What You Left Behind

by Samantha Hayes

  “I saw Freddie before dinner,” Gil said, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. His face shone out earnestly. “He was in a hurry and I said ‘Hello Freddie would you like to come to our barbecue?’ but he told me to fuck off that’s a rude thing to say and if I had a girlfriend I would never say that to her.”

  Jo stood up. “Oh dear,” she said, swiping at the hair that had blown across her face. “I’m really sorry, Gil.” She looked anguished. “That’s not like Freddie at all.”

  “Jo, it’s OK,” Lorraine said. “I’m sure he’ll be home by the time we get back.”

  IT WAS A quarter to eleven when they left the Manor. Stella was tired and begged for a piggyback, so Adam hoisted her onto his back and galloped off, making silly noises. Even at her age she still loved messing about with her dad, Lorraine thought. Jo had already raced off ahead. When they finally caught up with her she was standing outside the front door in the light of the porch.

  “He’s not here. And Stella’s phone isn’t here either. What the hell do we do now?”

  “You should probably phone Malc,” Lorraine suggested, watching her sister’s face transform from worry to anguish. “He might have gone to see him.”

  Jo lunged for the phone and made the call.

  At midnight they were all still awake, sipping coffee around the kitchen table, waiting for news. Malc hadn’t answered and several messages had been left, as well as a few more for Freddie, and even some for friends of his.

  “I’m so worried, Lorraine, really worried,” Jo said for about the tenth time that evening.

  Lorraine sighed and looked at Adam. “We know how you feel. Grace took leave of her senses last year and decided to move out. It was all over a boy.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.” For a moment, considering someone else’s troubles seemed to calm Jo, and she almost managed a smile. “Kids, eh? What did you do?”

  “In the end, absolutely nothing. We were lucky. She came back.”

  Jo’s phone beeped as a text came in. She read the message eagerly, then her shoulders dropped a couple of inches. “It’s James, Freddie’s mate. He hasn’t seen Freddie since Tuesday last week. Oh God, what if he’s going to sleep rough or has been in an accident or got in a fight?”

  “In our experience, that’s unlikely,” Adam reassured her. “Most teenagers turn up soon enough. He might well spend the night in a farmer’s barn or a neighbor’s shed, yes, but that’s character-building.”

  “I can’t stand the thought,” Jo said, her eyes filling with tears. “And it’s all my fault.” She turned to Lorraine. “You know it. And I do too.”

  17

  It is messy so I gather up all but one of the drawings and pack them away in a box. I don’t want anyone to see them. They are my secrets. I like secrets. I’m good at keeping them, although sometimes they burn the inside of my head until there’s nothing left to hold them in.

  Tonight my pockets have secrets, too, so I turn out the contents, laying both things next to each other. The iPhone is better than mine, white and shiny with a pretty pink sparkly cover. I won’t steal it. That would be wrong, even though it’s the latest model, but I can’t help reading through all her texts, looking at her pictures, taking one of myself looking handsome for her. Stella is my friend now. I know she likes me.

  Then I pick up the little pebble, turning it over and over between my fingers. It’s shiny and has special green bits on it. Stella gave it to me. She was playing with it at the barbecue tonight, chucking it from one hand to the other, looking bored. When she saw me watching her, she threw it at me. She was smiling and her hair was hanging down, looking all pretty. I said thank you for the stone and now that must mean she is my good friend because she gave me a present.

  I kiss the pebble in case it’s like one of those fairy tales where something amazing happens. I close my eyes and wait, but when I open them again everything is still the same. There is no beanstalk or fairy godmother or golden carriage, or even Stella standing in front of me. I put the stone on the table beside the phone.

  I make a cup of tea and put the television on but I can’t concentrate. My legs are everywhere tonight, jiggling and annoying me, so I decide to go for a walk. I put on a lightweight jacket. Sonia says it’s best to do that, even in the summer, so I don’t catch my death, she said. If anyone threw my death at me, I told her, I would let go of it, not catch it. Sonia laughed for ages, but that was before Simon died. She doesn’t laugh now.

