by Sibel Hodge
When he finally let me go, I limped away from his house, even more broken than before. Back at the dorm, Sean, Billy, Trevor, and Dave were changing into their pyjamas. They didn’t meet my eyes. I didn’t know how to put into words the disgusting things he’d done to me. I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain. I didn’t really understand it myself. I just knew it was wrong. And it hurt. I was used to the physical bullying now. I could handle the pain. I just didn’t know whether I could handle this new kind of abuse.
I stayed silent, just as all my friends did, but I think they knew anyway.
I think they all knew.
MAYA
Chapter 9
There was one other place I could think of to look, where Jamie might’ve left some sort of clue as to what he’d been doing, where he’d been going, during the week before he died, and it was probably somewhere no one else would think of.
In the garden was a border covered with gravel. Dotted around were plant pots filled with lavender, rosemary, and a miniature olive tree. In the centre of the border was a statue of Buddha. It was huge, almost four foot tall, a heavy thing that made it seem solid, but it wasn’t. And below the hollow Buddha, hidden underneath the gravel, was a metal tin that Jamie used to hide any money in, instead of keeping it around the house, just in case we ever got broken into and burglars found it.
I stepped into the garden, the gold ring feeling both alien and soothing on my finger. It shone in the sunlight, and a sob rose in my chest. I pushed it back down. Stared at the Buddha and fought back the tears yet again. I reached out my hand and rested it on Buddha’s head. It was cold beneath my touch, and I shivered involuntarily. Gently, I tipped the statue to one side and bent down, separating the gravel with my fingers. There was the lid of the metal box. I pulled out more gravel from the box-sized hole Jamie had sunk it into and lifted it out, then put the gravel and statue back in place and took the box into the kitchen with me.
I sat at the table, staring at it. An unnerving feeling settled over me as I removed the lid.
Inside was a cheap Motorola mobile phone and a small bundle of money. I turned the phone on and checked through it. There were no numbers called or received in the call log, no text-message history, and no numbers in the contacts file. I lifted out the pound notes—three hundred pounds in total—and found beneath them a folded sheet of A4 lined white paper. I unfolded it slowly, smoothed it out against the table, and began reading Jamie’s handwriting.
10 Crompton Place, London
Moses Abraham, 16 Dean Street, London
Billy Pearce, 43 Scarborough Ave, London
Sean Davidson, Flat 28, Derby Towers, Enfield X
Trevor Carter, 2 Dalton Terrace, Surrey
Dave Groom, 91 Ridge Street, Watford X
My first thought was that the list was something to do with Jamie’s job. Was it a list of people who worked for Porterhouse Systems and Solutions? Or some of their clients? No. It couldn’t be connected with his job, because he hadn’t even been going to work, and I’d never heard him mention those names before. Obviously, if he’d taken the trouble to hide it underneath the Buddha, it had meant something important to him, though. Something he was trying to keep hidden from me. Was this list to do with why he’d been leaving the house every day as normal?
I took the list into the lounge and turned on my laptop. When I connected to Google, I typed in the first address. Nothing interesting came up
Next I typed in the name Moses Abraham, but I couldn’t find anything. I checked through the rest of the names, but again, I didn’t find any kind of clue that might help me.
Were they old army mates of Jamie’s? I tried to recall names he’d mentioned in the past, but he didn’t talk about them much. I definitely remembered the name Lee, who’d organised some kind of reunion about a year ago. Was there a Dave who Jamie had spoken about, too? Possibly. I hadn’t seen any of these names in Jamie’s phone bills when I’d been looking through them, and Jamie didn’t have an address book of contacts because he kept everything stored on his phone, which would’ve been on him when he’d died. I made a mental note to contact Tony, the coroner’s officer, and ask what had happened to Jamie’s belongings.
