I Have No Secrets

by Penny Joelson

  Once I am in dry clothes, Sheralyn leaves me in the living room with some music playing, saying she’s going to have a shower. Kate, Mum and Dad are in the kitchen and I wish she’d taken me in there.

  I’m sitting here, almost asleep, when Olivia slips in, unusually quietly for her. She goes over to Mum’s handbag, which is on the sofa, opens the zip and starts rummaging. I wonder briefly if Mum has asked her to fetch something from her bag – but it’s unlikely. Olivia keeps glancing towards the door too – so she’s obviously doing something she shouldn’t.

  She doesn’t seem to have realised that I’m here. I watch as she pulls out mum’s purse and takes out a ten-pound note. She folds it and presses it quickly into her pocket. She zips up Mum’s bag, then glances up at me – she meets my eyes, but then looks quickly away and hurries off.

  What does Olivia want ten pounds for? Then I remember Mum saying money was missing from her purse. It was Olivia all along.

  ‘Sarah was a bit on the wild side as a teenager – she had a string of hopeless boyfriends,’ Kate tells us over dinner.

  ‘Not much change there, then,’ I want to say.

  ‘And like I said,’ Kate continues, ‘I tried to warn her off this one lad and she got the hump and went off with him for a few days.’

  ‘But she hasn’t gone off with Dan – or with Richard,’ Mum points out. ‘They’ve both been here and are clearly worried about her.’

  ‘I know,’ says Kate.

  There’s a silence and I feel them all thinking about the other possibilities that no one wants to mention – the bad things that could have happened to her.

  When Kate leaves after we’ve eaten I miss her voice. I miss her voice that sounds so much like Sarah.

  29

  We pass one of our posters as Mum drives me to the Family Centre where the meeting with Jodi has been arranged. I had imagined we’d meet in a café or something like that, but Mum says this will be more private and Jodi will have a social worker there to support her if she needs someone to talk to afterwards. Whatever I feel after this meeting will have to stay inside me. I can’t share it. I hope it will go OK.

  I am starting to feel sick as we go over road humps. I’m relieved that it is not a long journey and I am soon out of the car and being pushed by Mum up the ramp of a modern building that looks like a nursery school.

  Mum speaks to someone at the reception desk and we are directed to the back of the building. Is Jodi here already?

  We’ve arrived first and have to sit in a room similar to a doctor’s waiting room. It’s all making this feel so formal. Mum pulls me near her and squeezes my hand. I am grateful. I know she is nervous too. Then after a few minutes a woman with an ID on a chain comes bustling up to us, smiling.

  ‘I’m Donna,’ she tells us. ‘I’m a social worker. Jodi is on her way. Would you like to come through to the room we’ve set up for you?’

  Mum nods.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee while you’re waiting?’

  ‘Thanks, that would be lovely,’ says Mum.

  ‘Would you like anything, Jemma?’

  ‘No, she’s fine,’ says Mum.

  Fine? I’m not sure about that!

  The room is cosy with armchairs and a stripy rug, but the pale lime green walls and shiny plastic floor still look like a doctor’s surgery. There is a landscape picture on the wall of fields and farm buildings and a scarecrow. It looks like a beautiful day – the sky is so blue and there are lots of shadows on the ground. I stare at the picture. It is calming.

  ‘I hope she won’t be long,’ says Mum, looking at her watch and bringing me back to now. I wish I could have stayed with the picture. I’ve been excited until now, but I’m suddenly feeling really shaky inside.

  It is a few minutes before Donna brings the coffee. She goes out, leaving Mum clutching the mug as if for warmth, though it’s not cold in here. She’s anxious too – wondering if she’s done the right thing, whether this is a good idea. She couldn’t change her mind now, could she?

  Donna is back, smiling. ‘She’s here! She’s just popped to the loo. Bit nervous, I think!’

  ‘I’m sure Jemma must be nervous too,’ says Mum.

  ‘You mustn’t worry, though,’ Donna tells me. ‘We won’t get in the way, but we’ll both be here, on hand if needed.’ She winks. It reminds me of Dan winking – though it is a very different wink. I’m sure this wink is saying ‘good luck’ rather than ‘I’ll be back to kill you sometime’. It makes me slightly uneasy, though. Mum and Donna move their chairs towards the far wall so Jodi and I will have some space. I can’t see them now as I’m facing the door.

