by Tanya Byrne
‘I’ve never betrayed a friend before,’ I said at last.
‘Unfortunately, you have to sometimes, Adamma.’
He was right. And it’s funny, not funny ha ha, more funny fucked-up, how twenty-four hours ago, I wouldn’t have given Orla Roberts a second thought, let alone referred to her as a friend. What a horrible thing to be united over.
I looked at my hands. ‘My friend was raped,’ I said, finally, and the room suddenly felt smaller. I felt the nearness of the walls, the ceiling.
He went very quiet and I couldn’t look at him, so I started fiddling with the edges of the handkerchief while I waited for him to respond.
After a minute or so, he said, ‘When did this happen, Miss Okomma?’
‘This weekend in Savernake Forest.’
‘Does your friend know who did it?’
I shook my head. ‘Some guy in a car.’
‘A car?’
I nodded. ‘There were two girls, actually,’ I told him, rolling one of the edges of the handkerchief between my forefinger and thumb.
‘Two?’ he asked, his voice a little higher.
‘He stopped one girl when she was walking back here and tried to get her into his car, but she ran away. My friend wasn’t as lucky.’
He didn’t say anything for a long time and I could hear the murmur of the newsroom – a cellphone ringing, followed by a long laugh. But then I heard him take a breath and panic pinched at me. He was going to ask for names and I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
But he said, ‘You spoke to both of these girls, Miss Okomma?’
I nodded.
‘And you’re sure they’re telling the truth?’
‘Of course.’ I looked up to find him frowning at me. ‘Do you think I should tell the police, Sir?’
He thought about it for a moment longer than I expected him to. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and the shock of it nearly knocked me off my stool. But then he caught himself, ‘I mean, of course you should tell them, Miss Okomma,’ he said, flustered. ‘But they won’t be able to do much if these girls won’t speak to them.’
He was right, and I felt the injustice of it pinching at my insides. It was so unfair. This guy – this asshole – did this awful, disgusting thing. Why should he get away with it because Orla was embarrassed? It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair.
‘So I should get my friend to report it?’
‘Why won’t she?’
‘She was drunk. She thinks it was her fault.’
He took off his glasses and rubbed the red mark on the bridge of his nose, then sighed heavily. ‘That’s what most girls think, sadly.’
‘But I have to do something, Sir.’
‘I get that.’ He was quiet while he cleaned his glasses with the end of his tie, then he sighed, and when he put them back on again, he said, ‘When I was your age, something similar happened to someone I knew.’
I lifted my eyelashes to look at him. ‘That’s horrible, Sir.’
He nodded. ‘Her name was Charlotte and the same thing happened: she was walking home alone after a party and someone offered to give her a lift.’ He stopped and I didn’t want him to, I wanted him to tell me what had happened, that she was OK, but I wonder now if he had to stop. ‘If you want my advice, and I think you do, then the best thing you can do right now is get your friend to speak to someone.’
‘But what if she won’t go to the police?’
‘There are other people she can speak to. The school has a counsellor. I’m sure we can arrange for them to meet.’
That was a good idea. ‘Thanks, Sir. But what about the police?’ He hesitated again, and when he did, I stuttered out, ‘Even if she won’t report it, I should warn them, right? What if this guy does it again? What if he’s done it before?’
He waited for my breathing to settle, then he nodded. ‘So wise so young.’
I tried to smile, but when I thought of us in class, standing on our chairs as we answered his questions about Richard III, Scarlett with her arms out saying, So wise so young, they say, do never live long, my heart started to throb.
Throb and throb.
I knew I was doing the right thing, but a voice in my head still told me to leave it as I walked out of the newsroom. Leave it. Leave it. Leave it. But I didn’t listen, didn’t think, I didn’t even miss a step, as though I was out for a run and I had to keep my heart rate up. I had to keep going before I thought about it too much, like Orla with her list of reasons why no one would believe her. I believed her and someone would believe me, too. But as soon as I walked out into the courtyard, someone stepped into my path, and I screeched to a cartoon halt.
It took me a moment to recover, but when I did, and I realised it was Scarlett and Olivia, I was relieved.
‘Olivia, thank God,’ I gasped, reaching for her arm.
‘Oh good. You’re late, too. Someone’, she turned to glare at Scarlett, ‘made me late running lines with her. Frailty, thy name is sister.’
I know they’re twins, but they look like day and night – Olivia with her paper-straight blond hair and Scarlett with her mess of dark waves – but when Scarlett glared back, as distracted as I was, I still noted that they’d never looked so alike.
‘Actually—’ Scarlett started to say, but I interrupted.
‘I can’t make Debating Society today. Can you cover for me, Liv?’
Usually, Scarlett would have been livid at being talked over, but her eyes lit up. ‘What’s this? Princess Adamma bunking off? I am shocked. Shocked.’
Olivia didn’t look impressed. ‘You’ve been spending too much time with her.’
When she thumbed at Scarlett, I shook my head. ‘You know I wouldn’t. I mean, I’ve never.’ I stopped to suck in a breath. ‘It’s important.’
