Looking for JJ

by Anne Cassidy

  “This way,” Lucy said, ignoring the sign.

  Jennifer paused for a moment. They weren’t supposed to go. They would get in trouble if anyone saw them. She looked at her watch. It was almost eleven. They’d been out for an hour, walking round the lake for almost that long. If they carried on she wouldn’t have time to get back for Mr Cottis.

  “Come on,” Michelle said, linking her arm, pulling her onwards.

  And then it occurred to her. Why not stay out? Why not stay out all day? That way she wouldn’t have to see Mr Cottis or dress up in a silly uniform to have her photographs taken. She started to walk, her body feeling looser, lighter even. It was simple. Why hadn’t she thought of it up to that moment. She didn’t have to go back and have her photo taken.

  They left the lake behind, went up the path and into another wood. The trees there were bigger, older, more dense, as though they’d been there much longer than the lake. On either side of the path the branches leaned towards each other, touching above their heads, blocking out a lot of the sky. It made Jennifer feel secluded, as if she was in a different world. She felt a lightness in her step. Maybe, if she didn’t go home until late, Mr Cottis wouldn’t want the photographs at all.

  “It’s in there,” Lucy said, stopping, pointing to a gap in the trees that led downwards towards the edge of the lake.

  The three of them walked off the path and into the trees, stepping high to avoid the undergrowth, nettles, dry cracking twigs and thorny bushes. The light was dull and underfoot it became damp, their feet sinking into muddy patches.

  “Oh no,” Michelle said, holding up one of her white trainers coated with mud.

  “We’re nearly there,” Lucy said.

  They emerged from the trees on to a small rocky ledge that dropped sharply into deep water.

  “Where are we?” Jennifer said.

  Instead of reaching the shore as she’d expected, the lake was off to the side, distant, like a picture postcard, boats dotted here and there. In front of them, the water looked different, still and dense, almost black in colour. It was the width of a river, the opposite bank close enough to hit with a stone.

  “I don’t remember this bit,” Michelle said, still holding her foot up to look at her muddy trainer.

  “Stevie found it. Nobody comes here.”

  “Where’s the den?” Jennifer said, looking around, half expecting a small wooden building or a cave.

  “Here,” Lucy said, climbing over some rocks and beckoning for them to follow. “Careful, the rocks are slippy and some of them are loose.”

  Behind a couple of big boulders were a pile of branches, their leaves withered, dry and crackly. Lucy started to move them one by one and Jennifer was struck with admiration. Had the Bussell brothers built an underground den?

  “Here,” Lucy said, becoming breathless, moving the branches behind her, passing them to Jennifer and Michelle.

  When she got to the last couple she sat back. Beneath the wood and leaves they could see a tin box, a large tin box.

  “Where’s the den?” Michelle said.

  “This is it.”

  Lucy pulled the remaining branches off and put them behind her. The hole was about sixty centimetres deep. The tin box sat snugly in it, its corners scuffed. It must have been about thirty centimetres wide and sixty centimetres long. Jennifer couldn’t quite see, but it looked deep, as though it might hold a fair bit.

  “That’s not a den!” Michelle said, disdainfully.

  “Wait till you see what they keep here,” Lucy said, on her knees by then, grabbing the handle on the side of the box with both hands, pulling hard to move it. Jennifer got to the other side and pushed, her legs slipping for a moment and one of the loose rocks skidding away and dropping into the water.

  “It’s a box. It’s not a den! A den is a place to sleep, to eat, not a stupid box.”

  Jennifer and Lucy struggled until the tin box was out of the ground. It sat crookedly between them, with a dent in the lid that Jennifer hadn’t noticed at first. Lucy, breathless, flung it open. Inside it was packed: canteens for holding water, tins of baked beans and frankfurters, two sleeping bags rolled up on top of a skein of rope. There was an assortment of tools, screwdrivers, a hammer, a Stanley knife, even a baseball bat. Bit by bit they unpacked it, throwing things behind them, to the side. Michelle was sitting on a rock, rubbing at her filthy trainer. When they came to the bottom there was a small zip-up pouch.

