Better Left Buried by Emma Haughton

the plastic bag. Peers inside. A strong smell of grease and vinegar wafts into the air.
    I nod again, using the back of my hand to wipe my face, and take a deep breath to steady the thump of my heart. “It’s okay,” I stutter. “It’s not your fault. You gave me a bit of a shock, that’s all.”
    He hands the bag to me. “No damage done – at least not to the food. Do you want me to walk you home?”
    I muster a smile and shake my head. “No, really, thanks…I’m fine. Just tired. You know…”
    Pete gives me a sympathetic look, and I remember him from the funeral. Sitting at the back with a group from Max’s year in college. All of them dressed in black, clearly shocked and bewildered at finding themselves there, in that chapel, staring at a coffin. Like they, too, were struggling to understand how someone they’d known so well could suddenly be gone.
    â€œYou sure you’re all right, Sarah? You seem kind of shaken up.”
    â€œI’m fine really.” I grasp the bag. “I’d better get back or these will have to go straight in the bin.”
    â€œOkay,” Pete says, looking dubious, but I’m already heading down the alleyway as fast as I can.
    â€œTake care,” I hear him call after me, but this time I don’t turn round.

9
monday 15th august
    Coming out of the supermarket, I spot a figure sitting on the opposite wall, eyes fixed on her phone. My heart gives a little skip of pleasure.
    Lizzie!
    I walk over. She lifts her gaze and sees me approaching, quickly shoving her mobile into her pocket as she gets up to greet me.
    â€œHey,” I say. “You got my text then?” I hesitate for a moment but can’t help myself. I throw my arms round her neck and hug her tight.
    Lizzie grins as we pull apart and I can’t describe my relief. I didn’t hear from her all weekend, was starting to think she was ignoring me. That our argument in her garden was actually a break-up.
    â€œSorry I didn’t call back.” She goes a bit pink. “It was crazy at the bakery and Mum was piling me up with stuff to do at home.”
    I smile, though truthfully I’m not sure why that would stop her texting me at least. And clearly she knows it’s a lame excuse.
    â€œC’mon,” she says, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s get a coffee.”
    We head towards the local Costa. I’m walking on air, buoyant with the hope that everything might be okay with us. I’ll talk to her, I think. Try to get to the bottom of what’s been going on.
    Because I can’t bear the thought that anything should come between us. With Max gone, Dad away and Mum out of action, Lizzie feels like the only person I have left.
    Inside the cafe, Lizzie insists on buying one of those huge chocolate pastries for us to share. We sink into a couple of armchairs near the window. I stir my coffee, while she tears off bits of pastry and stuffs them into her mouth.
    â€œI’d have thought you’d have had enough of those at the bakery,” I say and Lizzie laughs.
    â€œNah. I never touch the stuff in there. I’ve seen what goes in them.”
    I watch her for another minute or so. There’s something restless about her. Edgy even. But she does at least seem genuinely pleased to see me.
    â€œHey, you going to the results party?” I ask, remembering the invite Abigail posted on Facebook yesterday.
    â€œNot sure.” Lizzie wrinkles her nose. “Maybe.”
    I keep my face blank, so she can’t read my frustration. The idea of Lizzie missing a major party would have been unthinkable a few months ago; now it just feels normal.
    Normal, but exasperating.
    A ding from Lizzie’s phone. She digs it out her pocket and checks the screen. Shoves it back again with a hint of disappointment in her expression. As if she’d been waiting for something – and that wasn’t