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

by Susanna Beard

  “Full of life… beautiful… everything to look forward to…” The words wash over her. A dark curtain starts to fall.

  “Go… I’ve got to go…” The bile is rising and she stumbles head down past her mum to the end of the pew, past all the people, to the doors.

  She follows the gravel path to the back of the church and clutches at the cool stone wall, gulping air into heavy lungs. She bends forwards and retches, over and over. There’s nothing to bring up and her body strains with the effort, her throat sore and dry.

  After a while, it stops and she looks up. She’s shocked to see that the sun is shining, cars are still going past in the street, people are going about their business as if nothing has happened. She walks slowly through the churchyard, searching for Ali. She’s still there and there are new flowers everywhere. It’s beautiful.

  “I’m so sorry, Ali. I’m so sorry.” She says it out loud, and carries on saying it to herself, kneeling by the grave, head bowed. Oh, Ali, I’m so sorry. Why was it you? It should have been me.

  She’s still there when her mum finds her, but she’s calm now, a numbness taking over.

  “It’s okay, my darling girl.” Her mother folds her in her arms, kneeling on the soft grass beside her.

  “Has it finished?”

  “Nearly. Last hymn, I think.”

  “Can we go? I don’t want to be here when everyone comes out.”

  “We can go.”

  They stand together, looking down at Ali’s resting place. They leave the churchyard. Lisa looks back, Ali will still be there tomorrow.

  *

  They sit in the garden with Riley. Lisa feels drained and can hardly speak. The phone rings and her mum gets up. She’s gone a few minutes, then reappears. “It’s Diana. Will you talk to her?”

  “What will I say, Mum?”

  “Don’t worry, she understands. She wanted to check you’re all right and to ask you something.”

  They want her to call in tomorrow, before she goes back. Feeling she’s let them down today, she agrees, though reluctantly. She was hoping to leave early, to get back to her home as soon as possible, to shut herself away. But she owes them that much, so arranges to go mid-morning.

  *

  The memorial is over but the day is not. Though she’s sick with fatigue and emotion, she’s energised, her body’s in overdrive and she can’t keep still.

  She takes Riley and though her mum protests – concerned that she’s not eaten or slept – they go out for a long walk, leaving the town after a couple of miles for the footpaths and farm tracks of the countryside. Soon they’re lost in unfamiliar territory but she carries on, not caring, forcing her body to climb steep paths and rugged fields where the paths run alongside unfamiliar crops and dense hedges. She keeps the dog close. He seems to understand her need to drive on and keeps in step, trotting by her side and looking up at her for reassurance when they climb a stile or change direction.

  After a couple of hours, she’s hot and irritated by the long sleeves of her T-shirt, which won’t stay rolled up. Riley’s panting, his pink tongue lolling as he walks, bubbles of saliva at the corners of his mouth. When eventually they find a small stream he takes great gulps, the water spilling from his mouth, his long ears trailing in the flow.

  Now that they’ve stopped, she looks around for the first time. The landscape is unfamiliar and they’ve seen nobody for a few miles now. The air is still. There’s a silence that’s different to the calm back home. The thought makes her uncomfortable and so she leaves the stream, beckoning Riley to come along with her, and heads up a rising track so that she can get her bearings. At the top of the track is a small farmhouse, with outbuildings full of machinery in various states of disrepair and horses in the adjacent field. A woman in riding boots and jodhpurs busies herself with one of them as Lisa approaches.

  “Hello, sorry to bother you but I’ve lost my way,” Lisa says as the woman straightens. “I need to get back to the town.”

  “You’ve come a long way,” the woman says, the horse’s reins in her spare hand. “Follow me, I’ll show you.”

  They follow to the top end of the field where it’s high enough to see the track they’ve just left. They can just make out a town in the distance, shimmering with the reflected light of many windows.

  “There’s the town. You need to go back down the track, follow it round to the right and take the left turn at the junction. That road will take you right there – it’s not too busy, so you should be okay.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “It’s a good couple of hours, though. Do you need some water?”

