Goodbye, Perfect

by Sara Barnard

  ‘Let’s get straight into it, shall we?’ DC Delmonte says to me, nodding as he speaks. ‘When did you last speak to Bonnie?’

  I swallow. ‘Um, last Friday?’

  DC Delmonte glances up at me. ‘You’re not sure?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You said it like a question,’ he says.

  ‘Oh. Well. No, I’m sure. It was last Friday.’

  ‘And how did you speak to her? Was it a phone call? In person? Were you Snapchatting?’

  I wonder if he even knows what Snapchat is. ‘It was over the phone,’ I say. ‘The last time. I saw her earlier in the day, at a revision session at school.’

  ‘How did she sound on the phone?’

  ‘Fine. Just normal Bonnie.’

  Once again DC Doyle is staying silent, just scribbling away as DC Delmonte and I talk.

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Did she mention Jack at all?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’ This seems safe to be honest about. ‘I think she told me she was seeing him that evening. But I’m not sure, that could just be a different conversation that we had some other time.’

  ‘What time did you speak to her?’

  I shrug. ‘Early evening? Like, six?’

  ‘And the Jack she spoke about. Did you know that he was your teacher?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘What did she tell you about him?’

  ‘Not much. She was all secretive about it.’

  He nods, then abruptly changes tack. ‘How long have you and Bonnie been friends?’

  ‘Eight years,’ I say promptly.

  ‘And how close is your relationship?’

  ‘Er . . . well, she’s my best friend.’

  ‘Do you see her every day? Spend your social time together? Tell each other everything?’

  I nod, cautiously.

  ‘You share all your secrets?’

  I catch on just in time. ‘Well, I thought we did.’ At this, Carolyn gives me a sad smile.

  ‘Did she ever tell you that she was seeing Mr Cohn?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Any hint at all?’

  Another head-shake.

  ‘What about her behaviour? Has she been acting differently recently? Ever talked about wanting to run away?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, trying to figure out the best way to reply, ‘I haven’t seen as much of her over the last few weeks. But it’s exam time. I thought she was revising.’

  ‘And what about running away? Did she ever say anything to you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Not really?’

  ‘I mean, no.’

  ‘How do you feel about Bonnie running away with Mr Cohn?’

  Is that a trick question? Not What do you know about it? or even What do you think about it? But How do you feel?

  How do I feel?

  ‘Angry,’ I say, surprising myself.

  ‘Angry?’ he prompts.

  ‘It’s selfish,’ I say. I feel my hands screw into fists at my lap. ‘And stupid. And gross.’

  ‘What makes you say “selfish”?’

  ‘Everyone’s worried. And she’s just off having fun like it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What makes you think she’s having fun?’

  I close my mouth and bite down on my lips from the inside. Suddenly everything looks like a trap.

  ‘Well, it’s not like he kidnapped her, is it?’ I say.

  ‘Actually, legally, it is abduction.’

  ‘Well, then legally that’s stupid.’

  Carolyn gives me a look, but I just glare back. I feel hot and weirdly itchy, like I’m sitting under a spotlight.

  ‘When did you last speak to Bonnie?’ DC Delmonte asks.

  ‘Friday,’ I say tightly. The repeated question is a trick, and I know it is, and it makes me hate him. ‘Like I said.’

  ‘Ah, yes, sorry about that.’ He gives me a smile I don’t buy for a second. ‘What was your relationship like with Mr Cohn?’

  I make a face involuntarily and I see a slight smile twitch on DC Doyle’s face.

  ‘I didn’t have one.’

  ‘Well, what did you think of him?’

  ‘He was just a teacher.’

  ‘Was he ever inappropriate with you in any way?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ever make any remarks that may have been a little . . . over the line?’

  I think about the newspaper article I read yesterday morning. Those idiot, big-mouth girls in the paper. Stop Flirting With Me, Sir! For God’s sake. No one believed that bullshit, did they?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he ever initiate contact with you on Facebook?’

