Looking for JJ

by Anne Cassidy

  He came cautiously into the room with a finger on his lips, as though she might suddenly call out. She pulled herself up, fixing her pillow so that it made a back-rest. He sat down on the bed and kissed her hard, his fingers on her shoulders, pressing into her skin.

  “I thought we weren’t going to do this!” she said, when he finally moved back.

  “We’re not! I’ve just come to say goodnight,” he said, running his fingers down the front of her new nightdress, his hand resting on her breast.

  “Goodnight!” she said severely, moving his hand.

  But he didn’t go. He lay down beside her, his head on her chest.

  “They all love you, I can tell,” he said, his voice crackly as if he was about to fall asleep.

  “They’ve only just met me,” Alice said, stroking his hair. “They don’t know me.”

  “What’s to know?” he said.

  Alice’s breath became shallow and she spoke before thinking.

  “You don’t really know me either. I mean, about my life. When I was younger, a kid.”

  “You never talk about it,” he said.

  “What if. . .” She stopped, hardly daring to go on. “What if . . . I’d done something bad. When I was younger?”

  He didn’t speak and she was aware of his arm moving under the covers, his fingers pulling at her nightdress. She gripped his hand and pulled it up to her face.

  “Frankie,” she whispered, “what if I’d done something awful? In my past? Would you still want me then?”

  He raised his head and looked at her, his face in shadow but his eyes dark and penetrating.

  “Of course I’d still want you. I love you, silly!”

  He kissed her again, softer this time, and then sat up rubbing his eyes with his fists.

  “I’d better go and get some sleep. We’ve got sightseeing to do tomorrow!”

  She waited until he’d gone before lowering her pillow. The bed felt empty, her own body hardly making a dent in it. She let her eyes shut and pulled the duvet over her face. All she could see was darkness, but it still didn’t help her to sleep. How could she rest when she had to tell it all again? When it meant dragging up images and memories that she had buried long ago.

  The wild cat didn’t stay for long. Once it had looked at the small girl standing with the baseball bat and the other lying face down on the rocks it made a slow turn and gracefully leaped away.

  Jennifer’s body was rigid, her thin hair moved by a sudden breeze that came from nowhere. A bird shrieked from up on high and the sound pierced the air. Then it was all still and she looked at Michelle’s back, her jeans and pink top, her trainers, one of them dirty from where she had sunk into the mud. She looked at the ginger hair, springing out from her head, in the middle a dark wet patch that seemed to be getting bigger before her eyes.

  “Michelle,” she whispered, the word hardly leaving her lips.

  There was no answer. There couldn’t be any answer. She sank down, on to her knees, the very air wavering in front of her. What had she done? A thin cry came, but it wasn’t from Michelle, it couldn’t be. The sound came from somewhere deep down inside Jennifer, hardly loud enough to be heard. She glanced down. In her hand was the baseball bat. It shouldn’t have been there, but it was. She raised it to look. Blood on the wood; a terrible red stain that had soaked into the fibres. Her hand began to shake and she turned and started to half walk and half run along the water’s edge until she came to the lake itself. In front were giant grasses standing high, as tall as she was. She shoved the bat into them, stretching her arm as far as she possibly could, and then let go. There was no thump or splash and she hesitated for a moment before pulling herself back, drawing her breath in great gulps as though she’d just surfaced from underwater.

  The sun came out, sending a dazzling light on the surface of the lake. She shielded her eyes and looked through the top of the grasses to the other side. There were people there, standing in a tight knot, some dogs scurrying around them. It was too far to make out anything about them, who they were, whether they were young or old.

  She walked backwards, away from the water and into the wood. Something scooted by her foot and she jumped back, gripping on to a branch while she looked down to see what it was. Nothing. A water rat, maybe. Whatever. It was gone and she was alone. After a moment, pulling herself together, she crept back through the trees and bushes until she came to the spot where the three of them had emerged earlier, when they had first walked out to the place where the Bussell brothers had their den.

