Dare to Remember: Shocking. Page-Turning. Psychological Thriller.

by Susanna Beard

  “If you do come, will you sit with us in the church? And your mum, of course.”

  “Will you be at the front? I don’t know… I might be better near the door. Just in case.” Right at the back, one foot holding the door open, ready to run…

  “We will be at the front, but it’s entirely up to you. If you feel more comfortable at the back, we’ll understand. Please don’t worry about it. You know the offer is there and we’d very much like you to join us.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The other thing is, we’re having a few people back to our house afterwards and we’d like you and your mum to come too, if you can. Just a few close friends and relatives. If you’re not up to it, we’ll completely understand, but the invitation is there. We don’t want you to feel you’re not welcome.”

  “I… thank you.”

  The handset shook in her fingers as she said goodbye.

  *

  The therapy gets harder each time and the diary’s filling up with her nervous scrawl. Today she must record her reaction to last night’s phone call and her conflicted feelings about the ever-approaching memorial service.

  In her heart, she wants to go, to pay tribute. She owes it to Ali, to acknowledge her life, her friendship and the bond between them. And she owes it to Ali’s family. But her soul, the very essence of her, screams and cowers and shrinks in horror. The guilt at not remembering Ali’s final moments weighs heavily on her.

  *

  She sits, picking at her fingers. The skin around her index fingers is red and raw now; she’s had to put plasters around her thumbs to stop them bleeding. Her head aches and the muscles in her neck are taut.

  “He went to the bathroom. There was something odd about him. He smelled of whisky, but it was more than that – I wondered if he’d taken drugs or something. He was sweating and could barely even walk straight.”

  “Go on.”

  “He didn’t want to leave, he sort of hung around, wandering around the sitting room. He said something about a threesome and we asked him to go.”

  “Were you frightened?”

  “Not then, no. He wasn’t aggressive or angry then. He said he wanted a drink of water, so we thought that was okay. He went to the kitchen and when he came out, he went towards the front door as if to go. I was standing there, holding the door open for him. But he didn’t. Instead he grabbed me.”

  She swallows hard. This is the part where she usually stops.

  “You must have felt threatened, at that point?”

  “Yes, but I was angry, too. He was holding my arm so tight it hurt and he wouldn’t let go. I didn’t struggle – not straight away, anyway. It was all so sudden. He pulled me into the room and kicked the door closed.”

  “And then?”

  She feels the blood drain from her face. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block the vivid images crowding in on her. The bookshelves, the ceiling, the street lamp through the window. His voice in her ear, Ali screaming.

  *

  “Let’s do it differently, then, eh? Your call. What’s it to be?” His face close to hers, too close.

  “What are you doing? Fergus!” she said. “Let go!”

  “Think you’re too good for me now, do you?” He spat the words out. He was forcing her arm behind her, her shoulder at a painful angle, while she twisted and pulled with the rest of her body, trying to get away. Ali was there, yelling, pulling at him, trying to release Lisa from his grip. “What are you doing? Stop this, Fergus!”

  Her arm was free – but there was a hand in her hair, her head yanked back painfully, something cold and hard at her throat. She resisted the urge to flinch. From the corner of her eye she saw Ali recoil in horror.

  “Fergus – Jesus Christ! For God’s sake, what are you doing? Let her go!”

  Lisa froze. She tried to speak but nothing came out. His breath was warm on her neck, the smell choked her. She knew that there was a knife. It was scraping at the tight skin of her throat, and she couldn’t help but flinch at its touch. Ali came towards them again, words tumbling out of her mouth, her voice rising to a scream.

  “Don’t, Fergus. Just let her go… don’t do this, we’re friends… please… let her go! Stop it! Stop!”

  “Shut the fuck up, you. Well, Lisa?”

  She felt the grip on her hair tighten as he tensed and she stumbled slightly, her legs giving way. There was an odd, tickling sensation at her neck as the blood trickled down.

  *

  A dark curtain threatens to drop and she falls forwards over her knees, gasping for air.