‘Of course O will cover for you,’ Scarlett said. Olivia raised an eyebrow, but Scarlett ignored her. I barely had time to thank her before Scarlett took me by the elbow and tugged me away. ‘What’s going on at the Disraeli? Did you get in?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, and it should have stung, but with everything going on with Orla, it suddenly didn’t seem as important.
Scarlett tutted. ‘Granta Girl?’
‘Probably.’
‘Bitch,’ she hissed, hooking her arm through mine. ‘Forget the Disraeli. Who needs it? Print media is dead. Come home with me. Dad’s making risotto.’
Easy for you to say, I almost said, you’re already in, but I shook my head. ‘I can’t. I’m on a mission,’ I said as we rounded the fountain and headed for the Green.
‘Intriguing,’ she cooed. ‘What’s going on? Tell me everything.’
She was so eager, her blue eyes bright, that I hesitated. This wasn’t another juicy piece of gossip about a girl buying a pregnancy test from the chemist in the village or a couple being caught doing it in the A/V Equipment Room. It was serious. Horrible. But it was Scarlett, I could trust her and, I reasoned, she might know something.
‘OK. But you must promise not to tell anyone.’
‘Cross my heart.’
When we stepped onto the Green, I steered her away from the group of girls walking towards us onto an empty stretch of grass, then lowered my voice. ‘I think there’s something going on in Savernake Forest.’
‘There’s always something going on in Savernake Forest.’ She waggled her eyebrows.
‘Not that. Things happening to girls.’
The corners of her mouth fell. ‘What sort of things?’
‘I’m not pissed at you, OK –’ I waited for a guy hugging a rugby ball to pass us – ‘but Dominic told me you were at the Abbott party.’
She didn’t deny it, just shrugged. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was driving back from Crofto
n and Sam flagged me down. I was there for, like, a minute.’
I knew she was lying and almost told her that I knew about the photograph Dominic had taken, too, but stopped myself. It wasn’t the time.
‘So you heard what happened to Chloe Poole?’
She didn’t say that she had, but when she looked away, she didn’t have to. I don’t know why I was so surprised. I guess I was more surprised that she didn’t tell me and it hurt. She knows I run in Savernake Forest every morning. I tried not to think about it as we passed through the wall of oak trees, telling myself that she mustn’t be worried. Scarlett may have her secrets, but there’s no way she’d keep something like that from me if she thought I was in any danger. No way.
‘Apart from Chloe, I haven’t heard a thing.’ She shook her head, then stopped. ‘Hang on,’ she said, looking at her feet as we began to walk down the hill to the car park, ‘do you know Rachel Flock?’ I shook my head. She thought about it for a moment more, then frowned. ‘I overheard her saying that the last time she was there it felt like she was being watched.’
‘Watched?’
‘That’s what she said, she said she was with some guy and it felt like someone was there, but then she thought she was being paranoid because she’d had too much to drink.’
‘When did you hear this?’
‘On Monday, in the girls’ toilets.’
My stomach tensed. ‘Do you think she was talking about the Abbott party?’
‘She must have been.’
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘Nope. That was it,’ Scarlett said with a shrug when we got to the bottom of the hill. ‘I was in one of the stalls and by the time I came out, she was gone.’
‘Rachel Flock, right?’
‘Sure you don’t need to write it down, Lois Lane?’ She winked as she took out her make-up bag and put on her red lipstick.
‘I’m like Rain Man when it comes to names. I never forget them.’
‘So what do you think is going on?’ she asked, rubbing her lips together.
‘I don’t know.’ I realised I was biting mine, and stopped. ‘Something.’
‘Like a peeping Tom?’
My eyes darted across the car park, then I took a step closer. ‘OK. This is the bit you can’t tell anyone, Scarlett, not even Olivia.’
‘I never tell Olivia anything, anyway.’
That was true.
‘Someone was raped,’ I said it so quietly, I wasn’t sure she heard me over the crunch of gravel beneath our feet, but then she rolled her eyes.
‘Chloe wasn’t raped. Some perv just tried to get her in his car.’
‘No. Someone else. On the same night.’
She turned to me and gasped, her cheeks suddenly pink. ‘Who?’
‘I can’t say.’
She stopped and grabbed the sleeve of my blazer. ‘Adamma, it’s me.’
I stopped too. ‘I can’t, Scarlett.’ I shook my head. ‘I promised.’
‘But I’m your best friend, Adamma. You know I won’t tell anyone.’
‘I know, but I swore.’
‘Fine.’ She tossed her make-up bag back into her bag and I thought she was going to give me the silent treatment, but as we were about to walk out of the car park, she crossed her arms. ‘So you think there’s a rapist in the forest?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Where are you going now?’ she asked as we turned left out of Crofton.
‘I spoke to Mr Lucas about it and I’m going to tell the police.’
‘When did you speak to Mr Lucas?’
‘Just now.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. Just that.’
‘I’m surprised he’s encouraging you to speak to the police. Ballard will go batshit when he finds out. Every parent will pull their daughter out of school.’
