Follow Me Down

by Tanya Byrne

  I think Orla knew that, because she smiled for the first time in weeks. ‘I guess I’m not the only one with a weakness for bad boys.’

  If she’d done that yesterday, I would have denied it, but something told me to keep quiet as I thought about the dream I’d had about him, my hand in his hair, trying to see his eyes, as he turned his face away.

  So I changed the subject back to the hockey social and what she was going to wear. That was it for the rest of the afternoon, as we tested the lipsticks on the rickety plastic stand in the chemist (it’s hardly Space NK, but needs must); then we went to the newsagent and stocked up on magazines that I’d never have time to read and candy bars I really shouldn’t eat, while she asked me more about the party.

  I was approaching the counter when I was aware of someone next to me.

  ‘Hey, Buffy.’

  ‘DS Bone,’ I gasped, falling against it and almost decapitating the tiny woman behind it as a copy of Marie Claire flew from my grasp.

  ‘I didn’t come in here for cigarettes,’ he said, putting his hands on his hips and raising an eyebrow at me. ‘Because smoking’s bad, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ I pretended not to notice as the woman behind the counter put a box of Marlboro Lights back on the shelf. ‘But I can still binge drink, right?’

  ‘Not until you’re eighteen.’

  Orla approached with an armful of magazines of her own and I hoped she would be too distracted by the candy bar she was devouring to notice him, but he turned to her, his gaze narrowing. ‘Have you paid for that Dairy Milk, young lady?’

  She stared at him, startled, then at me as my brain clumsily grabbed at an excuse to get her out of the store, but before I could find one, she made the connection. I thought she was going to choke, but then she yanked the chocolate bar out of her mouth and pointed at him. ‘He’s that policeman you were telling me about! Is this a set-up? Did you tell him that we’d be here?’

  ‘Of course not, Orla.’ I was mortified, but she wouldn’t listen.

  ‘Was the I didn’t come in here for cigarettes thing code?’

  ‘This isn’t a le Carré novel, darling,’ he laughed, and I turned to glare at him, but when I turned back to Orla, she’d abandoned the magazines on the counter and was running between the narrow aisles towards the door.

  I barked an apology at DS Bone, then ran after her. We were halfway to Crofton before I got close enough to reach for her sleeve. ‘Orla, please.’

  She pulled away, furious, but it was enough to make her stop. ‘I can’t believe you did that, Adamma,’ she said with a sob. ‘I can’t believe you did that.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ she said again and she was shaking. When I saw a tear roll down her cheek, I wanted to cry too, cry and tell her that I would never do that to her, that we’d been having such a lovely day and I was so proud of her. I’d never ruin it by confronting her with a police officer.

  ‘It was just a coincidence, Orla, I swear.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ she put her hands on her hips, ‘big coincidence. You’ve been telling me for weeks to speak to the police and guess what? The police officer you were speaking to just happens to be in the newsagent while we’re in the newsagent.’

  ‘You think I’d do something like that? You think I’d ambush you like that?’

  I stared at her and she stared back and for a moment I thought she was going to shout at me again, but she seemed to calm down. ‘So why was he there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I put my hands up. ‘I swear.’

  The skin between her eyebrows smoothed. ‘So it’s just a coincidence?’

  ‘They happen sometimes.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him to come and speak to me?’

  ‘No. I said I’d leave you alone and I meant it.’

  ‘OK.’ She took a breath, then puffed it out again. ‘OK.’

  I watched her pace on the spot for a minute or so and, when her breathing had settled and she turned to look at me again, I frowned at her. ‘Are we good?’

  She nodded. When she’d caught her breath and her shoulders fell, I thought that would be it, but then she said, ‘So what did you tell him?’

  ‘About what?’

  She gave me a, You know what I’m talking about, Adamma look. ‘About me.’

  ‘Just what happened.’

  ‘Did you tell him my name?’

  ‘Of course not. You told me not to.’

  ‘Did you tell him that I don’t remember anything?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And what did he say?’

  I shivered as I recalled what he’d said and hoped she didn’t notice. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  I nodded.

  ‘So he thinks I was roofied?’

  ‘I guess,’ I muttered and immediately regretted it.

  She jumped on it. ‘You guess?’

  My heart started pounding with panic, so I made myself take a breath and chose my words more carefully. ‘He thinks you might have short-term memory loss.’

  ‘You said the same thing. You said it might be triggered by stress.’

  I nodded.

  ‘So what aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re such a bad liar.’ She crossed her arms and tilted her head at me.

  ‘Forget it, Orla.’ I sighed and crossed my arms as well.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Please, Orla. You’re upset enough as it is. I think we should just leave it.’

  ‘No. I want to know. I want to know what he’s been saying about me.’

  ‘He hasn’t been saying anything.’

  ‘Well, he said something that you won’t tell me.’

  ‘It’s not that I won’t tell you, it’s just that I don’t think this is the right time.’

  ‘When is it going to be the right time? Tomorrow after registration? Or how about before my hockey match on Saturday, in front of my parents?’ She laughed, then smiled sourly. ‘It’s never the right time, Adamma.’

