by Heidi James
‘None of your fucking business is it, Paki lover?’
‘I think it is, Fascist.’
‘What? You gonna stop me, are you? You and him?’ He laughed. ‘I’m gonna cut his fucking hair off and make him look like the boy he says he is. You can stay and watch.’
‘No, you’re not doing that.’
The kid blinked then took another step closer, cocky, his chin thrust out. ‘Ain’t I? Maybe I should cut you instead?’ He made a jabbing movement with the scissors, slicing just in front of her chest. She didn’t even flinch, she laughed.
‘If that’s what you want. Do it.’
‘Come on, Mel. Let’s go,’ Marcus said, ‘Let’s call someone.’
‘No.’ She didn’t take her eyes off the kid.
‘Go on, do as your queer boy mate says.’ His little gang were watching him and Mel with absolute attention.
‘I said no. I’m not going anywhere.’ She took another drag on her cigarette then flicked the butt towards the kid, bouncing it off his chest. ‘I ain’t scared of you.’
He jumped back, flapping at the front of his shirt. ‘You mental fucking bitch!’ Melanie closed the gap between them, standing toe to toe with the skinny kid.
Jittery, his crew kept looking towards the door and then back at him, just as the bell for classes went.
‘Come on,’ one of the boys said. ‘She ain’t worth it.’ He threw the scrap of fabric on the floor.
‘Nah, she ain’t.’ The leader squared his shoulders and sauntered out with his mates. ‘See you tomorrow, Paki-boy, she won’t fucking save you next time. And tell your dad I’ll be down his shop later for me porno mag.’
‘My dad hasn’t got a shop!’ the Asian kid shouted back.
‘Here you go,’ Mel handed him his hair covering and he wound his hair up into a knot on his head.
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Adeep.’ He stood up and wiped his face, still in shock.
‘That’s nice. You alright now?’ He nodded. ‘We’ll see you around then. Look after yourself.’
‘That was amazing,’ Marcus said as they walked up to the science lab.
‘Was it?’
‘Yes! You’re a hero. Weren’t you scared?’
‘Of course I was. Weren’t you?’
‘I was terrified! I thought he was going to stab you.’
‘So why would I be any different?’
To Remember is to Lie
The purple scent of rosemary. The shrill call of birds in the trees above. Charlie saying, ‘Don’t tell anyone she’s been here.’ His car door pulling shut. Other voices, like shadows, at the edge of the dark; I was dreaming.
‘There he is, officers. Can I get you anything?’
Mumbling and footsteps in the grass. I sat up, blinking. A sick taste in my mouth.
Ada Okonjo and a uniformed officer were walking over to me. I pulled the sun lounger upright.
‘Afternoon Mr Murray, I know you’re not feeling well, but can we have a word with you?’
‘Of course.’ I expected to feel panic, or anger or indignation when they came. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel much. I felt the heat of the sun, the damp cotton of my shirt, the acid weight of my stomach. But what was I feeling? I don’t know any more. I’ve spent so long paying attention to other people I’ve become a stranger to myself. ‘I thought the Met would be dealing with this.’
‘The Met? Why would they?’
‘Well because… I’m sorry, Detective, why are you here?’
‘We’re just following up, tying up loose ends. Speaking to people that knew the family of the victim.’ They stood, awkwardly, looking down at me.
‘Victim?’
‘Detective Constable Burrell.’
‘I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with me?’
‘Just a couple of questions.’ She half shrugged; no big deal her body said. She was wearing a wedding ring, I hadn’t noticed that before.
‘Where’s Callum?’
‘DI McMahon is busy. Can we sit?’
I nodded and indicated the table and chairs under the pergola, moving to sit down with them. My back was stiff as I stood and then sat again; everything was going to pot, running to seed. My body, my mind, my career – everything.
‘OK, this won’t take long. As I said, just a couple of questions to help us with our enquiries. OK?’ Okonjo smiled – reassuring, patronising.
‘Lovely garden. Yours?’ the uniform asked. He was in shirtsleeves, but he was sweating under the stab proof vest he’d kept on.
‘My mother’s. This is my mother’s house.’
‘Right, of course,’ said Okonjo. ‘And you’re staying here?’
‘Just temporarily. I came to cover the story about the body, we thought, my boss thought, it was a bigger piece.’
‘You’re a journalist?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re not covering the Steve Burrell piece now?’
‘No.’
‘Why is that?’ Okonjo asked the questions, the PC wrote it down, leaning one arm on the table to stop it rocking on the uneven ground.
‘I’ve had a disagreement with my editor.’
‘That’s right, so you have. Can you tell me about that?’
‘Not really, it’s confidential and what isn’t I’m sure you know already.’ I shifted in my seat. Mother was at the kitchen window, watching.
‘So it had nothing to do with your personal connection to the victim? No conflict of interest or anything?’
‘Of course not, I told you I don’t know the victim.’
Okonjo lifted her head, tilting it to one side, frowning, ‘Hmm,’ as if confused. ‘But you knew his stepdaughter, Melanie Shoreham?’