  “Yes please, that would be great. My dog’s had a drink, but I didn’t bring anything.”

  “I’m going back to the house, come with me, I’ll get you a bottle.” They follow her down to the house, where a black-and-white collie runs up to greet Riley with a bark. They wait by the gate until she reappears with a large bottle of water.

  “There, that should keep you both going until you get back,” the woman says.

  It’s early evening when they return to the house.

  “I was beginning to worry,” her mum says. “You went out without any money and no phone, of course.”

  “Sorry, I just needed to get out and walk off some of the stress. I need a bath.” She clumps up the stairs as her mum calls after her: “I’m getting supper ready – come down as soon as you’re finished.”

  In the bath, her stomach rumbles ominously, though she doesn’t feel hungry. Her legs look thin and pale in the water, her skin grey and unhealthy.

  *

  That night she lies in bed with the light on, Riley sleeping beside her. She holds the picture of Ali and weeps, soaking the pillow beneath her ear.

  How could it be that one moment, a year ago almost to the minute, Ali is alive and vibrant, the next, broken and gone? How the hell did that happen? How did she, Lisa, whose life was at the very same moment hanging by a thread, end up alive, while Ali was dead?

  And why? For what? What did Fergus want that night? What was he looking for? Did he really mean to harm them? To kill? What on earth was it all about? There’s no sense in any of it.

  She lies there through the night, tortured with questions which multiply the more she wrestles with them. They beat at her mind, pounding at the door, insisting on a resolution.

  But there are only questions. She finds no answers. None at all.

  *

  Diana opens the door with a smile. She looks smaller, somehow, and her body feels bony and fragile when she hugs Lisa.

  “Come in, dear. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry to rush off like that.”

  “Oh, really – we were just concerned for you. It took a lot of courage for you to come, and we’re very glad you did.”

  “It was a lovely thing to do and I’m glad I came, really. I know it doesn’t seem it.”

  They go through into the sitting room and sit down.

  “We were surprised and very touched, at the number of people who came. So many faces we hadn’t seen for a long time, and so many flowers! It was a wonderful tribute to Ali.”

  “Yes.” She looks down at her hands. “She was very popular.”

  “Yes.”

  In the pause that follows, Geoffrey appears and they exchange kisses on the cheek. He disappears into the kitchen to make coffee.

  “We’ve been sorting out her room.” Diana’s eyes glisten. “Not to clear it – we’re not ready to do that – just to get a bit more organised. We found some things of hers you might like.”

  “Oh, you did? I… but…” The guilt twists in her gut. She wants to blurt out that it was all her fault, she doesn’t deserve their kindness, but Diana has already turned and is leading the way upstairs to Ali’s bedroom.

  It’s exactly as it was. The bed is made up, with the same linen that Lisa remembers from her teenage years. They would sit for hours on that bed, messing it up, curling up
under the covers, listening to music and doing their nails. The books on the shelf are the same familiar titles, novels from English classes: Persuasion and To Kill a Mocking Bird rubbing shoulders with childhood paperbacks from Jacqueline Wilson and J.K. Rowling. The same small decorative boxes are on the windowsill and on the bed sits Ali’s old cuddly toy, a soft brown teddy bear called Sid.

  For a moment she’s transported back, as if she’s never been away and Ali is still there, about to appear at the door. She examines the bookshelf, touches the bed and stares at the posters on the wall. She can almost smell the nail polish, hear them giggling.

  “We haven’t changed much at all in here,” Diana says. “I suppose we won’t for a while. Some of her old clothes went to the charity shop though, it seemed wrong to keep them all here. But the rest, her trinkets and so on, we couldn’t just throw them out.”

