Eden Summer

by Liz Flanagan

  ‘So. There are a few ways we could approach this, Ellie,’ Debs began. ‘Would you like to tell me something of what’s on your mind? The question that brings you today?’

  I stared at Eden, willing her to meet my eyes, to give me something here. What the hell was she playing at? Was this an elaborate way to catch me out?

  Eden’s eyes remained firmly fixed on Debs. ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘No. OK. That’s fine. You don’t have to.’ Her smile faded as she fixed her gaze on Eden. The atmosphere in the room changed. Debbie examined her intently, like she was listening to something no one else could hear. Was this part of the act?

  Eden gazed back. Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t break eye contact.

  Debs reached for an ornate box on the shelf and took out a stack of cards. There were about as many as in a pack of playing cards, but these were larger.

  ‘Take the deck, Ellie. Give it a shuffle, OK?’

  Eden nodded, and when she reached for them, I noticed her fingers were trembling.

  ‘Have you had your cards read before?’

  Headshake.

  When someone once brought a deck into school and everyone crowded around, Eden was the one who’d laughed and walked away. But that was the old Eden, the one from before.

  ‘When you see the cards, try not to judge them, OK? Some of the images can be pretty dramatic, but the meanings are more subtle. You need to let me interpret them, OK?’ Her smile was warm and reassuring. ‘That’s what you’ve paid me for, isn’t it?’

  Eden fumbled and dropped a card.

  I started to feel too hot in the enclosed space. I wished I’d never followed Eden here. It came to me in a sudden rush what a mistake I’d made. What if the cards told her about me? What if it was all about betrayal? The Traitor? Was that even a card?

  My breathing came fast and shallow as I watched Eden struggle to shuffle the pack.

  ‘Is that enough?’ Eden whispered.

  ‘Sure. When you’re ready, put the pack down. Then cut it three times.’ Debs demonstrated the movement in the air, her manicured fingernails glinting palely in the watery light.

  ‘As you prefer to keep your intentions private – and that’s fine, I respect that – I’m going to start with a very short reading, OK? Just three cards, symbolizing the past, present and future, with reference to your question. Then I’ll read them for you.’

  What was Eden really here for? The mention of the past sent me spiralling. My past. Eden’s past. There were shadows there.

  Eden nodded. A hand flew up and played with a loose bit of hair around her face. Then she leaned over to cut the cards. One stuck to her fingers and she had to shake it off.

  Finally the pack just sat there. We looked at it, as if we expected it to start doing tricks all on its own.

  Then Debs slid the top three cards onto the smooth wooden tabletop and turned them over one by one.

  The first card read ‘Death’ and had a medieval-looking illustration of a grim reaper.

  Shit. As if Eden needed a reminder.

  The second had a load of swords stabbing into a bleeding heart and the number nine.

  I glared at Debs. What was she trying to do?

  The third was a bright gold star, like a kid’s drawing.

  Eden choked out, ‘No!’ She stood up so fast that her chair toppled back with a loud crash. She grabbed her bags and pushed through the curtains. I heard the door chimes jangle and the sound of feet running down the stairs outside.

  ‘Ellie, wait!’

  ‘I-I-I I need to go after her. Sorry!’ I blurted, halfway out of my chair too.

  ‘Wait.’ Debs was fierce suddenly. ‘Listen to me. This is important. She needs to know what the cards mean. It’s not what she thinks.’

  Something in her eyes made me sit back down to listen.

  ‘Ellie’s having a tough time, I can see that. Please? Promise me you’ll tell her this?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, whatever, I promise.’

  She spoke urgently, seeing I was itching to be out of there.

  ‘The death card doesn’t mean death. It can be change, endings, but it’s really a kind of rebirth, OK? This one, the nine of swords: that’s where she is now, and she’s suffering. She’s in pain. But look, the star here? That’s her future and it means healing, see? So tell her, these cards are not bad. They are positive. They show that there’s hope ahead.’

  I flick my eyes over the cards again, trying to memorize them. ‘OK, so it’s change, suffering now, hope ahead. Got it, thanks. I have to run.’

