Kiss Her Goodbye

by Susan Gee

  ‘Have you seen anything of Maxine Turner?’ I continue.

  He looks thoughtful, as though he’s not sure, but he’s trying my patience.

  ‘You gave her a lift home? You bought her chips and lent her a film.’ I turn to Nick. ‘A Tale of Two Cities. The same girl who has now been missing for over thirty-eight hours? I take it you remember? Or do you take home so many teenage girls that you’ve forgotten who’s who?’

  Mr Phillips bares his teeth in an attempt at a smile. ‘I haven’t seen her.’

  ‘We’d like you to come to the station to answer a few questions.’

  Mr Phillips blinks and looks at the front door.

  ‘Can I use your bathroom first?’ I ask as Nick steps sideways to block the entrance out to the hall.

  Mr Phillips shakes his head as if to say no, but agrees anyway. It’s obvious which room is the toilet, but I open the door of the bedroom to look inside. The bed is made and the small wardrobe is the only other item of furniture. He’s a clean and tidy man and the room is neatly organised. When I go in the bathroom I open the cabinet and look inside. There are only a few items in it. Nothing that looks as though a girl has been staying here and I wait for a moment before flushing the toilet.

  As we leave the flat, he’s visibly sweating and Nick raises an eyebrow when he catches my eye in the hallway. It feels as if we may have something. Outside, Mr Phillips stops walking and stands in the car park. The cold air catches in my throat as he glances up at the windows of the flats. He takes a step closer to me.

  ‘I only gave her a lift a couple of times,’ he says, with breath that smells of boiled eggs.

  ‘We just need to take a statement. It isn’t anything to worry about,’ I reply. He looks around as though he wants to run and as we walk him to the car I wonder if we’ve found the man responsible. He’s good-looking and I could see a young girl falling for him. I know I’ll blame myself if he’s the one. The signs were there. From the girl he was with in the car park to Maxine getting a lift home that day. I didn’t follow it through properly. I let my feelings take me the wrong way. I don’t want to think about Moira Timperley any more, but she’s always there: a face in the shadows of my thoughts. She went missing numerous times, but she always came back a few days later. I should have been on this from the start.

  My thoughts return to Maxine as I glance at the garages that line the car park and think about the deserted warehouses near the river. I don’t think she’s coming back. It’s bitterly cold and the girl has been missing since Thursday. We’ve searched the old lime pit near her house and the section of the river where Kirsten Green was found and come up with nothing. I resist the urge to push him into the car. I want to tell him that he disgusts me and that I know what his intentions were, but I don’t. As I glance in the rear-view mirror when we pull out of the car park I wonder if he sees it in my eyes.

  We drive through the estate towards the station. On Tom’s mum’s drive is a Metro with pink teddy bears on the back shelf. It’s Jackie’s car. I wonder if they’re sleeping together yet. She’s got what she’s always wanted now. The times that I came home to find her in the house with him come back to me and I wonder if anything went on while we were still together. She’s welcome to him and it won’t take long before she finds out what he’s really like. We drive on out of the estate and past the sprawling wasteland with derelict buildings beyond. I glance at Mr Phillips in the rear-view mirror as he nervously stares back and try to think of one good man, but I can’t.

  34

  Hayley Reynolds

  Two cars speed through the red traffic lights just before I cross the road. Women with pushchairs drag children up the hill and life carries on as always. They will soon forget about Maxine, the way they did with Kirsten, and I wonder how long it will take.

  Outside the Spar is a sign that says, ‘Local Girl Missing’ and I go inside. As I walk in the lady behind the till attempts a smile. Her blonde hair falls down her back in waves and her look says that she’d rather be somewhere else.

  The Christmas Radio Times are stacked up on the shelf with Del Boy and Rodney on the front, reminding me that I should have been with Dad this year. Instead, I’ll have Mum drunk on Babycham, laughing at Morecambe and Wise or swooning over Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, but this time it’s worse: Mike’s going to be there too.

