by Anne Cassidy
“But I’d stay round there, get a job, we could still be together. Then when you’ve finished your degree we could go travelling. The Far East, India. Anywhere. We could go anywhere.”
“I like the course that Sussex offer. I don’t know about your place.”
“But you could find out,” he said, softly.
She felt herself wavering. Would it really matter so much, if she changed colleges? If it made him happy? Rosie wouldn’t like it, she knew that. But could she be won over? If she knew how much Frankie cared for her? What would Jill Newton think? And Patricia Coffey? She would have to ask all of them. Otherwise she wouldn’t have any confidence in her decision. A lot of it might depend on the newspaper article. Whether they could really keep her identity a secret.
Frankie rolled away suddenly and sat up.
“Don’t bother answering,” he said, his back to her.
He had taken her silence as a negative sign. She sighed. She wished he could be a little less childish.
“Most probably you’d rather be away from me anyway,” he continued, his face in a sulk. “You’d rather start fresh among new people. Maybe meet someone less pushy than me.”
“That’s not true. . .”
“Then why won’t you change? Why won’t you come to my college? Is that too much to ask?”
Alice looked at him for a few moments, his forehead bunched up in a petulant frown. It only took her a moment to decide. Yes, it was too much to ask. She had made her plans over a year before. She wanted to go to Sussex and do a degree in History. She’d already arranged it. She stood up, shaking the stiffness out of her legs. Even if she did change there was no guarantee that it would make him happy.
“I’m walking on,” she said, coldly. “Are you coming?”
He stayed on the ground, staring into the distance. She tossed the map at him and walked on, without looking back.
Using her compass and the posts with arrows she walked on for more than an hour, each step propelled by growing frustration. Didn’t she have enough to worry about? Why couldn’t Frankie just be happy? She was here, in Brighton, with his family. It was a glorious day and they were alone; he had her all to himself. The previous evening she had been prepared to take him into her bed, something he had wanted for a long time. Why couldn’t he be satisfied?
Up ahead she saw a big tree, its branches making a canopy of shade on the grass beneath. She headed for it. She was thirsty and hungry and realized then that Frankie had all the stuff. Would he follow her? She looked back, along the path, but there was no sign of him. It was too much. How could he be so childish and spoil their day? She lay on the grass, her head resting on her arm, and closed her eyes. Why was it like that with people? You got close to them. You began to love them. Then they let you down.
After a while she allowed the memory of Michelle Livingstone to come into her head.
A light breeze riffled the leaves above her and she opened her eyes and looked at the branches and the ragged bits of sky in between. Michelle let her down, just like everyone else. She didn’t deserve to die, though. Not like that.
Jennifer stood in Mrs Livingstone’s living room and told the policewoman that they’d been playing in the park and had an argument. Michelle just walked off! she said, holding her hands out in a gesture of hopelessness. After more questions by different people they left her alone. She sat with Lucy Bussell in the kitchen and heard her mum and Mrs Livingstone talking. The police were doing house-by-house enquiries, she said, and the neighbours and local people were helping with a search of the town. She may have got locked in somewhere, Mrs Livingstone said, hopefully, in someone’s garage or shed.
Or maybe she’s with some other friend, someone you don’t know about, her mum had answered. Mr Livingstone said similar things, his voice cheerful.
“What’s happened to Michelle?” Lucy whispered.
“I don’t know,” Jennifer answered.
For a while, sitting in the big kitchen with the pots and pans hanging gaily from the ceiling it began to seem as though she really didn’t know. As if the events of the day were some kind of bad dream. The voices from the living room, the suggestions that Michelle had wandered off and got lost, or was playing with some new friend and had forgotten the time, seemed possible. Whenever there was a knock on the door Jennifer looked expectantly around, as though Michelle and her ginger hair might bounce into the kitchen at any moment, laughing and wondering what all the fuss was about.
As it got dark the mood changed and her mum took her home and told her to go to bed. She didn’t get undressed. She lay on the top of the bed, still wearing the same clothes she’d had on at the reservoir. There was noise from downstairs, neighbours calling round to see what had happened. At one point there was a man’s voice and she crept out of her room to see who it was. She heard Mr Cottis talking and her mum hissing at him, telling him about the missing girl. He left immediately, without another word. Jennifer imagined him slipping out of the door and into the night, his glasses hardly having time to adjust to the darkness.
She went back to bed. Lying under her duvet, she closed her eyes and seemed to dip in and out of sleep, a heavy blackness then wild dreams. Opening her eyes she was immediately aware of her room, of unusual noises outside, car doors banging, voices talking. Then she would slide back into a dream. Once, she was sure she could see the feral cat sitting in front of her, on the end of her bed, licking its paw. A feeling of dread settled on her, and she wanted to put her hand out to ward off the animal, but before she could do anything she seemed to sink back into pitch-black sleep again. Waking much later, her room was no longer dark, only shadowy, a cold light glowing at the window. She got up, stiff and uncomfortable from lying in her clothes. She went out on to the landing and heard her mum snoring gently, her room door wide open.
