I jump at the trill of my mobile, immediately catching the eye of the man who served my drinks. He nods at me and smiles to reassure, there you go, that will be the missing friend. Instead it’s a private number caller ID. I pick up.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello there, Mrs Chapman?’
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased I’ve caught you. I’m calling from St Peter’s school.’
‘Oh?’ My heart flutters.
‘Don’t worry there’s not a problem, nothing to worry about. Dotty and Trey have a rehearsal tonight after school, Mrs Derby is concerned as some parents seem not to have received the letter?’
‘Letter? No, I haven’t had a letter?’ Or have I, I feel my cheeks begin to burn, I probably have. How would I know? In my mind, I see the huge pile of paperwork shoved up the corner behind the toaster.
‘That’s what we thought,’ she laughs, ‘not to worry, for some strange reason they appear to have gone amiss in the internal posting system. Must be the time of the year, so many letters and events to organise ahead of term ending.’
‘Sure. So what’s the letter about? The rehearsal, I’m supposing?’ Something else I’ve neglected, the letters haven’t gone astray, she’s simply being tactfully kind. Until later, in the staff room, when they’ll all be discussing my poor parenting skills. And she’s a drinker you know.
‘That’s it, yes, for the play rehearsal tonight. The Hansel and Gretel end of term play?’
A small bell rings, recalling Dotty mentioning this, ‘Okay?’
‘After school in the main hall until 5 p.m. Is this going to be acceptable for you?’
‘Of course, I’ll collect them afterwards, thank you for calling.’
‘Not at all, we’re sorry for the lack of notification. Good bye, Mrs Chapman.’
‘Bye for now,’ I place the mobile face down on the table, sieving through the network of tangled lines filling my mind. A bird’s nest, that’s what it feels like, a matted nest of thrown together incidences and thoughts. Total incoherence.
This letter, is it amongst the pile of paperwork stacked on the kitchen side? Or have I inadvertently thrown it away? Strange, Carol didn’t mention it, then, she perhaps discussed it with Kyle instead, chatting about it, as I was calling him last night. In the voicemail he left for me, he intimated he had been in a meeting, working late on the latest project. There was a time when I’d have been fully aware of what Kyle was working on, now, I’ve absolutely no idea. Neither of us have a clue about the happenings in each other’s life. I don’t even have any notion of what’s happening in my life. I’ve gained an hour and a half this afternoon. I should go home, work on my article, but will I be able to pull the words through the matted birds’ nest? I look out on to Lemon Street, I could use another drink?
My mobile begins to vibrate against the table so I turn it over to see a list of blue bird notifications. Strange they’ve all come through together like this. Or not, given the signal quality in this area. As I stare at the screen, all notifications bar one, drift away. A direct Twitter message. Whoever it is, stalking me, rattling me, I feel it’s from them. I should delete it without looking but – Eve, didn’t she advise not to push issues aside? To challenge everything head on, question what is front of me, always. I click on the blue bird icon. It’s the stalker, I check their profile, still only following me, with only a handful of followers. My breath quickening, I take a large glug of wine, then open the message.
I thought you knew, all along. But seems maybe you didn't. Even so – who else knows what you HAVE done??? Does Kyle know? Shall I tell him? Now or later?
I spontaneously flinch, pulling on my pendent chain hanging loose from my neck, it snaps and I scramble to catch the tiny platinum heart, falling to the floor, a gift from Kyle. I’m still staring at the screen as a text alert follows in. I take a deep, sharp breath. My heart begins to thump as my eyes take in the words. A deep bass, humming in my ears.
It was you I saw the other night??? Thought I was seeing a ghost. But I’ve looked you up… WTH? I’m down here, visiting friends, Watergate Bay. Can we meet up? Think we’ve some mutual explaining to do, don’t you???
Oh my God, Clara. A wave of nausea washes over me as the walls I’ve built to surround me begin to crumble. I switch my mobile to silent.
