The Role Model: A shocking psychological thriller with several twists by Daniel Hurst (read aloud TXT) 📕

Rupert, but to my surprise, she doesn’t take it from me. Instead, she looks around at the dark park and her car in the distance.

‘What are you doing? We need to call them now,’ I say again, and finally, Mum takes the phone from my hand.

I keep my eyes on her as I wait for her to start dialling 999. But she doesn’t do that.

She just turns the torchlight off.

‘Mum?’

‘Listen to me carefully,’ she says, and the tone of her voice is just as cold as the wind blowing around us. ‘If we call the police, then we can’t control what happens next.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘This,’ she says, gesturing to Rupert between us. ‘Once the police get here, anything can happen.’

‘It was an accident!’

‘I know it was, but they don’t!’

I pause for a moment as Mum’s words hang in the air. I have no idea what she is getting at.

‘They will have to take you to the station. They will question you. You have to make a formal statement. They will want to know every single detail about this evening, and I mean everything. You won’t be able to recall it all, certainly not in your state, but they will keep pushing you until you answer everything. They will keep pushing you until you make a mistake.’

‘What are you talking about? I’ve got nothing to hide,’ I say, shaking my head again.

‘I know that, and you do, but they don’t,’ Mum replies. ‘And Rupert’s family don’t either. They’ll want to know every single detail about their son’s last movements to find out if there was anything at all about his death that was somebody else’s fault.’

‘You mean mine?’

‘Yes.’

‘But it wasn’t my fault,’ I cry, and now I’m starting to feel nauseous again. I thought Mum getting here would make me feel better, but she is making me feel worse.

‘Why are you being like this?’ I ask her as she looks down at Rupert again. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’

‘Of course I believe you. I’m your mother. But I can’t afford to think like your mother right now. I need to think like a police officer.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I have to find out if there is anything that could make me think that you caused this poor boy’s death.’

I’m too stunned to speak for a minute after Mum’s words. Why is she being so cold to me? I don’t care if she is playing the part of a policewoman or not. I’m her daughter, not some random member of the public who should be treated as guilty until proven innocent.

‘Does anybody know that you were here together?’ she asks me, and I shake my head.

‘Are you sure about that? What about Zara?’

‘No, she doesn’t know. Nobody at the party does. We didn’t tell anybody where we were going.’

‘Okay, that’s good,’ Mum says, and the use of the word almost sounds comical in this situation.

‘What’s good? What are you talking about?’

‘What about messages? Texts between you and Rupert? Anything there that could link you?’

‘No, I don’t have his number,’ I say, which reminds me of how long it took me to even get to this point of being alone with him. And look how that turned out.

‘So nobody knows you were here? Either of you?’ Mum asks again.

‘No! But why does that matter?’

Mum finally stands up and walks away from the body, joining me back where I feel it is a little more comfortable because we can’t see Rupert’s open eyes from here.

‘The chances are the police will believe you and put this down as an accidental death,’ Mum says to me, taking my hand and maintaining strong eye contact as if to let me know how important what she is about to say to me really is. ‘They’ll let you go after questioning. Nobody will blame you for what happened, and you’ll be able to go back to sixth form in a few days.’

‘Okay....’ I say, wondering where she is going with this.

‘But your life will never be the same again,’ Mum warns me. ‘This will follow you around forever, not just in your school life but for the rest of your life. Everybody in this town will know your name and not for a good reason. People you meet in later life, boyfriends, employers, even your future children, will be able to find out about this through a simple internet search of your name.’

That doesn’t sound good.

‘No matter what you do and what you might go on to achieve, this will always be the thing that people remember you for. Rupert. This park. Tonight. A drunken teenager caught up in a tragic accident. People will gossip. People will feel sorry for you. And some people will blame you.’

‘How do you know?’ I ask, feeling tears welling up in my eyes.

‘Because I’ve seen it happen to so many other people in my job,’ Mum tells me. ‘Drivers who accidentally ran someone over. A parent who turned their back on their child for one minute, and it was too late. Those people aren’t at fault, but they can never shake that past. Never.’

That foreboding warning is far creepier than the sight of the dark trees behind my mum, and I say nothing for a moment. But in the end, the silence is too much for me.

‘What choice do I have? It’s already happened. Rupert’s dead. I can’t change that.’

‘No, you’re right. But you can change what happens next.’

I study my mum because I’d be forgiven for feeling like I don’t know her at all right now. Is she hinting that there is a way out of this?’

‘It’s your call,’ Mum says, letting go of my hand as if to give me the space I need to think for myself. ‘But you do have a choice.’

‘Say we don’t call the police? What then? We just leave him here and go home?’ I ask, almost disbelieving that there might be an alternative option.

But Mum shakes her head.

‘No,’ she replies calmly. ‘We