  I take over a copy of the local newspaper to the till and the woman points at Maxine’s picture on the front.

  ‘She only lived down the hill. Always a please and a thank you.’

  I put twenty pence down on the counter.

  ‘Your change, love,’ she shouts after me as I walk away. I hear her say to the next person in the queue, ‘It makes you wonder who’s about, doesn’t it? I won’t go out on my own after dark now…’

  The discounted items are by the door and I’d like to tell her that there’s where Maxine belonged: on that shelf with all the other bad apples. The bell above the door rings as it closes behind me. They think they care, but they don’t. They’re just like pigs, eating up all the filth they can.

  On the way to the bus stop, I walk past two lamp posts with pictures of Maxine’s face stuck to them and ‘Missing’ in red letters on the top. She’s everywhere. They wonder if she’s run away or been kidnapped, but the police have closed the path along the river and this morning there are two men at the top of the main road filming for the news. She’s famous now, just as she always wanted.

  Instead of going home I walk past the park. I keep on down the hill until I reach the river. Nobody stops me, but I don’t think anyone could stop me now even if they wanted to.

  The police have sealed off the lane near the sculpture of the fish. A white van blocks the path with the back doors wide open and there’s no way of getting past without being seen. I know the river though, so I cut through the back of the woods instead. It brings me out onto the fields and I stand against a tree, close enough that I can see what’s going on.

  There are lots of police, more than I thought there would be. A man points at different sections of the water and I’m surprised to see a girl with blonde hair, sitting without a care in the world, next to the sewerage pipe. For a second I think it’s Kirsten until I realise she’s one of the police. Everyone is dressed the same in black bomber jackets, trousers and boots. There’s plenty going on, but my eyes are fixed on the woman’s blonde ponytail.

  The sewerage pipe opens up like a mouth as a man moves a long stick along the edge of the water. It makes a gentle slap as he lifts it in and out, while bubbles come up from the middle of the river. As a frogman comes up to the surface, his rubber wet suit shines in the sun. Green weed hangs from his arm, as he sticks up his thumb, before going back underneath.

  They won’t find her. The current took her further down – under the bridge towards the leisure centre and hopefully to Liverpool. They can search all they like, but she isn’t here.

  ‘Hayley?’ a voice behind me asks, making me jump. When I turn around Beverley Samuels is standing there.

  ‘A foot over!’ one of the men shouts.

  ‘You aren’t allowed to be here. Come on,’ she says, and leads me away back through the trees.

  I look back, but I can’t see what they’re doing now. All I know is that the woman has moved further down the bank and she makes a circular motion with her hand for the frogman to go around the other way. Beverley Samuels puts her hand on my shoulder and pushes me towards the path as the police officer’s shouts fade.

  ‘I’ll take you all the way home,’ she says, as though she’s being nice, but I know that she just wants to get me away from the river.

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’

  She looks me up and down.

  ‘You can’t stay here. Come on.’

  When we get to my house, she glances up at the bedroom window. ‘Anyone in?’ she asks.

  ‘At work.’

  I go down the path and put the key in the front door and wait for her to go, but
she comes to stand next to me.

  She rocks on her feet. ‘It’s not safe to be there alone,’ she tells me, before taking a step back. She looks up at the house again and I do too, but there isn’t anyone there. We stand without speaking and I wonder if she knows. Something makes me think that she does.

  ‘So what were you doing there?’

  ‘I went to find Mike.’

  She looks up at the bedroom again as she steps back towards the road. ‘What for?’

  ‘To borrow fifty p. We’re out of bread.’

  ‘Don’t let me catch you there again.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  She won’t catch me again, because I’ll be more careful next time.

  ‘You know why we’re there?’

  I bite the side of my lip. ‘Maxine?’

  ‘Do you know anything about her boyfriend?’

  I pretend to think. ‘Someone older? I heard.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘I told you. We aren’t friends.’

