The Wild Girls

by Phoebe Morgan

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, and no one’s accusing you of anything,’ Hannah says, getting up too, trying to put a hand on Alice’s arm. Alice flinches, pushes her away, and Hannah stumbles backwards slightly into the dining table. There’s a little squeal from Grace and Hannah watches in horror as the champagne glass she was clutching tilts from her hand and smashes on to the table, splintering into three large pieces. Liquid runs across the wooden surface, soaking into the crevices of the table, leaving its mark. For a beat, nobody speaks, and then Grace looks up at them, her face eerily calm. Her voice, when she speaks, is quiet. Too quiet.

  ‘Let’s talk about why we kept our distance for so long, shall we?’

  Grace

  ‘Who remembers that night properly?’ I ask the two of them, keeping my voice measured, not letting them see behind my eyes. I watch as their faces change, and I know they are all picturing a smoky courtyard, the smell of alcohol on the air, the cold February night. Felicity had been wearing a fur coat (‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Grace, it’s not real,’ she told me), and Alice was smoking a cigarette, the long grey plumes of smoke spiralling into the air like thin little ghosts. I remember her face, the sight of Tom standing over her in his hoodie, the darkness obscuring his eyes.

  Both of them fall silent – for all Alice’s hot air, I know she doesn’t like being confronted like this. She doesn’t like remembering the night we all fell apart.

  I place my hands on the table, careful to avoid the shards of glass, and stand up, keeping my eyes trained on Alice.

  ‘I know you don’t like remembering,’ I say, ‘but perhaps it’s best that we do.’

  Hannah’s voice shocks me.

  ‘GRACE! For God’s sake, will you stop it! You’re being dramatic, and unhelpful. If you’re so keen to dredge up the past, perhaps it’s you who’s been writing these notes!’

  I gasp. ‘Of course it isn’t! I’m not the one with something to hide! I know you both have secrets about that night. If anything, I’m the victim here. I always have been.’ My voice catches on the word victim; it hits too close to home.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ Hannah pulls out her phone. I notice her hand is shaking slightly, little tremors of anger pulsing through her body. Or is it fear? ‘I’m going to find a signal, and then I’m going to get us out of here. I’ve a baby at home who needs me.’

  This seems to ignite something in Alice, bring her back to life.

  ‘Oh, and I suppose that makes all the difference, doesn’t it, Hannah? You’ve got a baby so you’re the most important one. No wonder Felicity got fed up of that attitude. We’ve all got people to get back for, we’ve all got lives that don’t involve this bloody lodge!’

  I don’t say anything. I’m not sure I do.

  ‘That isn’t what I meant,’ Hannah says, but Alice is rolling her eyes and shaking her head, clearly glad to have found something to latch onto, somewhere to channel her anger. She always did like a good rant.

  ‘It is what you meant. You’ve always been like this. First it was with Chris – you and your relationship had to come first, you were the serious couple, the proper adults, the important ones. Now it’s your baby – you’re always trying to find ways of proving yourself, of showing the rest of us how far behind you we are. How much we are failing.’

  Hannah looks hurt. ‘That isn’t true at all!’ she says hotly, and I raise my eyebrows, because to be honest, much as I hate to admit it, I do think Alice has got a point. Hannah has always been a bit like that – sanctimonious, traditional. She wants everyone to be like her and looks down on those that aren’t.

  ‘Well, it is a bit true,’ I say, and Alice starts laughing, a high-pitched, unnatural sound that sets my teeth on edge. The sound is eerie, and her eyes are flashing, wild.

  ‘D’you know what, Hannah, Grace? Fuck off.’

  There’s a second where we stare at each other – we never spoke to each other like that, not even back then, and then she is gone, her body moving so quickly that it blurs in front of my eyes. She vanishes from the room, and both of us hear her footsteps slapping against the tiled floor. She’s heading in the direction of the door.

  ‘It’s locked,’ I murmur, but to my surprise there is the unmistakable sound of the main door swinging open.

  Hannah and I exchange glances, then quickly follow Alice. Sure enough, the door is wide open and we find Alice standing in the entrance, staring out at the pouring rain. I can’t see whether she has the keys, whether she’s the one who locked us in. If not her, who?