  I shook my head, but she was right. ‘Fine,’ I said with a defeated shrug. ‘He said that you might not remember because you don’t want to remember.’

  She frowned. ‘So? What’s so bad about that? That makes sense.’

  I should have stopped there – I wanted to stop there – but I could feel something digdigdigging at me and I wanted to know. I had to know.

  I had to know.

  I licked my lips, then lifted my chin to look at her. ‘He said that you might not want to remember because you know who did it.’

  She went from hot-cheeked to deathly pale in a second and I took a step forward, sure that she was going to faint. She took a step back. ‘What?’ She didn’t wait for me to respond. ‘So he thinks I know who did it, I’m just not telling anyone?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No. I think he means subconsciously. I looked it up,’ I said and I wished we were at Burnham where I had my laptop and printouts. Things I could show her. ‘Sometimes, when something really bad happens, you forget the details. It’s like your brain’s way of protecting you. It’s called dissociative amnesia.’

  She considered this for a long moment, then sucked in a breath and said, ‘Do you think that’s what happened to me?’

  ‘I have no idea. I wish I did, but I don’t.’

  She started pacing again and I watched her, watched the skin between her eyebrows crease as she bit her lip. ‘If it is memory loss, how do I get it back?’

  ‘You need a trigger.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘Like a smell or a song.’

  She stopped pacing and looked at me. ‘What if I
never remember?’

  ‘That’s why you should talk to someone.’ I said it carefully, as though it was a magic trick that wouldn’t work if I didn’t say it properly, but it didn’t work.

  She still looked livid.

  ‘It always comes back to this, Adamma!’ I could feel myself losing my temper so I looked down and kicked at a chestnut, its spiky green shell split to expose its mahogany heart. When I didn’t respond, Orla took a step towards me. ‘Why do you keep telling me to talk to someone?’

  I tried not to let her provoke me. ‘Because that’s the only thing you can do.’

  ‘No. I can move on.’

  I shouldn’t have, but I lost it then. ‘And how are you going to do that? This isn’t the flu, Orla,’ I snapped. ‘You aren’t just going to get over it. You were raped. You can’t keep pretending it never happened. OK, you don’t want to tell the police, I get that, but you’re not sleeping or eating. You need to see a doctor. What if you’re pregnant or he gave you an STD? I’m guessing he didn’t use a condom.’

  She staggered back as though I’d slapped her. ‘Jesus, Adamma.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I couldn’t look at her; tears stung the corners of my eyes and my hand shook as I pressed it to my mouth.

  ‘I wish I’d never told you.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ I shook my head. ‘Please.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m just trying to help.’

  ‘Why don’t you get it, Adamma?’ she hissed, hands balled into fists at her sides. ‘Not everyone is like you. I’m not as brave as you.’

  ‘You’re so much braver than you think you are, Orla.’ I wanted to reach for her hand. I wished she’d let me reach for her hand, but she wouldn’t look at me. ‘You are. I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed if that happened to me.’ She turned her cheek towards me again. ‘I know it’s hard, but I’m here, and DS Bone and I told you that his wife, Lisa, works for that rape sanctuary in Swindon.’

  ‘Stop it!’ she spat. ‘Stop saying that word!’

  ‘Orla –’

  ‘No. You don’t get it, do you? I’m at Crofton on a scholarship. What do you think Ballard’s going to do if I tell the police what happened at a Crofton party he didn’t know anything about? The parents will freak and start pulling their daughters out of school! A school like Crofton is only as good as it’s reputation and there’s no way Ballard is going to let me call that into question.’

  ‘But what if he does it again, Orla?’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ she roared, fresh tears suddenly rushing down her cheeks. I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t think and reached for her hand and it seemed to make her worse. ‘That’s on him, not me!’ she roared again, pulling away. ‘Don’t put that on me! I have enough to live with! You don’t know what I have to live with!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Orla. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she sobbed and my heart split open.

  ‘Sorry, I just want to help. Please. Just tell me what to do.’

  ‘Just leave it. I want to forget it ever happened.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Just help me do that, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  We stood facing one another for a minute or two, our arms crossed as we tried to catch our breath. When she had, she sighed. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. ‘I didn’t mean to shout at you. I know you’re just trying to help and I appreciate it.’ She shook her head and looked at her feet. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘I know.’ I nodded. ‘I’ll stop pushing, I promise.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with a dull smile, but when I took a step back, she looked panicked again. ‘What are you doing? Where are you going?’

  ‘I have to go back to the newsagent.’ I thumbed over my shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. ‘You totally shoplifted a Dairy Milk in front of a policeman.’

  ‘Is he going to arrest me?’

  ‘Of course not! But I should pay for it, and Maire Claire. I want that free nail varnish.’

  I smiled, but she looked terrified. ‘I’m not going back there.’

  ‘I know.’ I nodded. ‘It’s up to you. Do you want to wait for me here or would you rather walk back to Crofton?’

