by Watson, S J
‘How is he?’
‘Why did you live with him?’
‘He were our friend. How is he?’
‘Your friend? Or Daisy’s?’
She stares straight at me, as if the question is ridiculous.
‘Did you trust him?’
‘ ’Course I did.’
‘With Daisy? Didn’t you worry something might be going on?’
She gazes into the distance, towards the mirror bolted to the wall over the dresser. For a second I think I’ve lost her, but then our eyes meet and she smiles.
‘Nowt were going on. He were decent. He were decent to us both.’ Her eyes shine, determined. ‘You’d do well to remember that. It weren’t him that hurt them.’
‘Someone hurt Daisy?’
‘Aye.’
‘You said them. Who else?’
She doesn’t seem to hear me. There are footsteps in the corridor outside, as if somebody’s approaching, and I become aware of the camera on the dresser, recording us.
I lean in. ‘Someone hurt her, so she … killed herself?’
Her head bobs.
‘She’d never do that. She were too strong.’
She’s faded out.
‘There was a note? Do you have it?’
She doesn’t answer. I say it again, and this time she laughs bitterly. ‘A note …’
‘It wasn’t real?’
Her response is mumbled, incoherent, almost as if she’s talking to herself, arguing with voices in her head.
‘Geraldine?’
‘They reckon someone saw it, too.’ She laughs, as if it’s the most absurd thing.
‘Saw her jump?’ I say. ‘Who?’
‘But it’s all lies.’
‘Who? Where’s the note now?’
‘They took it. But it weren’t true,’ she mumbles sadly into her chest. ‘I knew it. I felt it.’
The room falls silent. Outside, a door opens, then closes. There are voices. Whoever’s approaching must’ve stopped en route. I want to stand up, to walk away, to never look back, yet I also want to stay with her. Or take her with me, look after her, try to give her back her daughter.
But how can I do that? I sit on the bed next to her chair. For a moment, it feels like a normal visit, like I’ve come here with flowers and her favourite cake, just here to hold her hand and gossip or take her for a trip out in the car.
But it’s not. How could it be?
Suddenly, she raises her head. ‘Poor Sadie …’
The word reverberates. The walls shake.
‘Sadie?’ I whisper. ‘What about her?’
Nothing. It’s like I’m not here, as if I haven’t spoken. She’s drifting in and out of lucidity, bobbing to the surface before being sucked under once more. She glances away, towards the floor. Her head falls but when she looks up her eyes dart like minnows.
‘Poor girl. All that to live for. They said she wrote a note an’ all. Did you know that?’
‘What?’
There was no note. I’d remember.
‘Her mum told me.’
‘Sadie’s mum?’ I say, trying not to sound as exasperated, as desperate, as I feel. She’s confused, misremembering. She must be. It makes me wonder whether there’s anything she’s said that I can believe. I’m about to give up, to turn round and switch off the camera, when something takes hold of me. I can’t. I have to find out, this one thing at least.
‘Where is she?’ I say. ‘What happened to Sadie’s mum? After she went?’
Nothing. I put my hand back on her arm and she looks down at it, resting there.
‘Thick as thieves.’
‘Who? Daisy and Sadie?’
‘What happened to your arm?’
She’s staring at my scar.
I don’t answer. I don’t want to tell her about the accident, but then she grabs it, her movements surprisingly quick, surprisingly strong.
‘You should get it seen to.’
I pull my arm back. ‘Tell me about Sadie. You said she wrote a note, too?’
‘They killed her.’
‘Daisy? They killed her?’
She folds her hands in front of her and stares out of the window. There’s nothing there, just a blank grey square in the wall, flakes of snow drifting beyond it, catching what’s left of the afternoon light like burnt paper.
‘Geraldine?’
More voices. This time there’s a knock on the door.
‘Geraldine?’ comes a voice, echoing mine. ‘Everything okay?’
I look back over my shoulder, but before I can answer Geraldine grabs my arm again, her face crumpled with pain. I feel terrible for what I’m doing, for the places I’ve taken her.