  “Where’s the gun?” Jennifer said.

  “They don’t leave that here. It’s too dangerous!”

  “If it really exists,” Michelle said, sarcastically.

  Jennifer sat back, disappointed. Even though she hadn’t been bothered about coming she had half expected to find something interesting.

  “Stevie does have a gun!”

  Jennifer picked up the pouch. She unzipped it and turned it upside down so that the contents spilled out on to the gravelly ground. There was some money, mostly coins, and a couple of cigarette lighters. Inside, something was stuck, so she put her fingers in and pulled out a couple of photographs. They were upside down when she first saw them and it took her a moment to register what was there. A face that she knew. Two shots of her mum, lying back on a sofa of some sort, naked except for a teddy bear that she was holding up to her cheek. Her mum. Naked. A child’s toy rubbing against her skin. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t look nice. She held them in her hand for what seemed like a long time, her fingers trembling, her mind blank, like an empty room. Lucy, turning her head to see, made a small sound in her throat. It sounded like an “Oh”.

  “What’s that?” Michelle said, in a bored voice.

  “Where did your brother get this?” Jennifer said, in a whisper.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy answered, looking away, her voice barely making a sound.

  She did know. Jennifer could see it in her face. She knew! She knew about her mum and the photos and the school uniform and the disgusting Mr Cottis.

  “Is this why your brother said that my mum was a prostitute?” she demanded, her voice louder.

  Michelle stopped scraping at her muddy trainer.

  “I don’t know why he said that,” Lucy said, moving back a little, away from the tin box and the army stuff that was scattered across the rocks.

  She was lying.

  “Did you take these photos? Did you steal them from my house?”

  “No, no.”

  “You did! You took them and gave them to your stupid brothers. That’s why they said that my mum was a prostitute. She’s not. She’s a model. These are. . .”

  Lucy shrugged her shoulders, the look of concern gone and replaced by some other expression. Disbelief, ridicule. For a second Jennifer saw that look again. Her brother’s face, his lazy, mocking expression. It was there around Lucy’s lips, the corners of her eyes. It flickered on and off for a second and then it was gone and there was just Lucy’s little mouse face staring back at her.

  “What pictures?” Michelle said, taking the photos from Jennifer’s hand. “Oh my. . .”

  “You took them from my house! You had no right!”

  Lucy stood up, stumbling a little over the rough stones.

  “I never took them. I didn’t,” she squeaked, taking a step backwards, away from Jennifer.

  “You must have! How else could your brother have got hold of it? How else?”

  “Uncle Kenny gave it to him!”

  “Uncle Kenny? Kenny? Who’s Kenny?”

  “Kenny Cottis. My Uncle Kenny.”

  Jennifer stopped. She was breathing shallowly as if she’d just run a great distance. Lucy’s Uncle Kenny?

  “That photographer’s your uncle?” Michelle said, still looking at the pictures.

  “He’s not a photographer. He takes photos but that’s not his job.”

  “You haven’t got an uncle. My mum said you had no relatives. That’s why you have to stay at our house.”

  “He’s not really my uncle. He’s my
mum’s friend but I always call him . . . uncle. . .”

  Lucy had stepped backwards near to the edge of the rocks.

  “Mr Cottis is . . . your mum’s friend?”

  Jennifer couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. Mr Cottis was a proper photographer. He had equipment, cameras and lights. He was her mum’s agent. He was even going to take some photographs of her. That very day. At twelve o’clock. The dressing-up clothes were in the carrier bag. All she had to do was put them on and Mr Cottis would take some photos of her.

  “Some uncle!” Michelle said. “He’s just a dirty old man. He likes taking pictures of people with no clothes on. That’s disgusting.”

  Jennifer stepped towards Lucy. She looked straight into her face. Mr Cottis had probably been at her house, showing off his photographs to Stevie and Joe. Maybe he’d also been boasting about the photographs he was going to take of her.

  “I never took the photos, honest!” Lucy said, edging away.

