Running Girl

by Simon Mason

  ‘Yeah. I’d noticed that. A bit psycho. One minute he’s a jumble of nerves, the next he looks as if he’s working out how to kill you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Sorry, but I’ve really go to go, Jess. You don’t understand. If I’m late ...’

  He removed her legs once more, got up and went across the room. But he hadn’t got as far as the door when he heard her say, in a small voice, ‘There is something else. Serious, Garv.’

  He sighed and turned back. ‘You sure, Jess? ’Cause if I’m honest I don’t think you’d know what serious was if it reared up and bit you in the back of the leg.’

  She looked up at him the way she always did, with big, melting eyes. ‘I was the last person to see her alive,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. And then she burst into tears.

  He sat on the sofa with his arm round her.

  ‘Better now?’

  She stopped sniffling and he took his arm away and she put it back again.

  ‘OK, then. But now you have to tell me. When did you see her?’

  She wiped her nose on Garvie’s shirt sleeve and took a deep breath. ‘Friday afternoon.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Where? School?’

  She shook her head. ‘Here.’

  ‘How come you were home?’

  ‘I wasn’t feeling great. Besides, I was going out later, so I thought I’d have a little nap. You know.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, get your beauty sleep. Who else have you told?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Not even Mr Police Turban?’

  ‘I’ve been too scared. It was scary, Garv. I just keep thinking of it. Me, the last person to see her alive. I mean, except for the man ... the man who ...’

  Garvie waited until she had stopped crying again.

  ‘All right now,’ he said. ‘Take your time and tell me exactly what happened.’

  Chloe had turned up, Jess said, lugging her sports bag with her, looking like a refugee from hell. It was a double shock. They hadn’t spoken to each other since arguing earlier in the week when they’d been revising for a maths test together at Chloe’s house. More shocking was the way she looked, standing there on the doorstep. Her hair was all over the place, her eyes were small and creased and her mouth looked bruised, as if she’d been biting her bottom lip. It gave her such a strange expression that although Jess had been about to ask her what she was doing there, with her kit bag and everything, the first thing she said was, ‘What’s happened?’

  Chloe just shook her head and went past Jessica into the front room, where she stood by the window looking out.

  Jessica asked her if she wanted anything, and after a moment Chloe shook her head again, distractedly.

  ‘It was like she was in some sort of trance,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Then what?’

  Chloe had relaxed enough to ask for a glass of water and they talked a bit, about trivial things. But even while they talked, Chloe never sat down; she kept moving around the room, carrying that bag of hers, glancing out of the window. A few minutes later she abruptly said she had to go. And, without saying goodbye, she marched back down the hall, Jessica scurrying behind her, and out of the door and across the bare earth of the front garden as far as the corner of the hedge, where she paused, looking back at Jessica, and gave her a lopsided smile. Then she turned away and was gone.

  ‘Gone,’ Jessica said mournfully. ‘Just gone. Gone for good, Garv.’

  Garvie sat on the purple sofa gazing at the purple carpet. ‘What time did she leave?’

  ‘About half past.’

  He sat there thinking in silence, and Jess sat next to him, gazing at his face.

  He said, ‘Why did she come here?’

  ‘I dunno. That was the weird thing. She never said.’

  ‘Tell me what she did say.’

  ‘Nothing. Boring stuff. You know. About the weekend and that.’

  He looked at her sternly. ‘I need you to remember everything, Jess. Did she ask you for money?’

  ‘No. I told you before.’

  ‘Did she say anything about a new man?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Anyone call her while she was here?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Did she say anything about a Porsche?’

  ‘Give it a rest, Garv. Everyone knows that was bollocks.’

  ‘Anything about the Imperium?’

  ‘What, the casino? No, nothing.’

  ‘Think, Jess. Please. There must have been something. Something unusual, something odd, something that didn’t make sense.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Think, Jess.’

  She put her little fists against the side of her head and screwed up her face until her eyes bulged, and fell back against Garvie with a defeated sigh.

  Garvie frowned, and there was a long silence in the purple room.