‘She’s here. My Daisy.’ Her gaze rests at a point over my shoulder.
‘Here?’ I say. I look round. There’s a woman there, dark hair, a pale green tunic. I wonder if she looks like Daisy, or like Daisy might now.
‘Geraldine?’ The newcomer looks from Geraldine to me. She notices the camera, clearly angled towards us both. ‘Miss?’
Suddenly, there’s another hand on my arm. The grip is strong, firm.
‘Miss, I think you’re upsetting her.’
I shrug off the woman’s hand, but it’s no use, too late. I’ve lost Geraldine completely. She’s returned to the television, apparently unaware that it’s no longer switched on.
‘I was just leaving,’ I say. I’m about to hold out my still-shaking hand when I’m gripped with the desire to do more, to embrace her, the conviction I won’t see her again and that that will be a terrible shame. So I do, I hug her, and though at first I think she’s going to recoil, she doesn’t. She’s still for a moment, then she leans into my embrace, her hands go round my back, she holds me tight. We melt into each other. She whispers in my ear, her voice tiny and desperate.
‘Please …’
‘What?’
‘Has it stopped?’
‘What?’
‘The girls. You have to help them.’
‘Who?’ I say. ‘Which girls?’
‘Help them. Please.’
My mind goes to Kat. And to her friend. Ellie.
‘Who? What’s wrong?’
She looks at me, her expression impenetrable. ‘Miss!’ says the voice from behind, stern now. I stare into Geraldine’s eyes, but something has dimmed. I hold her instead. It’s all I can do.
‘I have to go. I’m sorry.’
‘Come back for me, then.’
‘I will,’ I say, standing up. I feel terrible, even as I lie, but what else can I say? Her eyes close in relief.
‘Daisy …’ she says, but it’s half murmured; she’s drifted off once more, hovering somewhere between the past and the present, between pure fiction and misremembering.
‘Don’t leave me here,’ she says, and for a moment I wish more than anything that I could tell her I won’t.
The doors hiss open, but my taxi has gone. The driveway is empty save for a solitary car over by the entrance. Inside, I can make out a silhouetted figure, and I get the feeling it’s been watching the exit, waiting for me to come out. When I turn to look for the car park, the road is lit by the mysterious car’s headlights. It reverses and turns, the driver’s profile flashing momentarily into view. I’m filled with the sudden conviction that it’s David, though as it recedes doubt creeps in. No one is watching me, I tell myself. It’s coincidence, that’s all, another visitor leaving in a hurry. I’m being paranoid.
Back inside, I call Gavin; he arrives after twenty minutes.
‘You’re a lifesaver,’ I say as I get in, and he laughs.
‘Well, I couldn’t leave you stranded here, could I?’ He leans towards me, just slightly. ‘You’re not cold?’ he says. ‘Did you wait inside?’
I ignore his questions. ‘Shall we?’
We pull out of the car park. At the bottom of the drive he turns left, back towards Blackwood Bay. I can tell he’s itching to ask what I was doing there and, sure enough, after
a minute he coughs delicately.
‘You went to see Daisy’s mother?’
‘Yes. I wanted to find out what she thought.’
‘And?’
‘Well,’ I sigh, ‘she’s really confused. But she insisted Daisy didn’t kill herself.’
‘She’s not the only one. Like I said.’
‘Who else?’
‘A few people. The woman who ran the guest house I stayed in when I first arrived, she said there’d been loads of talk when Daisy was first presumed dead but then it kind of fizzled out.’ He hesitates. ‘But if her own mother said she didn’t do it …’
‘I know. But she’s pretty muddled.’
‘So, you believe her? What does she think happened?’
‘Who knows?’ I say. ‘She just said, “They killed her.” ’
‘They?’
‘She didn’t remember anything else. She seemed doubtful about the note, too. And she told me someone saw Daisy jump but she doesn’t believe it and didn’t say who.’ I stare out of the window.
‘It’d still be good to know who said they saw her,’ he says. ‘Want me to do some digging? See what I can find out?’
‘Why would you do that?’