  ‘I need to get back. We’ll talk about this again.’

  After she’s gone, I go into my bedroom and try to see through the trees with the binoculars, but all I can see is the lane. I picture the frogman coming face to face with Maxine and I want to be there too. I should have climbed a tree or hidden in one of the bushes, but it’s too late now. I can’t believe that I let Beverley Samuels see me and I know I’ve messed up this time. She’s interested in Maxine’s boyfriend though, so that’s a good sign. I won’t tell her about Mr Phillips yet, because I don’t want her to think that I know anything.

  I get out my camera and open the window. It’s cold outside and I pull my blanket around me as I take pictures of the birds, just as Dad used to do. Mike’s camera must still be in his briefcase from the conference and I think of the photographs that are on there – the black and white negatives of Maxine and the twisted tree trunks by the river – as I take more and more pictures.

  The viewfinder blocks out the rest of the world and I understand why Dad loves doing this so much now. I carry on until it’s too dark to see anything. As I see my blurred reflection looking back at me through the window, I remember the angle of the photograph I took by the river. I need to get that film back in case I’m on that picture too. It must be at his work, because I’ve looked all through the house and it’s not here.

  I lean on the windowsill and press my forehead up against the cool glass, before taking out Kirsten’s tee shirt from under my pillow. It’s nice against my cheek, just as she was, and I bury my face in it as though it’s a part of her. Even though I’m tired, sleep won’t come.

  I think about times with Dad. I remember watching the sunset over the river with him. The river turned pink and purple and it was a lovely warm day. There were ducks there and we didn’t have any bread, but it didn’t matter. One came up on the bank and I put my feet up on the bench in case it got my toes. Dad scared it off with his laugh and it flew away. It was a really nice day.

  I recite song lyrics like a chant as I stare at Gillian Gilbert’s beautiful lips and sad eyes in the picture on the wall. When the light comes in through the crack in the curtains, I know that I don’t have to fight it any more. The traffic noise grows from the motorway and my eyelids get heavy until, finally, a dark wave pulls me down and sleep finally takes me.

  *

  On Tuesday, I tell Mum I have stomach ache, but annoyingly Mike isn’t feeling well either. I watch the news, but Maxine isn’t mentioned. I know that Beverley Samuels will be at college, waiting in the reception for me, and that it’s only a matter of time before she’s back at the house again. Thoughts of getting rid of her go through my head, but I can’t. She’ll have all her suspicions written down and I just need to ride it out. I almost forget that Mike’s there, until I hear the floorboards creak as he gets up to go to the bathroom. The phone rings and he picks it up before I even have chance to get up off the sofa. He hasn’t changed.

  Later on, he comes downstairs in his tea-stained grey dressing gown and opens the window to let in the hiss of the wind.

  ‘It’s freezing.’ I frown.

  ‘You’re like a clam, locked up inside yourself.’

  I don’t think he’s talking about the window, but I don’t care. Outside, the air smells like yesterday’s damp.

  ‘How was your conference?’

  ‘Oh, useless. I should have brought a spare film.’

  ‘Can I have a look at your camera? I want to check if the settings are the same as mine.’

  ‘It’s in my locker at work. Remind me another day.’

  ‘I need it.’

  ‘It’s not here,’ he snaps as he puts his hand to his head. ‘I can hardly breathe in this place.’

  He goes in the kitchen to make a drink and, when he comes back, sits on the sofa opposite.

  ‘This place suffocates everyone,’ I tell him.

  ‘What?’

  He has morning breath and smells like old bedding, but I stand close.

  ‘You’ll find out,’ I say.

  He moves back into the sofa and looks through a pile of letters next to him. ‘We haven’t had the chance to talk properly since…’

  ‘So?’

  He frowns again and looks up. ‘What happened, happened. I was just trying to comfort you, but—’

  ‘Will you be comforting me again?’

  ‘Hayley, please,’ he says, trying to hide that he’s annoyed.