  She’s facing away from us, looking out over the plains, but when I say her name she turns around, looks us dead in the eye. Tears are glistening on her cheeks and immediately I feel a splash of guilt.

  Hannah clearly feels the same.

  ‘We shouldn’t argue,’ she says, softly, stepping forward and putting an arm on Alice’s shoulder, and Alice nods mutely, before giving in to Hannah’s embrace. I feel a stab of something in my guts. Even after all that, they are united, and once again, I am on the outside. Alice could behave as badly as she liked and Hannah would always forgive her – that’s how it works, isn’t it? There are people in the world who get away with everything and anything – they will always be forgiven. I should know that by now, at least.

  ‘I think we should search the surroundings,’ Hannah says matter-of-factly, clearly deciding that ignoring the fact that we’ve all just argued is the best way forward. ‘There must be someone else here and if we can’t find them, we’ll head out to the main road and walk until we find a car. There’s no point us three accusing each other of anything when there’s still the possibility that there’s someone else here, playing a trick on us. A fourth person. Or even more than that.’

  ‘Who would do this, though?’ Alice asks, her voice sounding resigned. Hannah looks at her, and I see something pass between them, almost like a warning look.

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out,’ Hannah says firmly. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘What about the animals? If we leave the complex on foot it could be dangerous,’ I squeak, hating the way my voice sounds, but Hannah just sighs.

  ‘Let’s search the grounds first, when it stops raining.’

  It’s growing darker, now, we have spent almost the whole afternoon arguing and the heavy, threatening rain clouds make everything feel gloomier. A wave of exhaustion hits me – we’ve been up since 7 a.m., and the day feels like it’s run away from us. The idea of a party this evening feels like a distant, far-off dream.

  ‘We should get torches,’ Alice mutters, and after a rummage, we find some in the cupboard in the hallway. Alice switches hers on, the light illuminating her face. It is blotchy with tears, but when I try to meet her eye, she looks away.

  ‘I want to be on my own for a bit,’ she says, her voice thick. ‘I’ll go alone. You guys look together.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Hannah says, but I keep quiet. Maybe letting Alice have time to cool off and calm down is for the best. I don’t need her swearing at us again, do I? Fuck off, Grace. The words sting; I’ve always hated swearing. My mother used to swear at me, harsh, guttural syllables reminding me of her disappointment, her failure to have produced a child who could make her happy and fulfilled. She swore when I told her what had happened to me, too, quietly and firmly, stopping my story in its tracks. Leaving me to deal with it alone. Stop it. I push the thoughts away.

  ‘I think the rain is easing off,’ I say instead, and the three of us pause in the hallway, torches in hands. Sure enough, there is a quietness to the air now, and the heavy drumming of water on the roof has slowed to almost nothing.

  ‘Great,’ Hannah says, attempting a smile, and I feel a sudden, strange rush of love for her – her positivity, her ability, for the most part, to keep it together. I’m glad she’s coming with me – I don’t want to be on my own out there with the running water and the insects – and God knows what else.

  Outside,
the air feels wet – thick and cloying, as though it might suffocate us. The visibility is low – when I look out to the plains I can barely see the gum trees, although I know they are there. Waiting for us. Watching. How many others have they seen come and go from this place, I wonder as we set off down the wooden walkway. How many people have walked in our footsteps? There is something comforting about the thought – of course we will get out of here. We will find Felicity, or whoever is leaving the notes, and we will get an explanation. God, even the thought that it could be me behind all this – it’s ridiculous. Is that really what they think of me?

  When we reach the place where the pathways split, the two of us look at Alice.

  ‘Come, on, Allie, let’s all just stay together,’ Hannah says gently. ‘It’s the sensible thing to do. We don’t know what’s out there.’ I see her eyes flicker nervously to the streams below us, the place where they connect to the main river. Fear twists inside my stomach, thinking of the guidebook. I imagine a crocodile’s jaws rising out of the water, snapping towards us, and the glare of a hippo’s hooded eyes.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Alice says, and her voice is firmer now, the ice creeping back in. ‘I’m sorry for losing my temper, really I am. I’ll be fine on my own.’

