Jackson - A Good Girls Guide to Murder

First published in Great Britain in 2019

by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright 2019 Holly Jackson

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 9318 1
Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 9384 6

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

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To Mum and Dad,

this first one is for you.

Contents

Pip knew where they lived.

Everyone in Little Kilton knew where they lived.

Their home was like the towns own haunted house; peoples footsteps quickened as they walked by and their words strangled and died in their throats. Shrieking children would gather on their walk home from school, daring one another to run up and touch the front gate.

But it wasnt haunted by ghosts, just three sad people trying to live their lives as before. A house not haunted by flickering lights or spectral falling chairs, but by dark spray-painted letters of Scum Family and stone-shattered windows.

Pip had always wondered why they didnt move. Not that they had to; they hadnt done anything wrong. But she didnt know how they lived like that.

Pip knew a great many things; she knew that hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia was the technical term for the fear of long words, she knew that babies were born without kneecaps, she knew verbatim the best quotes from Plato and Cato, and that there were more than four thousand types of potato. But she didnt know how the Singhs found the strength to stay here. Here, in Kilton, under the weight of so many widened eyes, of the comments whispered just loud enough to be heard, of neighbourly small talk never stretching into long talk any more.

It was a particular cruelty that their house was so close to Little Kilton Grammar School, where both Andie Bell and Sal Singh had gone, where Pip would return for her final year in a few weeks when the August-pickled sun dipped into September.

Pip stopped and rested her hand on the front gate, instantly braver than half the towns kids. Her eyes traced up the path to the front door. It might only look like a few feet but there was a rumbling chasm between where she stood and over there. It was possible that this was a very bad idea; she had considered that. The morning sun was hot and she could already feel her knee pits growing sticky in her jeans. A bad idea or a bold idea. And yet, historys greatest minds always advised bold over safe; their words good padding for even the worst ideas.

Snubbing the chasm with the soles of her shoes, she walked up to the door and, pausing for just a second to check she was sure, knocked three times. Her tense reflection stared back at her: the long dark hair sun-dyed a lighter brown at the tips, the pale face, despite a week just spent in the south of France, the sharp muddy green eyes braced for impact.

The door opened with the clatter of a falling chain and a double-locked click.

Hello? he said, holding the door half open, his hand folded over the side. Pip blinked to break her stare, but she couldnt help it. He looked so much like Sal: the Sal she knew from all those television reports and newspaper pictures. The Sal fading from her adolescent memory. Ravi had his brothers messy black side-swept hair, thick arched eyebrows and oaken-hued skin.

Hello? he said again.

Um... Pips put-on-the-spot charmer reflex kicked in too late. Her brain was busy processing that, unlike Sal, he had a dimple in his chin, just like hers. And hed grown even taller since she last saw him. Um, sorry, hi. She did an awkward half-wave that she immediately regretted.

Hi?

Hi, Ravi, she said. I... you dont know me... Im Pippa Fitz-Amobi. I was a couple of years below you at school before you left.

OK...

I was just wondering if I could borrow a jiffy of your time? Well, not a jiffy... Did you know a jiffy is an actual measurement of time? Its one one-hundredth of a second, so... can you maybe spare a few sequential jiffies?

Oh god, this is what happened when she was nervous or backed into a corner; she started spewing useless facts dressed up as bad jokes. And the other thing: nervous Pip turned four strokes more posh, abandoning middle class to grapple for a poor imitation of upper. When had she ever seriously said jiffy before?

What? Ravi asked, looking confused.

Sorry, never mind, Pip said, recovering. So Im doing my EPQ at school and

Whats EPQ?

Extended Project Qualification. Its a project you work on independently, alongside A levels. You can pick any topic you want.

Oh, I never got that far in school, he said. Left as soon as I could.

Er, well, I was wondering if youd be willing to be interviewed for my project.

Whats it about? His dark eyebrows hugged closer to his eyes.

Um... its about what happened five years ago.

Ravi exhaled loudly, his lip curling up in what looked like pre-sprung anger.

Why? he said.

Because I dont think your brother did it and Im going to try to prove it.

Pippa Fitz-Amobi

EPQ 01/08/2017

Interview with Ravi Singh booked in for Friday afternoon (take prepared questions).

Type up transcript of interview with Angela Johnson.

The production log is intended to chart any obstacles you face in your research, your progress and the aims of your final report. My production log will have to be a little different: Im going to record all the research I do here, both relevant and irrelevant, because, as yet, I dont really know what my final report will be, nor what will end up being relevant. I dont know what Im aiming for. I will just have to wait and see what position I am in at the end of my research and what essay I can therefore bring together. [This is starting to feel a little like a diary???]