  The arcade was empty. And the alleyway beyond. I ran as fast as I could back towards the station, getting snarled in the bank-holiday crowds. I was scanning at every step, left to right, up the streets and down them, searching for Eden’s denim jacket, for a flash of long blonde hair.

  The anxiety built as I retraced our steps, faster, faster, faster. I looked for her everywhere. I grew frantic. I made people tut and stare as I pushed past them. Three times I rang her phone. Three times it went straight to voicemail. I started sprinting.

  I hurried through the ticket barriers at Leeds station, and stood under the announcement screens, bouncing with impatience till I found the right train.

  ‘Shit! Platform 11B.’ I had less than a minute. Sure enough, I looked across the tracks to my left and saw the train pulling slowly away.

  My phone buzzed in my hand.

  Sorry. Need time on my own. See you at school in morning. E xxx

  I went up the escalator in a daze and found a seat at the top, by the coffee kiosk. I tapped out a long message to Eden, telling her everything Debs had said about the cards. Then I sat there staring into space, feeling more tired than I’d ever felt in my life, while the coffee machine gasped and shrieked in my ear.

  How could I have thought she was getting better? Yes, she put on a good act, but I should’ve seen through it. Seen through her swagger on Saturday. Seen the truth: that she was desperate enough to seek out stuff she’d never normally touch. If Eden was ready to pay for a tarot reading, I prayed she’d believe in the cards’ message of hope. But a familiar niggling fear was back, and it started growing, in the darkest corner of my mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  11.36 a.m.

  I finish telling the police officers about the tarot cards. Out of the corner of my eye I can sense Mum about to explode at me for not mentioning this before.

  ‘I know it all sounds bad, today … but I didn’t know …’ I sound like I’m pleading innocence, even though I know I’m guilty. If anyone should have seen this coming, it’s me. ‘Yes, I’ve been worried about her this summer. But it’s not been all bad. She’s been up and down. But she seemed OK at school this week …’ I conclude lamely. ‘I thought we were getting back to normal.’

  They’ve been making notes all along without interrupting. Now, Owl-lady quizzes me about Tyler.

  ‘What’s his surname?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where does he live?’

  I shrug. ‘He said he’d just moved here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

  ‘Has Eden been in touch with him?’

  ‘Sunday, he was there, I think. Dunno since then.’

  Eyebrows.

  ‘Look, they only met on Saturday. They got together that night. She’s barely mentioned him since.’ And come to think of it, that should’ve set alarm bells ringing. We usually talked all the angles. If she wasn’t discussing Tyler, did that mean it was serious? Serious on a whole new level? I chase that thought down some dark alleyways.

  ‘How did Liam react to Tyler? Was he angry with him? Or with Eden?’

  ‘No!’ It comes out too loud and they’re straight on it. ‘I mean, he was frustrated, who wouldn’t be?’ I’m trying so hard to sound reasonable that I barely recognize my own voice. ‘But Liam barely spoke to Tyler. And like I said, this week’s been close to normal. She said she was meeting Liam last night.’

  ‘So you
don’t think he resented Eden for choosing Tyler on Saturday?’

  The truth burns like an ember in my mouth, but I’m not letting it out: it could spark off a whole new blaze. I swallow it. ‘We’ve been there for Eden, all summer, whatever she did.’ That’s my version of ‘no comment’. I see her write something down on her notepad, angled away so I can’t read it.

  ‘How was Liam this week?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I hate to admit it. ‘I haven’t really spoken to him since Saturday night.’

  More writing in the notebook.

  More heat in my cheeks.

  ‘Where do you think Eden is?’ Owl-lady takes a new angle, and her focus has changed, gone steely. ‘Did she have a favourite place? Somewhere she might be?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ For the first time I raise my voice. ‘I’ve told you everything.’ Apart from minor incriminating details that don’t affect their search, because Eden will always be my priority. Before she can hit back with the next question, I get in there first. ‘So what are you going to do? What’s next? Where are you going to look for her now?’

  ‘Our colleagues have conducted a first search of the premises and the immediate vicinity. Other options will be explored as the investigation progresses.’

  Premises. Vicinity. Progresses. I hate her careful neutral language. She means Eden’s home. She means around here. She means if Eden doesn’t turn up. I can feel my breathing speeding up. I clutch my warm empty mug so hard that I think it might shatter.