  ‘No.’ I could add that I have watertight privacy controls on my Facebook, but I don’t like this man, so I don’t.

  ‘Did you like him?’

  I shrug. ‘He’s a teacher.’

  ‘Meaning yes?’

  Did this guy ever go to school? ‘Meaning no.’

  DC Delmonte chuckles a little, like Haha, these crazy teens and their silly opinions. ‘Why do you think they chose to go to Wales?’

  I lift my shoulders again. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Was Tenby special in some way to Bonnie?’

  ‘Not really. I never heard her mention it.’

  ‘No? Did she ever mention anywhere in particular?’

  I shake my head, wondering what it is he thinks I’m going to say. Bonnie and Mr Cohn are runaways, not holidaymakers. What difference does it make if a place is special to Bonnie or not?

  ‘You don’t have any idea at all where they might go next?’

  ‘Why would I? You know more about it than I do.’

  ‘Mmm,’ DC Delmonte says, impenetrable. ‘Your GCSEs are starting this week, aren’t they?’

  He obviously knows this is true, so I don’t know why he’s phrasing it as a question. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘How was Bonnie feeling about them?’

  I have a sudden flash of Bonnie sitting at the dining-room table at her house, two highlighter pens in one hand and another between her teeth, putting together her revision schedule, two whole months ago. ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘Was she maybe a bit stressed? A bit overworked?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Did she ever talk to you about that?’

  Another flash of memory surfaces: a moment I’d forgotten. Bonnie, eyes earnest and searching, asking me, ‘Eden, do you think I’m wasting my life caring about the wrong things? Am I doing my life all wrong?’ What had I even said? I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?

  ‘No.’ I don’t even know if I’m lying.

  ‘OK, just one last question, Eden, if I may. Do you want Bonnie to come home?’

  I frown. ‘What do you mean? Of course I do.’

  He looks at me for a moment, then nods. ‘All right, that’s all from us for now, I think.’ I wonder how he knows DC Doyle doesn’t have any questions without even asking her.

  They start gathering up their things, and Carolyn gets to her feet, smiling in relief. ‘Are you any closer to finding them?’ she asks.

  ‘We’re following some significant leads,’ DC Delmonte says. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’

  After they leave, Carolyn gives me a little hug, and I let her. ‘That wasn’t so awful, was it?’ she says, sounding even more relieved than I am.

  ‘They must really have no clue if they’re talking to me,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be so negative. They know what they’re doing.’

  ‘If they knew what they were doing, they would’ve found her by now,’ I reply.

  Carolyn picks up the kettle and clicks the lid open, holding it under the tap to fill it. ‘I’m not sure things are ever that simple.’

  ‘Their questions were so weird.’

  ‘Tea?’ she asks, a very obvious attempt to avoid agreeing or disagreeing.

  ‘Didn’t you think?’ I persist. ‘All that stu
ff about wanting her to come back or not? Like, what difference does that make? And why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Well, they know what they’re doing,’ Carolyn says again. ‘It seems to me like they’re trying to understand why Bonnie would leave – and leave now – as much as trying to find out where she is.’

  ‘And they think that’s something to do with our exams?’

  ‘It seemed so, didn’t it? That would make sense.’

  I frown. ‘That makes no sense. It’s Bonnie. She lives for exams.’

  ‘I know, and maybe that’s the problem. That poor girl has been almost obsessively academic for as long as you’ve known her. Always working herself up into a state about end-of-year exams and insignificant bits of homework.’

  ‘I thought you admired that about her,’ I say. ‘I thought you wanted me to be more like her.’

  Carolyn looks at me in genuine surprise. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’ The kettle clicks off and she reaches for it. ‘You and Bonnie are very different people. I’m glad she’s been such a good friend to you over the years, and that she’s been a . . .’ She trails off, considering. ‘A steadying influence on you. But I’ve never wanted you to be more like her. I’d have been worried about you if you’d started acting like school was all that mattered in your life. Do you remember your mocks, before Christmas? How Bonnie was? I remember feeling worried about her then. I almost called her mother.’ She hesitates, then frowns. ‘Maybe I should have done.’