‘Melanie? Yes, we were at school together, but I didn’t know her family, definitely not her stepfather.’
‘Right. But you were close to Miss Shoreham?’
‘I didn’t know her for long. She left a few months after I met her.’
‘And when was that?’
‘I don’t know. I was 16 or so. Which would be, 1990?’
‘Right, around about the same time DC Burrell went missing.’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Yes, early April 1990 was the last time anyone had contact with the victim and that was also when Miss Shoreham was reported missing by her family.’
‘OK.’
She glanced at her colleague and watched him write for a second before lifting her gaze back to me. ‘Why did she run away?’
‘I don’t know. She never told me. She just left.’
‘Just like that? A sixteen-year-old girl leaves all on her own without telling anyone?’
‘Well, she never said anything about it to me.’ I shifted in my seat, trying to stop the pinching in my spine.
‘What was the nature of your relationship to Melanie?’
‘We were friends, school mates.’
‘That’s it? No romance or anything?’
‘No.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘As far as you know? Or are you sure about that?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘A girlfriend then?’
‘Melanie never showed any interest in having a boyfriend or a girlfriend. She never talked about it.’
‘And you didn’t think that strange?’
‘Not really, she was different, bookish, an introvert I suppose.’
She paused, twisting the gold band around her finger before smiling at me. She had a beautiful smile. ‘It must’ve been hard on you, at the time, losing your friend like that.’
‘Yes, it was. I missed her.’
‘In the file it sa
ys you were very upset during your interview with DCI Sutton, or DC Sutton as he would’ve been then.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t you remember? He came to your school, spoke with several of your classmates and the staff there.’
‘Oh God, maybe. Yes. It was such a long time ago.’ They’d questioned us one by one in the head’s office. I remember the detective popping his knuckles one by one as I tried not to cry, the fluorescent light cutting shadows in the corners of the room. I remember none of the other kids gave a shit, about Melanie or being questioned by the police.
She watched me. ‘Did Melanie ever mention DC Burrell?’
‘I don’t think so. To be honest, I can’t remember.’
‘She never said anything about him and her mother fighting? Or that she was scared of him?’
‘No.’
‘Did you ever hear from Melanie after she left?’
‘No, how could I? She was killed.’
‘The report says missing, presumed dead; her body was never found.’
‘Yes, I know what it says.’
‘How?’
‘Her stepdad, Charlie wrote to me, he sent a letter to my mother’s house.’
Okonjo smiled, ‘Yes, Charlie Smart, he’s a character isn’t he? Got a sheet as long as my arm. How do you know him?’
‘I met him once or twice, when I was with Melanie.’
She looked over at the other officer and waited for him to catch up with his notes. ‘So you had met her family?’
‘Well, Charlie and her mum, but that’s it. It was years ago.’
‘True, hard to remember which stepdad was which I imagine.’ She smirked and raised her eyebrows. ‘They were a bit dysfunctional weren’t they?’
‘Not really.’
‘Is it possible she’s alive?’
‘Who?’ There was a buzzing in my ear, high-pitched like a mosquito. I flapped my hand to ward it off. Both of the police officers squinted at me, as if I was mad. The buzzing stopped.
‘Melanie.’
‘Possible, yes. Likely, no. Is this an interrogation?’
‘No, just a few questions. You’re being very helpful.’
‘I’ve not heard from her since she went. I didn’t know why she left or that she was planning to.’ The sun was right above us, laser hot. Okonjo fanned herself with her hand.
‘What was her relationship like with Charlie?’
‘They were really close, she adored him.’
Okonjo frowned and tapped her fingers on the table. A black bird shrieked in alarm as it flew across the garden.
‘So other than being bookish and – what did you say? An introvert – what was Melanie like?’
‘She was a teenage girl. Normal. I only knew her for a few months and then she was gone. I honestly don’t know what I can tell you.’
‘So nothing out of the ordinary?’
‘Except that she disappeared? I don’t think so.’
‘Did she have many friends? Anyone else we can speak to?’
‘No, not really. Though there was a girl called Georgina that she sometimes saw, but they weren’t very close, I mean as far as I know.’
‘Do you have a surname for this Georgina?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. I met her once maybe, she was in care though, I remember that much, fostered by a woman who lived opposite Melanie.’
‘OK,’ she said, we both watched the constable write it all down.
‘And her mother? Chrissie Shoreham, did you ever hear from her?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What about any other friends, kids from school, anyone you and Melanie hung out with?’
‘No, I didn’t stay in touch with anyone after I left.’
Okonjo nodded at her partner and stood up. ‘You’ve been very helpful, thanks. Can you stick around for a few days, just in case we need to talk to you again?’
I shook my head, ‘I was hoping to go back to London tomorrow, actually.’
‘Well, if you could stay another day or so, we’d be very grateful.’
‘I don’t know if that’s possible, I may have to go.’
‘Then we’ll come to you, if that’s the case. Just give us your address in London.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m sure I can wait another day.’
‘Good. Just one last thing. Why did you go and see Charlie Smart yesterday?’
