What Came Before He Shot Her by Elizabeth George Page A

she went through the pockets of the jeans, where she found one packet of Wrigley’s spearmint and one of rolling papers. These she clutched in the hapless triumph of someone who sees the incarnation of the worst of her fears.
    She said, “_So_.”
    Ness said nothing.
    “What have you got to say?”
    Above them in the sitting room, the television went on, its sound turned to an irritating volume that told everyone within two hundred yards that someone in 84 Edenham Way was watching
Toy Story II
for the twelfth time. Kendra shot a look to Joel. He interpreted it and ducked up the stairs to deal with Toby and the television volume. He remained there, knowing the wisdom of keeping clear of explosive situ-ations.
    Kendra repeated her question to Ness. Ness reached for her packet of cigarettes and picked the book of matches from among the other contents of the rucksack now spread across the table.
    Kendra snatched them from her and threw them into the kitchen sink. She followed them with the cigarettes. Gesturing with the rolling papers, she said, “My God, what about your dad? He
started
with weed. You know that. He told you, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have pretended. Not with you. You even went with him to St. Aidan’s and waited for him in the crèche. During his meetings. He told me that, Ness. So what d’you think it was all about? Answer me. Tell me the truth. Do you think you’re immune?”
    Ness had only one way to survive a reference to her father, and that way was retreat: a distancing that she effected by allowing that hot stone always within her to grow in size until she could feel it climbing a burning path to reach the back of her tongue. Contempt was what she experienced when anger did its work upon her. Contempt for her father—which was the only safe emotion she could harbour towards him—and even more contempt for her aunt. She said, “What’re you twisted ’bout? I make rollies, innit. Shit, you the sort always t’ink the worse.”
    “Speak English like you were taught, Vanessa. And don’t tell me you’ve been making rollies when you’ve got a packet of cigarettes big as life inside that rucksack. Whatever else you think, I am
not
stupid.
    You’re smoking weed. You’re running round truant. What else are you doing?”
    Ness said, “I tol’ you I wa’n’t wearin that bloody kit.”
    “You mean me to think this is all a reaction to having to wear a school uniform you don’t like? What sort of fool do you think I am?
    Who’ve you been with all these weeks? What’ve you been doing?”
    Ness reached for the packet of Wrigley’s. She used it to gesture at her aunt, a movement that asked—with no little sarcastic intent—if she could chew a piece of gum since she wasn’t, apparently, going to be allowed to smoke. She said, “Nuffi nk.”
    “Nothing,” Kendra corrected her. “No-thing.
Nothing
. Say it.”
    “Nothing,” Ness said. She folded a piece of gum into her mouth.
    She played with its wrapper, rolling the foil around her index finger and keeping her gaze fixed on it.
    “Nothing with who, then?”
    Ness made no reply.
    “I asked you—”
    “Six an’ Tash,” she cut in. “All right? Six an’ Tash. We hang at her house. We listen to music. Tha’s it, innit.”
    “She’s your source? This Six?”
    “Come
on
. She’s my mate.”
    “So why haven’t I met her? Because she’s supplying you and you know I’ll twig it. Isn’t that right?”
    “Fuck it. I
tol’
you wha’ the papers ’s for. You goin t’ believe wha’
    you want to believe. ’Sides, not like you
wanted
to meet anyone, innit.”
    Kendra saw that Ness was trying to turn the tables, but she wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Instead she resorted to an anguished, “I can’t have this. What’s
happened
to you, Vanessa?” in that age-old parental cry of despair, which is generally followed by the internal query of, What did I do wrong?
    But Kendra didn’t follow up her first question with that