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

by Susanna Beard

  “I’ll never get through all this,” she says, staring at it all helplessly.

  “Most of it will keep. Tins, packets, some fresh for this week. No wonder you’ve been ill, you eat like a mouse. I’m going to cook some stuff to put in the fridge and the freezer. Then you’ve got no excuse.”

  So while Jessica buzzes around the kitchen, Lisa sits and listens to her chat, letting it wash over her. When the phone rings, she starts nervously and spills her tea. Graham’s measured voice greets her.

  “I’ve been wondering about you. Did you get my messages? You’ve missed three weeks now.” Three weeks? Has she lost track so badly?

  “Sorry, I – well, I need to fix an appointment.”

  “Tomorrow morning any good?” Jessica nods, hearing the question from where she’s standing, and they fix a time.

  “Good,” says Jessica as Lisa sits down. “That’s a good start.”

  *

  The picture on the wall behind Graham looks different today, the smudges hiding their secrets, no longer meaning anything.

  “I’m sorry I missed my appointments.”

  “I was concerned, Lisa, but I’m glad you came today. Did something happen?”

  “Yes. John, my next-door neighbour – the one who gave me his dog – he died. I found him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been difficult for you.”

  “It wasn’t, actually, not really. I went in to see him and he was sitting quietly in his normal place. It wasn’t horrible. But I was a bit shocked. And I’m sad. Just really sad. I liked him.”

  “Of course. What did you do?”

  “Called the doctor – he sorted it all out. I went to the funeral, too.”

  “How was that for you?”

  “I was in a bit of a daze and I thought about Ali all the time.”

  “But you did feel strong enough to go. Did you get a flashback, or panic?”

  “No, but I couldn’t really focus on what was happening.”

  “And how are you feeling now?”

  There’s a long pause while she searches for something to say. “I’ve been very… flat. Nothing seems important any more.” She looks away, not wanting to see his reaction.

  “A lot has happened to you. Some people spend their whole lives and never see a dead person, let alone find the body. You’ve had a lot to deal with and it’s not surprising you feel as you do.”

  “Yes, but…” She hesitates, not sure what she’s trying to say. “I was just beginning to think, hope, that I was coming through it.”

  “That’s good. What gave you hope again?”

  “I was starting to feel I had the strength go out, do more, and have friends. And now I’m back to where I was.”

  “Which is?

  “Frightened, alone, feeling hopeless. Unable to deal with life.”

  He writes something down while she picks at her fingers. Then he looks up again.

  “Do you remember when you first came here, I asked you what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has that changed now?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “I want a normal life, with friends and family and not to be scared any more. I don’t want to be defined by what happened. As it stands, I’m still Lisa, whose best friend was murdered in front of her. I want to be able to live without the nightmares and the flashbacks and the fear of men and crowds and loud noises.” It’s a long speech, and when she stops it’s as if all her energy has evaporated with her words.

  He’s silent for a few moments, looking down at his notes. “Have you thought any more about going to see Fergus?”

  *

  Another flashback. And the reason for her sense of shame becomes clearer.

  This time, she’s at home, flicking through the TV channels looking for something worth watching. A brief image of a panel show appears, four people standing nervously, their fingers on the buttons – and she’s back in the flat with Ali and Fergus.

  Lisa had never taken drugs before, though she knew plenty of people who had, or did, both at school and at work. She’d just not been in that kind of crowd. But when Fergus offered them a spliff one evening when they’d got back worse for wear from the pub, she thought nothing of it – after all, it was pretty mild stuff and they were all adults. They were watching some mad quiz show on the TV and it seemed to fit that they all went a little crazy too, sitting there in a row, Lisa, then Fergus, then Ali. The happy threesome.

  Then they opened another bottle of wine. They played charades and laughed until they cried at their inept efforts to understand each other. They lost interest in the TV and played loud music, dancing round the flat. Fergus kissed each of them, and then both – and it seemed so natural when they staggered through to Ali’s bedroom, hanging on to each other, that they should end up together on the bed.

  She woke suddenly, her head thumping, nausea threatening. She couldn’t work out where she was. It was still dark and her first instinct was to reach for the glass of water she always left by the bed. But she was on the wrong side, and when she reached out she touched warm skin and jerked into shocked wakefulness. She sat up in a hurry, her forehead crackling with pain, the sheet falling from her shoulders. She realised with horror that she was naked. This was Ali’s room – and Ali was next to her, still asleep. With this realisation came the horrible, dream-like understanding of what they’d done. Both of them. They’d abandoned all modesty, ripped their clothes off, and skin on skin, arm on leg, hand on breast, on buttock, on engorged penis, they’d indulged themselves and each other, the three of them, for what seemed like hours.

