Moth Girls

by Anne Cassidy

  She’d thought, after going to A & E, that everything would be all right.

  But her dad was always good at disappointing her.

  Twenty

  She watched the house on Princess Street all week.

  Every day of the half-term holiday she made it her business to pass it half a dozen times. On the way to Tina’s she stopped and looked in at the garden. On the way out to the shops she’d find some excuse to drag Tina and Mandy over to it, all the time keeping an eye out for the angry next-door neighbour. On her way home from Tina’s she would see if maybe her dad’s cab was there. The newsagent’s shop was a good place to stand and stare. Or she simply walked up and down the street, passing it like a guard on duty. She seemed to forget everything else in her life. Zofia’s departure to Poland slipped to the back of her mind and she thought only about her dad and wondered what he was going to do and whether there was anything she could do to stop it.

  She wanted to tell Tina but Mandy was always around. Another part of her didn’t want to tell anyone because it was like opening a box where everything might pour out, not just his plan to rob an old man but the way he was, how quick he was to use his hands to get people to do what he wanted. Tina half knew about it anyway, but how could she tell her the rest? And the thought of Mandy finding out made her ashamed. Mandy with her mum and dad, her nice bag and highlighter pens. ‘My mum and dad are having a Halloween party and you can come for a sleepover if you like!’ Mandy would love to know about the cracks in Petra’s life. She couldn’t be a member of The Red Roses but she could luxuriate in Petra’s misery.

  She thought of making an anonymous phone call to the police.

  How would it help though? If they arrived and there was no sign of trouble then they would dismiss it as a prank. If they got there and found her dad and Nathan Ball threatening the old man they’d arrest them both and then Petra would go into foster care.

  She didn’t know what to do. So she watched the house. As the days went by she spent more time along Princess Street. She walked up one side and then down the other. She stood at the newsagent’s, staring at it. She pretended to look at gardens and cars and still she walked up and down and paused sometimes outside the crumbling house.

  She hardly saw her dad. He was working. He left her money every day to buy lunch, to go out with her friends. ‘Whatever you do,’ he’d said, ‘don’t go near that Polish bitch.’ The vehemence of his words distressed her. She thought about going round and telling Zofia but then decided that there was no point. What could she do? She had no influence on him.

  So she continued to view the house on Princess Street. She had no idea what was happening there in the hours when she wasn’t looking at it. She didn’t know if her dad and Nathan Ball had been inside and found Mr Merchant’s money already. Still she stared and loitered and pulled Tina and Mandy past the house.

  On Thursday, just before one o’clock, she saw Nathan Ball coming along on the opposite side of the road. She went to walk on but stopped and turned to face the window of the newsagent’s where the board with the postcards sat. She stared at cards selling second-hand washing machines and baby buggies and worried about what Nathan Ball was doing in the street.

  Then she went inside the shop and bought a can of drink. She stood by the glass door and looked out. She could see that Nathan Ball was in a jeans jacket and had his hands in the pockets as though it were a cold day. He was strolling along as if he had nowhere particular to go. At least it looked like that, but Petra thought it was as if he was acting as though he had nowhere to go. He stopped in the middle of the pavement and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. As he did it he looked backwards down the street. He turned and gazed in the direction of the newsagent’s. He was checking that no one was around. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. Then he felt around his jeans pockets and pulled out a lighter. He lit the cigarette and continued walking.

  He went in through the gate of Mr Merchant’s house. He was out of her line of sight so she went outside the shop and moved along a few metres, alongside a post box. She watched him walk up to the front door, ducking past some overgrown bushes. He knocked on the door, then he backed away and looked over at the downstairs window. Petra strained her eyes to see but she couldn’t make out anyone at the window. She remembered, for a moment, Mr Merchant waving at her through the glass. Nathan Ball edged along to the window and looked in. Then he came out of the garden. His face was heavy with annoyance and he was using his hand to flick off leaves from his clothes. The cigarette was gone and she wondered if he’d dropped it, carelessly, in the long grass. He stood in the street for a few moments and pulled out a mobile phone. He pushed some buttons and started talking. She couldn’t hear his voice but his finger was pointing in mid-air and he was flexing his shoulders as if he was arguing with someone. She wondered if it was Mr Constantine or maybe her dad. When he finished he walked off the way he had come.

  Her can of drink was almost full but she dropped it into the rubbish bin.

  What was he doing?

  When she got to Tina’s, Mandy was already there. It looked as if she’d been there for a while as there were pages of sketches of The Red Roses. She heard Mandy saying, ‘We’ve been doing this, Petra. Have a look and see what you think.’

  Petra glanced at the drawings but really she couldn’t be bothered. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘I’m not in The Red Roses any more. You two do it!’ She didn’t though. Tina’s mum came in with some sandwiches and bags of crisps and left them on the table.