  Lisa stands by the window, looking at the little boxes that Ali liked to collect from junk shops and car boot sales. None was more than about three inches across; the smallest were the ones Ali loved best. Some were enamel with garlands and ribbons painted on the lids, some delicate bone china or pottery, one or two made of silver, tarnished now through neglect. She remembers those because every now and then, when she was there with Ali, there would be the distinctive smell of silver polish in the room and the little boxes would shine brightly. Ali would play with them as she stood at the window, rearranging them from time to time, polishing them as she went, and putting them in groups according to size or colour. She can almost see Ali standing there, laughing as she polished.

  Lisa picks up the smallest. It looks old and delicate, the engravings on the lid faint. She rubs it gently with her finger to remove the tarnish.

  “Would you like to have one of those?” Diana’s voice interrupts her reverie. “I’m sure she would want you to, and we can’t keep them all.”

  “Oh, that’s… really? I don’t… I can’t.” She’s paralysed with guilt. She can’t look at Diana, hopes she doesn’t notice.

  “Really. They’ll only be gathering dust here. Look, there must be at least twenty. Please have one – something to remember her by. You two were like sisters. I know you’re hurting too.”

  Lisa’s eyes fill and she wipes them with the backs of her hands.

  “Go on. How about this one? Well, anyway, you choose.”

  Because she can’t speak, she holds up the little silver box in her hand and Diana nods and smiles. She scrabbles in her pocket for a tissue, wipes her eyes and nose.

  She doesn’t deserve this. She feels like a fraud.

  “Come on, let’s get that coffee.” Diana guides her back down the stairs to the living room, where a tray of cups and a plate of biscuits awaits. She puts the silver box down on the table and accepts a cup gratefully, glad of the distraction. She doesn’t usually drink coffee, but the bitter liquid helps soothe her throat.

  “Geoffrey, Lisa’s having one of Ali’s little boxes.”

  Geoffrey smiles. “Good. She would have wanted you to have it.”

  Behind them the front door opens and shuts with a loud bang and Lisa’s cup wobbles dangerously as she starts at the noise.

  “We’re in here, Connor,” Diana calls. “Come and say hello to Lisa.”

  He comes into the room, tall and lanky, hair falling over his eyes. A pale blue T-shirt, faded and worn at the hem, covers his thin body. Jeans and trainers, the young man’s uniform, cover his lower half. He doesn’t smile.

  “Hello, Lisa.” He sticks his hand out formally. His hand squashes her soft fingers in a vice-like grip. He steps back towards the door again.

  “Hi, Connor, how are you?” It’s not the right thing to say, but in the moment she doesn’t know what else to say.

  “Fine.” He’s still not smiling and there’s something unspoken, aggressive even, about his stance.

  “Come and join us, have a drink.” Diana indicates an empty chair at the other end of the sofa.

  “No thanks, I’ve got to go out again.”

  “Lisa’s going to have one of Ali’s little boxes as a keepsake,” Diana says, looking at Connor for a reaction.

  “Right. I’ve got to go. Bye, Lisa.” And with that, he’s gone, his feet pounding upstairs two at a time. Diana and Geoffrey look taken aback, staring at the still open door.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Diana says, turning back to Lisa. “He’s not a good conversationalist at the best of times.”

  “Took it all very hard,” Geoffrey says. “He idolised his sister, as you know.”

  “Yes.” But even if she’s oversensitive, she recognised that look of anger in his eyes as he took her hand.

  *

  A few minutes before she leaves, she hears Connor’s footsteps on the stairs again and the front door slams.

  She says goodbye in the hallway. Diana hugs her, insisting that she comes back very soon to see them. She’s wrapped the silver box in tissue paper and Lisa puts it in her bag. Geoffrey kisses her on the cheek again and nods. His daughter’s death seems to have diminished him, taken the old ebullience away, leaving a quiet awkwardness in its place.

  As she leaves the house, Connor is in the driveway, leaning on the open door of a red hatchback, talking on his mobile. He looks at her, cuts the call and drops the phone onto the driver’s seat. He steps towards her, towering over her.

  “Bitch.”