  ‘What would she say if I told her?’

  His mouth opens. ‘You said—’

  ‘Dad said he’d always be here. Leila said we were best friends. You said you were leaving. Said, said, said.’

  He puts his hands over his face and rubs them up and down. ‘This could get me in trouble,’ he tells me, as though I should care. I think about the policewoman and worse kinds of trouble than that.

  ‘You can’t make me do what you want. I’m my own person.’

  ‘This isn’t a game, Hayley.’

  ‘Who said it was?’

  ‘I want this sorted out. I want Christmas to be nice for your mum.’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything you say.’

  I smile as the blood drains from his face. As he walks out, he pushes the door so hard that it crashes against the wall.

  He goes back upstairs and shouts, ‘Bollocks,’ making me laugh. A few minutes later and he’s back, jumper and trousers on, standing in the hall with his hair all stuck up.

  ‘Just think about what you’re doing.’

  He goes out of the front door and moments later I hear his car accelerate down the road. On the ledge is a new plant that he bought for Mum. He’s like a weed spreading through the house, but I’ve got to him. I’m always going to come out on top now and there’s nothing he can do about it.

  That night in bed, I sit up with my lamp on and pick up the book that Mike gave me. When I glance over at the wardrobe, I smell the mud and weeds from the river and see a dark shape curled up at the back. Kirsten is like a shadow that shifts and moves through the dark corners and I’ve almost got used to it. I blink, but when I refocus it’s just a jumper rolled up in a ball. The book stays unopened on the bed and I stare at the picture on the front. I don’t need to read horror stories to feel afraid any more. It’s as normal as breathing now. Just before I get to sleep, I hear the birds shouting at each other in the trees behind the house and I know that morning is nearly here. I put my fingers in my ears to block them out, but they just keep on and on and on, until it feels as if they’re actually inside my head.

  *

  I avoid Mike. I catch him looking as I watch television and know he’s trying to work out if I’m going to tell Mum, but I make sure we’re not alone so he can’t talk about it. As we sit in the living room watching television, Mum lies on the sofa with her feet up on his knee as an advert for Beaverbrooks comes on.

  ‘You’re the best present I’m going to get this year.’ She smiles at him.

  ‘When do you want to put
up the tree?’ he replies.

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘And you need to decide what you want, Hayley. There’s only two weeks to go,’ he says.

  I don’t want his presents.

  ‘Money’s fine,’ I reply, and Mum shakes her head.

  ‘And just so you know. Nobody buy me that Shakin’ Stevens record. I can’t bloody stand the man,’ Mike says.

  ‘I think he’s dishy.’ Mum smiles.

  Mum starts to sing about snow falling and he hits her with a cushion until she stops. I wasn’t going to get him anything anyway, so he needn’t worry.

  When the local news comes on, Alison Andrews stands in front of a white police van by the river and I know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth.

  ‘The body of Maxine Turner was discovered yesterday.’

  ‘Not again,’ Mum says, ‘and so close.’

  I keep my face expressionless. Now that they’ve found her they’ll come for me. There’s no way that they won’t. I’ve been hoping that she’d float down the river like a piece of driftwood, until she ended up in the sea where no one would ever find her. I don’t know what he’s done with his camera either and it’s starting to worry me. I’ve been through their room and it’s nowhere to be seen.

  Mike rubs Mum’s feet and the chipped red nail polish shows through her tan tights. His skin is white, like cooked fish, and the dark circles under his eyes make him look as if he’s been up all night too.

  ‘Not so hard,’ Mum says as she pulls her feet away and rubs them with her hand. ‘You dug your fingers right in then. What’s the matter with you at the moment?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He stares at the television and frowns. ‘I think I saw her.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she replies.

  ‘There was a girl near the gates when I was coming back from the river that day. I wonder if it was her.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Mum replies.

  ‘I should tell them,’ he says. ‘I was supposed to go in anyway.’

  I look him over. ‘Didn’t you?’