I sat back on the sofa and stared at the laptop until someone knocking at the door made me jump. It was probably Ava, I thought as I closed the lid and walked to the front door, but when I got there, I saw a man’s silhouette behind the obscured privacy glass. I stopped where I was, frozen. Whoever it was could see me hovering there, but I was spooked by the discovery of Jamie’s list and the knowledge that Jamie had been hiding something.
The man knocked again.
I didn’t move.
The letter box opened, and a voice said, ‘Maya, are you there? It’s Tony Williams, the coroner’s officer.’
My shoulders relaxed, and I moved the last few metres down the hall and opened the door.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hi.’ I glanced at his left hand, which was holding some clear plastic bags.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t call first, but I was in the area and just wanted to return Jamie’s belongings that were found with him.’ He held up the bags. In one I saw Jamie’s wallet and briefcase. In a bigger bag were some folded clothes that I recognised as the ones Jamie was wearing the last day I saw him. Another contained a pair of black shoes that he usually wore for work. They were now caked in dry, brown mud. ‘I’ll need you to sign for them.’
A hand flew to my mouth as I stared at the items.
‘We can do this another time, if you like,’ Tony said.
‘Um…’ I tore my gaze away from the items. ‘No, I…come in. I was…I was just wondering what had happened to them all, actually.’ I stood back and let him in before leading him to the lounge.
‘How are you doing?’ His bushy eyebrows furrowed with concern.
‘Not too good.’ I sat on the sofa and waved a hand in the direction of the armchair. ‘Have a seat.’
He perched on the edge and placed the bags on the coffee table. He opened the first bag and pulled out Jamie’s wallet and slid it across to me before removing the briefcase. ‘The wallet was found in his trousers.’ He pulled two forms out of his pocket and handed one to me. ‘The contents are listed there. Along with the contents of the briefcase.’
I read through the list:
1 black leather wallet
1 Barclays Bank debit card in the name of James Taylor
1 HSBC Visa credit card in the name of James Taylor
2 x £50 notes
1 x £5 note
1 receipt from Freyer Jewellers
I black briefcase
1 Casio calculator
2 Bic biros
1 notepad
1 Computer World magazine
I white shirt
1 pair of black trousers
1 red tie
1 pair of black boxer shorts
I pair of black socks
1 pair of black shoes
‘This form is your copy, but I need you to sign mine to say you’ve received them back.’
So that was it. The sum of Jamie’s existence.
I frowned. ‘Didn’t he have his phone with him?’
‘No. There was no phone. His car was recovered to a garage we use.’ He handed me a business card with the name, address, and number of the garage. ‘You can pick it up anytime. The keys will be there.’
‘Right.’ I fiddled with the card before looking up at him. ‘But he would’ve had his phone with him. And what about his jacket? He was wearing a black one when he left for work. Wasn’t that with him, either?’
‘Everything we found in his possession is in those bags.’
I shook my head. ‘So where are they, then? I mean, he would’ve been cold without his jacket. And he always had his phone.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. He may have lost them before he went to the woods. Or he may have thrown them away. Perhaps he didn’t want you to try to contact him after he’d made up
his mind about what he was going to do.’
I shook my head. ‘And why wasn’t there a suicide note?’ My voice rose. ‘Look, I don’t think…I don’t…Jamie can’t have killed himself.’
A look flitted across his face. A look that said he’d heard it all before. Denial. ‘I’m very sorry, Maya. I know this is difficult, and often people don’t want to believe that a loved one would do something like this, but the enquiries I’ve made so far all point to suicide, without a shadow of a doubt. A lot of people don’t leave notes.’
‘What enquiries?’
He watched me for a moment before taking a breath. ‘The rope I took away matches the rope Jamie used in the woods. I spoke to Dr. Lattimer, and he confirmed Jamie had been treated for depression in the past.’
‘What?’ I stared at him blankly. ‘When?’
‘Eighteen years ago. Jamie was prescribed antidepressants and recommended counselling.’
‘What for? I mean, what was he depressed about?’