  ‘I can assure you, we’ll do everything in our power to ensure Eden is found as soon as possible. The investigatory team is highly experienced.’

  How can they be? It’s not as if this happens every week around here. But I don’t say that. A plan starts forming in my head. Their questions have shown me the way. There are places Eden could be. There’s a whole load of them: all our favourite ones, from the dam to the waterfall and everywhere in between.

  The police might have paperwork and procedure, but I don’t. I’m free, or I soon can be. And I’m fast. I’ve been training for a half-marathon. I can cover miles in a day. I’m going to do what they won’t do. I’m going to get out there and retrace all our steps this summer. I’ve given the police the information, but I can’t wait for them to act on it. The investigation might not crank up for days. I need to act now.

  Sleek-lady is saying, ‘Can I confirm your mobile number?’

  Confirm? That means they have it already. I reel it off, obediently.

  ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions. And if you hear from Eden, we need you to let us know immediately.’

  They gather their notes.

  ‘Thank you, Jess.’ Owl-lady is the senior one, wrapping things up now: ‘I know it can’t be easy, talking to us today.’

  I look at her sharply. Does she mean because of my history? Or because of Eden’s?

  ‘Now the best you can do is get back to school. If Eden rings you, or if you think of anything else that might help the investigation, however small, call me on this number.’ She passes me a card with the West Yorkshire Police logo and her number and email printed on it.

  I take it, embarrassed that my fingers are damp and trembling.

  They stand. ‘Thank you for the tea. And your time, Jess, and you, Ms Mayfield.’

  I manage to mutter goodbye, as Mum shows them out.

  When Mum comes back in, she seems smaller somehow. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Jess? I don’t care what the police said. I want you here, safe, under my roof, till all this is over.’ She sits back down on the chair next to me and grabs my hand tightly.

  Not this again. I thought we were past the overprotective insanity.

  ‘I mean, what if there’s someone out there who’s hurt Eden? What if they hurt you too?’ Her voice starts wobbling. ‘I can’t let that happen again, Jess. I will not. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Mum. Stop it!’ I shout to jolt her out of this reaction and pull my hand back. ‘It’s not the same. We don’t know if someone’s hurt Eden. But I know she’s out there somewhere.’ I brace myself to tell her my plan. ‘I’m going to go and find her. I have to bring her back.’

  ‘Jess, no!’ She is as shocked as if I’ve slapped her. She grabs my wrists, as if she’s going to physically keep me here. ‘No! I won’t let you.’

  ‘Mum!’ She can’t mean this. ‘Do you really think I can sit inside and do nothing? Mum!’

  She looks at me, and I can see that’s exactly what she wants. For me to be safe at any cost.

  ‘Mum, no.’ I try to get through to her coaching brain, the sorted bit that’s not in maternal meltdown. ‘I have to do this. Don’t you see?’ I take a breath and say the worst thing I’ve thought today so far, no matter how much it hurts me to say the words: ‘And if it all goes wrong …’ If Eden is dead, I mean, ‘at least I’ll know I tried. I didn’t hide, or sit it out. I got out there and did everything in my control. Please?’

  I don’t care if I’m begging her. I need to get out there and do something.

  She lets go of my arms, and I can see there’s a battle raging inside her.

  Tick, tick, tick …

  ‘Jess, I’m sorry, but no.’ That’s her final voice. Her serious don’t-mess-with-me voice. The big guns. It usually works cos she doesn’t bring it out much. ‘I’ve made my decision. You can’t just wander around alone, hoping you stumble upon Eden. Leave it to the police. They’re the professionals. You can do some homework here today. You are not going out there till we know Eden’s safe. Or …’ She changes tack quickly, but I know she’s thinking of that worst thing too.

  ‘I’ve got one more client in – damn! – two minutes, and then I’m clear. Today was admin day, but it’s all yours, OK? Just sit tight. I’ll be down soon. There’s still tea in the pot.’

  She grabs the old teapot and sets it, slopping, on the table. I stare at it so she can’t see my eyes. She can do this mind-reading telepathy, given eye contact.