50
Cornwall 2017
Clara
There, it’s sent now. Not convinced I’ve done the right thing, because this is my chance to walk away, finally clear that irritating part of my conscience, buzzing in the background. Especially since none of it was my doing, not properly. Back then, when I believed I’d lost my Andi, I was exceptionally angry with both of them, a kind of – morbid grief. After losing my twin sister as a frightened ten year old, well – Andi was my saviour. I see this now, the surrogate twin I clung to desperately. Especially after my parent’s separation. All those nights, weeks I stayed at Andi’s home, it felt safe, me – less aware of the heartache.
Camilla, queen bitch, ruined everything.
Then there’s the Jo episode, I really didn’t touch her. It would be grossly unfair to hold me accountable for Jo. Personally, I’m with what they said, the papers, the police. Even her parents agreed it was suicide. I hardly forced the pills down her mouth. In no fit state of mind, she opted to take her own life. It happens. No suspicious circumstances. She found it difficult to cope with everything she thought she knew about that night. That tragic evening down on the beach. I can understand this at least. I too, found it difficult. This is what we had in common at the very end. Now it turns out it didn’t happen, not completely.
Clear as day, I remember taking Jo’s call, she needed to understand the truth. If only I hadn’t taken her with me, the night before the party, a silly spur of the moment decision. Otherwise, she’d never have put two and two together the way she did. Still, after her call, I decided to pay her a visit. I’m guessing, hoping she was relieved to see a friendly face lurking on the doorstep. I have to say, once she finally opened the door she looked ghastly. Eyes, bloodshot and exposed, without sleep for days. Hair, hung limp, in need of a good wash and brush. Her face swollen with pallor and twisted with apathy, iron and vitamin C deficient. Apathy one minute, desperate anxiety the next. I hate to say it, but – she was a sad mess. I sometimes wonder why she looked so surprised when I stood the other side of her peephole in the door. When it was her who called me, did she forget or did she really not want to let me in? As I told her over the telephone, we needed to stick together in the tragic circumstances. Eventually, she ever so gradually bumped the front door open. She offered me her home, releasing the chain, leaving the door ajar, she turned, creeping away from me. Nervousness in each fragile stride.
A few moments later we sat facing each other, her still in pyjamas, me – still too aware to remove my gloves. Funny really, she didn’t notice my gloves, or if she did, she made no comment about them. We talked, she cried some more, we talked some more. I truly thought I was getting somewhere, sidestepping her predisposition to be so faint hearted. But it wasn’t to be and deep down I already knew I could never trust her discretion. Together we made a pact. At the end of the day neither of us could go on, neither of us could continue the lie. The wretchedness of knowledge. The danger of wagging tongues. She especially struggled with this, much more so than me. We shared a bottle or more of vodka to help blur our memories, caught between the dark, fateful night and the reality of today. We laughed, we sighed, we cried.
Together, we sat and wrote a goodbye note to her parents. I explained, I wouldn’t bother, I felt no such need. Then we were ready, we hugged tight, by then, slumped back in the squidgy sofa. As she was the strong one, I told her, I would follow her act, her guide, she would go first. With her vodka mind, she nodded. She took the pills, one at a time at first, then quickly, half laughing at me with a mouthful of white capsules, swilled back with an extra tumbler of vodka. Burning her throat, she said. Her eyes began to fall
heavy as she nodded at me, suggesting I should follow suit, as planned. But something strange happened in that moment. Something came to me, a guiding thought, an alternative way forward. A magnificent light, showing me the way, I told her. She waved her hands at me, paralysed in the chair, strangling, gargled noises, as if she was drowning.
Me, holding her slack hand, I told her, it wasn’t too late for me after all, I could stop this now, I’d changed my mind, I was going to work through this difficult time. I squeezed her hand tightly so she’d understand, I hadn’t really left her, not really, she wouldn’t die alone, I was there for her. As she closed her eyes for the last time. I placed my glass in my carrier bag, I planted a kiss on her forehead and left her asleep.
Yes, she was asleep when I left. Not dead, just asleep. Shushed by a fractious mind.
51
Edinburgh 2000
Camilla
‘So you’ve fallen on your feet then, haven’t you?’ Dark eyes study me.