  ‘I doubt it would have made much of a difference,’ I say.

  Carolyn stares out of the window for a moment, then sighs and starts pouring out the kettle into two cups. ‘Maybe not,’ she says. She’s silent for a while, letting the tea brew, before she speaks again. ‘Have you spoken with your sister about all this?’

  ‘Daisy?’

  I see her smile as she spoons sugar into my cup. ‘No, Valerie.’

  ‘Oh. No.’

  ‘Maybe you should. She’s very insightful, you know, and she understands academic pressure. It might help.’

  I shrug. I can’t imagine having a heart-to-heart with Valerie, especially about all of this, but it doesn’t seem necessary to say so. ‘Maybe,’ I say.

  Our mock exams, which were meant to prepare us for our GCSEs, had happened last November. ‘Think of them like a trial run,’ Mrs Berwick had said. ‘You’ll have an idea of what it feels like to undergo the proper examination process, and we’ll get a sense of how you’re likely to perform.’ She gave us one of her pointed glares before she added, ‘And so will your parents.’

  In other words, they didn’t actually matter.

  Unless your name was Bonnie Wiston-Stanley.

  Bonnie threw herself into exam mode like it was the real thing and her entire life depended on her success. She drew up revision timetables and taped them to her bedroom walls. She walked around translating everything she said into French, a look of constant worry on her face.

  ‘Will you chill your damn boots?’ I asked, repeatedly. ‘You already know you’re going to do well. Give it a rest.’

  But she didn’t. One night, during dinner at my house, Carolyn asked her gently if she was getting enough sleep.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Bonnie said, as if we couldn’t all see the dark circles under her eyes. ‘I’m on top of it.’

  But she wasn’t. Once, she fell asleep during a special assembly about drugs and would have got thrown into detention if I hadn’t woken her up before Mr Hale noticed.

  ‘I think you’re working way too hard,’ I said.

  She laughed. ‘No offence, Eeds, but to you turning up for a lesson is working too hard.’

  ‘Seriously,’ I said.

  ‘It’s fine; it’s just a few more months,’ she said confidently. ‘Yeah, OK, it’s a bit stressful right now, but it’ll be over by, like, June.’

  ‘Yeah, and then you have your A levels,’ I pointed out.

  For a moment, I saw actual fear on Bonnie’s face. She faltered, frowned, and then smiled, shrugging. The moment was gone. ‘It won’t be like this. Four subjects instead of ten. That’s totally different. And they’re ones I’ve actually picked for myself. I’ll be fine.’ I must have looked unsure, because she laughed. ‘I can’t wait!’ she insisted.

  It was around this time that she started having panic attacks – just small ones at first. They’d happen on the way to school or inside it, and usually in between lessons rather than during them. I’d turn around and she’d have disappeared and I’d find her in the nearest toilets, wheezing over the sink.

  It can’t just have been me who noticed. But still no one else said, Bonnie, you’re working yourself too hard.

  Except, that’s not true, is it? Someone did notice. Mr Cohn did. What was that song he played her? Something about slowing down, about not burning out? Something about Vienna?

  I find the song on Spotify and play it over and over, listening until the lyrics are embedded in my mind. I imagine Mr Cohn playing it for her. I imagine what it would have meant for her, to hear words like this from someone like Mr Cohn. And for the first time, a part of me begins to understand.

  12

  It feels like a long time since I’ve properly seen Connor, especially with everything that’s been going on, so I suggest meeting at the nature reserve after lunch.

  When I arrive he’s already sitting on top of the main gate. There’s a folded-up blanket on his lap – Connor is the kind of person who thinks to do things like bring blankets – and he grins at me as I approach.

  ‘Hi!’ He jumps off the gate and kisses me hello.

  God, it’s so nice to see him. Sweet, uncomplicated Connor. My proof that I can make good decisions, good life choices, here in front of me, taking my hand on a Tuesday afternoon.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ I ask.