  As quietly and gently as she could, she climbed out of the bed and searched around for any piece of clothing she could find. Finding her jeans and a top – Ali’s, not hers. She crept barefoot into the silent sitting room, then into her own bedroom. There was no sign of Fergus. She checked the bathroom and the kitchen. He’d gone. With relief she sat on the edge of the sofa in the sitting room, staring without seeing at the empty glasses and bottles in front of her. Discarded roaches sat like grubs in the ashtray and flakes of crisps littered the floor, but she couldn’t move to collect them up. She was rigid with shame. What did we do? Why did we let it get so out of hand? She’d never behaved badly in her life, and now she’d done something so awful she could hardly think of it without cringing. Her mum – she banished the thought of her mum. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  In the shower she scrubbed herself from top to bottom until her skin glowed red and raw. She plunged her fingers down her throat; nothing came up but bile, acidic and pungent. Revolted, she brushed her teeth, rinsing, gargling, forcing great gobs of toothpaste around her mouth until it stung. When she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the sitting room, Ali was lying on the sofa in her dressing gown looking at her, clutching a cushion to her stomach. They stared at each other for a moment before Lisa sat down.

  “How the fuck did that happen?” Ali said, her voice low and gravelly.

  “I don’t know. I feel really, really bad.”

  “Save us all from drink and drugs. I feel like crap too.”

  “I’m sorry, Ali. God, I wish we hadn’t done that. The three of us. What were we thinking?”

  “I’m sorry too – mostly for being such an idiot on a work night. Lord, how am I going to get through the day feeling like this?”

  “I never thought I’d do anything like that.” Lisa was close to tears.

  “Wait, are you upset?” Ali sat up, put her arm around Lisa’s shoulders.

  Lisa nodded, unable to speak.

  “Listen, people do that all the time,” Ali said. “I had a friend at college who had regular threesomes… usually her and two blokes, it has to be said. But there’s no need to feel so bad.”

  “But… I’ve never… I don’t… you, and me… and Fergus.” She drops her face into her hands with shame.

  “Look, it’s okay, Lisa. It’s okay
– really. We haven’t hurt anyone, and nobody needs to know if you don’t want them to.”

  Lisa was taken aback and not a little impressed at Ali’s response to their unplanned night of passion together. This was something she hadn’t known about her friend before. “Well,” she said, grimacing. “No way I’m doing that again.” Then, when Ali said nothing: “You’re not…?”

  “Not what?”

  “Not, well, into that?”

  Ali laughed. “Don’t worry, three’s still a crowd for me.” She groaned. “I’ve got to go and shower. And change the bed.” She jumped up, grabbing some empty glasses and heading for the kitchen. “Are you going to work?”

  “I suppose so. I feel like shit, but it’s my own bloody fault.”

  “Me too.” Ali sat down again, as if the journey to the kitchen was a step too far.

  “What are we going to do about Fergus?” Lisa said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there’s no way I’m going to feel comfortable with him now.”

  “I don’t know. Avoid him for a while?”

  Lisa rubbed at her forehead with both hands to ease the pain. “I wouldn’t know what to say if I saw him again.” She pauses to think. “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  “With him, maybe.”

  “Not with us?” Lisa shot a look at Ali, the thought piercing through the fog in her brain. The idea that a stupid mistake like this might spoil a lifelong, trusting friendship was unbearable.

  “Don’t be daft. Water under the bridge. Forget it – put it down to experience. We don’t need to make it mean anything. But it might change things with Fergus.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “It depends what he expects to happen now.”

  “Oh my God. Do you think…?”

  “Probably not. But if you’re worried about it, we need to make it clear. So he doesn’t get any ideas… text him.”

  “Let’s do it now.”

  *

  Hi Fergus, hope you’re okay. Last night was wild, wasn’t it? Just so you know, never again. Just not our thing (normally!) A and L x

  They didn’t hear back from him. No text, no phone calls, nothing. Ali was surprised – she hadn’t expected him to blank them – but Lisa was relieved, though nervous, wary when they were out. Not long afterwards, she bumped into a couple of people from the pub on her way back from work and asked after him, keeping her voice casual, she hoped normal. He was working on the other side of London, on a big housing project, living and working away from home.

  Lisa did as Ali suggested and put it behind her. All down to experience. No need for anyone else to know. They avoided the pub for a while and it was months before they saw Fergus again.

  *

  “You’re very quiet. Was it very hard?” Lisa was lost in her own thoughts on their way home, Jessica’s question catching her off guard.

  “Yes, it was. Every time’s hard. And I don’t know if it’s helping. I haven’t slit my wrists yet, so maybe it is.” Jessica shoots her a glance.

  “Sick joke,” Lisa says. “Sorry.”

  “Well, at least it was an effort. But don’t scare me like that.” There’s a pause as she negotiates a roundabout. “Has it ever got that bad?”

  “Not really. I’ve been very down, but not to that point. I suppose all my energy has gone into trying to live a normal life, rather than give up. I suppose some part of me was settling into a routine of sorts. Now that John is gone it’s shaken me.”

  “I think you’ve done incredibly well, with all the horrible things that have happened to you. I would have been absolutely floored.”