  ‘Wait ...’ she said in a slow, faraway voice. ‘There was something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not exactly odd. Rude, really.’

  ‘What, Jess?’

  She looked at him, and her eyelids fluttered coyly. ‘Can’t you guess, Sherlock?’

  He stared back for two, three long seconds, and a look came over his face. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked put out.

  ‘She said, “What big feet you’ve got.” Didn’t she, Jess?’

  She gave a little frump of a sigh. ‘Lucky guesser. She said, “You’re all right, Jess – it’s just your feet are too big.” And then she did this stupid little laugh. I thought, Cheeky cow. Typical Chloe. Garv? What you doing, Garv?’

  He’d jumped up and was looking down at her, his face pale.

  ‘What were you wearing? Was it your Nikes? Your mauve and white Nikes?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Never knew you’d noticed my Nikes, Garv. You been watching me?’

  He said, half to himself, ‘They would have been perfect.’

  ‘Garv?’

  ‘I know why she came here. She needed a pair of running shoes. And yours were a perfect match, Jess. But you’re, what, size six?’

  ‘Six and a half.’

  ‘And she took a four.’

  ‘I still don’t get it. Why did she need them?’

  He looked at her for a long moment. ‘Because her life depended on it.’

  The way he said it made her eyes flood suddenly with tears. ‘What? I don’t ... I didn’t ...’ She shook her head in distress.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Not your fault.’ He paused. ‘At least I know now about the money.’

  ‘What money? Garv! I don’t understand.’

  He was silent and calm again. Stepping forward, he bent down and put his lips to the top of Jessica’s head. ‘Thanks, Jess. You did good.’

  Wet-eyed and bewildered, she looked up at him, smiling. ‘Do you want to stay a bit longer, Garv? I can get you that beer.’

  ‘A bit longer?’ He looked at his watch and clapped a hand to his forehead.

  ‘You don’t have to go, do you, Garv?’ Jessica said. ‘If you stay, I’ll ...’

  But he’d already gone. She heard the door slam and the receding sound of running steps across the earth and into the street.

  22

  LOCATION: NOTORIOUSLY CLAUSTROPHOBIC interview room (steamed-up window, hanging laundry, ironing board); interviewer and interviewee sitting facing each other across the kitchen table (empty except for sauce bottle, glass of milk, documents typed on official Marsh Academy notepaper under general heading Attendance).

  Aspect of interviewer: intimidating; bug-eyed; vengeful.

  Aspect of interviewee: dishevelled; cute; wary.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER [picking up sample page of document]: Do you want to go through them one by one?

  GARVIE SMITH: Do we have time?

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: OK, then. I’ll just pick a few. This morning, period three, further maths.

  GARVIE SMITH: I told you. I
was in school. Even Perkins admits that. I just ... forgot about the lesson.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Ah, yes. Boy with famous memory forgets lesson. All right now. Yesterday, period four, double chemistry.

  GARVIE SMITH: Same thing. It slipped my mind.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Ah right, that famous mind again. Or did you think the lesson had been relocated to Limekilns? Where Detective Inspector Raminder Singh encountered you at half past two in the afternoon.

  GARVIE SMITH: Oh, that double chemistry? Well, I—

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: OK. Monday now. Period four, Geography. Period five, English. Period six, History. Clean sweep of absences, three on the trot.

  GARVIE SMITH: I’m pretty sure I went to at least one of them.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Says here [reading], ‘Garvie Smith and Liam Fricker absent all afternoon. Liam Fricker later picked up on the roof of Spinks newsagent’s.’

  GARVIE SMITH: I definitely don’t remember going up on Spinks’s roof.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: I’m not going to beat around the bush with you, Garvie. You’re missing all kinds of school. How do you think you’re going to pass any exams?

  GARVIE SMITH: Academic qualifications aren’t everything – you told me that.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: I’m making an exception for you. For you they’re a matter of life or death. We’ve been through this. You know what I’m about. Look at this here, Garvie. So-called ‘Felix’ Fricker burglarizing the newsagent. Alex Robinson selling magic puff out at Limekilns. Ask yourself! What sort of friends you hanging around with?