  Then the door opens slowly and a girl comes in. She glances past me towards Mum and I hear Donna say warmly, ‘Come on in, Jodi. This is Jemma.’

  Jodi walks towards me and stands still. We stare at each other. She is a prettier than her photo, with short dark hair and a fluffy black jumper. The shock is – she looks far more like me than I’d realised. Our hair, dark eyes, small noses and pale, thin lips are so similar. My face looks as if it has been squashed in sideways. It is distorted, my features out of alignment. Yet I can see myself in her. We are so alike! She is shocked too. I can see it. Her mouth has dropped slightly open.

  I wish she’d speak and I wish she’d sit down. She’s standing too still – for too long. I think she’s frozen.

  ‘Oh – Jemma,’ she says, at last.

  I love it – I love hearing her say my name. My sister saying my name! I wait for more.

  Her face creases up. She bursts into tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jemma. I can’t do this!’ she sobs.

  Her hands cover her tear-stained face. I hadn’t noticed the make-up until now when I see it smearing down her cheeks.

  I want to reassure her – tell her to sit down, not to worry. I realise my delight in seeing the likeness between us has had the opposite effect on her. She is horrified to be so alike to someone so deformed. I’d normally be angry, but I can’t – I’ll forgive her anything if she’ll just talk to me. She’s my sister. My sister.

  Donna rushes over. ‘Jodi, why don’t you sit down for a minute? I can understand this being a bit overwhelming. I’ll get you a tissue.’

  But Jodi doesn’t sit.

  ‘Jodi?’ Mum tries.

  ‘Stop crying, stop crying, please!’ I want to beg her.

  But suddenly the door has opened and shut and, in a blur, she has gone.

  30

  Donna hurries after her and a few moments later Mum follows.

  I am alone. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as alone as in this moment. I only had a sister for about two minutes but now there is a gaping gap in my life. She’s gone. If this is what she meant about a missing piece, then I now understand. I’m missing her. But I was not her missing piece. Like Mum feared, I was not what Jodi was looking for. She’s had a glimpse and I don’t fit the gap in her puzzle.

  I’m not alone for long, of course. Mum rushes back in and hugs me. My face is wet. I realise it is Mum crying, but when she finally lets go of me my face gets wetter still. I am crying too.

  ‘Donna’s talking to her now,’ Mum says. ‘She might calm down and come back in, but it’s possible she might not. I’m so sorry, Jemma.’

  We wait. Mum strokes my hand. We wait more. I stare at the picture – the sunshine and the shadows. She will come back. She’ll calm down. Donna will talk to her. She’ll come back in.

  We wait – and wait. Mum looks out into the corridor.

  ‘They’re still in that room,’ she tells me. ‘That’s surely a good sign. You still want to see her, Jemma, don’t you?’ Mum looks at me closely. ‘Maybe we should’ve waited until you could communicate. It’s not fair on you. It would’ve been easier for Jodi too.’

  Maybe Mum’s right – but who knows how long that’s going to take, and if it will ever happen. I don’t want to wait for that. I want to see Jodi now. I can’t bear that she’s so close – across that corridor – a
nd yet so, so far away.

  Come back, Jodi! Please come back.

  The door across the corridor bangs. The bang echoes down the hallway. Mum hesitates – unsure whether to go out to see what’s happened or to wait. Our door opens. Donna comes in. She is alone. My heart sinks.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Donna says, her voice low and grim, the opposite of the buzzy chirp she met us with earlier. She carries on talking about how bad Jodi feels, but I am feeling too sad to listen.

  ‘Is she still here?’ Mum asks hopefully. ‘Maybe I can talk to her?’

  Donna shakes her head, and my heart sinks down my legs and under my wheels. She’s gone. It’s like she’s closed the door on me.

  She came, she took one look and she went. That was my sister.

  Back at home, I’m in a daze as Dad wheels me into the living room. I can see he has been playing Connect 4 with Olivia while Finn lines up matchsticks along the wall. Finn is wearing a helmet as he’s been head-banging so much lately. Mum told Dad what happened with Jodi and then said she had a migraine and needed to lie down.

  ‘I think we need to build a nest for Jemma,’ Dad tells Olivia.