  Thinking about Simon makes me feel cold so I zip up my jacket right up to the neck. I don’t feel any warmer. Poor Simon. I am alive and he isn’t. I can do my drawings but he can’t. He can’t do anything anymore.

  Before I leave, I stare at my new picture, the one I left out on the table. I squint at it. It’s making me cross. It won’t go the way I want. Stella is riding one of Lana’s ponies, but the pony has collapsed beneath her and is dead and Stella is screaming from the swarm of flies that is on her face. Then I think: if I just put Freddie in the picture, if I draw him being angry and running away, if I draw snakes coming out of his mouth, then it will be better and it will be finished.

  THE LANE IS bright from the moon. I like walking at night. People don’t come up to me and say, “How are you today, Gil?” as if I am ill. If I had a girlfriend, she wouldn’t think I was ill and ask me questions all the time. She would watch television with me and hold my hand. That is why I need to get one although I probably won’t find one tonight.

  I go down into the village and stop when I get to the crossroads. I look right then left then right again. If you go out of the village for about a mile it takes you to where Dean died. But you can also go over the fields if you want to get to Devil’s Mile. It’s quicker that way. I sometimes go and watch the kids on their skateboards or scooters down there. I don’t have a skateboard or a scooter. I’m shivering again.

  The lights are still on in Jo’s house even though it’s late. I creep up to the front hedge and watch them all sitting at the kitchen table. Jo has her head resting in her hands and her hair has fallen over her face. I glance at the upstairs windows but they are all dark. Stella will be asleep now. I would like it if she came for a walk with me. I would take care of her. She is my friend and now Jo is standing up and sitting down again. Her sister and that other man are the police. I am not scared of the police even though Sonia is because of what happened to Simon. She gets upset every time she hears a siren.

  I go round the back of Jo’s house, stepping carefully over the gravel because it makes a noise like that beach we went to. People sometimes get cross if you go into their gardens at night.

  I stop. I hear voices. A man and a woman. The police detectives have come outside. I recognize their voices. Then I smell cigarette smoke.

  Shouldn’t do that … don’t be stupid … she’s panicking for nothing … I’m not so sure. Listen, Adam …

  Then it goes fuzzy like a radio going out of tune. Someone coughs.

  … concerned about what Gil said … someone else on that bike … How would he know?… Not your problem … No, I know that … that dick Burnley … not a murder inquiry for heaven’s sake …

  Then I just hear bits about a girl called Grace and an athletics camp and then they’re talking about next week and the man says, Let’s talk to Gil then, if you like. We’ll keep it secret for now.

  I’m good at keeping secrets.

  18

  When Freddie woke on Thursday morning, he had no idea where he was. Had he drunk too much the night before? But then he remembered and his heart began to quicken as he sank farther down inside the sleeping bag.

  Last night it had seemed like a good idea to come here when the only other option had been sleeping under a hedge. He’d been certain that Frank wasn’t on duty—the shift manager’s timetable had been pinned to the wall when he’d called by to see Lana—and of course he knew that Sonia and Lana were at home entertaining. None of the other volunteers had any idea who he was, and as for the
people who stayed here, it was only Lenny who’d known him. And he was dead.

  The other cocooned bodies were waking and shuffling from their bunks. The smell of bacon and toast tantalized Freddie—he hadn’t eaten for ages. But the tang of cigarette smoke from the open doorway where some of the stay-overs were standing, inhaling their first puff of the day, made him feel nauseous.

  He pulled the sleeping bag over his face, wondering if everyone was out looking for him. He thought of his mum. She’d be desperately worried. How long would it be before anyone searched here at New Hope? He needed to get up and out, in case Frank or Sonia arrived. But where could he go?

  “Come and get it!” Freddie heard a voice yell out of the kitchen hatch. “Breakfast’s ready!”

  Shit.

