Free Beautiful Malice by Rebecca James Page A

after, responsible for the smooth running of her life, with no capacity to desire anything for myself. My main hope for happiness now is Sarah. If she’s okay, if she can live a life free of tragedy and heartache, then I can consider myself satisfied. But that’s the most that I’m willing to expect for myself now, Sarah’s contentment; loving her is the only emotional investment in life that I’m willing to make.

12
    “S o we’ll see you Friday evening, then?” my mother says.
    “Yes.”
    I’m just about to say good-bye and hang up the phone when she asks, “Why don’t you bring your new friend with you? Why don’t you bring Alice? We’d love to meet her.”
    I doubt that Mom and Dad really want Alice to come; they no longer appear to enjoy any type of social interaction. It’s a strain to laugh and smile and make conversation when the only thing you can really think of is the death of your child—it’s a subject that is impossible to bring up without frightening people away. But I appreciate that she’s making an effort for my sake, that she wants my life to be as normal as possible.
    I’ve thought of introducing Alice to my parents, but I’ve always decided against it. My parents are so sad, so quiet, that it can sometimes be hard for people to know how to behave around them. And I haven’t yet told Alice about Rachel. So she would doubtless find their intense seriousness, their inability to laugh, quite disconcerting.
    “I don’t know, Mom,” I say. “She’s probably busy.”
    “Oh please, darling. Please just ask her, at least. I know we’re dull, I know it’s probably a drag, but it would be really nice to see a new face. And it would do your father a world of good to see you happy and having some fun with a friend your own age.”
    It’s so rare for Mom to ask something of me, and she sounds so genuinely keen for me to bring Alice, that I agree to ask. I promise to let her know the next day whether Alice will be coming or not. She wants time to buy some extra food.
    Alice says yes, she’d love to come, and she laughs and says that she’s been waiting for me to ask.
    I nevitably, on our first night there, Rachel’s name is mentioned. But I manage to change the subject quickly and so avoid the awkwardness of having to tell Alice what happened beneath the curious stares of Mom and Dad. They would certainly wonder why I’d never told Alice before.
    But I know that I’m going to have to tell her. There’s no way we can get through an entire weekend without Rachel’s name coming up again. So when Alice and I say good night to my parents and go upstairs to bed, I ask her to come into my room for a minute.
    “Why?” she whispers, giggling. “Have you got a secret stash of drugs in there?”
    “I just want to tell you something.”
    Alice looks at me wide-eyed, surprised by the tone of my voice. “Okay,” she agrees. “Just let me pee first. I won’t be a sec.”
    When she returns we sit on my bed, facing each other, our legs crossed.
    “I had a sister,” I say matter-of-factly. “Rachel. She was murdered.”
    “What?” Alice leans forward, frowns. “What did you say?”
    I wait. I know that she has heard me and just needs time to process the information. It’s always like this when you first tell someone. Always hard to believe at first.
    “Tell me,” she says eventually.
    And I start to talk, and as I talk I sob quietly. I tell Alice everything. The entire story, starting from the moment when Carly and Rachel and I were having coffee all those years ago, the moment I decided that we would go to the party. And I cry with remembered horror, but also with relief that I’m finally telling someone, and I talk and talk and cry some more. And Alice just listens. She doesn’t say anything, or ask questions, but she keeps her hand on my knee the whole time.
    “Oh my God,” she says when I finally finish. “You poor thing. Your poor family. Why didn’t you tell me before? Oh