  *

  A couple of weeks later, John’s garden is transformed. Matt has even found a small bench, which he puts just outside the back door. There’s a patch of lawn and some mature shrubs, previously hidden among the tangle of weeds and brambles. A path of cracked paving stones leads from the kitchen door across the grass, spotted with patterns of yellow and grey lichen and hemmed with soft patches of moss.

  John sits outside when it’s sunny and Riley settles at his feet when Lisa is working at her desk. John is grateful and seems a little more cheerful. There are moments of melancholy, when Lisa knows that John must be thinking of Elsie, the time they would spend together in the garden, but when he looks at her with tears in his eyes, there’s also a smile there.

  As well as the more frequent trips to the city, she has a deadline for the first half of the project and she spends most of the next two weekends finishing it off. When she’s not with Graham, she avoids thinking about the memorial service. She’s barely seen Jessica and feels guilty, mentally pencilling in a visit when she next takes Riley for a walk.

  When her mother calls, she knows it’s time to make a decision. It’s only a week away.

  “I know, Mum. I don’t want to let them down.”

  “Why don’t you come and stay the night before? You can bring Riley to mine. Then we can go together.”

  “Maybe.”

  “They’ve offered us a lift. I wasn’t sure you’d want to though.”

  “No. I don’t. We’ll take a taxi. Then if I can’t face it, it won’t matter so much.”

  “Okay, darling. I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”

  After the call she sits with her head in her hands for a long time.

  *

  The memorial falls on a Friday.

  Inevitably, all that week, her mind is full of Ali. They’d been friends since school. They’d gone to parties together, knew the same boys, and hung out at the same places in town. Ali was tall and blonde, with the kind of brain that was always three steps ahead of you – annoying, but also quick, surprising and insightful. She had a wonderfully dry sense of humour. She took no nonsense from anyone. Ali was popular, the leader of the two, and Lisa admired the intelligence and confidence which emanated from her friend. It was never a jealousy thing. They were close, comfortable with each other, never bored or irritated. They talked about everything and everyone and knew each other’s intimate secrets, anxieties and insecurities, to the point where they barely seemed to need anyone else.

  When they moved to the city, it was full of possibility for them both. They had no responsibilities and not much more on their minds than having fun. Ali had a job in a small advertising agency and Lisa became an administrative assistant in a publishing house. Neither job demanded too much from them. Sometimes they got together with each other’s workmates – Ali, in particular, had made some good friends and always included Lisa when they went out after work – more often, though, they went out locally, to the pub, where they soon got to know a good crowd of people. There were parties almost every weekend and plenty of interested men, though neither Lisa nor Ali was looking for anything serious.

  With no responsibilities except to pay the bills and get to work on time, they lived like students and barely thought of the future beyond the next weekend. Lisa had loved her life, then, before.

  *

  She’s barely eaten or slept. In her dreams, she’
s lost something or someone and she’s searching everywhere, asking everyone, but no-one knows.

  When she looks in the mirror, a ghost looks back at her.

  On Thursday she packs carefully for the next day. Black trousers and jacket, grey T-shirt, smart shoes. Black scarf to wrap around her neck. Make-up to cover the dark smudges under her eyes. Overnight kit. A bag for tissues, keys, money. Another bag for Riley with food and a ball. She finds the picture of Ali and tucks it into the pocket of her jacket.

  She’ll arrive at her mum’s house for supper. She needs to be on her own for as long as possible. She’s too anxious to be any kind of company. When she’s finished packing, there are still many hours before she needs to leave. She calls to Riley and locks up.

  She can’t face anyone, even Jessica, today, and feels guilty that while she is going through her own personal turmoil, others around her are suffering too. When this is all over, she tells herself, I’ll sort my life out once and for all. When this is all over.

  She walks a different way, up the hill behind the house and through an overgrown footpath to the other side. The path winds through farmland towards another small village and then back past the top of the lake, in a full circle. Oblivious to her surroundings, she walks the uphill part as fast as she can, wanting to be tired, to concentrate on something other than tomorrow, and her breath comes in sharp stabs as she reaches the top. But the fresh air and the exertion do nothing for her state of mind and the brick in her stomach refuses to budge.