He shrugs. ‘Dunno. I’d like to make myself useful.’
I smile. My instinct is to say no, but maybe I could do with some help. He’s got to know the people here, he knows who to ask.
‘Okay, then.’ I pause. ‘She says David up at Bluff House had nothing to do with it.’
‘What made you think he did?’
‘Just something Sophie from the tattoo shop said. She thought Zoe might’ve known David. Would her parents talk to me, d’you think?’
‘Zoe’s?’ He shakes his head. ‘I doubt it. To be honest, I’d steer clear. From what I’ve heard, they don’t like people reminding them about what happened.’
‘As if they could forget.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He hesitates. ‘Did you know about Sadie Davies?’
My breath catches, just for a moment. I don’t think he notices.
‘Daisy’s friend?’
‘Yes. She disappeared just before Daisy killed herself.’
No, I think. He’s got the chronology wrong. I can remember it. Daisy went first. I can see myself back then, though it’s like a dream. I’m sitting on the floor in a strange room; there’s a mattress on the floor with no sheets and a weird smell. I have my legs crossed, my arms folded over them. I’m crying, because Daisy’s gone and I couldn’t help her.
He coughs. ‘Did Sadie know David, too?’
I stare down at my hands. They’re turning over and over, each stroking the other as if they have a will of their own. I force them to be still.
‘No,’ I say. That’s one thing I’m sure of.
I gaze up at the cloudless, star-studded sky as it turns from blue to black. A pinprick of light flies over, too fast to be an aeroplane. A meteor, I suppose, a shooting star. I remember London. I used to lie there at night, in a doorway, near a vent if I could find one, and look up at the sky. Looking for the stars. Usually, it was cloudy down there, there was too much pollution, too much light, but even knowing the stars were there made me feel better. It made me feel less hungry somehow, less hopeless. Less alone.
‘Maybe Zoe’s got nothing to do with the other two,’ he says. ‘She wasn’t the kind of girl to run away, it seems. Whereas both Sadie and Daisy—’
‘What? Were?’
‘There were rumours that Daisy, in particular, was a, well …’ He shifts uncomfortably then takes a deep breath, like someone about to plunge in the knife. ‘She was promiscuous.’
‘What?’ I can’t help but laugh, though I’m grateful he at least found it difficult to say. ‘She was fifteen, for fuck’s sake!’
He seems to shrink. ‘Don’t judge me. I’m just telling you what people have said.’
‘Who? Who said that?’
‘Oh, you know.’ He shifts again in his seat. ‘People.’
I say nothing. I let it go. I have to. I remember one of the women I filmed for Black Winter saying that social services had told her she was a slut, that she’d asked for it. She was thirteen.
But I don’t want that argument now. Not with my new friend.
My mind trips on the word. Is that what he is?
‘Have you been watching the clips?’
‘Some of them, yeah.’
‘You see the one of the two girls eating chips?’
‘Kat and Ellie. Yes.’
‘And? It was a joint, wasn’t it? Sophie says all the kids do it.’
He laughs. ‘That’s why I do the film club.’
I hesitate. He seems honest, at least about that, but I’m still not sure how much to trust him, whether I can let him in. I don’t want to sound like a crazy person, a conspiracy theorist desperate to inject interest into their film, but still I go on.
‘Geraldine said something else,’ I tell him. ‘Whatever happened, she doesn’t think it’s over.’
Then
15
Alex’s diary, 29 June, 2011
I’m on my own. I can’t trust anyone, I know that after what happened today.
I feel sick just thinking about it now, but I’ll try to write it down like it happened. So, we were supposed to go up to Deal – maybe it would trigger my memory and I’d know what I was doing up there. Aidan suggested it, and Dr Olsen said it was up to me but that I should definitely take a friend and tell her when I was going to go. I didn’t, though. I mean, what was she going to do? Come with me?
We cobbled together what money we had and got the bus to the coach station. On the way, Aidan was telling me about how he just wants to meet someone and be looked after, and he asked me what I wanted to do. It seems crazy now, after today, but I realised I haven’t really thought about the future because I’ve been so obsessed with the past, trying to work out what happened to me, back in Blackwood Bay, and here in London, what made me run.