  I knew what she was going to say before she took a step back. ‘I’ll see you back at Burnham,’ she said, looking down the road towards the newsagent as though it were on fire, then turning and all but sprinting back to Crofton.

  When I got to the newsagent, DS Bone was sitting on the hood of his car, waiting for me. As I approached he raised an eyebrow and handed me a blue-and-white striped plastic bag. ‘Twenty quid on magazines. How the other half live.’

  I went to take my wallet out of my purse, but he shook his head and motioned at me to sit next to him on the car. I’ve never sat on the hood of a car before and had a sudden flash of Dominic’s Aston Martin. He’d have an embolism.

  ‘So women are running from me now?’ he said with a theatrical sigh when I sat next to him. ‘Good to know.’

  I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. When I didn’t respond, he rubbed his mouth with his fingers, then sighed again. ‘So that’s your friend?’

  ‘That’s my friend.’

  ‘How’s she doing?’

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged.

  He nodded. ‘All you can do is be there for her, Adamma.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’ I shook my head and looked at the plastic bag, sure that I was going to cry in front of him again and I didn’t want to. ‘It’s not enough.’

  I jumped down from the car before he could tell me that it was, because I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t want him to give me a speech about how Orla just needs time and I’m doing the right thing, the one that he’s probably given dozens of times to dozens of silly girls like me, who still believe in things like justice and redemption and a world where the good guys win and the bad guys go to prison.

  ‘Thank you for the magazines,’ I managed to say before I gave in to the tears.

  I ran so fast that by the time I got back to Burnham, I had to stop to let my eyes come back into focus before I ran up the stairs. I knocked at Orla’s door, but she didn’t answer, she didn’t come out of her room for the rest of the day, in fact, not until I knocked at her door again before lights out. I didn’t think she was going to answer, but when she did, she did what she always does and answered with a too-big smile, as though nothing had happened. She babbled on for a while, complaining about how hard her Latin homework was and how quickly the weekend had passed and I humoured her, not because I particularly wanted to talk about either of those things, but because I was just happy she was talking, even if it was about nothing. So I nodded and agreed and when she turned on her radio, I took the hint and said goodnight.

  ‘She’s nice,’ she said, as I was about to close the door. ‘Lisa, his wife,’ she explained when I frowned at her, her voice a little smaller. ‘She’s nice.’

  I froze, my hand still on the door handle. It was like being approached by a nervous cat, I didn’t want to make any sudden movements, I just wanted her to come to me, so I nodded, but inside, my heart was beating so fast I felt dizzy.

  She started running a brush through her hair and I thought that was it, but then she turned her cheek towards me. ‘Will you go with me to see her tomorrow?’

  I couldn’t speak, I just nodded, and when I went back to my room, I cried.

  Cried and cried.

  3 DAYS AFTER

  MAY

  Headmaster Ballard called an assembly during breakfast this morning to tell us that the police would be searching Savernake Forest. There must have been almost sixty of us huddled in the dining hall – everyone in Burnham and what loo
ked like most of the staff, from Mrs Delaney to the people who worked in the kitchen and laundry room – but I’ve never heard a silence sound so loud. It seemed to scream out as we all looked at one another. I thought the windows were going to break.

  I didn’t see Bones until Ballard introduced him and the man standing next to him as Chief Inspector Tom Bracken, who was exactly what I pictured a Chief Inspector to look like: greying and a little overweight. The sort of man who has a favourite mug and walks the dog every day and carves the chicken on a Sunday. He told us that he was co-ordinating the search with Bones who, despite being in a clean shirt and a tie, still looked in need of a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.

  He handed back to Headmaster Ballard who suddenly looked very solemn. ‘I know that some of you helped Scarlett’s parents search Savernake Forest after the Chilterns’ Land Rover was discovered yesterday –’ he didn’t, but it felt like he looked right at me – ‘but the police have taken over and have been conducting a search of the area since dawn. I know how keen you all are to help, so I said we’d assist.’

  He turned to look back at Chief Inspector Bracken, who added, ‘We know that Scarlett took the Land Rover with her when she left, so we can only assume she was in Savernake Forest at some point. We think that she might have met someone there before she went on somewhere else, so at this stage we’re just looking for clues as to where that might be.’

  Everyone looked at each other and Ballard held up his hands. ‘Don’t be afraid, girls. As Chief Inspector Bracken says, we’re just looking for clues,’ he said and it wasn’t until he did that it occurred to me we might find something more sinister. I felt a shiver of dread at the thought, as though there was a spider under my shirt, scuttling across my back, but waited for the feeling to pass as I told myself that she was in New York again.

  She was in New York.

  No one said a word when Ballard told us to return to our rooms and change into mufti, not even Molly, who glanced at Orla and me as we were leaving the dining hall; her eyes wet. As we headed towards the stairs, Mrs Delaney pulled Orla to one side and asked her to stand with a small group of worried-looking girls. None of them seemed to know why they were there, but as I went up to my room, I could hear Orla crying and saying that she wanted to help. I guess Mrs Delaney couldn’t reach her parents to get permission.