  They spent the afternoon watching a DVD and listening to some music. Petra slipped out once, just after three, supposedly to go home and get a particular CD. She walked up and down in front of the house. The living room window looked still. The house looked calm but there was an air of something bad. The bushes in the garden seemed to bristle and thicken in front of her and the fading roses were swooning, letting their petals peel off in the breeze. It was Thursday: the day Mr Constantine wanted his money. Walking back to Tina’s, Petra felt a feeling of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen.

  ‘You’ve been a long time. Where’s the CD?’ Mandy said.

  ‘I couldn’t find it.’

  Both Tina’s and Mandy’s faces were flushed with the heat of the house. Mandy continued talking about the Halloween party and brought out the Argos catalogue, showing pages of phones. After looking at them they began to flick through and talk about what else they would buy. It was gone five and Petra could stand no more. She told them she needed some air. She suggested they go to the newsagent’s. Tina leapt up and grabbed her mum’s hoodie from the bannister. Mandy didn’t look as though she wanted to go out but she came anyway. All the way to Princess Street Petra heard the chatter between Tina and Mandy from far away, as if she were listening to them from another room. It was getting dark as they walked towards the newsagent’s. When she stopped she looked keenly up and down the pavements as if she might find Nathan Ball standing there, lurking around the front garden of Mr Merchant’s house.

  Instead she saw something else.

  A white van was parked across the road from the house and Nathan Ball was sitting in the driver’s seat, his phone clamped to his ear. His window was open and his elbow was half out of it. He was staring intently at number fifty-three, his lips moving now and then.

  ‘What do you think, Petra?’

  She heard Mandy’s whining voice like an annoying insect in her ear.

  Why was Nathan Ball there, in a van? To get money from Mr Merchant?

  ‘What?’ Petra said sharply to Mandy.

  ‘I just said that maybe you and Tina – The Red Roses – could sing at my mum’s Halloween party?’

  Petra looked up and down the street. She ought to do something.

  ‘Just after the barbecue, when everyone’s eating, you could sing a couple of songs. I could introduce you –’

  ‘I think we should go into the house,’ Petra heard hers
elf say. ‘We’ve been talking about it for weeks.’

  What she meant was, I’ve been talking about it for weeks.

  ‘The house? What house?’ Mandy said, looking put out.

  ‘The old house,’ she said, pointing across the street at it, keeping one eye on the white van.

  ‘Now? Why?’

  ‘Yes, now. Right now. The three of us can just slip in and out. There’s a key round the back, on a hook by the door. We’ll just let ourselves in, have a quick look around and then scoot back out again. Remember, the old man sleeps a lot.’

  ‘That’s creepy. Why would we do it?’

  Because if we go in there I can tell Mr Merchant some men are going to break into his house. I can tell him to call the police. I don’t have to mention my dad. When the police car comes it will keep them away and Thursday will be gone and Mr Constantine will go back to wherever he came from.

  She said something different.

  ‘To see if it’s haunted. Come on. Before we get cold feet.’

  She could tell them the truth. Why not? But she looked at Mandy and saw an expression of disdain on her face as though she thought Petra was an idiot. She could also see that Mandy was trying to catch Tina’s eye. To pull her into her way of thinking. But Tina would never choose Mandy over her.

  Just then there was the sound of an engine starting up. The white van had its indicator light on. Nathan Ball had closed the window and the van was moving away from the pavement. He was leaving. Petra didn’t know how to feel about it. Was it a good sign?

  ‘Anyway, it’ll be completely dark soon …’ Mandy said, looking round.

  ‘That’s why we should go in now. Get in and out, quickly,’ Petra said.

  She had to go now, while Nathan Ball was out of the street. She hooked her arm through Tina’s. It felt a bit stiff at first but then it yielded. They were both looking at Mandy. If they were quick they could go in and Petra could tell Mr Merchant that someone was going to come and rob him. Then it would be up to him what he did about it. Unless he was asleep. She had no idea what she would do then. A feeling of panic, of time moving too quickly, was worming around inside her. Nathan Ball could come back at any minute.

  ‘Come on,’ Petra said, making the decision.

  She began to walk in the direction of the house. Tina came along with her, light as a feather. Mandy followed but in a slow way. For every two steps Petra and Tina took Mandy took only one. She seemed to drift off from them, as if they were in two boats and she were floating the other way.

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ Petra said.

  Mandy shook her head as Petra pulled Tina into the front garden.

  ‘You’d better go home then!’ Petra said.

  Mandy stood looking as though she’d lost something. Tina gave a little wave and she turned and walked off. Petra watched her go and felt a moment’s satisfaction. Tina looked pained though. Her mum’s hoodie hung off her shoulders.

