Forget Me Not

by Claire Allan

  She fumbled with the white-and-blue packet in front of her and handed me a cigarette. Gingerly, my own hand shaking, I lifted it to my lips and inhaled as Julie helped me light. The hot smoke caught at the back of my throat, making me cough and shudder.

  ‘Jesus! this is vile,’ I said to Julie as I tried, and failed once again, to inhale the smoke deeply.

  She looked at me, I looked at her. Then I put my cigarette down in the ashtray and pulled her into a hug.

  ‘What are we going to do without her?’ I cried.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julie mumbled. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’

  ‘I think we start by throwing these papers in the bin where they belong,’ I said, reaching down and lifting them before folding them and carrying them out to the recycling bin.

  It was only as I walked back in that I noticed the bouquets of flowers in vases on the kitchen table. All still wrapped in their cellophane. Among them, stems wrapped in black ribbon, was a posy of forget-me-nots, a familiar-looking small white card pinned to the ribbon. That uneasy feeling was back, but this time it was stronger.

  ‘Who are the flowers from?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I walked back into the living room.

  Julie was staring at the bottom of her mug. She didn’t look up.

  ‘People from work. My sister … I don’t know really, Brendan’s been taking care of them. I’ve not even had the energy to look. I just told Brendan to put them in water. They’re not going to do much good, are they? They’re not going to bring her back.’

  I lifted the posy of forget-me-nots, the satin-wrapped arrangement.

  ‘This one’s unusual,’ I said. ‘Do you know who sent it?’

  ‘No … I didn’t look. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, it’s just quite unusual and there was something similar left up at the spot in the road where Clare died. It stood out from the other tributes.’

  Julie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Read the card if you want.’

  She put her mug back down and lit another cigarette.

  I unpinned the card from the flowers and read it. Again, a message was written in blue ink. Again, something cryptic.

  ‘Let me see,’ Julie said, looking at the card and reading from it. ‘Three green bottles, hanging on a wall. And if one green bottle should accidentally fall …’ Julie looked at me, eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  I looked around, saw the chaos where we were sitting – in what was usually a pristinely kept home – and I saw how manic and near the edge Julie was. She’d spiral further if I told her what the note had said at the roadside, but I knew I couldn’t ignore it. This was something dark. I didn’t know why, but I was sure it was no coincidence that Julie had received an identical arrangement to the one left where Clare had died.

  ‘Who brought these?’ I asked, without answering her question.

  My heart was thudding. I looked out of the window as if there was a chance I’d spot someone waiting in the distance. The glare of the midday sun caught my eyes and made them water.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Sorry. I’ve not exactly been coping,’ Julie said, ‘as you can see.’ She gestured around the room, to the chaos evident on every surface. ‘Brendan took the kids out because he said he needed a break from it all. I promised him I’d try and do something … but that was before I saw the papers.’

  She leant forwards and poured a generous measure of vodka into her glass.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ I mumbled.

  The sense of unease I’d been feeling had started to slip into panic. The words of that stupid rhyme playing over and over again in my head. Counting down until there were no green bottles left.

  ‘I’m old enough to drink if I want to,’ Julie bit back.

  For a second I was pulled from my thoughts. Confused.

  ‘I’m not talking about your drinking, Julie. I’m talking about these flowers. That note.’

  She started to sing the words, swaying her vodka glass. She was more drunk than I’d thought.

  ‘Some silly nonsense,’ she added. ‘God, do you remember when people used to sing that to us when we were at school?’ she laughed, a hollow laugh. ‘God, we thought things were so hard then. Little did we know. To be a wee “green bottle” again …’

  It was a nonsensical nickname, based solely on the green of our uniform. Our green pinafores. The heavy gabardine of our school coats that covered us from the knee up in voluminous bottle green. Sometimes it came with a gentle shove from the singer, just to see what would happen if we did ‘accidentally fall’.

  It was harmless.

  It had been harmless.

  But now one of my very solid group of three friends had become just two. One of us was gone …

  I felt my stomach contract, a wave of sickness not just from the stale cigarette smoke wash over me. I drew in a breath.

  ‘Julie, there was an identical arrangement left at the side of the road where Clare died.’

  ‘So someone got a job lot,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ I told her. ‘No. Those words, Julie. Don’t you get it?’ My hands were shaking now. I wanted to shake Julie from her drunkenness and get her to understand. ‘Someone’s trying to frighten us. That note, the one left at the side of the road. That’s not what you write to offer condolences. That’s there to scare us. The other note said something about consequences …’

  I glanced out of the window, saw a lone figure, jeans and a hoodie, hood pulled up to cover his face – clothes that were much too heavy for this weather. I fought the urge to pull the curtains. Or shout at him. I relaxed only when he walked past, not so much as casting a glance at Julie’s house.

  ‘I’m phoning the police,’ I said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rachel

  There was something about the way the young policewoman looked at the flowers then nodded to her tall colleague that told me I’d been right to call them. This was no simple coincidence, or someone trying to wind us up.

  ‘And when did these arrive?’ Constable King asked.