  GARVIE SMITH: They’re all right. Alex is just in a bad space right now. And Felix is ... Felix doesn’t often get caught, to be fair.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: And you? You’re getting caught quite often, aren’t you? By the police now. Tell me this. How much are you smoking? If I walk into your room now, how much of that stuff am I going to find?

  GARVIE SMITH: I really hope none of it.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: You’re getting into trouble. Trouble with your teachers. Trouble with the police. More and more trouble. [Silence] Look me in the eye now and tell me it’s nothing to do with that poor girl.

  GARVIE SMITH: What poor girl?

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Don’t give me ‘what poor girl’. This morning I’ve had Detective Inspector Raminder Singh on the phone telling me you’re going straight to a correctional facility if you interfere with his investigation again.

  GARVIE SMITH: He’s just a hothead, Mum.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: And Mrs Dow telephoning me to thank me for the flowers I sent.

  GARVIE SMITH: Yeah, well. She’s a bit nutty at the moment.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Not as nutty as I feel.

  GARVIE SMITH: Hey. [Putting out a hand] You’re not that nutty.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Don’t try to sweet-talk me now, Garvie. I know you. You think I won’t do anything, won’t get around to it. Well, time for that’s past. It’s time to be serious. You can admit it or you can hide it from yourself, but things are not good here. And now I have the chance to make a new start in Barbados. A new start for you.

  GARVIE SMITH: I don’t want a new start.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: I’m not asking what you want. I’m done with that. I’m your mother. I have to decide. And I’ve made up my mind now, to go back.

  GARVIE SMITH: No.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: It feels right to me.

  GARVIE SMITH: I won’t go. I’ll doss here with friends.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: In that squat at Limekilns? OK. I can’t manhandle you onto the plane, that’s for sure. I’m telling you what I’m going to do. Take the job, sell this place, take that good opportunity in Bridgetown. My mind’s made up, Garvie. I’m sorry. I gave you a chance to show me it was the wrong move, and all you done makes me think it’s absolutely the right one. Look at me, Garvie. I’m serious.

  GARVIE SMITH [reflective pause]: I know.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: All right, then. Enough now. [Standing up] Let’s go to Uncle Len’s.

  GARVIE SMITH: Mum?

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: What?

  GARVIE SMITH: I’ll do a deal with you.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: Deal? What deal?

  GARVIE SMITH: Wait until the results.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER [sitting down, considering this in silence]: Hmm. And?

  GARVIE SMITH: If they’re bad I’ll come to Barbados with you, no arguments. I promise. But if they’re good we stay here.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: What makes you think the hospital will wait till your exam results come through?

  GARVIE SMITH: At least ask them. I can do it, I know I can. I’ll put in the work, I promise.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: And all the other nonsense?

  GARVIE SMITH: No more nonsense.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER: How serious are you? Let me look at you.

  GARVIE SMITH: Serious, Mum. Straight up.

  GARVIE’S MOTHER [silence]: Hmm. All right, then, I’ll ask them. I’ll tell you if they say no. But the deal starts now. Show me your knuckles.

  GARVIE SMITH [puts out knuckles]

  GARVIE’S MOTHER [puts out knuckles]: OK, then. Now we’ll see. Get your revision books – you can take them to Uncle Len’s.

  When Garvie and his mother arrived, Uncle Len was up in his study with a work colleague. Downstairs in the living room Aunt Maxie got Garvie’s mother an apricot fizz, and Garvie a Dr Pepper, and they all settled on the old, comfortable chairs in the living room.

  ‘Garvie’s brought some studying to do after tea,’ his mother said.

  ‘Good for you, Garvie,’ Aunt Maxie said.

  Garvie didn’t say anything. He was staring at the coffee table.

  ‘Lost in thought,’ Aunt Maxie said. ‘Garvie?’

