by M. A. Hunter
But we did sneak out, Natalie wanted to roar, and we do know what happened to Sally.
‘What’s with the face, Nat?’ Louise challenged.
Natalie met her gaze but had no idea what shapes her face was pulling.
‘Have you already told someone?’ Louise continued.
‘What? No,’ Natalie spat back. ‘I wouldn’t!’
Louise was eyeing her suspiciously and then something silent passed between Louise and Jane, but Natalie had no idea what the exchange meant.
‘I swear to you! I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘What about your mum and dad?’
‘Nobody, I swear.’
‘What did they say about your leg?’
Natalie looked down to where both girls were now staring, and saw evidence of the dark patch seeping through the large plaster beneath her dark tights. She’d known the walk to the bus would be too much, and clearly her efforts to clean and treat the wound had failed. She hadn’t been able to bring a spare plaster in case the first one failed, and now she’d have to try and snatch one from the medical bay. If she told the school nurse that she needed it for her leg, the nurse would insist on examining the wound, and then alarm bells would sound.
‘You’d better get that cleaned up,’ Louise said, her words delivered with no empathy.
Louise and Jane began to move away, until Natalie reached out for Jane’s arm. It was clear Louise had appointed herself the new leader of the group, but Jane had said nothing to suggest she was in complete agreement with Louise’s suggested approach. Jane had always been a bit of a sheep so it was no surprise that she’d yet to speak out against Louise. If Natalie could exert some control of her own, then maybe Jane could be persuaded to her way of thinking instead.
‘Jane, would you be able to help me to the nurse’s office?’
Jane’s eyes widened and she looked to Louise for an answer.
‘No,’ Louise confirmed. ‘We agreed it’s best if we all go our separate ways today. If the nurse sees two of you and that leg, she’s going to start asking questions – the kind of questions that neither of you are up to answering. Trust me; it’s better this way.’
Jane didn’t look back, pulling her arm away and following Louise the shepherd.
The day dragged to lunchtime. Natalie had tried to make up a story about a fellow student injuring a hand, but it had been a bad idea to lie to the nurse about the real reason she required a large plaster. She’d eventually relented and pointed at the stain beneath her tights, but had refused to remove her tights to allow the nurse to see the wound. With little other choice, the nurse had handed over the plaster, and Natalie had hurried off to the girls’ toilets to swap it over.
She had winced and silently wept as she pulled the old one off. The wound had looked deeper somehow than when she’d cleaned it in the shower this morning, but it was probably just the amount of fresh blood that seemed to be weeping from it. She did her best to dab it with tissue paper, but even that stung, so she had dabbed for as long as she could before squashing the fresh plaster over the top. Wrapping the old plaster in more tissue, she’d dropped it into the dustbin before she’d hobbled back to class.
When the lunch bell sounded, she hadn’t wanted to leave the classroom, such was the burn and ache in the area surrounding the wound, but Mrs Engleberry had insisted everyone leave the room so she could go and have her lunch. Natalie had made her way to the lunch hall, sat alone, and eaten the spaghetti carbonara she had ordered. It had tasted cold by the time she’d made it to her seat so she’d only managed half of it before giving up; she didn’t have an appetite, what with everything running through her mind.
How different things might have been had she not bowed to Sally’s pressure and agreed to meet them at the gap in the perimeter fence. Sally might still be missing, but at least Natalie wouldn’t be living with the guilt of her own part in the sticky mess. But then, had she not agreed to go with them, maybe Sally would be here now.
Louise and Jane were the last to return to the class, and for all of Louise’s noise about them all staying apart, the two of them had remained suspiciously close. Natalie had never felt as isolated as she did in that moment. She wasn’t entirely to blame for what had happened, and if those two were planning to tell the truth, and hang her out to dry, then she would need to be ready with her own version of events. But who could she turn to when the truth had such implications? Once upon a time, she would have trusted Louise with any and all secrets, but a line had been drawn, and even in Sally’s absence, it appeared there would be no return to the old ways… to the better times.