‘That is unclear but possibly related to the time he spent in the army. There are no records that indicate he sought any counselling, and he took the course of antidepressants for six months. The doctor’s notes indicate that he was satisfied Jamie needed no further treatment at that time. However, depression can return, and people don’t always seek treatment for it.’
‘But even if that’s true, it was almost twenty years ago. I mean, how many people have taken antidepressants in their lives? Thousands. Probably millions. Isn’t Prozac one of the most prescribed drugs? But they don’t all go on to kill themselves, do they?’
‘No, but nevertheless, there’s an established history of it,’ he said calmly.
‘And he wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t!’ My voice was shrill, heat detonating through my insides. ‘I would know, wouldn’t I? I lived with him.’
‘Often, people who are considering ending their lives don’t mention it to their loved ones. They want to spare them the pain and anguish. Outwardly they can appear happy and going about life as normal to hide what they’re really feeling. I’ve seen it time and time again.’ He shook his head in what was supposed to be a sympathetic gesture, but it just seemed patronising to me.
So what if he’d seen it all before. I still didn’t believe it. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know Jamie. I wanted to punch him.
‘I’ve spoken to his colleagues and his boss.’
‘So you know Jamie had taken time off work for some personal reasons? If he was taking time to sort out some kind of personal things, why would he have killed himself?’ I jutted my chin in the air, challenging him.
‘Again, often people who are considering suicide get their affairs in order before they go. It’s very common. I believe that’s what Jamie was doing in his last days.’
‘What affairs? He didn’t have anything to sort out!’
‘We may never know exactly what he was doing. Maybe he was leaving the house and going somewhere to think, to get things straight in his head. The reason for suicide is very rarely clear-cut. But I’m confident that he was troubled and depressed, and he hid it very well.’ Tony paused for a moment. ‘I know you want to believe that Jamie didn’t take his own life. It’s a hard thing to accept, I understand that, but I can assure you, that is what happened.’ He spoke very slowly, enunciating every word clearly. ‘Are you suggesting there’s something suspicious about Jamie’s death?’ His forehead crinkled with what looked like surprise.
‘No, I…’ Was I? ‘I’m just trying to make sense of it all. I mean, what about the—’ I broke off abruptly. I was going to tell him about the list of names and addresses I’d found. The laptop. The things out of place. The engagement ring. But something stopped me. It sounded mad now when I thought about it that someone had come into the house, moved things around for no apparent reason, but not actually stolen anything. And the laptop could’ve just had a virus and died. And maybe Jamie did buy the ring six months ago, before he was even contemplating suicide.
Tony tilted his head with a patient look on his face, waiting for me to finish.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘I can assure you that I’ve investigated thoroughly, and I’m very sorry, but as sad and hard as it is to deal with, the reality is that Jamie did take his own life. We are completely satisfied there are no suspicious circumstances surrounding his death.’
I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
‘Did you have time to look at the leaflets I left? Grief counselling can be very helpful to people.’
‘No.’
‘Well, it’s something to think about.’ He handed me a pen to sign his form. I scrawled my signature on it, and he stood up. ‘The inquest isn’t likely to be held for several months yet, but I’ll keep you updated.’ His sympathetic frown was back again, fixed firmly in place.
I nodded and showed him out. Then I pushed the door closed and leant my back against it, taking some calming breaths.
Tony was right. I was in denial. I was clutching at straws, seeing things that weren’t really there, trying to find excuses for what Jamie had done, because then I’d have to admit that he didn’t love me enough to stay.
JAMIE
Chapter 10
After breakfast one day, Scholes picked me and Sean to clean our dormitory.
‘Dusting, sweeping, polishing, and mopping. And if it’s not done properly, I’ll make you do it all over again,’ Scholes barked out. ‘And no talking!’ he said as he left the room.
We’d been at it for about two hours when he returned. I could tell by the weight of his footsteps on the floor and the way he flung the door open that he wasn’t going to be happy with what we’d done. I carried on dusting the metal bed frames with my back to him, silently praying he would go away.