  She arrives back at the house hot and sweaty and stands for a long time under the shower, her head bowed forward as the water pours down.

  *

  She leaves early for the train. Walks fast to the station, then round the block because she doesn’t want to wait half an hour on the platform. But her bag gets heavy and she’s tired already, so she settles for a fifteen-minute wait. She keeps her eye on Riley.

  On the platform there’s a young lad, his hair carefully trimmed and styled, a tattoo snaking up his arm. She watches him as he walks up and down, talking on his mobile, oblivious. His trainers look new. She’s careful not to make eye contact. A woman in heels and a tight skirt sits next to her on the platform seat and starts to text. Riley sits quietly. Nobody pays her any attention. She’s dressed all in black, sunglasses hiding her eyes, scarf over her chin, her normal disguise.

  In the carriage she finds herself an empty area and squashes herself into the window seat. Riley lies beside her, his head on her upper leg. He’s caught her mood and is subdued and watchful. She stares out of the window, unseeing. A trolley comes down the aisle, pushed by a bored-looking girl with dyed black hair and piercings.

  She thinks about the next day and her shoulders tense. She shrugs to release them but it doesn’t help. Her body refuses to do what it’s told these days.

  There’ll be so many people, people that are interested in her too. A ghoulish desire to know the details. Murder, manslaughter. They hold a strange fascination for people, even ordinary, thoughtful people.

  They won’t ask, she knows that, but they will wonder – and afterwards they’ll talk about it, each with their own theory of how it happened. Perhaps they can fill Lisa in on what they think happened that night.

  She fidgets in her seat, unable to relax, and Riley lifts his soft black head and looks at her. I know, I’m a wreck, she mouths to him.

  The train is slow, ambling from stop to stop. She begins to feel as if every stop is taking her further away from safety. She strokes the soft black fur on Riley’s head and he closes his eyes.

  *

  It’s six o’clock when she arrives at the house and supper is already cooking. It’s fish pie and apple crumble and she can smell the food from the front door.

  Her mum bustles about, clicking the kettle on, fussing over Lisa’s bag, wanting to hang up her clothes for tomorrow.

  “I’ll do that in a minute,” Lisa says.

  She lets the dog out into the back garden and follows him onto the lawn. There are pots of geraniums by the back door and one on a small round table on the patio. She sits, elbows on the table, watching Riley get familiar with the garden smells.

  “There was a hedgehog on the grass the other day,” her mum says, putting a tray on the table and sitting next to her. “I expect Riley’s got the scent.” She pours the tea and Lisa sits back.

  “Do you think you’ll be all right tomorrow?” It’s the question she expected. She wishes she knew the answer.

  “I don’t know, Mum. Maybe.” They sit quietly for a few minutes, sipping their tea.

  “You look thin.”

  “I know. Just in the last few days. I’m not interested in food.” Then she catches the look on her mum’s face. “It’s okay. After tomorrow…”

  “Yes. You’ll feel better once it’s over.”

  Lisa sighs and goes inside to find a bowl for Riley’s supper. She puts some food and water down and goes back out.

  “Mum. Do you mind if we don’t talk about it tonight? I’ve been thinking about it for days. And weeks, now. I really just need to get my mind off it and be ready for the memorial.”

  “Of course,” her mum replies. “It’s good to have you home.” She kisses Lisa gently on the cheek and pats her shoulder as she walks into the kitchen.

  *

  Sleep is not her friend. She stays up late to avoid it, long after her mum has gone to bed, watching a chat show on TV, flicking past the news. Riley, for whom sleep is not a problem, curls up beside her.