  They crept through the front garden, steering wide of the light from the window. Tina held back.

  ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ Tina whispered.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Petra said.

  She linked Tina’s arm and they walked towards the gate. She wondered if Tina was thinking of the angry neighbour who’d shouted at them. She wanted to say to her, ‘It’s dark; no one can see us!’ but Tina seemed wound up, tight as a spring. She could let her go, tell her to follow Mandy. She didn’t need Tina to go with her; she could go in on her own. She almost opened her mouth to say, ‘It’s OK, you go and keep Mandy company otherwise she’ll be in a mood.’ It would have given Tina an excuse and she wouldn’t feel that she had let Petra down.

  But Petra thought of Mandy’s face when Tina showed up. She would be pleased and think that Tina chose Mandy over Petra. She would get her talking about The Red Roses or something. While Petra was edging into the dark house with its cobwebs and scuttling mice, Mandy and Tina would be standing in the warm light from the newsagent’s.

  They got to the gate.

  ‘I really don’t fancy going in there!’ Tina hissed.

  ‘Come on. It’ll be an adventure. We can make up stories about ghosts for Mandy.’

  Petra was nervous. Now that she was at the gate, the enormity of what she was about to do hit her. She was going to burst in on an old sick man and tell him that he was in danger. She fiddled with the handle of the gate. It was tight, almost sticky. She wrestled with it, thinking that maybe she should turn back. She could make an anonymous phone call to the police. Use one of the payphones in the shopping centre. She almost turned to go when she felt Tina’s hands push hers away as she grasped the handle and wrenched it open.

  Tina said, ‘Ta dah!’

  Petra pushed the gate open and they both went through.

  PART THREE: The Present

  Mandy

  Twenty-One

  Mandy was waiting for the counsellor, Debbie Howard. She was in a coffee bar on Holloway Road. She had a drink in front of her which she hadn’t touched. While she was waiting she looked, for the hundredth time, at the postcard that had been sent to her almost two weeks before. Her eyes travelled across it. The picture was the kind you might see on a calendar or a greetings card: just a vase of red roses. Mandy’s finger had traced a path across the vase and touched each of the flowers, trying to find some meaning in them. Then there were the words on the other side: ‘Please don’t tell anyone that you saw me. I will contact you.’ No signature, no other sign of the sender, and yet Mandy knew exactly who had written it.

  She looked up and saw Debbie coming into the coffee shop. She was closing an umbrella up and shaking droplets of water around. She came straight across, leaving her wet umbrella by the chair.

  ‘I’ll get a drink and join you,’ she said. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

  Debbie was wearing black clothes again: black jeans and a leather jacket. This was their fourth meeting in two weeks and each time she had worn black. Mandy wondered, for a second, if Debbie could be in mourning for something or perhaps it was just a look she had. Mandy watched as Debbie talked to the woman serving her coffee. Debbie was easy to talk to but this would be their fourth time together and Mandy didn’t really know what to make of her. Mandy pictured Tommy sitting here at the table, chatting amiably to Debbie, his rock-hard briefcase on the floor next to Debbie’s collapsing umbrella. They would get on, Mandy knew; they would have tons of stuff to talk about. It made her feel momentarily weak with jealousy and she pulled herself up straight, took a drink from her cup and tried to fix a smile back on her face.

  ‘How are you?’ Debbie said breathlessly, placing a tall cup on the table and a single sachet of sugar next to it.

  ‘I’m good.’

  Mandy watched as Debbie shook the sachet rigorously then tore one corner before pouring it into the drink (black coffee as well as black clothes). Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a notepad and pen.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ she said while flicking through the pages.

  ‘This and that. Usual things. School, home, school.’

  ‘Mm …’

  Debbie had found the right page and was sitting looking at Mandy. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and, as if suddenly aware of this, she used her hands to pull it rigorously back behind her ears. Then she let it go and it fell forward again.

  ‘So, last time we talked a bit about the weeks that led up to your friends’ disappearance and I made some notes. I also spoke to my supervisor and she’s pointed me in the direction of some recent literature on guilt …’

  Debbie continued talking about guilt. She kept flicking through her notebook. Mandy thought of Dr Shukla and the notes she had. She remembered the picture on the wall in Dr Shukla’s surgery, the one called Automat which showed a young woman sitting in a café in the dead of night drinking from a cup. Mandy glanced around at the tables and booths and wondered what it would be like to sit in this café in the early hours of the morning, to look out on the
dark street and see the city at night. Then, thinking of the street at night, she pictured Petra emerging from a car in the early hours of the morning, visiting the house that she’d once disappeared from. She’d stood by the wire and gazed at the remains of the property like a ghost. As soon as Petra heard her name being called she faded back into the car in which she had come.