  She’s hurrying now, which helps. ‘It’s only cos I love you. Cos of what you’ve been through. You know that, right? We’ll talk at lunch, OK?’ She kisses the top of my head hard, as if I’m eight years old, and hurries up the stairs.

  I wait till I hear her professional spiel kick in on the phone, ‘Sarah Mayfield speaking. Good morning.’

  I nip into my room and get changed, fingers clumsy and hurrying.

  Tick, tick, tick …

  In less than a minute I’m ready, in a compromise outfit of short-sleeved purple tunic dress over leggings. It’ll pass for normal, but I can still move fast in it.

  I creep downstairs and sit on the bottom step to pull my trainers on. Lacing them up, I feel stronger. Putting on my running gear always does that. It’s like a superhero outfit, that Lycra, and I need it more than ever today.

  I remember the first time I told Eden I’d joined the running club, last February, when I started back at school. Running hurt. Everything still hurt, back then, but at least it gave me something to focus on. Something I could make progress with.

  ‘Fell running? Since when? That’s so not your look!’ She’d yelped with laughter, till she saw my face.

  ‘Oi, you know I’m good at running – it’s not a fashion statement.’

  ‘But once a week – really? Bor-ing! All that effort, just to sit around afterwards boasting about times and PBs,’ She stressed the initials in a nerdy voice. ‘Not my idea of fun.’

  ‘E, if I’m fast, I can get away.’ I spelt it out for her. ‘I need to be the fastest. It’s all I’ve got. After what happened, I need options: fight or run. And I’m not doing martial arts.’ That shut her up.

  She even came to watch me race a few times, cheering me on at the finish line.

  Now I’m all ready to run, I grab an empty backpack and tiptoe back into the kitchen. I feel like a thief as I shove my hoodie, some energy bars and a water bottle in there.

  I grab a pen
and peel a sheet of notepaper off Mum’s block of stickies. I scrawl: ‘Sorry. I had to. I’ve got my phone.’

  I hate sneaking out but I’ve got no choice. Holding my breath, I open the latch slowly and slip through, closing it carefully, noiselessly, behind me. Someone’s on my side, cos it doesn’t squeak or slam. Mum’s office is at the back of the house, so she won’t see me. I take a deep breath, pulling as much air as I can into my lungs. Then I begin.

  I run down the street and take the track up through the woods to Eden’s. I try to picture what I will find at her house. I fail. What Eden’s parents are going through is beyond imagining.

  It was a Saturday morning, 4th June. A slice of blue sky split the curtains. Mum brought me a cup of tea and put it carefully on my bedside table.

  ‘What’s up?’ She usually lets me sleep. ‘Mum, what’s wrong?’

  She was sitting sideways, awkward, on the edge of my bed. She stared at her hands, not looking at me. I read the angle of her neck, the tension in her shoulders. This was horribly familiar. I sat up. ‘Mum!’ My heart started to race, chasing away my sleepiness. ‘What’s happened?’

  She took a deep breath as if she was getting ready to dive. ‘Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry. I’ve got bad news.’ She reached out and grabbed one of my hands, and said it in a long rush: ‘There’s been an accident. It’s Eden’s sister, Iona. She was killed last night in a car crash.’

  The words reached me very slowly.

  Their meaning hit me afterwards.

  Like thunder a few seconds after lightning.

  ‘What? No!’ My hand sealed my mouth, and I spat it off again, feeling nausea rising with my confusion. ‘Where’s Eden? God. No, was she—’

  ‘Eden’s all right, Jess. I mean, she’s not, she won’t be. But she wasn’t in the car.’

  Eden wasn’t in the car.

  ‘Oh God, her poor mother …’ Mum hugged me so tightly that I could hardly breathe, and I finally understood what she had told me. We cried on and off all that day, damp-faced, red-eyed and shaky. We cried for Iona. We cried for Eden and her parents. And we cried for us, and for our own near-miss last year. I needed not to be far from Mum, and she must’ve felt the same about me, so we shuffled around the house, making food we couldn’t eat, and then we sat on the sofa watching old films that made us cry again, with the curtains still closed, letting the perfect day go to waste.