‘Look, I’ve told you before, people don’t fall on their feet without placing themselves in a suitable position first.’ His grin lights up his entire face, swilling back the dregs of the pint. He has lines appearing, slight life lines, too much standing around in the abrasive climate. For Elliott, they add character, not age. Warmth, charm and so, so much more. ‘There’s no such thing as luck, we make our own luck in life.’ He places the substantial glass on the table, winking at me. ‘I tell you, I’ve worked hard for this, it hasn’t come easy you know,’ I tell him.
‘Aye, right. Who you trying to convince, Cam? Me or you?’
‘You, definitely you, and your doubtful attitude. Stop looking at me like that.’
‘Like what,’ he mocks.
‘Like that. Like I’m talking crap or something,’ I cup my mouth with my hand, the word crap is strictly forbidden. Andi wouldn’t use the word, crap. ‘Like, I’m talking rubbish,’ I correct, unnoticed by Elliott.
‘I’m not, not at all,’ his smile widens, ‘perhaps it’s your conscience?’ I find his leg with my boot under the table, pressing it sharply into his shin. ‘Ouch,’ he exaggerates, ‘no need for violence, I was only saying.’
‘I think you’ll find, you were… insinuating.’
‘Insinuating!’ He nods, ‘an exceptionally big word.’
‘Yes, well, insinuating, insinuating there’s something dishonorable about my intentions, otherwise known to you as shit stirring.’
‘That’s more like the Cam I love. No mincing of the words, eh?’
I feel my shoulders shrink downwards, he’s probably the only person in this world to know me. Love me? ‘I’ve moved on, Elliott, moved away from the old me. You don’t understand, I wasn’t happy, this isn’t a joke, you know. It’s my life.’ From nowhere, I feel my eyes fill with threatening tears. I allow my head to roll back so I can force the tears back down. Why has Elliott managed to push his way through my armour? I’m tougher than this. He seems to be the only living person who can touch me, which makes our relationship dangerous. How many times do I need to agonise over this? Us? He, we, simply can’t be.
Gently he touches my hand. ‘Hey, I was jesting. Sorry, Cam, didn’t mean to upset you. Hey?’ He softly taps my nose with his finger. ‘What’s up anyhow? This isn’t like you. You’re harder than nails normally, up for the crack.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe that wasn’t me. Maybe you only thought it was. And it gets tiring you know, having constant banter. I read somewhere, banter only fleeces the truth of what you’re trying to hide. Or something like that anyway,’ I run the strange sounding sentence back through my mind, ‘I reckon it’s true, it does hide the truth.’
‘Yeah, many a truth told in jest, is how it goes – isn’t that what they say.’
‘Exactly,’ why do I suddenly feel so emotional? It’s so not easy being me, feels as though I’m caught between two lives. The one I’m so ashamed of and the one I desperately crave but haven’t been able to fit in with, until now. But, I’m in no man’s land in reality, each and every day, like applying make-up, slapping on the appropriate façade to achieve the appearance I need to show. Naturally, I am nowhere, no one.
‘So, if I told you, you’ve got me all wrong too, and I’m really an exceptionally eligible bachelor with shit loads to offer you, then would you marry me?’ He laughs.
‘Shut up, Elliott. It’s not even funny,’ I snap back, perhaps a little harshly, feeling my cheeks redden.
He lowers his head to one side. ‘So, come on – where’s all this come from?’
‘What?’
‘The new sensitive, philosophical girl, check me out, I know some big words too,’ he winks. ‘But seriously now, this,’ he gestures at me, ‘you behaving like a sensitive flower? You look pure done in, where’s it come from, what’s up?’
I gaze over towards the timeworn wooden and brass bar, where a gaggle of after work hands cuddle their drinks. Why, all of a sudden do people appear so together and secure. I keep roaming between being highly motivated to find the same, then being full of poisonous resentment. Easy chatter passes between the bar dwellers, I bet they don’t need to constantly check the words before they leave their mouths. Monitor the situation and occasion, assess each potential conversation as to what I must gain from it. It’s becoming tiring. But then, I cannot fall now at the last hurdle. Andi’s angelic face springs to mind. It’s more complicated now, I’ve grown to care for her, I like her and this could undermine everything I’ve achieved, worked so hard for.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say. Elliott is waiting patiently for me to answer. ‘Life, loss of life, death of my last known living relative,’ I shrug. ‘I dunno.’