  ‘A nest?’ Olivia asks. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Jemma’s had a hard morning and needs a bit of TLC. We’ll stack up as many cushions as we can find into a nest and Jemma can sit in it and feel soft and safe and warm.’

  ‘Can I sit in it too?’ Olivia asks.

  ‘After Jemma’s had a turn you certainly can,’ says Dad.

  Dad got into this ‘nesting’ years ago when I was about five. He used to make nests for me all the time. It’s a long time since he’s made me one. I thought I’d grown out of them, but the thought of him doing this for me fills me with warmth and love and I realise I’m yearning to be snuggled and safe.

  Olivia and Dad get busy with cushions.

  I count as they pile up the cushions. They get up to ten in the end. Olivia stands back as Dad eases me gently into it. Even Finn pauses for a moment and looks up as I am lowered into the softness.

  ‘How’s that?’ Dad asks.

  I am held, nestled, caressed by the comforting cushions – though I can’t be left alone in it in case I roll or cushions fall over me and I can’t breathe.

  ‘Is it my turn now?’ Olivia asks.

  ‘Let Jemma have some time in it first,’ Dad tells her.

  I expect her to protest.

  ‘She does look cosy,’ Olivia acknowledges.

  I’d smile at her if I could.

  My nest is so comfy and I can feel Dad’s warmth and even Olivia’s too – but I’m still so sad inside. I’m missing Sarah so much, and I want my sister to come back. I want Jodi.

  An hour later I am back in my wheelchair. Olivia had a turn in the nest after me. Finn showed no interest, though I think he would be in it in a shot if no one was here. Dad has gone upstairs to check on Mum.

  Finn is still lining up matchsticks, while Olivia is lining up all the dolls on the top floor of her doll’s house and then knocking them one by one out of the window, saying, ‘Wheeeeeee! Thump – you’re dead!’

  I half watch her, but not closely as my mind is elsewhere. I am thinking about Jodi. Her face is imprinted on my mind – her likeness – the connection between us. Did Jodi feel it? Maybe she did and it was so strong it overwhelmed her. I wonder what she’s doing right now, how she’s feeling.

  I realise after a bit that I can’t see Finn or Olivia. I’m not sure if they’ve left the room or are out of sight behind me, but then I hear an unhappy grunting sound that must be Finn.

  The sound is coming from behind me. Finn suddenly lurches past.

  ‘Get back here,’ Olivia says, but Finn is wriggling towards the door. He scrambles past me hotly pursued by Olivia. She tries to grab him, but he is out of the room in a flash. Poor Finn. I want to protect him. If I could move my legs I’d love to give Olivia a gentle sisterly kick. If I could talk, I’d ask her what’s bothering her, and maybe she’d tell me, like she told me about Dylan.

  Olivia holds her head up high and struts out.

  As I sit alone thinking, I start to feel achy. I hope it’s just the worry making this happen and that I’m not going to be ill. That’s all I need.

  There’s a sudden piercing scream from upstairs.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I hear Dad demanding.

  ‘Finn headbutted me with his helmet!’ Olivia screeches. ‘I think he’s cracked my head open!’ She is wailing.

  Maybe Finn can stand up for himself after all.

  Later in the evening when Finn and Olivia are in bed, Dad wheels me into the living room. We find Mum in there, curled up in my nest, looking cosy, eating a bar of chocolate.

  31

  I feel wiped out and I don’t want to go to school. The minibus arrives and Sheralyn comes with me as today is swimming.

  The pool is not as warm today as it should be. I float, but I don’t enjoy it. I feel shivery. Last week at swimming Sarah had only been missing a day. I was sure she’d be back when I got home. Now I’m scared she’s really not coming back. I thought with the posters and Kate’s campaign and the cash card that she might be found, but there’s been no more news at all.

  Back at home, the phone rings while we are eating dinner. If the phone rang during dinner the rule used to be that no one answered it. The person could leave a message. Now that rule is constantly broken. The phone rings much more often than it did too. Dad jumps up and answers it.

  ‘Yes,’ he says.

  Then I see the colour drain from his face as he listens. I can’t swallow. It’s Sarah. It has to be about Sarah. Mushed carrot sits in my mouth and a little spills out. Sheralyn doesn’t notice. She’s looking at Dad. We all are – apart from Finn, who is busy trying to line up the carrot sticks on his plate.

