by Anne Cassidy
“Take no notice,” Alice said, rubbing Sophie’s arm. “He doesn’t mean it. You should see some of the friends he hangs round with at college!”
“Don’t grass me up!” Frankie said, in mock anger.
“Sometimes,” Sophie whispered, when Frankie had walked a little away from them, “I wish I had a big sister instead of a brother!”
After being persuaded to go on some of the rides with Sophie, Frankie suggested fish and chips. Sophie only wanted chips.
“I’m a vegetarian,” she said to Alice.
“Since when?” Frankie said.
“Since recently. Charlie and me have given up meat. It’s cruel and totally unnecessary. Humans don’t need to eat meat.”
“What about those shoes. Aren’t they leather?”
Sophie looked at her trainers, picking one foot up and then the other.
“Leave poor Sophie alone,” Alice said, poking Frankie in the ribs. “If she wants to give up meat it’s up to her!”
“Next week it’ll be something different,” Frankie sighed, “Depending on what Charlotte wants to do!”
“It’s not Charlotte! It’s Charlie!”
They ate their food sitting on the beach wall. The chips were hot and salty and the fish crumbled in Alice’s fingers. Even though it was almost seven there were still families on the sand, digging, making sandcastles, playing football. One couple were sitting on a small towel, their arms round each other, kissing, oblivious to anyone else. The rides seemed far away although the air was full of distant shrieks and echoes of music. Behind it all the sun was slipping down into the sea.
A bleep sounded. Alice put her food down and pulled her mobile out of her bag.
“It’s a text,” she said, pressing the right buttons to show the message on the screen. It was from Jill Newton.
When U R alone ring me asap. Jill
She frowned at the screen. She wanted to return the call immediately but couldn’t. A feeling of alarm made her sit up straight. From beside her she could hear Sophie whispering, Who’s it from? And Frankie, playing along, his answer in a hushed voice, Maybe it’s her other boyfriend.
She composed herself. It’s nothing, she thought. Some last-minute detail about the interview with the reporter. If it was anything really important Rosie would have rung. She put the mobile carelessly back in her bag as if it wasn’t important, just some tedious communication that she had received. She turned, picked up her chips and popped one in her mouth.
“Just Rosie,” she mumbled. “Checking that you’re looking after me.”
Frankie rolled his eyes but Sophie looked serious.
“She’s nice! I liked her,” she said, giving her brother a sideways swipe.
They got the bus back soon after, Alice sitting beside Frankie this time and Sophie in the seat in front, her body turned to them. They played a game. Each had to say a girl’s name that began with the last letter of the previous name.
Anne, Emily, Yvonne, Ethel, Lorraine, Elizabeth, Harriet, Tina, Amanda, Amy, Yvette, Ellen, Nell, Lily. . .
When they got off the bus Sophie was stuck.
“Y is so hard!” she said, grumbling.
“Give up?” Frankie said.
She shook her head.
Alice walked on, reaching the front door before them. When Frankie caught up he put his arm round her.
“You OK?” he said.
“Fine. Do you think your mum would mind if I had a soak in the bath? I’ve got a bit of a headache. Probably too much time in the sun!”
“Course,” he said, a knowing expression on his face.
“There’s only two names. Yvonne and Yvette! It’s not fair!” Sophie said.
“Give up?” Frankie said.
Alice dashed up the stairs, leaving them behind. In her room she picked up her towel and toiletries and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She clicked on the small radio that sat on the shelf above the sink. Classical music started to play. She put the plug in the bath and turned the hot tap on, slowly, so that the water was no more than a trickle. Then she sat on the floor and rang Jill Newton. The call was picked up immediately.
“Alice,” Jill said.
“Is Rosie all right?” Alice said.
“Yes, yes, she’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with her, but. . .”
Alice sat very still. Behind her the water was barely dribbling into the bath.
“Alice, I’m so sorry but I’ve got bad news.”
The music was soft, just the notes of a piano tinkling above the running water.
“There’s been a leak at Sara Wright’s office. She’s terribly upset. It seems that someone she trusted had access to some of her papers and decided to sell them to one of the tabloids. They’ve been sacked of course, but. . . The thing is, they’re going to publish tomorrow!”
“It’s going to be in the papers?” Alice said, pushing her thumbnail into her teeth.
“We’ve been trying all afternoon to get an injunction but the judge was unsympathetic. The fact that we were prepared to deal with one newspaper means that we have somehow waived our right to privacy. At least that’s what the judge said. We are appealing to another judge and we might still stop it but I must tell you, Alice, there’s a very real chance that your story and your photograph will be in the newspapers tomorrow morning.”
She looked at her watch. It was almost nine o’clock. In nine hours everyone would know who she was. Everyone.
“I want you to pack your stuff because Rosie’s on her way to pick you up. She should be there by about ten, ten-thirty. The best place for you is at home. I’ll be there tomorrow morning and we can see just how bad the newspaper article is. Then we can decide what strategy to take.”