  She hardly dared to look.

  Michelle was face down on a rock, her hair as springy and curly as ever. In the middle of it was a great brown stain, wet and sticky. It looked like treacle.

  “No, no, no. . .” she said, her head bobbing up and down, her hands in fists, her teeth welded together.

  She began to walk distractedly back and forward and saw the hole where the tin box had been. Beside it was a mound of branches. She looked back to Michelle and then back to the hole. She was breathing lightly, her chest hardly moving. She walked towards Michelle’s still body, her feet hardly touching the ground.

  She had to do something.

  She bent down and pulled at one of Michelle’s shoulders, turning her over so that she was lying on her back. Her pale face was there among the untidy ginger hair, and Jennifer backed off, looking at it with awe. Inside her chest everything was still, as if her own heart had stopped beating. She stood for a long time, putting the flat of her hand against her ribs. There was no feeling there, no life inside her, and yet she was still standing.

  She had to do something.

  She stepped closer and bent down. Averting her eyes from her friend’s face, she put her hands underneath her armpits and pulled her a few centimetres before resting. She did it again and again until she had her in front of the hole. It wasn’t deep, sixty centimetres or so. She pulled her by the arms one last time until the girl’s motionless form slipped into the earth.

  She became busy, picking up the branches one by one and laying them gently across Michelle, taking care not to cover her completely. The sun had gone in and she felt chilly, hugging herself to keep warm. She noticed the stuff from the box then, the rope, the sleeping bags, the things that they had unpacked earlier. The whole place looked messy, untidy. It would draw attention to what was there, under the branches. She piled it all up and pushed it under a bush. The only thing that was left out in the open was the empty tin box. She pulled it to the edge of the water and inched it over the side, dipping it in so that it began to fill. When it got too heavy she let it go and in seconds it disappeared from sight.

  Then she turned away, not daring to cast her eyes in the direction of her friend. She walked into the trees and strode off, tears coming, her chest heaving, her shoulders shaking with emotion. She walked down the path and round the edge of the lake. It took almost an hour but she met no one. When she left the reservoir her face was wet and her eyes felt raw and puffy.

  What had she done?

  Alice sat up. It was no good. She simply couldn’t sleep. She switched the tiny bedside light on and looked around the room. She’d thought it pretty earlier in the day but now it seemed garish. There were too many flowers: on the wallpaper, the curtains, the duvet cover. The carpet was too thick, the chest of drawers too shiny. Looking down she saw the white nightdress that had been given to her as a present. A simple style, just some lace around the neck and sleeves. White; the colour of purity. She pulled at it for a moment and then took it off over her head and threw it down at the side of the bed.

  She lay naked, staring into the light for a long time. After a while she drifted into sleep.

  Jennifer’s breath was punching in and out of her chest as she ran down the lane, leaving the woods and the lake behind her. She found Lucy on a swing in Michelle’s back garden. The little girl was moving back and forward in a dull way. Jennifer walked straight up to her and put her hand on her shoulder. Her dress was st
ill damp and her teeth were chattering.

  “There’s no one in,” Lucy said, dejectedly.

  Jennifer hopped over the fence and went carefully into her own house. Only then did she remember the photographs. Mr Cottis and his camera and the bright lights. The hallway was empty; no bag or suitcase on wheels. She looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was almost three o’clock. The day had disappeared, and so had Mr Cottis.

  “Mum?” she shouted up the stairs, but there was no answer.

  She pulled Lucy by the hand into her house and up to the bathroom. She ran a hot bath and made Lucy get in and wash herself including her hair. She felt like a mum fussing over the girl, sorting out some of her old clothes for her to wear. Then she used hot water to dab at her own grazed hand and chin.

  “Where’s Michelle?” Lucy suddenly said, getting out of the bath and wrapping herself in a big towel.

  “We had a row. She walked off.”