Out of the living-room window she could see that the police car was still there. Otherwise it was quiet, and there was no one else around. It was six o’clock. The day lay before her, flat and empty. All she could do was wait.
She watched breakfast television and saw the presenter explaining that a ten-year-old girl had gone missing in Berwick. She was pointing to a lamp-post that had a poster stuck to it. Have You Seen This Girl? it said, flapping in the early morning breeze. The presenter’s face was serious although she was wearing bright lipstick and orange earrings that looked like boiled sweets. The scene changed and there was a shot of the reservoir, and talk of divers searching the lake in case the little girl had fallen in. Jennifer held her breath, looking hard at the screen, at the flat, black water of the lake. Once it had been fields and houses; now it covered everything, even some dead cats.
At midday everything changed. The sound of knocking on the front door alerted her. There was a bell that could have been used but the knocking just got louder. It was insistent, urgent.
“All right, all right!” her mum said, shuffling along the hall.
There were sharp questions, demanding words, footsteps that were determined to walk up the hallway and find her. The muscles in her back tightened until her chest had sunk and her shoulders were rounded balls. The living-room door swung open and they were standing behind her. She could see the shape of them reflected in the television screen.
“Jennifer Jones. You must come with us. This minute.”
Lucy Bussell had told them the truth. In a way she was relieved.
Alice sat up cross-legged, looking around her. Ahead the path led upwards and she judged that she only had a few kilometres to go before getting back to the village. Then she would wait for Frankie’s mum. Looking back she could see the fields and meadows that she’d walked across. In the distance was a small figure. She relaxed, sure it was Frankie. They could make up. All he needed was a little reassurance. She felt calm watching him. He was walking alongside a field of corn and looked small, like a child, beside the giant stalks. It would be ten or more minutes before he reached her. She stood and waved anyway and the figure paused for a m
oment and waved back. Then she slumped down, her back against the trunk of the tree, and waited.
Lucy had told them everything. They were angry with her and demanded to know what had happened after Lucy had left the reservoir. Jennifer wanted to tell them. She wanted to open her mouth and let the words come out, but something was stopping her. Their faces were all around, firing questions at her. Why had she lied? What had happened? Did she know where Michelle was? All she could do was nod. Yes, she did.
Mrs Livingstone’s face lit up. She gripped on to her husband. No, no, Jennifer wanted to say. She’s still dead. It’s just that I know where she is.
They got into the police car, she and Lucy and a policeman and woman. Behind them were Michelle’s mum and dad, getting into their car. On the pavement her mum was moving back and forth, a confused expression on her face. She wasn’t coming. Jennifer peered out of the back window of the car as it went slowly up the lane and saw her mum getting smaller and further away. Sitting beside her, Lucy was talking all the time, explaining about what they’d done and the accident that had happened when she had fallen into the water. Her voice was steady as she told the policewoman that Jennifer had saved her from drowning. What do you say, Jennifer? Is this what happened? The policewoman’s voice made her turn round, away from the sight of her mum disappearing in the distance.
Jennifer couldn’t speak. Her tongue seemed numb, incapable of making a sound.
Moments later they swept into the official car park of the reservoir followed by Mr and Mrs Livingstone. A park ranger in a waterproof jacket and green trousers was waiting for them. He nodded to the policeman and pointed to a Land Rover. There was a hold-up, though. The policewoman said that Mr and Mrs Livingstone had to stay with her in the car park. There was an argument, with Mrs Livingstone raising her voice and getting upset. Jennifer stared at her, letting the words of the argument go over her head. Mrs Livingstone’s skin looked dry and yellow, her mouth hanging open, her lips sucked of colour. The only living thing about her was her eyes – dark and wild, they turned from speaker to speaker and then finally they rested on Jennifer.
Another police car came into the car park, and the officers pulled Michelle’s parents back, saying things about ambulances and doctors.
Jennifer, Lucy, one of the policemen and the ranger got into the Land Rover. It drove slowly along the lane, going over the uneven path and dipping in and out of holes. It skirted the lake in no time. They got out at the point where the lane split and forked off up into the wood. The park ranger was mumbling about a prohibited footpath and no public right of way.
Lucy led the way and they walked in a line. Jennifer looked round to see that the ranger was carrying a small case with the words First Aid on it. That’s when it dawned on her. They were all making the same mistake that she and Michelle had made. When Lucy had told them that her brothers had a den they’d thought of a cabin or a tent or a cave. Something proper; shelter, a place where a person could survive. They’d misunderstood. They didn’t know it was only a hole. She stopped for a moment, her legs giving way underneath her. They thought they were going to find Michelle alive.
“Come on now, Jennifer!”
The police officer’s voice was sharp, like the crack of a whip. She walked on, behind Lucy, in front of the adults; a strange procession winding up the incline. At the gap in the trees she slowed up, her feet heavy and her legs thinning away to nothing. Lucy said, It’s along here, and they all went in through the trees, walking carefully through the darkened undergrowth, twigs and dried grass cracking under their feet. Stepping out, into the light, they all stood by the side of the water, looking disorientated.
“Where are we?” the policeman said.
“It’s an outlet. In case the water level gets too high, they let some of it drain away,” the ranger said.