  He smiles. ‘Doing good! The doctor said the bones should heal up without any problems because they were clean breaks. She’s on some strong painkillers this week, so she’s in a super-good mood.’ He laughs, which I take as a cue to smile.

  ‘That’s good,’ I say.

  ‘Yep, it is. She told me to tell you that she’s thinking of you and Bonnie.’

  ‘Aw,’ I say, touched. ‘That’s so sweet.’

  Connor takes my hand and we walk through the main gate into the nature reserve, taking our usual route through the woods and past the stream to get to the field of heather. When we first started going out and we didn’t want our parents to know, we’d come to the nature reserve together and spend the whole day kissing and talking. (Mostly kissing.) We even came here once when it was raining, because we thought it would be really romantic to kiss in the rain. (It wasn’t. I got mud all over my jeans, and Connor got a cold.)

  Today is dry and sunny. We find a spot on the heath, and Connor shakes open the blanket for us, settling it on the grass. We curl into each other and kiss for a while under the sun, and it’s all so perfect I actually forget about Bonnie and secrets and exams. Kissing Connor is like its own kind of magic.

  But, sadly, we can’t stay like that forever, mainly because the magic is starting to turn into something else, something that can’t happen on a blanket in the middle of the public nature reserve, so we break apart, all breathy and pink. He lies back on his elbows and I settle my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to its usual steady beat.

  ‘So how did it go this morning?’ Connor asks. ‘With the police?’

  I shrug. ‘It was OK. Kind of stressful.’

  ‘Why?’

  Because I know where she is and I can’t tell them. Or you. ‘Have you ever spoken to the police?’

  He laughs. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Well, there you go. Just take my word for it.’

  ‘What kind of questions did they ask?’

  ‘Do you know where she is? Did you know about her and Mr Cohn? Stuff like that.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  Oh God, I don’t want to lie to Connor, but I can’
t tell him the truth. The best I can do is fudge it. ‘I basically said I had no idea they were together until they were gone, like everyone else.’

  Connor shakes his head. ‘It’s so crazy that she didn’t tell you.’

  This I can agree with. ‘I know, right?’

  ‘And you really didn’t have any idea?’

  ‘No! I mean, who knew Bonnie was such a good liar, you know?’

  ‘You’re taking it a lot better than I thought you would,’ he says.

  I frown. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I just thought you’d be more upset. You know, about all the lies? I can barely believe she’s done all this, and she’s not even my best friend.’

  I’m not sure how to reply, so I just sit there for a bit, watching a bird swoop towards the lake on the other side of the reserve. ‘Being upset won’t do much good right now, will it?’

  ‘People don’t get upset to do good, though, do they? They get upset because they’re upset.’

  And sometimes people bury the upset because it’s just too much. If I let myself think about what it means that Bonnie has lied like this to me, about something so huge, and for so long, how could I ever deal with that? If nothing else, that kind of heartache can wait.

  ‘I think . . .’ I trail off. ‘I think maybe I’m just saving it. For when she gets back. Does that make sense?’

  My phone buzzes and I look distractedly down at it. Ivy. How did it go?!?! A four-word text, hours after the fact, to make up for an actual police interrogation.

  I make the fatal mistake of letting out the tiniest, softest tut of annoyance. And Connor looks over at me, curious. Shit. Aiming for nonchalant, I shove my phone into my bag.

  His eyebrows go up, questioning.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

  Connor’s face wrinkles in confusion. ‘No it’s not,’ he says, correctly. ‘Who was the message from?’

  ‘Oh, just . . .’ I have forgotten the names of every single person in my life except Bonnie. ‘Daisy. It’s Daisy. Being annoying.’

  ‘No,’ he says again, slowly. ‘If it was Daisy, you’d just reply.’

  There’s a silence. ‘I don’t feel like I replying,’ I say.

  ‘Eden,’ Connor says.

  I sit up and grab a handful of heather, starting to shred it into my lap so I have something to do with my hands, trying to string out the time before I have to tell him for as long as I can.