  She turns, and I watch as her slim figure disappears towards Zebra Lodge. A breeze follows her, ruffling my hair and causing the leaves in the reeds around us to waver, as though they too are uncertain of what we’re doing.

  ‘Come on,’ Hannah says, after a pause, ‘we need to search wider than just the complex.’ We look at each other, and I know she’s thinking that perhaps we ought to run after Alice, that we shouldn’t let her go off on her own.

  I take her arm, decisive all at once. ‘Alice will be all right.’

  The two of us make our way towards the end of the walkway. There is a short drop down to the ground, and I hold the torch as Hannah crouches down, throws one leg over the side of the decking and then the other. Her mouth is set in a firm, straight line.

  ‘Careful, Han,’ I say, fighting to keep the nerves from my voice, and she nods, before pushing herself off the wooden ledge. She lands safely, her shoes making a soft squelching noise in the wet ground, then looks up at me, holds out a hand.

  ‘Come on. Careful.’

  Down on the ground, away from the safety of the raised platform, everything feels darker. There are no outdoor lights, and Hannah reaches out to hold my arm as we move forward, away from the complex and into the surrounding bushland that encircles the lodges. Puddles stand on the earth, and swallows dip and dive in the gloom, fluttering closer to us than they do back at home. Out here, they remind me of bats – quick and unpredictable. I swing the torch around, scanning the scene for movement, half-expecting to see Felicity laughing, her blonde hair catching the torchlight, as though this has been one long, bizarre game of hide and seek.

  ‘Let’s go this way, we can move in a circle. We’ll probably bump into Alice,’ Hannah says, and wordlessly I do as she suggests. We continue to walk in silence, although the air between us feels charged. My eyes are flitting around, unsure of what I might see.

  ‘I think we’re getting close to the river,’ Hannah says at last. ‘Pass me the torch?’

  I hand it to her, and the beam of it swings forward, highlighting the rush of water that is flowing parallel to the walkways behind us. As she does so, two glowing pairs of eyes are illuminated in the gloom, and I can’t help it, a whimper escapes me. I clap a hand to my mouth and Hannah gasps.

  We step backwards, holding hands, and I can feel the rub of Hannah’s wedding ring underneath my fingers. Tears are pricking my eyes – what are we doing, out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the water and God knows what else? I wish we’d never come.

  ‘So do I,’ Hannah says, and I start. I hadn’t realised I’d said the words aloud.

  ‘Do you really think there’s someone else out here?’ she asks me, and I shiver in the darkness, imagine it – a faceless, nameless presence following us as we walk, their shadow darting out of the way of our torchlight. Or worse – someone who isn’t faceless at all. Someone I know all too well.

  ‘Do you think Felicity was ever here?’ Hannah says, her torch beam dipping in front of us, bouncing off the ground.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say eventually. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  There is none of the ease there was between us earlier in the day, and as we walk I wonder – does Hannah honestly suspect me, too?

  ‘D’you think Felicity planned this?’ I ask her, when we’ve scrambled back far enough away from the water that my heart rate has slowed down a bit.

  Hannah stops, looks at me.

  ‘Grace,’ she says, and the expression on her face scares me, ‘look, I think we need to—’

  She’s interrupted by the sound of a high, shrill scream, cutting through the darkness like a knife.

  Hannah

  Grace is about as useful in this situation as a chocolate teapot, as Hannah’s mother would say. God, has she become her already?

  The thought of her mother reminds Hannah of Max and she feels a terrible pang of guilt – what with the argument and Alice’s outburst she hasn’t texted Chris to check how her son is; her message to him didn’t even mention Max. What kind of mother is she? An incredibly smug one, according to Alice. Her words still sting. Are they true?

  ‘We need to get back!’ Grace is saying, and she’s right, of course she’s right.

  ‘Alice!’ Hannah yells, as loudly as she can. It must have been her screaming, but it sounded strange. Different. Unless—

  ‘Felicity!’ she shouts, but the only sound is Grace whimpering next to her and the constant burr of the insects, even though it’s late now. Something stabs into her arm, a little sting, and Hannah slaps a hand to her wrist, feels the tiny crunch of wings beneath her touch, of legs snapping into dust.