Jennifer wasn’t really listening. She was staring at the branches that covered the hole, more untidy now than she remembered leaving them.
“Where’s this den, Lucy?” the policeman said.
Lucy pointed and they all looked mystified. Jennifer almost wanted to smile. We were exactly the same! she wanted to say. We were disappointed too.
“Where, Lucy?”
“Over there, where all those branches are.”
The policeman strode over. He glanced down on to the branches and Jennifer held her breath.
“It’s just a hole,” he said, looking puzzled.
He hadn’t seen her. She was underneath the branches. He had to look more closely.
“It’s where my brothers keep their stuff. You’ve seen it, haven’t you, Jen? Sleeping bags, food. . .”
Lucy nervously listed the things they’d unpacked the day before until the policeman interrupted her.
“But where’s Michelle?” he said.
“Underneath the branches,” Jennifer said, her voice squeaking.
She’d been quiet for hours it seemed, and now she was the one sounding like a mouse. They stared at her with surprise. The policeman looked down again. He shook his head in a mystified manner and used his foot to dislodge a couple of the branches. He mumbled something to the park ranger. He wasn’t taking it seriously. He didn’t believe her. She walked across and bent over, pulling at the branches.
“She’s in here,” she said. “SHE’S HERE!”
But there was just a hole. The earth was damp and smelled of the lake. Pulling the branches away, one by one, she stared with horror. There was no one there. Michelle had gone.
Frankie was smiling when he finally got to the shady tree. His hands were joined in a kind of mock prayer. Then one of them turned into a fist and he started to bang his own head with it.
“I am a prat,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
He put his arms round her and lifted her off her feet.
“Do you forgive me?” he whispered.
She smiled. Of course she forgave him.
“I need a drink,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll die of thirst.”
He laughed, dropping the rucksack to the ground. He pulled out the bottles of water and the blanket they’d brought with them for their picnic. Alice sat on it and drained the bottle, feeling the cold water cooling her throat. Then he was beside her, kissing her, gently at first, then with fervour, making her head spin as she lay back on to the blanket with him leaning across her, his whole body pinning her down. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze on her face, the sound of the leaves rustling gently above. When he moved on top of her she put her arms around his neck and held him tightly. After a few moments he arched back and looked at her questioningly. She nodded and he sat back, fiddling in his pockets, undoing his trousers, while she eased up pulling her jeans and pants over her thighs and off.
When he lay on top again she felt the warmth of his skin on her stomach and legs. She sensed his hesitation as he reached for her, then a rush of energy with his mouth on her face, her neck and her shoulders, his hands pulling at the few clothes she had left on. Then it was over and he was slumped on her, his breath coming in great gasps as if he’d just climbed a mountain.
“I love you,” he said.
She closed her eyes. Was it fair? That she should be so happy?
They were around a hole in the ground. The policeman, the ranger, Lucy and Jennifer. The hole was empty even though Jennifer was scrabbling in it, crying hysterically, shouting out incoherent nonsense about wild cats.
Something caught the policeman’s eye. A flash of pink from further up, in the bushes. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved his head to get a better view of whatever it was.
“Oh no,” he said, moving away.
Jennifer stopped and looked up. Lucy was already following the policeman.
“Oh no, my God!”
Jennifer heard his voice and the radio crackle into life. She walked towards where the policeman was and saw, on the ground, the garish pink of Michelle’s jumper.
“Don’t let the children see this!” the policeman said.
The park ranger, his mouth hanging open, turned to the two girls and tried to shoo them away. His heart wasn’t in it though, and Jennifer broke through and stood beside the policeman, looking down at her dead friend.
They took Sophie to the pleasure beach to make up for the fact that she hadn’t gone on the walk. She spent ages getting ready, showing Alice a variety of outfits while Frankie sat on the bottom stair flicking through the newspaper. When she finally came out of her bedroom Alice noticed a hint of eyeshadow. They got the bus to the seafront and Frankie sat on one seat and she and Alice on another.
“What’s that terrible smell?” Frankie said, suddenly, sniffing around like a dog.
Sophie and Alice looked puzzled.
“Oh, it’s just Sophie’s perfume!” he said, grinning.
“You!” Sophie said, pushing her glasses up her nose.
She linked Alice’s arm as they walked along the front. The sun was low in the sky, too bright to look at and Alice held her hand up to shield her eyes. In front, Frankie was walking casually, his arms swinging confidently, a swagger in his step. She thought of him earlier on, lying beside her on the grass, his body still, his hands resting on her skin, all his urgency gone. A ripple of desire went through her and she forced herself to smile at Sophie and pay attention to her chatter.
“Her real name’s Charlotte but she told me to call her Charlie but her mum doesn’t like it. She hates her name. She says she’s going to change it when she grows up.”
Alice raised her eyebrows.
“She’s mad, she is. She’s always cheeking the teachers and last week one teacher found some –” she stopped for a moment and then said – “cigarettes in her bag.”
“She’s a bad influence.” Frankie threw the comment backwards. “I think Mum should stop you seeing her.”
“You wish!” Sophie said, a look of disdain on her face. “She’s my best friend.”