  He couldn’t sink any deeper inside the sleeping bag. He’d just have to wait, hide inside the bedding until Lana left; then he could sneak away quietly.

  “Come on, you lot. Anyone would think you didn’t want it.” Lana was rounding everyone up.

  A few minutes later, Freddie peeked out of his bag. It seemed he was the only one still in bed. Everyone else was perched on their beds with a plate on their knees, shoving piles of toast and eggs and bacon into their mouths. The youth on the next bunk caught his eye, pulled his plate closer to his mouth, and gave him a friendly nod as he chewed.

  “I’ll go over and see who it is.” Lana’s voice rang out from the kitchen, causing Freddie to dive back inside his bag.

  He heard her approaching, humming her favorite song. A moment later there was a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

  “Morning,” she said, patting him on the back. “It’ll be time to leave for the day soon. Don’t you want any breakfast?”

  A pause.

  “Are you awake?”

  Freddie stirred, pretending to be asleep. “Leave me alone,” he grunted in a low voice.

  He’d wait for her to go back in the kitchen, then grab his stuff and run for it. He could get dressed properly down the road.

  But Lana gave his shoulder another shake. “How about some egg and bacon?” she said kindly. “There’s still some left.”

  Freddie curled himself into a ball. “I’ll get up in a bit,” he growled. “Just leave me, right?”

  “Up now, please, or we won’t be able to guarantee you a bed later,” she said, more sternly this time. “Don’t you know the rules?”

  Freddie had no idea about the rules. Since that text last night, any rules he’d ever lived by had been blown apart.

  “Are you new here?” she persisted. “There’s tea and coffee too. You don’t have to eat.”

  Knowing now that Lana was not going to go away, Freddie turned over and blinked up at her, praying he could trust her.

  “Oh my God, Freddie!” she said.

  “Shhh,” he hissed back. “For fuck’s sake, shut up.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? Everyone’s out looking for you.”

  “Just go away, will you?” he whispered back. “Pretend you didn’t see me, right? I’m serious, Lana.”

  She knelt down beside him, their faces close, her voice quieter now. “Freddie, what on earth is the matter? Is it to do with the computer? Did you find the pictures? I’m not going until you tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you. I just had to get away from home, that’s all, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Everyone was expecting you at my house last night for the barbecue. When you didn’t come, your mum got really worried. We all did.”

  Lana’s cheeks colored briefly, and Freddie knew that he should take this as a good sign, that she’d wanted to spend time with him last night. He tried not to think about it. They’d never have the chance now. His life here was over.

  “I hitched a lift here and some old boy took pity on me and gave me a bed.”

  “That’ll be Derek,” Lana replied, glancing over her shoulder. “He does Wednesday nights. Has something happened between you and your mum?” She grabbed his hand. “Just tell me. Were there any pictures on the computer?”

  Freddie’s head dropped down onto the pillow. What was he supposed to say? That a crazy psycho killer had anonymously texted him from a number he didn’t recognize; that he’d witnessed Lenny being beaten to death, he now realized; and that he was on the run because the killer was after him too?

  “It’s complicated, Lana,” Freddie mumbled, wishing he could confide in her, do anything to release some of the pressure in his chest.

  “So you did find something then,” she said defiantly. “I can help, Freddie, if you’ll only let me.”

  Freddie lifted his head and glanced furtively around. No one was paying him any attention. “Lana, if you want to help, then get me out of here without being spotted.” He looked at his watch. “Is your mum working here today? Or Frank?” If they saw him, they’d tell his mum for sure.

  It hurt deeply to know that he’d never see any of his family again.

  “I’m covering Mum’s shift this morning because, ironically, she wanted to help search for you.” Lana gave Freddie a dig in the ribs with her fist. She was angry at him. “Just tell me what’s going on, will you?”

  Freddie sighed. He couldn’t possibly tell her about Lenny. Not after the threat. Her life would be in danger too.

  He pulled her closer, enjoying her sweet scent. He’d probably never see her again either.

  “Some kids are giving me shit, that’s all. I need to lie low for a while.”