  Julie, who’d pulled on some yoga pants and a loose sweater, and who’d thankfully pulled a comb through her hair, wrung her hands. ‘I phoned my husband. He thinks it arrived this morning. I was in bed. I didn’t even look at it until Rachel arrived.’

  She lifted her glass and drank some more. The ice clinked and clattered as her hand shook. She was just as spooked as I was.

  ‘And, Rachel,’ the policewoman, turning to look at me, said, ‘what drew you to these flowers and the cards?’

  ‘I was up at Coney Road this morning. I’d seen an identical arrangement where Clare was found. The card with it was bizarre. The wording, I mean. I was sure I was just being overly dramatic, given what’s happened, but when I saw the flowers here, too …’

  ‘We are just being overcautious, aren’t we?’ Julie asked, her eyes wide.

  She, and I, needed the police to tell us that yes, of course we were being completely overcautious and there was nothing to worry about.

  ‘That’s possible,’ Constable King replied unconvincingly. ‘But I think we should take these and the card for examination all the same. And perhaps you can get your husband to call us. Just to see if he can fill us in on any details about the delivery.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ Julie asked.

  ‘At the moment we’re looking at a number of lines of inquiry,’ Constable King said, which of course told us nothing that we didn’t already know. She turned to me. ‘Have you received anything like this?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, nothing like that all.’

  ‘But you’ve been out all morning, you said,’ Julie interjected. ‘Maybe something’s been delivered and you just don’t know about it.’

  She was right, of course, so I agreed to call home and ask Paul. I hoped he’d tell me no. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe while I waited for the phone to be answered. I wasn’t expecting Molly’s baby voic
e to pick up.

  ‘Mammy! When will you be home? I miss you a hundred and a million and can we go swimming or to the library?’

  The sound of her voice didn’t soothe me as it normally did – everything about her was pure and innocent and I couldn’t help but feel it was all under threat.

  ‘Hi, baby,’ I said, trying my very best to keep my voice normal. ‘I’ll be home in a bit and sure, we can make some plans then. Is Daddy there?’

  She didn’t answer. I could just hear the sound of her feet running across the wooden flooring in the hall down to the kitchen and her calling ‘Daadddeee, Mammy’s on the phone.’

  ‘Paul, this might sound a little strange,’ I said as soon as he picked up, ‘but have any flowers arrived for me this morning?’

  ‘As it happens, yes,’ he said and my heart sank.

  I nodded at Constable King and saw Julie put her head in her hands from the corner of my eyes.

  ‘A bunch of blue flowers; they look like wild flowers. Is there something you want to tell me?’ he said with a false-sounding laugh. ‘Have you a bit on the side or a secret admirer?’

  ‘Are they tied with ribbon?’ I asked, ignoring his question.

  ‘No. Well, sort of. They’re tied with twine and then some black ribbon. I’d say whoever paid for these hasn’t the best taste in florists.’

  I sat down, my legs shaky beneath me. I asked him if there was a card attached and if he could read it to me. I waited until he spoke.

  ‘Well, this is a nonsense,’ he said.

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It’s some stupid rhyme or something …’

  ‘What does it say, Paul?’

  ‘Everything is a source of fun. Nobody’s safe, we care for none.’

  I lifted a pen from the coffee table and scribbled the words on the back of an envelope.

  ‘Rachel, what’s going on?’ Paul asked. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘It’s to do with Clare. I don’t know exactly what it means, but, look, I’ve to talk to the police. I’ll talk to you when I get home.’

  When I hung up, I looked at the expectant faces of Julie, Constable King and her colleague.

  ‘There was a rhyme in mine, too, but it’s not green bottles. I don’t know what it is.’

  I repeated the words Paul had read down the phone to me. Julie and Constable King looked at me blankly. Her colleague, Constable Black, a sturdily built man at least six feet in height, cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘It’s The Mikado. The opera? Gilbert and Sullivan. You know, the one that goes “Three little maids from school are we”?’ He sang the words to the song in a falsetto voice that seemed at extreme odds with his appearance.

  On any other occasion it would have made me laugh – the sight of this tall, well-built man in uniform singing about being a schoolgirl. But this didn’t make me laugh. Julie and I had received these flowers. Another bunch had been left where Clare died. And two of the messages made vague references to our schooldays – our group of three. I felt tears prick at my eyes. Heard Julie mutter: ‘Oh, God …’

  ‘I think we need to bring this to the immediate attention of the DI,’ Constable King said.

  ‘Is whoever did this coming for us?’ Julie asked, her eyes wide.

  Constable King shook her head, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

  ‘It’s important that we all try to keep calm now,’ she said. ‘Things like this, they bring all sorts of weirdos out of the woodwork. There’s nothing to say it was the killer who left these – it could just be someone’s idea of a sick joke, someone with a grudge.’

  She looked at me and I tried to think who, if anyone, might have a grudge against us. We weren’t the kind of people to make enemies. We lived our lives. We’d spent most of the last couple of years just trying to hold on against the trauma of Clare’s marriage breaking up, my mother dying … I shook my head. Julie just looked at me, as if she needed me to tell her it was all going to be okay. But I couldn’t. Could I? The knot in the pit of my stomach grew tighter, heavier. I thought I might be sick.