  There was that expression again. Her brother Stevie, leering, drooling, rubbing himself while he looked at her mum. It wasn’t Lucy any more, just her despicable brother. Jennifer raised both hands up to push him away, to get him out of her sight. She stepped forward, giving a rough, hard shove until Lucy stumbled back away from her and toppled off the rocky ledge into the water.

  “Oh no,” Michelle shouted.

  She stood on the edge of the rocks and stared as Lucy bobbed up out of the water. The little girl made a gasping sound then sank down again, disappearing underneath the surface. Jennifer’s face was rigid, her skin like concrete, her mouth unable to move.

  “What have you done!”

  Michelle was gripping Jennifer’s arm fiercely. She turned to look at her best friend. Her mouth was hanging open in some kind of shock, but her eyes were glittering with excitement.

  Lucy surfaced. Her arms rose out of the water, and she seemed to thrash around for a moment before going underneath again.

  “Her clothes are too heavy,” Michelle said. “They’re dragging her down.”

  But she resurfaced and began to splash out in some kind of doggy-paddle, her mouth open, spluttering, spitting water out, her eyes rounded in astonishment. Jennifer, frozen to the spot, watched for seconds while Lucy made choking, gasping sounds. The water around her was calm and soupy, hardly moving at all. Lucy thrust her arms out towards the shore, gulping down mouthfuls, words gargling in her throat. Jennifer felt a swooning sensation as though she was about to faint. She turned to Michelle who was standing watching with her arms crossed. Why didn’t someone do something?

  She swung round and scanned the stuff strewn across rocks. Holding down a feeling of dizziness she strode across and picked up the skein of rope that they had tossed out of the tin box moments before. She pulled and pulled at it until it uncurled and tumbled loosely over her hands.

  “Take this,” she said sharply.

  Michelle looked at her and gave a half-shrug. She took the end of the rope in a resigned way; as if it was no use. Jennifer stepped to the edge of the rock and shouted as loud as she could, her voice cracking.

  “Lucy, grab hold of the rope. LUCY, get the rope, grab the rope.”

  She tossed it into the water, close to the struggling girl. Lucy saw it and threw out one of her arms, continuing to paddle frantically with the other. It was centimetres away and she couldn’t reach. Jennifer hauled it back. She took the end of it in her hand and lifted it above her head, throwing it with every ounce of strength she had. It flew past Lucy and flopped in the water. The little girl hadn’t seen it and was looking tired, her arms moving more slowly, the water oozing up to her chin, her eyes looking glassy and distant.

  “BEHIND YOU,” Jennifer shouted. “The rope is BEHIND you.”

  “Lucy! Look behind you!”

  She heard Michelle’s voice joining in and together they screamed at Lucy until she seemed to perk up and turn her head, reaching out wildly for the rope, grabbing it with one hand and then a couple of seconds later with the other. Jennifer felt lightheaded with relief.

  “She’s got it,” Michelle said.

  They pulled the rope together, as if in a tug of war. There was only a small girl at the other end but she was a dead weight, her clothes saturated. Lucy, her hands clenching the rope, had a look of fright on her face, as if she’d just seen a ghost. As moments went by her head seemed to loll backwards.

  “She’s too heavy,” Michelle said.

  “Walk backwards,” Jennifer shouted. “Backwards, come on. . .”

  Michelle took a step back straining on the rope and Jennifer did the same.

  “Again!” Jennifer shouted. “AGAIN!”

  Lucy came closer to the edge.

  “I’m letting go!” Jennifer said, throwing the words across her shoulder towards Michelle.

  In a second she was by the rocky edge, grabbing Lucy’s arms. She plunged her own feet in the water so that she could lean forward to pull the soaking-wet girl up.

  “Let go of the rope. Come and help me,” she grunted.

  The rope went slack and then Michelle was kneeling at her side, bending down, helping to pull Lucy out. She came up slowly as if the water was reluctant to let her go. With a final heave the three of them fell back on to the rocks, Lucy, cold and wet, lying half across Jennifer’s legs. After a moment Michelle jumped up and was wiping herself down.

  “I’m soaked!” she said, crossly. “She’s soaked. My mum’ll kill me for this!”