‘I know. But I think I should warn them. What if it happens again?’
She went quiet as we walked under the shadow of the forest. I could see that she was chewing on the inside of her cheek and I wondered if she was worried, if she knew something she wasn’t telling me. But as we stepped into the daylight, she resumed her usual swagger.
‘You could just call the police, you know?’ she said, flicking her hair.
She was right, I didn’t have to go to the police station, I could just call. There was still time. I could run back to Crofton and endure a telling-off from Mr Crane for being late for Debating Society, but there was something about Scarlett’s attitude, about the way she flicked her hair, that made me more determined. Then she said it: ‘The police won’t do anything, you know.’
My heart clenched like a fist and I had to take a breath before I could speak. ‘So I should just do nothing? I should let him get away with it?’
‘Look.’ She stopped when we got to the police station and turned to face me. ‘Adamma, you are so sweet and kind and I know that you’re just trying to do the right thing, but you can’t fix this. I know you want to, but you can’t.’
I felt something in me hold on, dig in. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know the details, but if this girl – whoever she is – won’t report it, then it’s probably because she knows there’s no evidence.’
‘Or because she thinks no one cares.’
Scarlett frowned at that. ‘Is that what she told you?’
‘She thinks it’s her fault for drinking too much.’
Scarlett started chewing on the inside of her cheek again, then, after a second or two, she sighed. ‘Go.’ She nodded at the police station. ‘Do what you can.’
‘That’s all I can do, right?’
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
I told her I’d be OK and we hugged – for a moment longer than we normally do – then she was gone. I watched as she made her way across the village green towards the hill that led up to her house, her ponytail swinging, then I turned to look at the police station. I pressed my palm to the door and was startled when it didn’t move. I tried again and, when it still didn’t move, I reached for the brass handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge, just rattled loudly in its frame.
It was closed.
I took a step back and stared at it, then reached into the pocket of my blazer for my cellphone. I checked online and cursed myself: it had just closed. It’s Ostley, of course it closes early. I should have looked it up before I stormed down here.
Deflated, I decided to head back, but as I was putting my cellphone back in my pocket, it rang. I don’t know how he knew – how he always knows – but it was my father.
‘Kedu, Ada, when is your next exeat weekend?’ he asked when I answered. I could hear him flicking pages back and forth in his diary and imagined him in his office, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he tried to decipher his handwriting.
‘October the twenty-fifth, Papa.’
‘Excellent.’ I heard the scratch of his fountain pen as he wrote it down. ‘I’ll be in Lagos that weekend if you’d like to come with me.’
‘OK.’
He was quiet for a moment and I thought he was going to ask about another date, but he said, ‘What’s wrong, Ada?’
I went rigid, my heart beating desperately as I grasped for something to tell him – I wasn’t feeling well, I’d had an argument with Scarlett, school was kicking my ass, anything – but I’m a terrible liar, which is his fault, ironically. It was also his fault that I was standing outside Ostley police station when no one – not Mr Lucas or Scarlett, even Orla – thought I should be there. That’s why I answered my phone, isn’t it? Because I knew what he’d say.
So I closed my eyes and took a breath. ‘Papa, something happened to my friend and she won’t tell the police and I don’t know what
to do,’ I said, all at once, and I felt five years old again, tearing home to tell him that someone had stole Mbeke’s bicycle, back when my first instinct was to tell my father when something went wrong.
I think it still is.
‘Where are you now, Adamma?’
‘Outside Ostley police station.’
‘Then you know exactly what to do.’ I heard his chair creak and imagined him sitting back, his forehead creased. ‘I know I’m always pleading with you to think before you do things, Adamma, but, in this instance, you don’t need to.’
I let go of a breath and, when I opened my eyes again, I saw a man walking towards the tiny three-bay car park in front of the station, to the only car parked in it, a battered green thing that should probably be put out of its misery.
I thanked my father, then told him I’d call him back and took a step forward.
‘Excuse me, Sir?’
I don’t think he heard me, because he just opened the car door, reached across to grab a cellphone from the passenger seat, then closed it again and started walking back the way he had come. The voice in my head told me to Leave it again as I watched him go, but it felt too much like giving up on Orla, so I went after him.
‘Excuse me, Sir?’ I said again when I’d caught up with him.
He eyed me warily. ‘Why are you following me?’
I hesitated. What if he wasn’t a police officer? Maybe he’d just parked his car outside the station and there I was, chasing him down the street. As I watched him tuck his cellphone into the back pocket of his jeans, I realised that he didn’t look like a police officer. But what do police officers look like? Do they wear fitted black T-shirts and jeans? I guess they do.
I slowed to a stop, letting him go. ‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘Stop calling me Sir,’ he snapped, turning to face me. The sun must have been in his eyes, because he squinted at me, his blond eyelashes suddenly invisible. ‘It’s DS Bone.’
‘DS? That’s Detective Sergeant, right?’
He didn’t say anything and I don’t know if he was impressed, but I earned an arched eyebrow. ‘I’m CID,’ he said, finally, putting his hands on his hips.