by Tanya Byrne
‘“‘I am the resurrection and the life,’ saith the Lord”,’ he began, pausing to smooth down his robes with his hands, before raising them again, ‘“‘he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’”’
When he began reading ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’, I looked at Olivia again, the pink programme fluttering in her hands as she stared at it. I waited for her to look up at me, but when she didn’t, I looked over my shoulder at the congregation instead, hoping to see him. Not that I could see much in the full church. He didn’t come with us, perhaps he was standing behind one of the pillars or standing at the back. Maybe he hadn’t come at all.
The thought jabbed at my ribs as I made myself look at the coffin, at the perfect wreath of white roses on top of it, studded with one red one, and my stomach turned. It turned again when the priest invited me up to the podium. There was a flurry of whispers and it knocked the bravado right out of me. I could feel the collar of my shirt sticking to my neck so I hooked a finger in it and tugged, then took a deep breath as I put the piece of paper I was holding on the podium and flattened it with my hand.
I took another deep breath and when I forced myself to look out over the miserable faces, I felt a flower of pain in my chest that seemed to pop open when I saw Olivia. I could see her face then, the skin around her eyes red raw from crying, as though someone had taken a brillo pad to it. I had to look away and it made me feel wretched because people must have been doing that all morning and it wasn’t fair; we got to look away while she had to live with it.
I had no intention of saying anything, not because I was scared of being crucified by Molly and everyone at Crofton for being a hypocrite, but because I didn’t want to upset her family. But then her father called last night and pleaded with me to say something. ‘You have to put it behind you, Adamma. You have to,’ he said and the way he said it made me think of the last time I saw him, the afternoon of Scarlett’s party, when he told me to come – Buy her a present and she’ll forgive you anything! – and I had to move my cellphone away so that he didn’t hear me heave and sob before I told him that I would.
I hope he wasn’t disappointed, but I read the lyrics to Leonard Cohen’s ‘Anthem’. I shouldn’t imagine it meant much to her family other than that it was pretty. They probably thought, after everything that had happened, that I was too embarrassed to say anything more personal. They probably thought I didn’t even know her any more, but I did. And that broke my heart all over again, because of all the people I wanted to be there to hear it, it was Scarlett. She would have loved it, loved that I was talking about her tattoo, the one no one knows about, the one on the patch of skin ‘where my heart should be’ she’d told me with a grin when she’d first showed it to me, her finger stroking the words. And just for that moment it felt like I was the only person in the world who knew her.
When I finished my reading, I couldn’t go back to my seat – to that pew – so I walked down the aisle and out of the church into the brilliant sun. I intended to keep going – back through the village, past the closed shops and the MISSING posters, past Savernake Forest, with the gas station carnations tied to its locked gates, back to Crofton – but as soon as I stepped outside, I heard cameras clicking and panicked, heading around the side of the church instead.
They didn’t follow, but I kept going, into the shade of the graveyard and I didn’t stop until I had to, until I had to reach for one of the old, leaning headstones to steady myself a moment before my legs gave way. I’d barely caught my breath before I heard someone say, ‘Thanks for that,’ and turned to find Dominic watching me.
I wanted to run at him, grab him and shake him, ask why he hadn’t called me back, ask him what the hell was going on, but as soon as I saw him, it was all forgotten. I’ve never seen him like that, as though a light had gone out somewhere. It was like returning home after a vacation to find everything closed. Locked. I just wanted to hug him, but he was wearing that black suit, the one he wore to my first social at Crofton, and I almost smiled at the memory, Scarlett twirling in that red dress, her arm in the air. But I turned away from him again.
‘Thank you for reading that, for saying something real. She’d hate this.’ I turned to face him, but when I saw his wet eyelashes, I couldn’t look at him, and I looked at the back of the church as they began singing ‘Amazing Grace’. ‘The poem, the organ, “The Lord is my Shepherd”. All of it. It’s not her.’ When I didn’t agree, he pushed on. ‘And what’s with the white flowers? Scarlett’s not white, she’s yellow.’
‘Highlighter yellow.’ I lifted my chin to look at him then.
‘And flamingo pink,’ he said with a faint smile.
‘And Saint Patrick’s Day green.’
‘And red. Scarlett red.’
‘But not white,’ I said, crossing my arms, and he nodded back.
‘I couldn’t stay in there. They’re all crying, girls she’s never spoken to. They don’t even know her.’ He turned to the church again, suddenly livid. ‘You don’t even know her!’ he roared, hands balled into fists.
I was stunned. I’d never seen him like that and it scared me, seeing the rawness of his grief, like red paint splashed over the church walls. When my heart began thrumming, I felt it again – doubt – creeping back into my bones and suddenly I heard DS Hanlon’s voice. What is Dominic Sim capable of? Not that, I told myself, like I tell myself every time the words drift into my head now. Not that. But looking at him then, his cheeks flushed and his jaw hard, I didn’t know what he was capable of.