  It’s past one o’clock when she finally decides to go up, her step on the stair soft, followed by a rumble of paws. She lies down, Riley next to her. For a long time she stays in the same position, eyes open, not expecting sleep to come. A nightly ritual. But it does and her dreams are full of strange images, colours and sounds. Faces float in and out, childhood friends appear and disappear. She’s in the flat in London, alone, wondering where Ali is. And then she’s in a strange town, lost among derelict houses, the streets full of rubble, a tension in the air. Bizarre shouts and loud noises assail her as she runs from place to place, looking for somewhere safe, but she can’t find what she’s looking for.

  She wakes around dawn. This is it. Today’s the memorial. An entire year ago to this day, her best friend was killed. Murdered.

  Hours pass quickly and before long, she can hear the soft noises of her mum surfacing. The bedside clock reads eight o’clock. At about this time on the same day last year, she was getting ready for work and Ali was alive – probably brewing coffee in the kitchen. She can see her face, singing to the radio that she always had on at breakfast, eating toast on the run, no time to waste. She would always leave before Lisa, who only had a short journey to work. After she left there’d be a brief moment of peace while Lisa got ready.

  She tries to keep Ali’s smile alive in her mind as she readies herself, far too early. She pulls the photo from her jacket pocket and props it on the table in the bedroom while she dresses, then lies down and cradles it in her hand.

  “Lisa?” Her mum’s face appears round the bedroom door. “Are you all right?”

  “Just trying to prepare myself.”

  “You should have something to eat before we go, love. How about some toast?”

  “No, honestly, I’m fine. I can’t eat anything at the moment. Maybe later.” Her mum nods and goes off to get ready. Lisa returns to her silent vigil.

  The clanging sound of the doorbell makes her whole body tense. “Mum?”

  She’s already at the door, asking the driver to wait. The panic starts to rise.

  “Lisa? Are you coming?” Footsteps are climbing the stairs.

  “Just give me a minute…” She goes through to the bathroom, shuts the door and leans over the basin, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She’s done her best to hide the dark smudges under her eyes, but still a pale, frightened face looks back at her. She runs her hands under the cold water and notices that they’re shaking. She takes a few sips of wat
er from her hands and wipes her mouth, smudging the lipstick on the towel as she wipes the drops. She takes a deep breath. You can do this, she says to her pale reflection. Just go.

  And so she does. Her mum holds her hand all the way in the taxi. She puts her dark glasses on and fingers the picture of Ali in her pocket. You can do this.

  *

  They’re early. They ask the driver to park in the street that runs alongside the church while they wait. Lisa feels helpless, as if pulled along by events, drawn in by some unseen power. She looks at the church, but the sunlight is too bright, the colour of the flowers on the graves too garish. It all looks false, like a film set waiting for the stars to arrive.

  She watches the path leading to the church doors. A few people arrive, in ones and twos, and go through.

  They wait until they see the Mayfields appear and walk up the path, Diana dressed in green, leaning on Geoffrey’s arm. Connor is walking slightly behind, tall and ungainly. They get out of the taxi and follow them in, her mum holding her arm. She keeps her dark glasses on and her head down as they enter the dimly lit church; touches the scarf that covers her neck and her jawline.

  The organ plays quietly and a few people are dotted here and there in the pews. She can’t look at them. Her mother leads her to the front where the Mayfields are sitting, encouraging her when she hesitates. As she sits, Diana squeezes her arm, there are tears in her eyes. Geoffrey nods. Connor stares at his hands. She feels sick and shaky. She’s vaguely aware of people shuffling into their seats behind her, but she stares forward, her neck and shoulders rigid, trying to control her emotions.

  The service begins with a brief acknowledgement from the vicar. How sad is the reason for their gathering today, how young was the victim, how terrible the tragic events of that day a year ago.

  The rest goes by in a haze, her mum prompting her to stand, sit and pray. She doesn’t pray. She clutches the photo of Ali in both hands, as if she’ll never let it go. The urge to wail and scream clutches at her. When Geoffrey stands to give a tribute to his daughter, she barely hears the words. There’s a buzzing in her ears, her eyes brim with tears and her whole body shakes, despite her mum’s arm around her and Diana’s warm presence beside her.