  ‘One minute,’ says Dad. He gives Mum a look and goes out into the hall with the phone.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Olivia demands. ‘Is Sarah dead? Did someone murder her? How did they do it? Was it a knife or a gun or did they strangle her?’

  ‘Olivia!’ Mum bellows in horror. ‘Be quiet!’

  ‘I want to know!’ Olivia protests.

  Some mushed carrot has dripped on to my pale cream top.

  I am sure I hear Dad swear out in the hall. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him swear before. The news must be bad.

  ‘Ooh, yuck! Look at Jemma!’ Olivia cries, screwing up her face.

  Sheralyn and Mum both turn to me quickly.

  ‘Oh – sorry, Jemma,’ Sheralyn says, anxiously glancing from me to Mum, who has jumped up already to grab some kitchen towel.

  ‘Here,’ Mum says, passing it to Sheralyn.

  Dad comes back in. He looks pale and his eyes look deeper than usual and darker.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Olivia demands. ‘Is Sarah dead?’

  Finn bangs his head on the table.

  ‘Shall I take them upstairs?’ Sheralyn asks.

  Finn goes with her, but Olivia refuses.

  ‘I suppose you’ll have to know sometime,’ Dad sighs. ‘That was Kate on the phone. The police have found a body. They’ve not identified it yet, but we have to prepare ourselves – they think it might be Sarah.’

  I feel giddy. I was half expecting this and yet I wasn’t. I wasn’t at all.

  Olivia begins to cry.

  ‘It might not be her,’ Mum tells us.

  Dad hugs Olivia, who clings to him as she sobs in his arms.

  I wish someone would hug me. Then Mum touches my shoulder and turns me to face her.

  ‘Oh, Jemma,’ she says gently and she squeezes my hand. I am so grateful – so relieved that she can sense my pain.

  ‘Where . . . where did they find . . . the body?’ she asks Dad.

  ‘In Fox Woods,’ Dad says. ‘Kate’s coming tomorrow to identify her. I’m relieved that they didn’t ask us to do it.’ I see him shudder.

  Olivia pulls away from Dad, her eyes red and face wet. Dad’s shirt has a big
wet patch too.

  Mum goes and gives Olivia a squeeze, her eyes meeting Dad’s. They know they can’t promise us that it will be OK.

  Later, when Olivia and Finn are in bed, I hear Dad talking to Mum. He says they told Kate the circumstances ‘look suspicious’.

  They’ve found a body; Dan must have killed her – he must have done. However much I try to think of a different explanation, I keep coming back to it. He killed Ryan and now he’s killed Sarah. And he taunted me with it. I can rage all I want – I can hate him more than anything, but it makes no difference. He knew he could do what he wanted.

  I knew all along what he was like.

  And now it’s too late.

  32

  When the doorbell rings after dinner I’m sure it’s him – come to taunt me again – the keeper of his secret. Mum and Dad are upstairs, so Sheralyn goes out of the living room to answer it. I hear her say, ‘Can I help you?’

  But it’s not Dan; it’s Richard.

  He jabbers nervously. ‘Is Lorraine here? I . . . I’m Sarah’s . . . I don’t even know what to call myself – boyfriend, friend, ex-boyfriend – one of those . . . I’m sorry . . . I don’t . . . Who are you?’

  Olivia sneaks out into the hall to see what’s going on, just as Sheralyn explains that she is standing in for Sarah as my carer.

  ‘I’ll call Lorraine – she’s upstairs,’ Sheralyn tells him. ‘Lorraine! Sarah’s boyfriend is here,’ she calls loudly.

  ‘He’s not her boyfriend – Dan is!’ Olivia blurts out. ‘He’s not been her boyfriend for ages! Why are you pretending to be Sarah’s boyfriend?’

  ‘I’m not pretending. It’s complicated,’ Richard explains. He sniffs.

  ‘Anyway, Sarah’s dead!’ Olivia blurts out.

  There’s another loud sniff and Richard tries to speak, but Olivia interrupts him.

  ‘You’re crying. Men don’t cry.’

  ‘Olivia! Go back in the lounge,’ Sheralyn tells her.

  ‘Won’t!’ Olivia says with her usual stubborn tone.

  ‘Please, Olivia – now!’ says Sheralyn.