not really.’ His phone buzzed, and with his attention on a text, it was easier to confess: ‘That girl with the blonde hair, she pretends to be my friend, but she’s an evil two-faced bitch.’

Milo grunted. ‘A couple of boys at my school once invited me to smoke weed in the local park. When I got there, they stole my phone and kicked me so hard in the balls I couldn’t move for about an hour!’

‘Oh no.’ Wincing, Georgia instinctively reached over and patted his leg.

‘After that, I was very careful who I made friends with.’ Milo gestured at the BitchWorld crowd. ‘You have to be the same.’

‘Yeah, I will, don’t worry.’

‘Good to hear it.’ He gave her a soft, affectionate slap on the arm. ‘So what are you doing tomorrow night?’

‘Tomorrow night?’ Repeating his question bought Georgia some time. ‘Why?’

He grinned. ‘Because I might be asking you out, that’s why.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Her heart was hammering away.
Stay cool
.

‘Nothing serious, just a drink somewhere.’

Then she remembered where she’d be tomorrow, but decided to play along. ‘Don’t have ID.’

‘We’ll go to Portsmouth. Plenty of pubs down there that don’t give a toss about ID.’

‘Nah, not Pompey.’ She shuddered. ‘Anyway, how would we get there?’

‘Drive, of course. Or take a cab.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘That’ll cost a fortune.’

‘So what? I’ve got a fortune.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘It’s true. My dad’s a millionaire.’ It didn’t come out as a boast, but as a simple fact, like saying,
My eyes are blue
.

‘Lucky you,’ she muttered, because her instinct was to believe him.
Shit: could this be any more perfect. . .?
‘I can’t, tomorrow. I’m going away.’

‘Really. Where to?’

Georgia said nothing. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Milo didn’t seem very surprised. A sudden terrible thought occurred to her:
he knows
.

S
he felt sick
, dizzy. Didn’t want to face him, but she had to.

‘Is this a set-up?’

For a second Milo looked worried – no, he looked absolutely shit scared – and Georgia knew she had guessed right.

‘You’re with them, aren’t you?’

‘Wh-what do you mean?’

‘You know.’ Georgia gestured angrily at the group in the park. ‘Fucking Amber and Paige. Are you related to one of them, is that it?’

Because wouldn’t that be perfect, from their point of view – for Georgia to be humiliated all over again by someone’s
brother
?

Milo had leaned over to look her right in the face. Now he slapped his hands on his knees and let out a spluttering laugh. ‘Why would you think that? I’ve never seen any of them in my life.’

She said nothing, glowering at Amber until the girl felt the attention, whereupon Georgia gave her the finger.

‘Listen,’ Milo said, ‘I have no idea what the problem is between you and that girl, but I swear it’s nothing to do with me.’

She ignored him. Amber’s retaliation was to start play-hugging one of the boys, pressing her tits against him for Georgia to see. Pathetic.

After a moment Milo put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry if I made you think—’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ She checked her phone. ‘I’ve gotta go, anyway.’

‘Will you give me your number?’ He waited for her to respond, his hand still in place. ‘How long are you away for?’

‘Ten days.’ She wriggled to let him know he should remove his hand. ‘Give me your number, then I’ll decide if I want to get in touch.’

He chuckled. ‘Good idea.’ He read off his number then pushed again, in a friendly way, to get hers, but Georgia wouldn’t budge.

They stood up at the same time, and she didn’t protest when he leaned in and kissed her, softly, on the cheek.

‘Enjoy that holiday. Where is it, again?’

‘Norfolk, near a village called Branham.’

‘A hotel?’

‘No, a house. My mum’s aunt used to live there. It’s right by the sea, though you can’t really go on the beach where we are. It’s all, like, marshes and stuff.’

‘Nice place to chill out, then.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ She glanced at the park, saw the whole gang were watching once again. She prayed that they’d seen the kiss.

‘Well, it was lovely to meet you,’ Milo said.

‘You, too.’ She stepped forward, landed a peck on the cheek then danced out of reach as he went to embrace her. ‘Text you next week, maybe.’

‘Please do,’ he said, and then called out, ‘See you again?’

Hurrying away, Georgia nodded but didn’t look back; in the hours that followed she kept replaying that line in her head, and each time it seemed less and less like a question.