  Lucy struggled to her feet, the water dripping from her new dress.

  “I want to go home!” she said, amid hiccupping sobs.

  “You can’t!” Michelle said. “My mum’ll go mad! You’ll have to dry off first!”

  “She can dry off at home,” Jennifer said and was about to add, She can dry off in my house, but then remembered that Mr Cottis would be there expecting to take photographs.

  “It’s all right for you. I’m supposed to look after her!” Michelle said, grabbing Lucy’s arm and pulling her along.

  “I don’t need anyone to look after me. . .” Lucy said, her voice disappearing at the end.

  “Don’t pull her like that, she might have hurt herself in the water!”

  “Mind your own business. If you hadn’t lost your temper she wouldn’t have been in the water at all and I wouldn’t be in trouble,” Michelle said, raising her voice.

  “I’m telling your mum,” Lucy said, shaking off Michelle’s hand.

  “No, you won’t. Otherwise you can go back to your own house!”

  Lucy looked up sharply, her pale skin the colour of a wax candle.

  “Don’t say that to her!” Jennifer said. Hadn’t Lucy had enough?

  “Why not? What’s it got to do with you, anyroad? You’re the one who called her Mouse. You’re the one who said her brothers were morons. Me and her were friends before you came!”

  As soon as the words came out Jennifer looked around at Lucy. She looked pathetic, soaking wet, her hair flattened into her head. Without a word she turned and walked away into the trees and out of sight.

  “Lucy, wait,” Jennifer shouted.

  “Don’t come all goody-goody! You threw her in the water!” Michelle said, pointing her finger at Jennifer. “What kind of friend are you?”

  “I didn’t mean. . .”

  “You’re mental, you are. Look at that time you hit Sonia with the recorder. Now Lucy. Someone like you ought to be locked away.”

  “Don’t say that!” Jennifer said, her fingers stiffening with annoyance.

  “I’m telling your mum about this,” Michelle said, straightening her back.

  “Don’t you say anything to my mum!” Jennifer said, taking a step towards her.

  “That reminds me. Your mum. You said she was a model. You didn’t say she showed her tits off to everyone!”

  The words were like a smack and Jennifer reeled back.

  “Gross!”

  She hadn’t known. Jennifer hadn’t known. Not really, n
ot until the day before when she’d looked into Mr Cottis’s suitcase on wheels.

  “And Stevie Bussell’s right. There are loads of men who visit your house. I heard my mum telling my dad last night, at dinner.”

  Michelle’s mum and dad at dinner. The picture of it infuriated her.

  “My mum’s a model,” Jennifer said, her throat tight like a fist.

  “Yes? And my dad’s Father Christmas!”

  Michelle turned and began to walk away. Jennifer watched her go for a second before realizing what was happening. Her friend. Her best friend hated her.

  “Wait!”

  Jennifer moved to follow but caught her foot on a rock. She stumbled forward, putting her hands out to break the fall. One hand hit the ground full on, the other skidded across the baseball bat that had rolled there earlier. Her chin hit the ground with a thud.

  Michelle stopped abruptly and turned back. With a sigh she walked across and held out her hand. Her face was full of pity and Jennifer couldn’t bear it. She turned on her side and pulled herself into a sitting position. For some reason she found herself holding the baseball bat.

  “Please yourself!” she heard Michelle’s voice from behind. “To think I used to feel sorry for Lucy – now I feel more sorry for you.”

  Using the baseball bat as a prop, Jennifer got to her feet. Her chin was throbbing and the skin on her hand was stinging. None of it mattered, though. Here she was, a girl without any friends, with a mum at home who wanted her to pose for pictures. A mum who took money and was probably counting up the pink fifty-pound notes at that very moment for the pictures Mr Cottis would take of her. How would he want her? Lying on a settee with a teddy bear?

  “It’s not your fault.” Michelle’s mouth was dripping with sarcasm and Jennifer clutched the baseball bat as though it was a crutch that she needed to lean on. “After all,” Michelle continued, “we can’t choose our parents.”

  With that she swivelled round away from her and began to walk off. Michelle had the right parents. Jennifer went after her.