‘What do you call this?’ he yelled at Sean.
I froze, not wanting to turn around and look.
Make it go away. Make him go away. Please, I’ll do anything.
‘S-Sorry,’ Sean spluttered.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Sorry, s-sir.’
Sean’s fear and mine were almost palpable, like the electric static before a storm. My stomach twisted at the thought of what was about to happen.
Sean screamed, and I turned around then. Scholes had lifted him up by the scruff of his shirt, suspending him in the air.
I gulped back my own scream as Scholes dragged Sean out of the room.
I started shaking then, scared that Sean would be taken to the cellar. I could hear Sean’s cries out in the hallway and all the way down the stairs. Then I heard a strange noise, like thump, thump, thump. And Sean wasn’t crying anymore.
It took a long time for the trembling to stop. I was cold. The kind of cold that seeped right inside my bones and I thought I’d never get warm again. In the empty room, the tears came. I tried to fight them, but I couldn’t hold them in any longer. I had to snap into action, though. If Scholes came back and the room wasn’t finished, I’d get the same treatment. Or worse. My survival instinct kicked in, and I frantically finished cleaning the room.
When I caught up with Billy, Trevor, and Dave at lunchtime, I wanted to ask them if they’d seen Sean as we ate some kind of soup that tasted as if it was made from boiled PE kits. Barker was on lunch supervision, so there was no chance of breaking the ‘no talking’ rule, and I didn’t dare ask. It wasn’t until we were all outside for some free time that I could properly talk to them.
‘I saw Sean being thrown down the stairs.’ Billy’s eyes welled up as he spoke. ‘He…he…his head hit the floor with a hell of a crack, and then…then he wasn’t moving. I hope he’s okay.’ He wiped at the tears with the cuff of his frayed jumper.
‘Stop crying!’ Dave spat at him. ‘Don’t show your weakness to them. Haven’t you learned anything yet?’
But that made Billy cry even more, his shoulders shaking, snot dripping from his nose.
Trevor looked down at the ground, mumbl
ing words I couldn’t hear.
‘And what are you doing?’ Dave snapped at him.
‘Praying,’ Trevor said.
‘What for? God’s not going to help us. No one’s going to help us!’
Billy ran off towards a thicket of trees in front of the perimeter wall. He sat down and bunched his knees up, resting his head on them and curling his arms around his legs.
‘What if he’s d-dead?’ Trevor stuttered.
I stared at the house of horror behind him. I was praying, too, but it wasn’t to God. I didn’t know who I was praying to.
‘Well, at least it’s not us.’ Dave flopped to the ground with a thud, his face bright red with anger.
‘How can you say that?’ Trevor asked. ‘He’s our friend.’
‘Yeah? There are no friends in here. We can’t help each other. We can’t look out for each other. We’ve got too much to do trying to look after number one.’
I watched their exchange and wondered what kind of a world we were living in where we’d rather wish that something bad happened to one of our friends because it meant it wasn’t happening to us. I’d felt that, too. At night when they came for one of us, I’d lie awake, unable to fall into sleep because I didn’t want to be the one taken to the cellar or Barker’s quarters. I’d listen for every tiny little sound. Every creak of the floorboards. Watch for every shadow creeping across the room. I’d hold my breath and hope that I really was invisible so they wouldn’t choose me. Then, when the dark figure walked past my bed and went to someone else’s, I was glad. Glad it was them and not me. And when they’d been removed, I could finally fall asleep, dreaming about the bird with big wings, soaring over woods and fields and deserts, catching thermals and flying higher and higher.
The whispers started that afternoon. Sean was in the sick bay and still unconscious. We listened to them all but didn’t talk about it again. Four days later, Sean returned to the dorm, but something about him wasn’t right. He was listless and sleepy, and it took him a long time to get any words out. He spoke in slow sentences, his voice devoid of its usual cadence. There was a vacant look about his eyes.