Anyway, I said I thought I’d wanted to be a vet once, or a doctor, and he said I should look into doing GCSEs, or a BTEC or something. I could talk to Dr Olsen about it.
When we reached Victoria I seemed to know the way and when we got on to the main road it felt like I’d been there before, too. At the station the stink of exhaust fumes and fast food hit me like a train, and when I saw the sign for the toilets – they’re down some stairs – I knew exactly what they’d look like. It came back to me in a rush: I used to buy drugs down there, that was where I used to hang out.
Aidan came over with the tickets, but I couldn’t go to Deal now, I was getting too close to who I was here. He followed me through an exit at the back. Outside, it was all posh cars, Bentleys and stuff, on one side of the road, and on the other it looked like council flats. Then we were in front of an Italian restaurant, next door to a place that did dog-grooming. Between them was a metal gate that led up to some flats, three or four floors of them. There was a panel with all the door buzzers and without even thinking I pressed the one for thirty-two. My heart was beating so hard, but when it opened I went up, and Aidan came, too, even though he kept asking if it was a good idea. When we reached flat thirty-two, the door was ajar and I could hear music. It stank of cigarettes and dope, but we went in anyway. It was disgusting; the walls were yellow and peeling and there was rubbish everywhere. There was a bedroom with a tatty mattress on the floor, then a disgusting kitchen, and in the room at the end of the corridor I could see a folding table and on it there were drugs and plastic bottles, bags of powder and some scales.
There were two men sat on a sofa, and a girl between them who looked like she was nodding out. As soon as he saw me, the one on the right stood up and said, ‘You!’
Who? I wanted to say. Who am I? But he looked like he wanted to kill me, it was dangerous, he’d probably have a knife or something, and when Aidan came in he got even angrier.
I kept looking at the girl on the sofa, and I knew that’d been me once. And th
e mattress on the floor next door. I’d slept on it, I’d fucked on it – or been fucked, I don’t remember it being something I wanted.
I was frozen to the spot, even though I knew I had to get out, but Aidan pulled on my arm. ‘Come on!’ he said, and then he said my name, Alex, and the guys started laughing. ‘Alex?’ said the other one. ‘So that’s your name now, little Sadie?’
We ran, then. Back down the stairs. I didn’t know whether they were chasing us or not, I just knew we had to get away. But at the bottom I saw someone on the other side of the street. She was looking straight at me, and somehow I knew she was the one who’d been my friend, the one who might know who I was and why I ran away.
‘Wait!’ I shouted, but she ran away. I tried to catch up with her, but it was no good, she disappeared down a side street. Aidan shouted after me to stop. He asked who it was I was chasing and I told him the truth.
‘I don’t know.’
I knew he’d ask, then, and I was right. ‘And who the hell is Sadie?’
He sounded almost angry. But I didn’t tell him. I’m never telling anyone, not even – no, especially –Dr Olsen. Like I say, I’m on my own.
Now
16
I remember that day, the day a memory came from one place and led me to another and I walked straight into the shooting gallery I hadn’t previously known existed. So I know it’s worked before, and that means surely it can work again. It’s like picking up a track at the edge of the forest, following it, going deeper in. Even though I want to know, I’m nervous about what I might find in Daisy’s home. Lightless, Bluff House seems even more desolate; it glowers resentfully in the dark. I go round to the far side, where there’s a garden, separated from the land by a low wall and some hedging. A washing line is strung diagonally across it from a pole in one corner, and in the other, battered and decrepit, is the caravan.
I switch on my camera and attach the light unit, then film for a moment. But when I put it down, something’s wrong. The van appears almost pixellated, as if I’m still looking at it through the camera’s lens. I blink and shake my head, but it’s no better, and when I step towards the gate that separates me from Daisy’s van it’s like I haven’t moved at all. It’s as if I’m floating, an inch outside my body, above and to the left, watching myself as I unlatch the gate, invisible.