  They looked at him sitting there in a trance, and Aunt Maxie giggled. ‘What can he be thinking about so hard?’

  ‘Best not to know,’ his mother said. She tsked. ‘One day that boy’ll go too far.’

  ‘Something serious. Look at him. He can’t even hear us talking about him. What can it be?’

  ‘Complex numbers,’ Garvie said, without taking his eyes off the table.

  ‘Oh.’

  With a suspicious glance at her son, Garvie’s mother asked Aunt Maxie about the new local convenience store, and they settled into a conversation about the scandalous rising prices of food.

  Garvie carried on thinking.

  a + bi, where i has the property i2 = −1. The product of a real number and an imaginary number. You don’t compute complex numbers, you rotate them. You move them into an imaginary dimension and the answer is an unexpected jolt from the blue.

  ‘Garvie? Garvie?’

  He looked up at his aunt. ‘Alex is lying,’ he said.

  His aunt fixed him with a bright, uncomprehending smile. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Where else would she go?’

  His mother asked sharply, ‘Where else would who go?’

  He glanced at her sideways, focused and looked shifty. ‘No one in particular,’ he said, draining his Dr Pepper and getting to his feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To see Bojo. Is that OK?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Aunt Maxie said. ‘But don’t wake him if he’s asleep.’

  Garvie went up the stairs and along the landing, and was just going past the study, where his uncle was working late, when he heard a voice from inside.

  It wasn’t just any voice. It was the voice of Detective Inspector Raminder Singh.

  It was also a surprise. Very naturally Garvie stopped. Briefly, he glanced back in the direction of his mother, and – momentarily – the thought of his recent promise not to interfere in ‘all that nonsense’ came into his mind. But inside his uncle’s study he heard Singh say the words ‘Chloe Dow’, and the moment was quickly gone. Besides, if anyone was interfering here it was surely Singh. He was interfering with Garvie’s uncle’s tea time. Certainly it wasn’t Garvie’s fault if he happened to overhear what was being said in h
is own uncle’s study. Although, in fact, he couldn’t quite make it out. So, very naturally, he tiptoed forward and put his ear to the crack of the door.

  ‘No traces at all?’ Singh was saying.

  ‘None,’ his uncle replied.

  ‘Alcohol?’

  ‘No.’

  Singh made an exasperated noise.

  There was a pause. Garvie heard his uncle say, ‘Raminder, are you OK? You look ... tired. I know what it’s like, you know. The stress. Don’t let it destroy you.’

  Singh said something in a low voice and Uncle Len sighed.

  ‘What about this here?’ Singh asked, brisk again.

  ‘Ah, that.’ His uncle began to explain something, and Garvie pressed his ear closer to the crack.

  They were now talking in low voices about technical matters. Then there was another pause. His uncle said, ‘So what’s all this about a breakthrough, Raminder?’

  Garvie pushed his ear very hard against the door crack. That was his mistake. The door suddenly swung open and he staggered forward into the room.

  23

  HIS MOMENTUM CARRIED him almost to the edge of the desk, where he fell and lay in a crumpled heap looking up at his uncle and Inspector Singh, their faces cartoonish with surprise.

  ‘Have you found her old running shoes then?’ Garvie said from his position on the floor.

  Uncle Len recovered sufficiently to frown at his nephew. ‘I apologize,’ he said to Singh.

  Singh said nothing.

  Getting to his feet, Garvie said, ‘Maybe you haven’t. Alex doesn’t have them. You can close that line of enquiry.’

  Still Singh said nothing. His face was expressionless.

  ‘Jess Walker doesn’t have them, either.’

  Singh just looked at him.

  ‘Shall I tell you who does? Or is it more fun if I let you work it out for yourself?’

  Uncle Len stepped forward. ‘Garvie!’ He apologized again to Singh, who stood there silent and unmoving.

  ‘I suppose,’ Garvie went on thoughtfully, ‘that you’re pursuing other lines of enquiry. Now you know what Chloe looked like on Thursday night you’ll have been re-running all the CCTV footage from Market Square.’