‘Sure, that would make sense. Sorry, Cam, wasn’t thinking. Your da, it’s still early days isn’t it.’ He nods at my near empty glass, ‘another one for the road?’
‘No, I’m done, thanks, I’m at work soon, aren’t I.’
‘Forgot, yeah. How’s it going down there, serving in the bar where the other half hang out? Bet you get some sorts there?’ He raises his left eyebrow.
‘Yeah, it’s good, not bad at all. Can’t say I mind it, sometimes I even look forward to my shifts, so it must be okay, mustn’t it.’
‘Great stuff. Sounds ideal.’
Should I? Shouldn’t I? Just say it for God sake. ‘Hmm, you should come down one night, check it out, you know when I’m around.’
‘No thanks, done my best to move away from those sorts.’
I’m trying not to feel hurt but I am. ‘What do you mean – done your best to move away from those sorts?’
‘Nah. Nothing.’ He shifts in his seat. ‘I think it’s great you’re happy there, I do. The last thing you need is the likes of me hanging around.’ Lowering the tone.
‘True,’ I meet his smile. ‘How much of me enjoys working there because of the place and how much is because it gets me away from the flat, and the girlie numpties, I’m not sure.’
‘What they really like then, these posh flatmates. Andi seems nice?’
‘She is, she’s canny, too nice for her own good. She’s okay to live with, I was talking more about the other two. It’s them that do my head in.’
‘But it’s Andi’s apartment, right?’
‘Yep, but the others are really close to Andi, so I have to mind my step, if you get what I mean. Bite my tongue, hold my breath, that kinda thing.’
He chuckles. ‘Come on – they can’t be that bad, surely?’
‘Yeah, well one of them is in particular, Andi’s spokesperson – Clara. She’s worse than the other one, Jo.’
‘Go on. Spill.’
‘Okay, so Jo – she’s a musician, she’s actually bearable, keeps herself to herself, looks and behaves like a musician. Has her moments, dark days, you know, I stay way clear of these. She can be a bit odd at times, don’t see her for days some weeks, it feels like, anyway.’
‘Oh, how’s that then?’
‘Kind of in her own world, wanders round oblivious duri
ng the dark days. Avoids eye contact or any direct interaction. Mumbles. But the rest of the time, she’s inoffensive enough, likes to sit on the fence, never says anything to offend anyone, speaks very quietly. Would make a good librarian.’ Elliott begins to laugh out loud. ‘Don’t think she would cope well in a crisis though, think she’d fall apart. Last week, I swear she didn’t venture out from her bedroom for two days, Andi waited on her hand and foot, sat with her, talked to her.’ I laugh, ‘Clara was beside herself, so blinking jealous! Just leave her, Andi, stop pandering to her, you’re spending too much time with her. Then, she re-emerges, quiet and mousey. Bet her mam and dad change into slippers at the front door and wear tawny coloured cardigans, carry plastic rain coats in their bags, just in case.’
‘You’re completely crazy,’ he rubs his hands together, ‘and the other one?’
‘Clara, God I could despise her, she’s an upmarket brash person. A covert bitch. You know the type I mean, if she was working class – she’d be trashy. Be known as a gob-shite. She’s loud and Jesus, so opinionated, always thinks she’s right. A complete know all. Some days, seriously, I could lunge for her.’
‘Doesn’t sound like someone your Andi would hang around with, from what you’ve told me?’
‘I don’t think she has a choice. Clara has glued herself to her, literally. Andi told me – Clara’s twin sister died when she was young, things went bad with her mam and dad, then she ended up pretty much living with Andi. Andi tries to tell me she’s really okay, not as superior and stuck up as she comes across. Methinks she’s a tad naïve. Clara’s one of those people who only say things to either impress, suppress or intimidate. Feels like every word has an agenda.’ I pull myself up, ‘maybe she’s been over-indulged because of what happened, I don’t know.’
Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 23