The Burning Girls by C. J. Tudor

Author:C. J. Tudor [Tudor, C. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-ONE

‘Stay the hell away from Wrigley. If you know what’s good for you.’

Fucking Rosie. The girl was a bitch and a bully, but was she also a liar? Flo was pretty sure Rosie Harper could twist the truth until it screamed. But there was something about her face when she issued her warning about Wrigley. Flo didn’t like it.

Flo had found the story online. It had headlined the local rag. A fire had been deliberately set in the sports hall of Ferndown Academy. It had devastated the hall but hadn’t reached the rest of the school. Firefighters had rescued a girl who had been trapped in a storeroom.

A pupil was arrested on suspicion of arson. There was no mention of the pupil being charged. Neither the alleged arsonist nor the girl were named. It might not even have been Wrigley. And, even if it was, if he hadn’t been charged, they obviously didn’t have enough evidence. It could all be gossip. Rumours spread like, well, wildfire, in schools.

Worst-case scenario, Wrigley had set the fire. That was bad, yes. But it didn’t mean he knew there was someone in the storeroom. Perhaps it was an accident.

On the other hand, how well did she really know him?

‘If I really wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t have told you about the well.’

She had tried to put it out of her mind when she got home, distracting herself with a book – an old Clive Barker. But it was no good. It was still there, like an itch. And then Mum had come in, rattling on about some stupid quiz at the pub. She had cracked. Lost her temper. She shouldn’t have taken it out on her mum. It wasn’t her fault, not really.

She lies back on her bed. What a shitshow. And the really, really crap thing? It isn’t even the arson that bothers her the most. It’s what Rosie had said about sucking Wrigley off. She’s more bothered that Rosie sucked his dick than the fact he could have burnt a girl to death. She’s jealous. Stupid. She only spent a few hours with him. But she had thought he was different. He’s the only friend she’s made here. And now it turns out he’s an arsonist and the sort of twat that would let a bitch like Rosie go down on him.

There’s a soft knock on the bedroom door.

‘Okay, I’m going.’

She doesn’t reply. Anger has filled her throat.

‘Love you.’

It’s not her fault.

‘Don’t get too drunk,’ she calls gruffly back.

She hears her mum go back into her room and then trudge downstairs. The front door slams and Flo is alone. She rolls over and tries, again, to concentrate on her book. But it’s too hot in the small room, even with the window open. And the claustrophobic silence of the cottage is distracting. She finds herself feeling tense, waiting for something to break it, even though she knows she is alone. What’s the scariest sound? A stair creaking in an empty house. The soft tread of non-existent feet.

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