87

‘THOSE WOMEN YOU KILLED, THE BOYS’ MOTHERS,’ SAYS Joanna. ‘My mother, too. Do you blame them for what happened? Do you think it’s their fault their sons did that to you?’

The girl has begun spending time with her, as though she too feels the loneliness of this place. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they just sit in silence, listening to each other breathing.

‘They brought them up to believe they could have anything they wanted,’ answers the girl. ‘Anything that took their fancy and to hell with the consequences.’

‘Is that why you did it?’ asks Joanna, after a moment.

‘The next day, when they met us at the police station,’ says the girl, ‘their dads were embarrassed, they couldn’t look at us. They were ashamed of their sons. They didn’t want them facing charges, I’m not saying that, but they weren’t trying to make out it was all our fault, that we’d asked for it.’

‘And the mothers did?’ asks Joanna.

She hears the hiss of a sharp breath. ‘Those women weren’t prepared to consider, even for a second, that their precious baby boys could do anything wrong,’ the voice says. ‘So we had to be the evil ones, my sister and me.’

Joanna thinks for a moment. There is something she wants to say. It feels like a horrible betrayal, but it’s her life at stake. ‘I understand that,’ she says. ‘But the people who really hurt you and your sister, they’re getting away with it.’

She hears a soft laugh, then the girl leans in closer again. ‘No, Joanna,’ trickles a voice into her ear. ‘Killing them quickly – which is what I would have to do – would be letting them get away with it. They wouldn’t even see it coming. This way, they’ll suffer for the rest of their lives. Just like me.’