  When she was dressed Jennifer took her downstairs into the kitchen and made some tea and toast. Lucy ate hers while Jennifer’s sat untouched on the plate in front of her. Lucy talked about her mum and her brothers. It didn’t seem to worry her that Jennifer was not paying attention.

  “Thing is,” Jennifer said, finally interrupting, “I think it’s better if we don’t tell anyone about what happened today. About you falling in the lake. . .”

  Lucy stopped eating, her little mouse face looking straight at Jennifer. She hadn’t fallen in the lake, she’d been pushed in, but Jennifer hadn’t said that.

  “Me and Michelle will get in trouble because we were supposed to be looking after you. Your mum might not let you play with us again.”

  Lucy nodded, her eyes shifting from side to side as though she was thinking it through.

  “And . . . it might be better not to mention that we went up to the lake. You know Mrs Livingstone doesn’t allow Michelle to go. She might blame me. Or even blame you, and you don’t want that.”

  Lucy shook her head.

  “So we’ll just say we went to the park. You fell over and dirtied your dress. Michelle walked off in a huff and I brought you back here to change. That’s all we need to say.”

  They watched television and for a while Jennifer seemed to relax. She kept her eyes on the screen as programme after programme started and finished. She concentrated on the sound, the words and the music. She let it fill her head so that other thoughts were pushed aside, covered up.

  When the doorbell rang it surprised her. Lucy, engrossed in the programme, didn’t look up but Jennifer stood up and walked over to the window to see who was there.

  When she saw Mrs Livingstone standing at the door it was a shock. Her hair was loose, blowing around in the wind, ginger and curly. She rang the doorbell, bending over to call through the letterbox. Jennifer stumbled her way towards the front door, opening it just a few centimetres.

  “I’m back. I left Stevie and Joe up at the hospital. They’re going to stay overnight and get a train back later tomorrow. Are Lucy and Michelle in there?”

  Jennifer couldn’t speak, her fingers holding fast to the door. Lucy came up behind her so she opened the door wider for her to go through.

  “Michelle’s not here.” She forced the words out. “We had a row down the park and she walked off.”

  “Oh no, that’s a shame. You’ll make it up. She’ll be home soon, I’m sure. Come on, Lucy, let’s go and get tea ready.”

  She turned and walked away and Lucy trotted behind her. What happened to your dress? Mrs Livingstone was saying as she walked down the path. Jennifer closed the door tightly, standing against it, pinning it shut with her forehead and shoulders as if she thought Mrs Livingstone might come running back towards it, demanding to know what the truth was. When a while had passed she ran up the stairs and sat in her room, on her bed, with Macy on her lap, the cardboard box of her clothes beside her.

  Her mum didn’t come in until six. The front door banged shut and Jennifer sat tensely. Her mum’s voice called from down in the hall, two, three times, the room doors opening and shutting. Footsteps sounded and then she poked her head into the bedroom, breathless from running up the stairs.

  “Jen, there you are! Helen Livingstone wants to talk to you. She can’t find Michelle anywhere.”

  Jennifer looked at her mum’s smiling face and a thought took hold of her. She could tell her what had happened. It was a sort of accident, she could say. She hadn’t meant to do it. Her mum would understand. She would explain to other people.

  “I’m angry at you anyway,” her mum said, glancing down at the bag with the school clothes in. “Mr Cottis waited for over an hour today. He was fed up, I can tell you! And now I find that you were off playing with Michelle!”

  A feeling of hopelessness hit her. She couldn’t tell her mum anything.

  “I don’t know where she is,” she said, her eyes fastened on Macy.

  “No one does, I’ve told you! Helen hasn’t seen her since this morning. She’s rung the police. She wants you to go round there.”

  The police. Jennifer felt a swooning sensation and let her head loll back against the headboard.

  Alice felt a hand on her bare shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw bright sunlight in the room. Sophie was standing by her bed. She was wearing a pink dressing gown tied tightly across some pyjamas.

  “I brought you a cup of tea,” she said, pointing to a china cup and saucer sitting on the bedside table.

