“Rafe’s been getting that exact same phone call for as long as I’ve known him: you’re pathetic, you’re useless, I’m ashamed to mention you to my friends. I’m pretty sure his whole childhood was like that. His father disliked him almost from the moment he was born-it happens sometimes, you know. He wanted a big oaf of a son who would play rugby and grope his secretary and throw up outside chi-chi nightclubs, and instead he got Rafe. He made his life a misery. You didn’t see Rafe when we first started college: this skinny prickly creature, so defensive that if you teased him the tiniest bit he would absolutely take your head off. I wasn’t even sure I liked him, at first. I just hung around with him because I liked Abby and Daniel, and they obviously thought he was all right.”
“He’s still skinny,” I said. “And he’s still prickly, too. He’s a little bollocks when he feels like it.”
Justin shook his head. “He’s a million times better than he was. And it’s because he doesn’t have to think about those awful parents of his any more, at least not often. And Daniel… Have you ever, once, heard him mention his childhood?”
I shook my head.
“Neither have I. I know his parents are dead, but I don’t know when or how, or what happened to him afterwards-where he lived, with who, nothing. Abby and I got awfully drunk together one night and started being silly about that, making up childhoods for Daniel: he was one of those feral children raised by hamsters, he grew up in a brothel in Istanbul, his parents were CIA sleepers who got taken out by the KGB and he escaped by hiding in the washing machine… It was funny at the time, but the fact is, his childhood can’t have been too pleasant, can it, for him to be so secretive about it? You’re bad enough…” Justin shot me a quick glance. “But at least I know you had chicken pox, and you learned to ride horses. I don’t know anything like that about Daniel. Not a thing.”
I hoped to God we wouldn’t run into a situation where I needed to show off my equestrian skills. “And then there’s Abby,” Justin said. “Has Abby ever talked to you about her mother?”
“Bits,” I said. “I got the idea.”
“It’s worse than she makes it sound. I actually met the woman-you weren’t here yet, it was back in about third year. We were all over at Abby’s flat one evening, and her mother showed up, banging on the door. She was… God. The way she was dressed-I don’t know if she’s actually a prostitute, or just… well. She was obviously out of it; she kept shouting at Abby, but I barely understood a word she said. Abby shoved something into her hand-money, I’m sure, and you know how broke Abby’s always been-and practically hauled her out of the door. She was white as a ghost, Abby was; I thought she was going to faint.” Justin looked up at me anxiously, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Don’t tell her I told you that.”
“I won’t.”
“She’s never mentioned it since; I doubt she wants to talk about it now. Which is sort of my point. I’m sure you’ve got reasons, too, why you thought the no-pasts thing was a good idea. Maybe what happened changed all that, I don’t know, but… just remember you’re still fragile, right now. Just give it a little while before you do anything irrevocable. And if you do decide to get in touch with your parents, maybe the best thing would be not to tell the others. It would… Well. It would hurt them.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “You think?”
“Well, of course. We’re…” He was still messing with the cling-film; there was a faint pink flush creeping up his cheeks. “We love you, you know. As far as we’re concerned, we’re your family now. All of one another’s family-I mean, that’s not right, but you know what I mean…”
I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Course I do,” I said. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Justin’s phone beeped. “That’ll be Rafe,” he said, fishing it out of his pocket. “Yes: wanting to know where we are.”
He started texting Rafe back, peering nearsightedly at the phone, and reached over to squeeze my shoulder with his free hand. “Just have a think about it,” he said. “And eat your lunch.”
“I see you’ve been playing Who’s the Daddy,” Frank said, that night. He was eating something-a burger, maybe, I could hear paper rustling. “And Justin’s out, in more ways than one. Place your bets: Danny Boy or Pretty Boy?”
“Or neither,” I said. I was on my way to my lurk spot-I was ringing Frank almost as soon as I got out the back gate, these days, rather than wait even a few extra minutes to hear if he had anything new on Lexie. “Our killer knew her, remember; no way to be sure just how well. That’s not what I was after, anyway. I was chasing down the no-pasts thing, trying to work out what these four aren’t sharing.”
“And all you got was a nice collection of sob stories. I grant you the no-pasts thing is fucked up, but we already knew they were a bunch of weirdos. No news there.”
