Cross Her Heart: The gripping new psychological thriller from the #1 Sunday Times bestselling author. Sarah Pinborough
Cross Her Heart: The gripping new psychological thriller from the #1 Sunday Times bestselling author
fingers fly over the keypad of her phone, and I know mine will buzz in a minute once she’s sent out the message to our MyBitches WhatsApp group. Lizzie came up with the name. We are each other’s bitches after all, she’d said, and we’d laughed. She was right. I can’t believe I’ve only been at Larkrise Swimmers for a year. I’ve only known these girls for about ten months. It feels like we’ve been friends forever. Well, I kind of knew Angela before because we’re in the same school, but we’ve never been in any of the same sets so she was only a face in a crowd, like I was to her. Now look at us. MyBitches. It still makes me smile. But I think I prefer The Fabulous Four, as our coach calls us. We’re his winners. We may compete as solo swimmers but we drive each other to be the best. We clicked right away, from the first morning practice, like jigsaw pieces slotting into place around each other, coming together to make a brilliant picture and put Larkrise on the competitive map.
We’re different ages, and in a lot of ways, it’s better. Gives us more to talk about. Me and Ange are the only ones at King Edward’s Grammar, Lizzie is in sixth form at Harris Academy, Arse Academy as it’s known, the shithole school in the middle of town, and Jodie is a first year at Allerton Uni. She’s nearly twenty-two and competes with the adults but she’s one of us really and she doesn’t seem to care we’re younger than her. She trains with us because her lectures clash with the adult sessions and she says she prefers mornings. She doesn’t stay in halls but at her mum’s house here in Elleston and so she hasn’t really got into uni life. She helps us with our techniques and she’s pretty cool. She never makes me feel like I’m way younger than her. Not that five years is that much younger, but the sixth formers at KEGS make you feel like they’re thirty or something, constantly looking down at us.
‘Lizzie’s in,’ Ange mutters, focused on her phone, as if I can’t read my own pinging matching messages. ‘Jodie says her mum’s not back this weekend. She’ll double-check but she’s pretty sure.’
Another bonus to having a friend at uni – much more relaxed parenting. Jodie’s mum does interior design or something for big posh houses, and she has a boyfriend in Paris where she’s currently living while she works on some project. It all sounds very glamorous, but more importantly means she’s hardly ever home. I’ve never met her and Jodie pretty much has the place to herself.
‘Cool,’ I say. I want to check my Facebook, but I’ve told myself I won’t until the end of lunch. I pick at the dregs of my cold jacket potato instead. My shoulders ache from the butterfly this morning – not my best stroke – and the gym session last night. We push hard, but I’ve been slacking a bit recently and I’m feeling it. I need to get my shit together or it will start to show to the others, or worse, I’ll start letting the club down. I’ve always had to work harder than them to stay fit. Lizzie is naturally toned and runs like a gazelle. Jodie is only five foot three, but she’s all muscle, lean, angry and boyish in her swimsuit and Ange has the curves. Her own personal floats, as Lizzie would put it. Not that her boobs stop her cutting fast through the water. All her femininity dissolves as soon as she dives under the surface. I’m not quite sure how I fit into the pack. More ass than tit is how I overheard twatty Jack Marshall talking about me last term – it still stings badly – and he probably had a point. I’ve inherited my mum’s pear shape. Any extra weight goes straight to my thighs, and they’re big enough even when I’m barely eating.
I may tell Mum that Jodie’s mum is back this weekend, just to stop her worrying. I feel a flash of guilt. Of all of our families, my mum is the most protective. I never noticed it much before. It’s always been us two together – and Auntie Marilyn – and I know she loves me more than anything, and I do love her too, but I’m sixteen now and I have to have my own space, like the rest of my friends do. Text me when you get there. Text me when you’re leaving. I’ll come and pick you up, no, really, it’s no problem. I know she means well, but no one else’s mum does that and I can’t help but feel embarrassed. It makes me feel like a child, and I’m not. I’m pretty much a woman. I have my own secrets now.
Our phones buzz again and we laugh in unison at Lizzie’s message. A gross spunking dick gif.
‘So, are you gonna?’
Ange always does this weird half-American accent whenever the subject is sex. She breaks off a piece of doughnut and pops it in her mouth, but her brown eyes are sharp on me as she chews.
I shrug, casual, although my heart trips. Am I? I said I’d do it when I was sixteen, and part of me wants to – at least used to want to – but I don’t see why it’s so urgent I do it straight away. But Courtney is hot, and he’s totally different and more than anything he’s cool. Cool boys have never really liked me before and I kind of feel I owe him now. He’s probably not used to waiting, even though we’ve only been sort of seeing each other a couple of months.
‘Probably,’ I say, and Ange breaks into an excited grin.
‘Oh my God, I bet he’s totally experienced. Way better for your first time.’
‘He’s been pretty good so far.’ I stick my tongue out at her, wiggle it crudely, and wink.
This time she shrieks loud enough to make several girls at other tables turn and stare.
The banter comes easily and I know I probably will do it with Courtney this weekend, if only to get it out of the way, and it’s not like we haven’t done most other things anyway apart from that, but I don’t feel the way I used to about him any more. I’m not overwhelmed by him like I was at the start. Not since … well … not since the messages started. I’ve got a new secret now. One I haven’t shared even with the girls. I can’t. It’s something which is entirely mine and it’s making Courtney and all his cool seem like teenage-boy bullshit.
My new Facebook friend. Someone I can really talk to.
The bell rings out overhead signalling the end of lunch and my heart races. I made it through the hour without looking at Messenger. I don’t like to check in front of Ange or the others and I’ve turned my notifications off. We have sharp eyes as well as strong muscles. We demand to know everything of each other. If it pinged, I’d have to share. We are one.
As Ange disappears off to Geography, I clear our trays before going to English revision. Only then do I click into FB Messenger. My heart thumps, but quickly falls. No new messages. I can’t believe how disappointed I feel. It’s my sixteenth birthday. It’s important. I thought he cared.
Maybe later, I tell myself, as I pocket my phone, determined not to be too upset. To believe in him like he said I should. There’ll be a message later.
LISA
It’s gone way better than I expected, and two hours after our meeting starts, the deal is done. I’m still trembling, but this time it’s with pride, exhilaration, and general relief at not messing it up. I walk tall as I lead Simon through to Penny’s office, and all heads turn towards us, even Marilyn’s. It’s not only that I’ve obviously negotiated the contract and it’s a big one, it’s also that Simon Manning is not a man you can ignore. He’s not handsome in a smooth estate agent way like Toby, all hair product and overpowering aftershave, but he exudes something attractive. Handsome probably isn’t the right word. His nose is slightly misshapen as if it’s been broken a few times and he’s got the thickened out body of someone who used to play rugby but maybe doesn’t so much any more. Still physically fit, but with less intent. There’s grey hair at his temples, and he has a confidence about him which is alluring and friendly. But then he should be confident, I think, as I shake his hand and say goodbye for now, trying not to enjoy the feel of his strong grip, and leave him with Penny. He’s about to open his fifth hotel and health club. He can’t be much more than forty and he’s well on the way to building an empire.
I close Penny’s office door behind