  Lana’s face crumpled into a sympathetic look.

  “And I don’t mean just a bit of banter. I mean sustained, soul-destroying harassment. It’s been going on for months, online and while we were at school. I never get any peace. They’re on my back day and night. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know. Probably because I’m the loser they tell me I am. They won’t be happy until I’m dead.”

  Freddie looked down, not wanting her to see the tears welling in his eyes.

  “Oh, Freddie.” Her hand reached into the folds of the sleeping bag and sought out his fingers. “Have you told anyone else?”

  He shook his head. “No point. It would just make it worse.” He looked around the hall. People were packing up their belongings. “Just help me get out, right?”

  “But—”

  Freddie dived down into his sleeping bag.

  “Freddie? What is it?”

  “Frank’s just arrived,” came the muffled reply.

  “He might be able to help you,” Lana offered.

  “No one must know I’m here,” he said as clearly as he could without raising his voice. He was shaking.

  “But Derek will have logged you in the book last night.”

  “I used a fake name.”

  “Freddie, I—”

  “Just shut up, right? I need to leave. It was a mistake to come here.”

  “OK, OK, I’ll help,” Lana replied, squeezing his fingers.

  For a moment Freddie felt soothed, as if none of this was happening, as if this was the beginning of the connection between them that he’d dreamed of.

  “But where are you going to go? What will you do?”

  There was genuine concern in Lana’s voice.

  Freddie hadn’t thought this through. He didn’t even know which way to turn when he left New Hope. Up the hill or down the hill? Left or right?

  “I think you should go back home,” Lana said. “I’ll help you work everything out, I promise. We’ll sort out this computer mess once and for all and get help about the idiots who are bullying you.”

  Freddie was tempted, so tempted, to take her advice, to crawl out of his sleeping bag, stretch back into his life, allow her to work through things with him. But how could he? He couldn’t go to the police about what had happened in the woods—he was as guilty as the bastard who killed Lenny—and he couldn’t stick around and wait for the murderer to catch up with him. He felt more desperate than ever.

  I know who you are and what you saw. Yo
u’re dead next.

  The text had burned through his fitful sleep. He couldn’t tell Lana.

  “I can’t go back,” he stated.

  “Look, why don’t you say you went to a mate’s for the night, had a few beers, and your phone battery was dead. Your mum will just be relieved to see you, Freddie. She’s been really worried about you.”

  “You don’t understand. Please, Lana, cover me while I leave.”

  She dropped her head. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Freddie. This is all about the laptop and my paranoia, isn’t it? It’s my fault you’re in this mess. And now Lenny’s dead and everyone’s worried the suicides are happening again and …”

  For a moment, Freddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing or work out where it was coming from. “Fuck,” he whispered, squirming out of the sleeping bag, throwing on his top, and pulling up the hood.

  Lana lifted her head. “Freddie?”

  “That noise,” he said, sitting on the floor and pulling on his trousers. “Where’s it coming from?”

  “That ringtone?” Lana said, looking around. “Er … sounds like Frank’s phone. Yes, it is—look, he’s just answered it.”

  “You certain?” Freddie asked, shoving a couple of things into his bag, making sure the laptop was still inside. He fumbled with his sneakers, not bothering to lace them. “You’re sure it was Frank’s phone that just rang?”

  “Yes,” Lana said, almost laughing. “What’s so awful about that?”

  Freddie could barely speak. It was, note for note, exactly the same as the ringtone he’d heard in the woods. The killer’s phone. He’d had nightmares about it ever since watching Lenny get beaten up.

  Ever since watching Frank kill Lenny.

  Freddie grabbed his bag. “Cover me while I get to the door,” he ordered.

  “Freddie, no, wait. This is madness.”

  Before he could protest or stop her, Lana was striding off to the kitchen, where Frank was on the phone. Freddie, realizing he was in full view of the kitchen hatch, ducked down behind his bunk, pretending to search for something in his bag. A moment later, she returned.