‘What?’ Sweat rolled down my face. ‘How do you know that? Am I being followed?’ I’d thought I was safe, I thought I was exempt; I thought I’d always done the right thing. It’s easy to believe you’re innocent when you haven’t done anything wrong.
‘No!’ She laughed, like I was absurd, paranoid, and I almost believed her, I was almost comforted, embarrassed. ‘We saw your name in the visitors’ book when we signed in yesterday.’
‘You’ve seen Charlie?’
‘We’re seeing everyone that might be able to help. So, why did you visit him?’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘Maybe not. Thanks for your time. We’ll see ourselves out.’ She shook my hand and as I watched them walk across the grass it occurred to me that I didn’t sign any visitors’ book at the home.
1989
Over the next few days they were followed by Adeep. At lunch, in the corridors, at the school gate – he’d be there, smiling, waiting. Marcus liked him: he was sweet and didn’t say much, just stayed close, sheltering in Melanie’s shadow. They ran into the little crew of thugs too, but they’d moved on to new victims and pretty much avoided Melanie, only giving her dirty looks and muttering to each other. She didn’t seem to notice any of it.
The next Tuesday Melanie was even quieter than usual, she didn’t even argue with Laugham about his interpretation of Hamlet. She fell asleep in Geography, her head on the desk.
At lunch Marcus asked her if she was all right. They were sitting at a table, picking at the mashed potato and beans that were the only vegetarian option. Adeep was next to her, eating a sandwich.
She looked past them, towards the door, screwed up her mouth, looked straight at Marcus, then at Adeep and said, ‘To tell you the truth, you are all doing my head in. Stop tagging along after me like a pack of bloody dogs. Leave me alone.’ Then she stood up and left.
‘Wow. Should we follow her? Have I done something wrong?’ Adeep looked as if he might cry.
‘No, I think it’s best if we leave her alone.’ Marcus said, trying not to look as shocked as he felt; he’d never heard her say anything cruel before. ‘She’ll come back.’ But he had no idea if she would.
‘I just wanted to thank her.’ He reached up to his hair as if making sure it was still there.
They finished their lunch in silence, both watching the door. Mel wasn’t in class for the rest of the day. Nor the next, and then school broke up for the Christmas holidays. Marcus resigned himself to the friendship being over – he’d expected it, after all. Why would someone like her want to hang out with someone like him?
He moped and sulked while his mother and Joyce put the decorations up and hoisted a tree in the corner of the sitting room. He put Melanie’s present under the tree, just in case, but it just depressed him so he put it away again.
‘Why don’t you simply phone Melanie? All this draping yourself over the furniture in sorrow isn’t helping anyone,’ his mother said after he spent most of Christmas Eve in bed, ignoring his Granny, the vicar and the neighbour, Mr Simmons, who were all gathered downstairs drinking port.
‘I can’t. She hates me.’
‘Well you’re not helping yourself lying around up here. Besides, it’s snowing out, look.’ She pulled back the curtain. ‘Switch off the lamp so you can see better.’
He sighed and tutted because she still didn’t seem to kno
w that he wasn’t a child and it was all just pathetic, but he switched the lamp off anyway and stood up to join her. They watched as thick clots of snow spiralled and caught in the wind before drifting to the ground.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she whispered. She looked young, her eyes soft and smiling, enchanted by the snow.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Do you think it will lay?’
‘Oh I think so. Look, it’s already covered most of the garden.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Merry Christmas, my darling.’
‘Merry Christmas, Mum.’
The opening bars of ‘White Christmas’ plonked up from downstairs, followed by the vicar’s smooth baritone. ‘Ah, Granny is at the piano. I’d better go back down. Do join us, you can even have a glass of wine.’
He nodded. When she’d shut the door, he opened the window and lit a cigarette, listening to the adults slur and belt out a medley of Christmas tunes. It was quiet outside: the snow does that of course, deadening all sound. And though there were other houses along the lane, the yew hedges and stands of trees gave the impression that he was completely isolated. The snow glittered in the moonlight and he fancied he heard an owl hooting above the music. His mother was right, he decided, he needed to stop being so wet. He stubbed out the cigarette and hid the butt in a metal tin that used to have his Dinky cars in, closed the window and went downstairs. He would phone Melanie in the morning.
But she beat him to it. He’d just finished opening his gifts and they were about to head off for church. His mother, his granny and him, all muffled and trussed in wool and tweeds and fur.
‘Listen, I’m sorry I was a bit of a twat the other day. Do you want to come over to Georgie’s? She’s on her own and everything. I’ll come round and get you if you like?’ He could hear the TV and her little brother yelling in the background, then her mother and the deeper vibration of a male voice.
‘I don’t know if I’ll be allowed out today and we’re just about to go to church.’
‘Church?’ she said. ‘C’mon, I’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Hold on, let me ask.’ He put the phone on the table and padded in to see his mother. She was pulling on her hat. He’d never been out or away from the family on Christmas day, and it felt like a blasphemy to even ask, to even consider it, but she said yes, just like that.