Mrs Engleberry was late back to class and when she did enter, there was a tall woman in a business suit alongside her.
‘Class 9-E, quiet, please,’ Mrs Engleberry told them, and the hum of chatter instantly quietened. ‘Good, thank you. Before we get going with our French lesson, a couple of you are needed to speak with Detective Constable Fiona Rimmington. So, Louise Renner, Jane Constantine, and Natalie Sullivan, please go with DC Rimmington now, and wait in Mr Panko’s office until she’s ready to speak to you. Don’t worry, girls, you’re not in any trouble.’
Natalie’s head snapped from the tall detective to Louise, but her former best friend made no reaction to the news. She was cool as a cucumber, whilst every bone in Natalie’s body sensed that the truth of last night was about to spill, and it was only a question of which of them cracked first.
Chapter Eleven
Now
Ealing, London
The media circus was still in flow when I headed back to Maddie’s office to check on her. Vans were strewn on any section of road without a yellow line; cameras were set up on trusted shoulders; overly made-up reporters were scavenging for any titbit of information they could supply to add a fresh angle to the story. I even heard one reporter telling her audience how ‘today’s incident was a clear sign of the failings in the mental health service of the NHS’.
Thankfully, I managed to keep out of the line of sight as I headed in; the last thing the story of Natalie’s final moments required was a sighting of someone with a face as notorious as mine. I was surprised when Maddie’s assistant said she’d gone home for the rest of the day; the Maddie I know and cherish wouldn’t normally let something like today get the better of her, and now I feel dreadful for not postponing the meeting with Jack and Mila to stay with her.
PS Daggard caught me as I was leaving and confirmed his meeting with her had gone as expected, and he didn’t expect the case into Natalie’s death to drag on too long, subject to the coroner’s and medical examiner’s final reports. I tried calling Maddie’s mobile from her office but it went unanswered.
With nothing keeping me in Central London, I snuck back out of the building and hurried to the tube station. I’m now exiting at Ealing Broadway, which already feels a million miles away from that tent and the gathered reporters. The way people are hustling and bustling around me here, trying to beat the rapidly approaching rush hour of commuters, it’s as if none of them even care that a vulnerable woman took her own life today.
That’s probably not fair; half of them may not have even heard about Natalie’s suicide, though her name and the search term ‘suicide’ have been trending for hours on social media. My feed is full of ‘RIP’ messages, and mental health awareness hashtags. I think it’s right that more needs to be done to beat the stigma of poor mental health, but that doesn’t necessitate every Tom, Dick and Harry passing comment on a situation they know little about. I’d be willing to bet that ninety-nine per cent of the people passing such sweeping social media commentary wouldn’t be able to pick Natalie’s face out of a line-up, least of all knew her. I’m sure they mean well but for some, every nugget of news is just an opportunity to try and steal a bit more of the limelight for themselves.
I’m grateful when I spot Rachel’s flat in the near distance. This will certainly go down as one of the strangest and most desperate days in my life, but I know that s
peaking to Rachel about it won’t result in her staking a claim for a piece of the story, even though she’s a journalist at one of the UK’s leading broadsheets. I had promised her we’d go out for a few drinks tonight as her model girlfriend Daniella is due back in London today, but a quiet night in would be more appropriate in my view. It was kind of Rachel to let me crash at her place again, even though it does mean sleeping on that rickety old sofa bed, but I’d rather that than the isolation of a hotel room. Plus, it’s only for one night. When I’d agreed to come and meet with Maddie today, the thought of a second four-hour train journey in a single day had filled me with dread; better to crash in London for a night and return fresher tomorrow.
Rachel is still desperate for me to buy a more permanent residence here in London, and has even proposed sharing the cost with me, with her living in it all the time, and me staying whenever I’m back meeting Maddie, or publishers, or attending book launches. I can definitely see the advantage for her, and deep down I know it would make sense to have somewhere I could stop over at without feeling like I’m intruding, but it would be another step towards leaving Weymouth, and the small seaside town is too much a part of my life and history to abandon it. I’ve promised Rachel that we can have a real talk about getting a place together in the New Year, but I don’t want to start putting down roots with Christmas so close.