She rang off and Alice was left thinking about the word strategy. As if it was a battle of some kind and they had to work out their next move. She let her mobile slip on to the floor and then, crossing her arms, she hugged herself tightly as though she was in a kind of straitjacket. The moment had come. They had thought they could get away with it, but they were wrong. Now people would know about her and what she had done. Her throat was hard and dry and she had to suck air into her mouth so that she could breathe. Behind her she could hear the water still running. Somehow she had to get herself up off the floor and get her things packed so that she would be ready when Rosie came.
Instead of rushing out, though, she took her clothes off and stepped into the bath. The water was scalding hot but she sank down into it anyway. She washed herself from head to foot, busily, with purpose, as if it was the most important thing in the world. When she finished she closed her eyes and lay flat down, submerging her head, rinsing her hair. Sitting up, she inhaled the steam and heard the piano still playing on the tiny radio. A knock on the door sounded and she tensed. If only she could stay there, in that room, alone.
“Yes?” she said, surprised at the strength of her own voice.
“Alice, I didn’t give up!”
Sophie’s voice came through the door, loud and gleeful.
“I thought of one. Yolanda. That’s a girl’s name, isn’t it? Frankie says it’s not but it is, isn’t it? When you come out you’ll tell him that I’ve won?”
“Sure,” she said.
That wasn’t all she had to tell him.
Frankie gave a soft knock on her room door before pushing it open slightly.
“You all right?” he said.
She had almost finshed packing. He saw her holdall immediately and came into the room with a frown on his face.
“What’s going on?
“I’ve got to go. Something’s happened—” she started.
“Why? What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”
“Yes. . . No. . . Nothing’s wrong with us. . . I just. . .”
“Is it about this afternoon? Are you sorry that we. . .?”
“It’s not about us.”
He was standing by her bed. He looked a bit sleepy, his hair tousled, as if he’d be
en having a nap and just remembered that she was there. He was stretching his arms up and yawning. She felt a need to hug him, to encircle him with her arms, to push her head into his chest. He was too big for her, though. He had always been too big for her.
“You’d better sit down,” she said, taking a step backwards, away from him, pulling her holdall off the bed and on to the floor.
Frankie plonked himself on the duvet. He seemed resigned in some way, as if he expected to hear something bad. Alice sat beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. He had no idea how terrible it was going to be.
“The other night? When I asked you if your feelings towards me would change? If you knew that I’d done something bad?”
She was deliberately keeping her voice light.
“Alice, if you’re going to dump me just do it,” Frankie said, his words flat.
“Listen to me. I am not going to dump you. I love you!”
It was the first time she had said it. Those three little words. His head was bowed, though, and he didn’t seem to notice. He was so sure that what she had to tell him had something to do with him.
“My name is not Alice Tully,” she said, as forcefully as she could.
He looked up, puzzled.
“How do you mean?”
“Alice Tully is not the name I was born with. I’ve only been calling myself by that name for seven, eight months. All the time that I’ve been living with Rosie.”
He didn’t speak. He leaned back on his hands, a look of interest on his face. He was sure now that she wasn’t going to dump him. If only he knew how much worse it was going to be.
“There’s no easy way to tell you this. My real name is Jennifer Jones and seven months ago I was released from a secure unit. I. . . I. . . My name was changed to give me a chance to start fresh. To begin a new life.”
He was just looking at her. The name hadn’t rung any alarm bells for him. She decided to keep going.
“Frankie, six years ago, I was involved in. . . I caused. . .”
“Jennifer Jones?” he said, as if there were cogs turning inside his head.
“Six years ago I killed my best friend. Then I went to prison.”
There was silence. Not a sound. Alice held her breath and looked straight at him, her eyes searching his face, her hand moving swiftly to take his.
“I . . . I did do it. I can’t make any excuses. I killed her. . .”
Her voice broke and she found herself choking back the need to cry.
“I was only ten. We were messing around, by a lake, with another girl, and I hit her with a bat. I can’t really explain except to say that it was a moment of madness.”
“You’re Jennifer Jones?” Frankie said, a look of awe on his face.
“Yes.”
“You can’t be,” he said, giving a false laugh. “I remember reading about it in the paper. She’s only just been released. There was a load of publicity about it. She’s living abroad somewhere.”
“It’s me. I was released six months early. Only a few people knew. The press stuff about the official release? That was all a bluff, to put the media off my trail. You see, I’m big news.”
She was crying. She had his hand sandwiched in between hers and she was holding it tightly.
“You killed your friend?” he whispered.
“I did. I can’t explain exactly why. All I know is that it did happen. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Alice stopped. That wasn’t right. To deny responsibility. She had spent too much time talking to counsellors to fall back on excuses.
“That’s not true. I did know. I did know what I was doing. I can’t explain. It was me who killed her, and yet at the same time it was a different person altogether.”
“But. . .”
Frankie started to speak but seemed to notice then that Alice had his hand. He pulled it back. He stood up and walked across the floor, his fingers pushing his hair up at the front.
“I read about this. Weeks ago. I think I even knew about it at the time. Jennifer Jones. It was in the woods or somewhere.”
