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felt sick with the loss of her.
    â€œYou haven’t got a temperature,” Rachel said. “Do you feel okay?”
    â€œI’m not that hungry, actually,” I said, pushing my plate away from me. The smell of the food made me want to gag. “Do you mind if I just go up to bed?”
    â€œSure. Do you want anything?”
    â€œI’m just tired, I think.”
    â€œWell, go up then. I’ll come up in a bit and see how you are.”
    I climbed into bed with all my clothes on and I wrapped the duvet around me. It felt comforting and I was warm. I closed my eyes and turned myself over onto my back, ready to try to feign sleep. It felt like a familiar thing to do, to lie down, to close my eyes, to shut out the world. I knew I’d lain like this many times before when I was Emma; I’d buried myself in duvets and blankets — cocoonlike — and it was reassuring. I could hear Rachel scraping the plates, and the general kitchen clatter below me as she loaded the dishwasher, and I knew she’d be up soon.
    And then the phone rang downstairs. Rachel answered. It was Grillie. I could tell it was her from the way Rachel chatted on. And then she was quieter, listening. “Right,” she said. “Okay … Who…? What do you mean…? Today?” There was a pause. “Right … I’ll talk to her and let you know … Of course…”
    And then she hung up, and I lay still and closed my eyes, waiting for her. But she never came to check on me like she said she would.

 
    thursday
    7
    W HEN I GOT UP the next day I was completely starving. I’d slept in my uniform. I should have put on a clean shirt, clean tights, but I didn’t care about changing now. I was just so hungry. I got straight out of bed and went downstairs and had a pile of toast and some juice and then grabbed some biscuits, a banana, and my water bottle and stuffed it all in my bag. Rachel had left early for work, and I was glad that I could just take what I wanted without her asking too many questions. I raided the back of the cupboard for chocolate and found some. Brilliant. I was going to need it. Because when I’d woken up it had come to me — what I had to do. I’d skip school, just one more time, just this morning — school wouldn’t expect to see me after yesterday anyway. I’d sort out a sick note later. I had to go to the library — see if I could find something about Catherine’s death. Something in an old newspaper report. Something that might tell me more. Because the thought of talking to Frances again was just too hard. Talking to her had frightened me. She was old and ill and I didn’t want to make her worse. I couldn’t bear the thought that I might do that — upset her. Not again.
    I picked my bag up off the table and slung it onto my back, ready to leave.
    My phone rang in my pocket. Rachel’s work number.
    â€œHi,” she said. “Did you get my note?”
    â€œWhat note?”
    â€œThe one on the kitchen table, Ana.”
    â€œNo…” I looked around for it, but I could see nothing.
    â€œNevermind,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
    â€œBetter,” I said.
    â€œGood. Did you eat this morning?”
    â€œYes. Just toast.”
    â€œHave you left the house yet?”
    â€œI…” I didn’t know what to say. Why was she asking me? Did she know I wasn’t going to go in? That I had ditched yesterday? If she did, why wasn’t she saying anything about it?
    â€œAna? Are you there?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo, have you left the house yet or not?”
    â€œNo, not yet,” I said. “I’m — I’m just packing my bag now…”
    â€œIt’s just I seem to have lost my phone. I thought I’d left it at work, but it isn’t here. Can you see it anywhere?”
    â€œWhere would it be?” I said.
    â€œI