  She bent down and picked up the white nightdress from the floor. Alice took it from her, embarrassed.

  “I was so hot in the night!” she said. “I must have taken it off.”

  “Mum bought me one of those,” Sophie said, using one finger to push her glasses up her nose. “I didn’t like it either. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

  Sophie sat on the edge of Alice’s bed and watched as she drank her tea.

  Two days later they went for a walk across the downs. They packed Frankie’s rucksack with food and drink and sun lotion. His mum drove them to a little village outside Brighton so that they could start a circular route. She would be back at five, she said, to pick them up. Sophie waved mournfully from the passenger window as the car moved away. She had wanted to join them but Frankie had said No, firmly, several times.

  It had been his suggestion to go. He had wanted to get out of the house, away from his mum and his sister fussing over Alice. Alice hadn’t minded. She liked Sophie and Jan, but she was a little weary of always having to look happy and in a good mood. Once alone she and Frankie could both relax and drift into companionable silence. That was the idea.

  But Frankie’s mood dipped soon after they started. He was too hot, he said, the rucksack was too heavy, Alice was walking too quickly, he complained. She slowed down, looking at the map and finding the right paths to take. Whenever she turned round he seemed further behind.

  There were other walkers on the downs and the paths were clearly marked with yellow arrows. They struggled up steep inclines and went through shady woods. They even passed a bench or two. Eventually, after a couple of hours they came to the halfway point of the walk and Alice rested on a grassy mound. When Frankie finally reached her she waited for him to sit down before she spoke.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  He shrugged his shoulders, getting out a bottle of water and drinking from it.

  “Do you want me to go home? Are you fed up with me being here?”

  He looked startled by her comment and leaned over and pulled her towards him, burying his head in her chest.

  “Of course not,” he mumbled. “I love you.”

  “What’s wrong then?” she insisted.

  “It’s just that I can’t bear to think of you going to uni. I know I’m going to lose you!”

  She lay back on the grass and looked at the sky. She felt the weight of his head on her breasts and his hand stroking her leg. She put her arm across his shoulder and felt the tension that was there. They’d had this discussion
a couple of times since she’d arrived at Frankie’s house. In October he would be returning to Croydon to do the last year of his degree. She would be starting at the University of Sussex, just outside Brighton. Although the distance was only seventy kilometres or so Frankie had been talking as though they were studying in different countries. What he really wanted, she knew, was for her to transfer to his college, to start her degree there instead of Sussex so that they could be at the same place. He’d even suggested that they share a flat together. Think of the money we’d save, he’d said. But it wasn’t about money, she knew. Frankie wanted her close by. He wanted to know that she belonged to him.

  Since she’d been at his parents’ home he’d been desperately possessive, sitting a metre away from her, his hand or arm always touching her skin in some way. She didn’t mind, she liked it. He seemed uneasy, though, as if he had some second sight that she was going to pack her bags and leave him for good. As if she would.

  There’d been no sex. She had wanted to, brought condoms with her, felt her chest aching for him. He had shied away, though. After laughing at her nervousness in his shared house or in Rosie’s flat, he was now tense, always listening for Sophie’s footsteps on the stairs or his mum’s movements. The previous night, when everyone was asleep, he had crept down to her room and laid on top of her bed. After a couple of moments of kissing and touching she had pulled the white cotton nightdress off again and sat naked in front of him. She wanted him. Was it love? It had to be. But he covered her up with the duvet and lay beside her, eventually falling into a doze from which he woke up with a start, not knowing where he was.

  In a way she was grateful for his preoccupations. It kept her from thinking about her meeting with the reporter in a few days’ time.

  “There’s still time to change course. It’s the easiest thing. You just ring up the college and ask about the History BA. You’ve already got your A level results, so you’d be ahead of all the kids who have just finished school.”

  “I’ve already got a place. At Sussex,” she said, firmly. “And anyway, you’re finishing your course in a year. Then I’d be on my own.”