  “No, you wouldn’t – you’re far too practical. Look how you’ve got yourself together since you broke up with Mike.”

  “You can’t compare that with what you’ve been through. But it has given me a very tiny insight into how it must be for you.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve got a long way to go yet.”

  “You know you can always call me, don’t you? I hate to think of you trying to deal with it all on your own.”

  “Thanks. But when I feel like this, I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. I disappear into a pit of sadness… it’s like wading through mud. So it’s not that I don’t feel I can call you, it’s more that I just can’t.”

  “Well, I won’t let it happen again. I’m going to keep an eye on you.”

  Lisa smiles weakly. “Good luck with that, then.”

  There’s a pause while she looks without seeing at the cars whipping past on the other side of the road.

  “Actually, we’ve just been talking about something which might help. Or it could make things worse, I suppose.” She’s voicing her own fears – of course, she has no evidence either way. “I need to do some research and think about it before I decide what to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Restorative justice. I read an article about it in the paper.”

  “What is it then?”

  “It’s when the criminal comes face to face with the victim. It’s to help both sides really. For me, it would be a chance to go and talk to Fergus in prison, under very controlled circumstances, of course. There are just so many questions and I can’t help feeling like he has the answers.”

  “Wow. That’s pretty big.”

  “I’m stuck, Jessica. I’m obsessed with remembering what happened. I can’t stop thinking about it. He might be able to fill in the gaps.”

  “Really? Does Graham think it could help?”

  “He seems open to the idea. For some people it does help and it can be life-changing. It’s supposed to give the victim a chance to recover some sense of control.”

  “Do you think you can do it? You still seem pretty fragile.”

  “I don’t know,” Lisa says. “It takes a long time to set up, I think. And I’m not sure I’m brave enough. But I might find out what really happened.”

  “Sounds like a bit of a risk.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be on my own. I need to find out much more before I decide if I can face it.”

  “Worth investigating, I suppose.”

  “I’m going to check it out and then decide. I won’t rush into anything. I promise.”

  She leans back in the seat, stretches her legs and closes her eyes, thinking about Fergus and the possibility of seeing him again.

  *

  She calls the policewoman who’d visited her in hospital. “I’m interested in restorative justice and how it works. I’m not saying I want to get in contact yet. I just want to talk to somebody about the process, find out what happens. Can you help me?”

  “I’m sure I can,” the policewoman replies. “The Probation Service has proper facilitators, you need to talk to one of them. I’ll get them to call you. They should be able to answer all your questions about what happens.”

  “So it wouldn’t be you?”

  “No, I’m not qualified to do it. There are people trained to facilitate the meetings. You’d get one assigned to your case, someone with the right kind of experience. She or he would set up contact with the offender and manage all the communication, if you decide to go ahead. But it’s best if you ask them all your questions rather than me – they’re much more familiar with the process.”

  No harm at the first stage, then, she thinks. Doesn’t mean I have to do it.

  “Could you ask someone to contact me then, please? Just to talk it through. I don’t want to start anything yet.”

  “Of course, I understand. It may take a few weeks, just to warn you, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure somebody gets in touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good luck with the restorative justice. I’m sure it’s worth you looking at it.”

  She’s already nervous and she’s barely started yet. She types restorative justice into a search engine and reads, the tension tightening her shoulders. She finds people who’ve suffered burglary, muggings and rape. Skimming over the details of the crimes
she focuses on what the victims have to say about the face-to-face meetings. On the whole, they seem to react positively, saying they’re glad they went through it. The process seems measured and controlled, the victim able at any stage to back out without repercussions.

  Of course, there are no stories about the ones that didn’t work.

  *

  “I’m dying to tell you something,” Jessica announces.

  “Good or bad?”

  “Oh, good, definitely. For me, anyway, and I hope for you. That’s if it comes off.”

  “What, then?”

  She leans forward, conspiratorially. “I’m going to buy John’s house.”

  “Really? What? How come?”

  “Well, at the funeral I got chatting to Oscar and his wife and he told me that he’s the executor of the will. He’s John’s only remaining relative, you know. He’s going to have to come back over from Spain to clear out the house and put it on the market. He said that they’ve got no interest in holding onto it. And then I suddenly thought – why don’t I buy it? I’ll have the money from my half of the house and my parents have offered to help. John’s house is much smaller than mine, so it should be affordable – well, I hope so, anyway.”

  “Jessica, that would be brilliant,” she says, taken aback, trying to match Jessica’s enthusiasm while still absorbing the idea.

  “Wouldn’t it? I could really keep an eye on you then.” Jessica laughs. “Your face is a picture. Oh, don’t worry. Mike’s not coming back, he won’t bother us now.”

  Her eyes have betrayed her. But she wasn’t thinking of Mike. While she loves the idea of having Jessica nearby, she’s protective of her small haven, the quiet life she’s worked so hard to establish.