Climbing the stairs to the communal entrance, all I want now is a strong cup of coffee and a chance to get my hands on my laptop. All this time on the tube, alone with my thoughts, my mind has been focused on little else but Natalie and what the name Sally Curtis means to me. I did think about searching for their names on my phone, but the Wi-Fi signal on the tube was intermittent and I hate having to read on my phone; I much prefer the larger screen of my laptop, which is straining my shoulders in the small holdall I brought with me for this overnight stay.
I can hear loud voices just behind Rachel’s door, and my first thought is that I must have returned while she and Daniella are having a full-on row; I’m about to beat a hasty retreat when the door flies open and I see Rachel, eyes streaming with tears.
‘If you don’t like it, then just get out,’ she shouts at whoever she’s glaring at. ‘I really don’t need this right now!’
She must catch sight of me in her periphery as she suddenly turns to face me, before grabbing my hand and yanking me in through the door; so much for sneaking away for a coffee and letting the heat die down.
‘Emma doesn’t have a problem with me and Daniella, so I don’t know why you do,’ Rachel bellows, and as I look up, I see Rachel’s mum is perched on the edge of the sofa bed and her dad is standing by the window, his back to us.
Now this argument makes sense. When Rachel came out to me back in September, I was shocked, but also overwhelmed that I was one of the first people she’d confided in. Naïvely, I hadn’t realised she was bi, but I’ve tried to be supportive ever since. Daniella is lovely, and as I’ve got to know her better over these last three months, I’ve seen Rachel blossom as their relationship has developed. But there’s always been an elephant in the room: Rachel’s parents.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Mr and Mrs Leeming; they’ve always been decent in their dealings with me. I’ve probably met and spent time with them a dozen times since Rachel and I met at university, and whenever I’ve encountered them they’ve been nothing but kind to me. That said, their attitude to modern life and culture is set somewhere pre-1990. They claim to be open-minded, but their views are heavily influenced by what they read in the Daily Mail and observe on daytime television. Coming out to them was always going to be a tough journey but I’m surprised it’s started so early. I didn’t even know they were due to visit.
‘I’m not saying we have a problem with it, darling.’ Mrs Leeming beckons from the sofa bed. ‘But you must understand that it’s come as a bit of a shock to your dad and me, that’s all. You’re a grown woman and you have the right to make whatever choices you want; it’s all just a bit surprising.’
Rachel’s cheeks are reddening and I can’t help but feel I’m intruding, but she wouldn’t have dragged me in here if she didn’t feel she needed some emotional support.
‘Being bisexual isn’t a choice, Mum!’ she shouts. ‘I didn’t wake one morning and choose to fall in love with another woman. It’s not like deciding to become vegan in an effort to save the planet. This is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. I just wasn’t aware of how I truly felt until recently. I had hoped you might both be pleased for me.’
‘Oh, darling, we are pleased for you,’ Mrs Leeming coos, but even I can hear how false it sounds. ‘And I’m sure this woman – whoever she is – is as lovely as you say. I think it will just take your dad and me a few days to adjust to the news, that’s all.’
Mr Leeming still hasn’t turned to face us, and God knows what he’s thinking. Part of me is hoping he’s seen something strange beyond the pane of glass, and his attention is fully focused on that rather than silently ruminating on what is a highly emotive subject.
‘Hello, Emma, dear,’ Mrs Leeming says, as if only just realising I’ve stumbled in on this personal family issue. ‘And how are you keeping?’
Rachel is panting with fury so I take her hand and gently squeeze it; for her, this debate is not over, but her mother has indicated it is for her.
‘I’m very well, Mrs Leeming. How was your journey down from Leamington Spa?’