  Constable King left the room to call her superior officer while Constable Black perched uncomfortably on the edge of an armchair.

  Julie spoke first.

  ‘I need to call Brendan. Get him to take the kids to his mum’s. Should I go to his mum’s, too? Or what if that puts us all in danger?’

  She was spiralling again. I didn’t blame her. I may have held onto the appearance of being calm on the outside, but inside my heart was thudding and I was asking myself the same questions she was. I told her I didn’t know, because I didn’t. Should I be on the phone to Paul just now to ask him to take the girls away from the house? The thought of someone harming them made me feel physically sick.

  It wasn’t ideal, but maybe he could take them to his flat in Belfast. There were two bedrooms, so the girls could share. Beth wouldn’t be happy sharing her space with a three-year-old, but surely they’d be safe there? If I spoke to Beth’s school, I’m sure they’d understand. Maybe I could get her to attend classes in Belfast for a while. Just until this all blew over. Was I overreacting? I didn’t care if I was, because I didn’t want to take a chance – not with my girls. Not after reading those details in the paper.

  ‘Is it true?’ I asked Constable Black.

  ‘Is what true?’ he replied.

  ‘The reports in the papers today. In The Chronicle. The report about how Clare died. The horrific injuries. A “source close to the investigation” told that Ingrid Devlin woman all those horrible details.’

  Constable Black shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A thin layer of sweat had formed at his hairline. I felt sorry for him in this heat – in full uniform, the only concession to the weather being a short-sleeved shirt.

  ‘I’m not in a position to comment on that,’ he said, his face blazing a little.

  ‘Maybe I’ll call her and ask,’ I said just as Constable King walked back into the room.

  ‘Call who and ask?’

  ‘Ingrid Devlin at The Chronicle. Ask her if it’s true about how Clare died. That she was almost decapitated.’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise that you speak to the press at the moment,’ Constable King said. ‘I’m sure you understand that the investigation team want to make sure that the release of information to the press is handled sensitively and in a way that benefits our work.’

  ‘Then you should tell your sources to keep their mouths shut,’ Julie said, wringing her hands. ‘I don’t know what to think, or what to do. And I don’t know why we’re receiving these notes. Or why they’re mentioning our schooldays. It’s more than twenty years ago, for God’s sake.’

  ‘And no one from then would be holding on to a grudge?’

  I shook my head, noticed that Julie, too, was shaking hers. The very notion was absurd. Who carries a grudge around for more than twenty years? It made no sense, but regardless of that, our schooldays weren’t particularly noteworthy.

  ‘We weren’t anything special in school. We weren’t trendy enough to be in the popular cliques and we weren’t moody enough to hang out with the cool girls – the goths and the rockers,’ I said.

  ‘We just did our thing. Hung out together. Nothing to report at all,’ Julie added.

  Constable King nodded. ‘Okay. Look, ladies, we’re going to get forensics to look at these flowers. I’ve spoken to DI Bradley and we’ll be putting an extra police presence in your areas. We’d like you to contact us immediately should anything out of the ordinary happen. Even if it seems inconsequential. I’ll give you both a direct line through to the incident room, which’ll guarantee you won’t have to wait to speak to someone. I know this must all seem a bit overwhelming just now, but we remain hopeful that we’ll catch whoever is responsible.’

  I can’t say that either Julie or I felt comforted at all by her words.

  Paul was on edge by the time I got home. He was standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables to make a stew, but
the manner in which he wielded the knife was very much like those poor vegetables had personally offended him. The loud thud of the blade as it hit the wooden chopping board over and over made my head hurt.

  ‘You’ve had an eventful morning, then,’ he said. It wasn’t a question.

  ‘Paul, we need to talk,’ I said.

  ‘Talk away,’ he said, turning his back to me to start throwing some of the vegetables into the pot bubbling on the stove.

  ‘Paul, this is really serious. I need your attention,’ I said.

  He turned and glared at me for a moment. ‘What is it now, Rachel? You know, I thought we were getting somewhere last night. Then you sneak out at first light this morning, gallivant around the place and wander back in here now with a face like thunder on you, demanding I stop what I’m doing because you need to talk to me now. Well, maybe it doesn’t suit me right now.’

  He lifted the knife and started chopping a carrot. The repetitive thump of the blade made me jump. I closed my eyes, tried to squeeze away the headache that had been building over the last few hours.

  ‘This isn’t about whether it suits you or not. This is about our girls. About us.’

  He stopped chopping and sighed. ‘One of those big, serious conversations, then. God, Rachel, do we have to start pulling everything apart again?’

  He was right that any time we’d been in a room together recently we’d ended up having a serious conversation, which inevitably seemed to turn into a row, but this was different, which was just what I told him.

  ‘The police will be here shortly to pick up those flowers,’ I said.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘For forensic examination. Julie got a similar display and one was left at Coney Road. All had weird messages.’

  ‘And?’ He shrugged, lifted the knife and started cutting again.

  I wanted to scream at him to stop. How could he not see how serious this was?

  ‘They can’t rule out a link between the flowers and Clare’s murder. They can’t rule out, yet, that her killer sent them – that he might have some grudge against us, too.’