  They scramble back together; Grace has the torch now and she moves faster than Hannah. She is heavier than she used to be before she had Max, she knows she is. A stupid thing to be worrying about, Hannah chides herself, but as Grace runs ahead she hates the way her thighs rub together and her breathing labours as she tries to catch her up.

  They’re by the main gates, now, and Hannah feels disoriented. She’d thought they were round to the east of the main lodge. The complex itself feels as if it is tricking them, an endless maze designed to trip them up.

  Grace runs onto the walkway, and Hannah feels a spurt of annoyance – Grace hasn’t even turned back to see if she’s all right. There’s a funny taste in her mouth which might be panic. She forces herself to calm down, to think of Maxy and Chris, her little family back at home. She needs to stay calm, for them.

  ‘Alice, Alice!’ Grace is calling, but there’s no response, and she turns a corner, disappears out of Hannah’s sight. The darkness looms in front of her, as though it could swallow her up, and she forces herself to run faster, even though her lungs are burning and her legs are tight with strain.

  When Hannah reaches the wooden decking, the boards are slippery under her feet and warm puddles spoil the way forward – the rain has made everything more dangerous. She pulls out her phone, but there is only one bar of signal. In spite of this she calls Alice, but the phone just rings out. She strains her ears, trying to listen for the sound of it ringing. She’s worried Alice has fallen on the wet decking and hurt herself. That’s the logical explanation – that must be why she screamed.

  Rounding the corner, Hannah sees Grace, doubled over and panting.

  ‘Try the main lodge,’ she says breathlessly to her, glad she has finally had the decency to stop and wait. There’s no point in them all getting separated.

  Hannah skids slightly as they reach the main doors, still slightly ajar as they left them. A trail of water directly inside the front door makes Hannah think Alice must be inside, and she feels a wave of relief, but there’s no sign of her and the water marks fade away partway down the entrance
hall.

  ‘Her shoes aren’t here,’ Grace says, voicing exactly what Hannah was thinking. She looks at her, and Hannah can see how frightened she is. No matter what’s happened between them all, Alice is their friend. Hannah thinks of the snakes, sliding through the undergrowth, looking for bare feet; the thought makes her shudder.

  ‘Where is she, Hannah?’ Grace asks, and Hannah stares at her. Grace is looking at her oddly, almost as though she’s suspicious. As though she thinks Hannah knows the truth.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Hannah says slowly, ‘I just need to think, Grace. Hang on.’

  ‘I’m going to check her lodge,’ she says. ‘You try calling her again. Text her too. Anything that might get through.’ Before Hannah can stop her, she’s out of the door, heading towards Cheetah Lodge. Hannah waits for a moment, watches her go. There’s something she needs to do first.

  Grace

  I almost fall over as I make my way to Cheetah Lodge. The sky is clearing now, but water still drips from the leaves, landing on my shoulders and the top of my head. I realise how long it’s been since I’ve eaten anything, and my stomach growls with inappropriate hunger.

  Maybe I imagined the scream, I think to myself, trying to keep calm, but no, Hannah heard it too, didn’t she? It’s not just me being paranoid. It’s not.

  I keep my eyes trained on the Cheetah Lodge doorway, focus on the cheetah head knocker on the door. I count my breaths – in for three, out for two, trying to force myself not to panic even though everything feels so strange.

  ‘Alice!’ I call, pushing the door open, but still there is no reply. My gaze adjusts to the dimness inside, and horror fills my chest.

  The lodge looks as though it’s been ransacked. Alice is always so neat – she likes to be put together, she’s not messy at all – but there are clothes all over the floor, and when I go into the bathroom the bottles of shampoo are scattered everywhere, one of them open and leaking onto the floorboards, a thick, viscous white liquid that is gradually spreading into a wider puddle. Her make-up is all over the sink, a smear of red lipstick slashes across the white porcelain like a wound, and I raise my eyes to the mirror, see my own scared reflection staring back.