‘Fine, fine,’ she says absently. ‘I slept most of the way. How’s your mum?’
Ah yes, my own personal elephant in the room.
‘She’s still pretty much the same,’ I summarise. They know she’s in a nursing home and suffers with Alzheimer’s, though they only ever met once, at our graduation. ‘You know how it is,’ I conclude, ‘she has good days and bad.’
‘Send her our best, won’t you,’ Mrs Leeming says, standing and straightening her crease-free knee-length skirt.
I nod, even though I know that telling my mum that the Leemings have passed on their regards will be met with a blank stare; there are some days when Mum doesn’t even recognise me. More and more, she mistakes me for one of the nurses or her younger sister, my late aunt.
‘George, we should go and check in,’ Mrs Leeming says to her husband. ‘I think a rest, and a chance for us to freshen up, is just what’s required. What do you say?’
He doesn’t respond, his attention still focused on the window.
‘I don’t have to stay,’ I mutter to Rachel under my breath. ‘I can catch an earlier train home if you need the sofa bed for your parents?’
Rachel shakes her head, and leans closer. ‘There’s no way they would sleep on a sofa bed in my dingy flat, believe me! Besides, you were here first and they didn’t even tell me they were coming to visit.’ She raises her eyebrows high as she says this last part.
George Leeming turns when his wife takes his hand, and he nods in my direction as he passes by without a word to Rachel.
‘Do you want us to give you a lift to the restaurant?’ Mrs Leeming says as she pulls the thick woollen wrap around her shoulders, a whiff of her expensive perfume rising into the air as she does.
‘No, we’ll meet you there,’ Rachel confirms, allowing her mum to peck her cheek, but rolling her eyes in my direction as she does.
And then they’re gone, and it’s just the two of us.
‘You fancy a cuppa?’ I ask.
Rachel shakes her head, turning and opening the fridge, and removing a fresh bottle of white wine. ‘I need something stronger. Grab a glass.’
It’s not even four o’clock yet and I’m not much of a drinker, but I know better than to argue either of these points. Rachel opens the bottle and pours a generous measure into two glasses before picking hers up and heading to the sofa bed.
‘Sorry you had to witness that,’ she offers.
‘I’m sorry it didn’t go better for you,’ I say, joining her on the sofa bed. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I
will be.’ She nods. ‘Sorry, I had no idea they were suddenly going to turn up today. Daniella was here with me when they arrived and I was just kissing her goodbye when I saw them gawping through the window. She hurried away for a meeting with her agent – bless her – and it’s probably just as well given their reaction. Why do they have to be so old-fashioned about things? It’s 2020, for pity’s sake!’
‘You know what they say about choosing your friends but not your family. I’m sure they’ll come around though, you’ll see.’
‘I hope you’re right. Anyway,’ she sighs, ‘how are you? How did your introduction to Mila go? Did you pass the daughter test?’
I playfully slap her arm. ‘Jack and I are just friends; you know that.’
She smiles for the first time since I arrived. ‘Yes, but I also know that you have a soft spot for him, and I reckon he does for you too. Mark my words, Emma Hunter,’ she adds, adopting a Yoda-like voice, ‘much romance there is that way I think.’
I’m not so convinced. She’s right in as much as I do like Jack; he’s a warm and generous individual, and I know how much he dotes on Mila. In a different time, and a different place, then yeah, maybe there could be a romantic attraction between us, but right now I’m happy with things remaining platonic. Given all the effort he’s put in to help me go through Anna’s case paperwork, I wouldn’t want to muddy the waters.
‘We’re going to have to do a raincheck on tonight’s drinks,’ Rachel says ruefully. ‘Sorry, but the folks have suggested we go for dinner so they can get to know Daniella better.’
‘That’s something though,’ I say positively. ‘It’s not like they’re flat-out denying she exists.’ I pat her leg gently. ‘Give it time, and I’m sure they’ll come around.’
‘You’re welcome to tag along too if you want? I feel bad for bailing on our pre-arranged plans.’