“A reservoir. Berwick Waters. It’s near Norwich.” Alice’s voice was firmer. It was easy to give the facts. “She was ten and I was ten. There was another girl, but she wasn’t involved.”
“It was all over the newspapers.”
“Yes. It was a scandal. A terrible thing. One child killing another.”
She was talking about it as though it had happened to someone else.
“And it was you?” he said.
She nodded as he lapsed into silence. What was going through his head? Part of her wished she knew, but part of her was glad she didn’t.
“This kid, this girl, she wasn’t killed outright. That was it. She was buried alive.”
Alice felt a swooning sensation. She pushed her feet into the ground but it felt soft and spongy. The room seemed unsteady. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Frankie standing upright, one hand leaning on the wall. He looked bigger than she’d ever seen him. She felt tiny, as if she might fall off the bed and disappear between the floorboards.
“No, that’s not true. . . I didn’t know that she was still alive. I was only ten. I thought she was dead. I never would have left her if I thought she was still alive. I would have got an ambulance. . .”
She couldn’t say any more because something shocking occurred to her. Would she? Would she have got an ambulance? If Michelle Livingstone’s eyes had flickered open as she covered her with branches would she have done anything to save her? Frankie’s voice seemed to be droning on. He was saying stuff about honesty and that this was something he would have to think about and that he would need time and space. She didn’t care, though. All she could see in her head was a girl lying underneath the foliage, her ribcage moving up and down. It was a moment of madness, she had always said that. And yet what if she’d known that Michelle was alive? Would she have lifted a finger to save her?
The front doorbell sounded. It forced itself into her head. It rang again, with purpose, as if someone was in a hurry. She could hear it, loud and clear, as if she was standing next to it.
“That’ll be Rosie,” she said, hoarsely.
“I can’t believe you kept all this from me,” Frankie said. “You lied to me.”
“That was part of the agreement I had with my probation officer. No one knew.”
“Rosie knew?”
“Except for Rosie. She had to know, obviously. She had to know what she was taking on, who she had living in her house. . .”
“What about me?”
There was noise from downstairs, the sound of Jan talking loudly to someone in the hall.
“Didn’t I have a right to know who you were? Who I was getting involved with?”
“We didn’t think. . . At the time I had no idea that I would meet . . . someone like you.”
Jan was calling Alice’s name from downstairs.
“I’ve got to go. . . Wait here. . .”
She said it softly. Then she turned from him and walked out of the room and downstairs. Rosie was standing at the bottom, her car keys hanging from her hand, her face anxious. Jan was beside her looking uncertain. Sophie appeared at the living-room door, the sound of the television coming from inside.
“Is everything OK?” Jan said.
“A family situation. I’ve got to take Alice home,” Rosie said tactfully, her keys moving and sounding like the tinkling of bells.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jan said.
“Is Alice going?” Sophie said, her voice dropping.
“Yes, she is, love,” Rosie said.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Alice said.
She gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek, just a peck, and then turned to go back upstairs. Sophie followed behind her. She went into her room and found Frankie, sitting on the bed, his head in his hands.
“Frankie, I. . .”
She sat beside him, her arms around his neck.
“I was on
ly ten. Only a child. I’m a different person now.”
He was rigid, though, his shoulders and arms solid, as if he was closed against her. He was strong and she was weak. That had always been the way. She stood up, her throat closed in a knot. She picked up her holdall and heard the door creak and Sophie come in.
“Tell Alice not to go,” Sophie said, linking her arms through Alice’s.
Frankie looked up at his sister and then his eyes, heavy and dark, moved to Alice’s face.
“Get away,” he said.
Alice flinched, thinking that he meant her, that he wanted her to get away from him. It was worse though, much worse than that.
“Sophie, get away from her. Leave go of her,” he said, lifting himself off the bed and pulling his sister’s arm so that she let Alice go.
He stood, holding his sister, his big arms around her. Sophie looked annoyed as if she was about to argue with him. He moved back, as far away from Alice as he could. That’s when she understood. He was protecting his sister from her. He was keeping her safe from the child-killer in his house.
Grabbing hold of her bag she turned and left, Sophie’s protestations in the back of her head. She walked down each stair uncertainly as though she wasn’t sure where the next one would be. Rosie was chatting to Jan, a half-smile on her lips. The moment she saw Alice she opened the front door, her keys up and ready.
“Thank you for having me,” Alice said, woodenly, when she got to the door.
“That’s all right!” Jan said, leaning across and giving her a perfumed kiss on the cheek. “We’ll see you again, soon, I shouldn’t wonder.”
But Alice knew that she would never see them again. Any of them.
She woke early in her own bedroom. Her eyes popped open but the rest of her body was weighted down with sleep. She turned her head and looked at the bedside clock. It showed the time: 05:32. It wouldn’t be long till the newspapers started to drop through people’s front doors. The manager from the Coffee Pot; Pip and Jules; Rosie’s mum, Kathy; Rosie’s work colleagues and her friends; Frankie’s housemates; Frankie’s parents; the neighbours; her own mother and her new husband. The list went on.