  It hits her like a hammer and she recoils with shock. She looks up at his angry face and starts to shake, steps back and stumbles, almost falling to the ground. His eyes are wide and staring, his chin juts forward, tension hardens his neck and shoulders.

  “I… Connor, what…”

  “You always wanted her life. I know your game. I know what you’re up to. Wheedling your way into my family, taking her things. You bitch. How come you lived and she died? Tell me that!”

  She flinches at the venom in his words, her mind racing, wanting to reason with him, find the right things to say. But the question is the very question she’s been asking herself. The knowledge renders her speechless and the words won’t form on her lips.

  He’s looking at her with wide eyes, his hands clenched, waiting for her response.

  She wants to shout: NO! I’m not like that! I loved Ali, she was my best friend.

  But nothing comes out.

  “How come you lived? You could have saved her, but you saved yourself. It’s true, isn’t it?” He’s not shouting, but the threat in his voice is clear.

  He steps forward. Her body reacts with pure instinct: RUN. She takes off at full pelt, bag flying, feet scrabbling, adrenalin coursing. She hurtles down the street, rounds a corner, hits her shoulder with a painful jolt on the brick wall on her left.

  As she runs, she listens intently for the sound of running feet at her back.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ali is okay. She fell onto the steps, but she got up again and she’s fine.

  “It’s just a bruise,” she says, looking up at Lisa at the window.

  She smiles and walks back up to the flat. But as she reaches the open door to the sitting room, she starts to fade and fold, and Lisa rushes towards her. Her body is disappearing, becoming translucent, then just a shining light with the contours of Ali’s body. She continues to smile and her hair lifts as if there’s a breeze, and then she’s gone. Lisa lies on the floor and she can’t move. Her eyes are nailed shut, her mouth is full of sand. Her head has been severed from her body, but she feels no pain, only terror, because she’s stuck to the floor and she can’t get away. She moans and struggles, but nothing happens. A black curtain descends.

  She opens her eyes slowly and her first thought is of Connor. She grabs a pillow and puts it over her head, hoping to smother the memory of his words. But she can’t block them out. After a few minutes she replaces the pillow and stares up into the darkness.

  When she’d left Connor and run away she’d kept running for a long time, only stopping to ease the pain in her chest. A stitch stabbed at her
side. She leaned against a brick wall fronting one of the terraced houses behind her.

  His words were repeating in her head. How come you lived and she died? How come you lived? You could have saved her, but you saved yourself.

  *

  The next few days are spent cocooned at home in a deep, dark fog. She emerges only to walk Riley and to pick up groceries.

  As if to punish herself, she thinks for hours about Connor and his words. What makes him think she wanted to hurt Ali?

  She examines his accusations, individually and in detail.

  You always wanted her life.

  Maybe she had envied Ali’s ‘normal’ family life, the happy family unit – but surely that was understandable, given her own situation? And anyway, it wasn’t actual envy, it was more admiration, recognition of what a family could be like. No, she won’t accept that she’d been jealous of her friend, or wanted her things. It just isn’t true.

  The other accusation is far more difficult to face.

  How come you lived, and she died?

  I don’t know!

  Or do I? She tries to separate her guilt from what actually happened that night, but the scene is blurred and she turns it over and over again, desperately trying to tie it down, half-remembered details swirling.

  How could he think she had any say in what happened? She was nearly killed herself, after all. And she loved Ali, why would she ever have wanted to hurt her?

  You could have saved her, but you saved yourself.

  But she’d been hurt, bleeding, unable to fight back. The only reason she’d survived had nothing to do with her own actions; it was only through luck, or fate, that he hadn’t actually severed an artery. But could she have saved Ali? What makes Connor think she could have done? What had really happened?

  The more she thinks about it the more she thinks that Connor knows something that she doesn’t.

  *

  Graham puts down his notes and looks up. It’s about to start.

  The last few days have been particularly low. She’s exhausted by the nagging monologue in her head. Getting weaker by the day, she feels flat and empty, ready to give someone else the job of running her life.