Hold Your Breath by Caroline Green Page B

down at both items with a frown.
    ‘Look,’ Tara said, ‘ I —’
    She had been about to make up an excuse but couldn’t think of why she would be looking down the side of her big brother’s bed. Beck sat down heavily on the sofa opposite her, his
muscled shoulders still covered in drops of water, his face serious for once.
    ‘It’s still happening, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘The whole spooky finding-stuff trick?’
    Tara kept her eyes cast down. Tears were rising dangerously inside her. She nodded quickly, once, not trusting herself to speak.
    ‘Tar?’ Her brother’s voice was low and gentle. ‘Look at me, okay?’
    She dragged her gaze up to meet his. Her eyes were now glittering and wet.
    ‘It’s okay,’ said Beck gently. ‘It’ll be our little secret, yeah? No need for the olds to know, is there?’ There was a long pause. ‘Look,’ he
continued, ‘I know it was rough on you, what happened back there, but it was really bad for Mum and Dad too.’
    ‘I know that,’ said Tara thickly, swallowing hard.
    ‘But do you know
all
of it, though?’ said Beck. ‘How bad it got? About how they only just avoided criminal charges?’
    Tara sucked in her breath. She shook her head, speechless for a moment.
    Beck’s expression softened. ‘They wanted it kept quiet. I only found out by accident,’ he said gently. ‘Anyway, Dad managed to talk the police out of it. The boy’s
mum . . . well, she would have had you hanged, drawn and quartered. If it was up to her, we’d probably all be banged up. Not to mention how the boy’s dad kicked off. It was really
embarrassing for the police.’
    ‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ snapped Tara. She grabbed one of the cushions and squashed it against her damp face. She said something that was lost in the satin fabric.
    ‘What?’ said Beck. ‘I can’t hear you, because you have a cushion stuck to your face.’
    Tara flopped back in the seat, the cushion in her lap. ‘I
said
, I can’t help it. It’s not like I chose to be a weirdo. I’m not even a weirdo who gets it
right.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Beck with a smile. ‘But you’re
our
weirdo, eh?’
    Tara shot her brother a disgusted look and then lobbed the cushion, which he caught with one hand.
    ‘All I’m saying is let’s keep this under the radar, yeah?’ He paused. ‘Oh and cheers. Sara was really upset about that earring.’
    Tara nodded. Her brother got up, wafting Lynx. But when he reached the door he turned back, his face serious again.
    ‘It’s only phones and stuff, though?’ he said.
    Tara breathed slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth as he spoke.
    There was a pause. ‘Tar?’
    ‘Yeah,’ she said, avoiding his eye. ‘Only phones and stuff.’
    She went through to her bedroom and closed the door, before gently turning the key in the lock. For a moment she lay her forehead against the smooth wood, hearing Beck
whistling in his room. No doubt his thoughts were already about Sara’s gratitude later or whether Arsenal would get through to the next round of the Cup. How lucky he was. He had no idea what
it was like being her.
    A freak. And one step short of a murderer to boot.
    She knew what she had to do when she felt like this.
    Her hands were shaking as she opened her wardrobe. She reached to the very back of the shelf at the top. Rooting under the tangle of jumpers, her fingers finally found the cool metal lid of the
biscuit tin.
    Taking it carefully over to the bed, she stared down at it. A familiar nauseous heat seeped through her. She had been trying hard not to look in here recently. She’d even contemplated
getting rid of the box and its painful contents a few weeks ago. She’d reasoned there was no point in keeping it. She knew what Mum would say. That it was morbid. And didn’t people
deserve a second chance, sometimes?
    Maybe not Tara though. And forcing herself to look in the box reminded her all over again. It hurt. And the pain was what she needed