Part 43 (1/2)

At that moment, Finn looks around. 'Where's Sacha?'

'She'll be here in a minute,' says Dad quickly, with a glance at me. 'Shall we go and make Bleater a bottle?'

Something is very wrong. I stand bewildered, holding Finn's little backpack. Bianka takes my arm and leads me out of Kit's earshot. 'She's in the hut,' she whispers tersely.

I stare. 'Tell me she hasn't got hold of anything.'

'I'm so sorry! Look, I shadowed her all day, every day, until she was ready to punch me. But yesterday lunchtime I had to go and help a group of Year Nines with their history project . . . I got volunteered.' Bianka's mouth twists in regret.

'Yes?' I'm impatient. 'Go on.'

'She must've borrowed a phone, texted a dealer and met him outside school. That's all I can think of. I noticed her coming back, and she said she'd just nipped out to the dairy for a chocolate bar. But I could tell from the way she looked at me . . . you know?'

'Oh, yes. I know.' I can easily picture the new, deceitful Sacha. I know that creature all too well.

'She took some last night. I don't know how, I don't know when, but she was manic, up and down all night. I didn't want to spoil Finn's homecoming so I thought I'd just keep an eye on her, which was a stupid mistake because as soon as you'd gone this morning, she disappeared. It took me a while to find her in the smoko hut.'

'Okay.' Rage and sorrow and fear have been seething in me for months, and now they overflow. I know what I'm going to do. I begin to back away, ready to run. 'Have you spoken to her?'

Bianka shakes her head miserably. 'She wouldn't even open the door to your gorgeous dad. She went psycho. She-'

I don't need to hear any more. I sprint past the kitchen door and along the path to the hut. Its windows have been covered again, and the door is locked. I hammer on the flaky wood. Shards of paint fall away. 'Sacha!' I bellow.

There's clumsy movement inside, and the sound of something clattering; then a muttered 'get f.u.c.ked'. It isn't a girl speaking. It's the voice of that horrible Sacha beast.

Resolve settles in me like icy water. It weighs me down and makes me cold. 'I won't get f.u.c.ked,' I say, very clearly. 'It's time for you to listen. So listen carefully. Are you listening?'

A snarled obscenity.

'Do you know what really happened to Finn?'

Silence.

I lean my face close to the door, my lips almost touching it. 'I'll tell you. You thought creatures were coming to get you. Remember that, Sacha? They were creeping along the balcony and into your bedroom. You were scared out of your wits.'

'Shut up!' The voice is coa.r.s.e. Ugly. 'Shut the f.u.c.k up.'

'All night long they were whispering. You saw their gleaming eyes, a face at the window, crawling things. And in the morning you weren't in bed, were you? No. You were sitting in your cupboard. How do you think you got there?'

I feel a powerful thud just in front of my face, followed by the smas.h.i.+ng of gla.s.s. A bottle, I'm sure, hurled at the door. Then another. The old timber s.h.i.+vers at each impact.

I raise my voice. 'During the night, you heard something on the balcony. You ran out there. Remember, Sacha? Remember unlocking your door and running outside? Yes. I think you do.'

Another smash. The door buckles slightly.

'You caught a creature prowling around behind your door. You actually caught one! So what did you do? You hurled it over the rail.' I'm choking on my rage. It fills my chest. I have to breathe hard before my next words. 'That was Finn.'

I want her to taste my horror. I feel as though I'm slicing into this imposter with a sharp knife; I have to cut the real Sacha out of her. She must have run out of bottles to throw, because this time it sounds more like a kick. 'He's got no spleen,' I shriek, twisting the knife. 'He's got a broken arm and they had to dig two pieces of skull out of his brain. G.o.d knows what the future holds for him. And you did this to him!'

Volcanic pressure is building behind my forehead. I boot the door myself, kick it with all my fury. I kick five, ten times until it splinters and caves, and my foot goes through.

I hear the bolt drawing back. Sacha is standing in the doorway, her eyes black, her mouth open in a soundless scream.

'It's not true,' she wails. 'It's not true.'

'Oh yes, it is. I saw you do it. Shall I go and tell him? Shall I tell Finn how much his sister loves him?'

I see it in her eyes. The knowledge. The shock. Then she staggers back into the hut, pressing both arms over her face.

'Where is it?' I tear down the curtains and begin to ransack the room. I'm seriously considering whether to scatter petrol and set a match to this lair. I gather up a home-made pipe and lighters and tape and all the other bits of paraphernalia, and throw everything into her bin. 'I said, where is it?'

'I got it on credit. Just a point. It's all gone.'

'Where is it?'

She pulls one of the tiny bags from inside her bra. A few crystals; innocent, like rock salt. 'I shouldn't be on this earth,' she weeps, as I wash them down the plughole.

'No,' I say bitterly. 'You probably shouldn't.'

I hear footsteps outside. Dad stops at the door of the hut, taking in the scene in an instant. 'Finn's flaked out. He's asking for you, Martha.' He jerks his head back towards the house. 'Go on. Go and make him comfy, poor little man. Maybe I can help here.'

When I leave them, my father is sitting on the floor beside Sacha. He's doing what I haven't been able to do; what I think I may never again be able to do. He's put his arms around his granddaughter, and is telling her she is still loved.

When I look out of the kitchen window ten minutes later, Dad's car has gone. At lunchtime Finn asks for him and Sacha. I say they've gone for a walk, and Kit stares at me. After all, this is Finn's big homecoming day. Charlie and Dad spent yesterday evening making a cake and banners; the idea of anyone swanning off for a stroll is bound to raise an eyebrow.

After lunch, Finn falls asleep on the sofa. Charlie glues himself to his twin, warm and contented, squashed up close. Bianka sits nearby, reading a book. I know my time is running out. Well, let Kit tackle me. I've come to a decision.

He's loading the dishwasher when he finally asks the dreaded question. 'She's relapsed again, hasn't she?' he says quietly. When I nod, he slams the dishwasher door shut with his foot. 'f.u.c.k.'

'Kit.'

'Stupid girl,' he growls. 'Okay, okay. We've got to get help.'

'Kit.' I feel a cold sweat on my forehead, as though I'm about to be sick. I'm quivering at the top of a high diving board, gazing down, down, knowing I have to jump. This could be the end of everything.

'Get on to a counsellor,' he's saying. 'Tell them all about-'

I have to shout over him. 'Kit! Please listen.'

He stops talking. I shut my eyes for a second, and then I hurl myself off the board.

'She was paranoid,' I say. 'She thought there were evil beings stalking her. I think maybe it started months ago, the paranoia, but it got worse and worse. Sometimes she heard them whispering, even caught glimpses of them. They terrified her. Then one night, the night you came home from Dublin, she actually caught one lurking outside her bedroom door.'

Kit has turned to stone, the colour rapidly leaving his face.