When I took a step back, he looked mortified. ‘I’m sorry, Adamma,’ he said, his hands on his hips as he took a deep breath. ‘It’s just that, before the service started, I heard her grandmother telling someone that the programme is pink because it’s her favourite colour and –’ He stopped with a frown. ‘I’m not going mad. It isn’t pink, is it?’
I shook my head. ‘Pink is Olivia’s favourite colour. Hers is red.’
‘Actually,’ he said with a bitter chuckle, ‘she’s too fickle to have a favourite colour. It changes every week.’
I nodded, the corners of my mouth lifting for just a second, and when he saw, he smiled, his eyes even heavier. ‘Sometimes I think we’re the only ones who really know her.’
My cellphone rang then and it made me jump. My hands shook a little as I took it out of the pocket of my blazer and rejected the call.
‘Don’t you want to get that?’
‘It’s the Mercedes garage about bringing my car back. I’ll call them later.’
He nodded then looked at his feet. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t called you back.’
‘I’ve been going out of my mind, Dominic,’ I breathed, slipping my cellphone back into my pocket. ‘I’ve been calling and calling.’
‘I know.’ He rubbed his face with his hands. ‘I know.’
‘Why haven’t you called me back?’
‘I tried to, about four times, but I didn’t know what to say.’
There was a moment of silence as my thoughts flew around my head again, knocking together but not sticking. I was so mad, but then I wasn’t because there he was in his black suit, looking at me with those sad, sad eyes and when I heard ‘Abide With Me’ coming from the church, something in me began to crumble. I could feel it falling away, slowly, then quicker, quicker, like an avalanche and I understood it then, why the girls at Crofton keep things behind closed doors.
I closed my eyes, but a moment later, I was aware of him in front of me, the muscles in my shoulders clenching like fists when I felt his knuckles brush against my wet cheeks, but when I opened my eyes to look at him, I saw someone standing behind him, watching us, and my heart stopped.
I shook my head and stepped away from him. ‘Olivia, this isn’t—’
He spun around to face her and
she lurched forward so suddenly, I thought she might punch him.
‘You can’t stay away from each other, can you?’ She looked between us, hands balled into fists at her sides as a tear rolled quickly down her cheek.
‘Olivia –’ he tried, but she ignored him, looking back at the church, then at us.
‘I couldn’t take it, I had to get out of there. I came outside for some air and I see you and I think, That looks like Adamma and Dominic.’ She blinked, sending a fresh tumble of tears down her cheeks. ‘But then I think, They wouldn’t. Not at her funeral.’
‘Olivia, please,’ I tried again.
‘We haven’t even buried her yet!’ she roared, and the look on her face.
I wanted to be sick.
‘We were just talking, ’Liv,’ he said, and he sounded tiny. Like a little boy.
I made myself look at her. ‘Olivia, I’m so sorry.’
She didn’t listen and walked away, but when I tried to go after her, she stopped and raised an unsteady finger at me. ‘You picked the wrong one!’ she said, and her voice had changed. It was harder, there was a little spite in it, a little Scarlett.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ask him!’ She pointed at Dominic. ‘Ask him! Ask him who was the last person she spoke to before she left the house on Sunday.’
My heart stopped. ‘No.’
He stepped between us then. ‘Olivia, stop it.’
‘Stop what, Dom?’ She licked her lips and smiled and there was a little Scarlett in that, too. ‘Stop telling the truth? Tell her where your Aston Martin is.’
‘No.’ I shook my head at her, then I turned to shake my head at him too. ‘No, Dominic. It was that guy. The guy in Savernake Forest. The one in the car.’
‘Tell her, Dom.’ She crossed her arms, suddenly calm as I watched his cheeks get redder and redder. ‘Tell her how someone saw you driving through the forest on Sunday.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I was with Sam.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time Sam covered for you, Dom.’
He ignored her and turned to look at me. ‘Adamma, it’s me. It’s me,’ he said – whispered – and reached for my hand, but I pulled away.
‘No.’
‘I was the last person she called.’
I shook my head. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘I rejected the call.’
‘Why?’
‘I was with Sam. He was skateboarding and he called to tell me that he tried to grind down a hand rail, or something, and landed funny. He hurt his wrist and couldn’t drive so he asked me to take him to the hospital.’
I shook my head again, but I felt a quick quiver of dread as it came back to me: Sam on the morning Scarlett ran away, asking how much I wanted to put on when she was coming back while I ignored him and asked him why his arm was in a sling. ‘Sprained my wrist thinking of you, baby,’ he’d said with a filthy smirk, pretending to jerk off with his other hand, which earned him a shove from Dominic.
‘I was in the hospital when she called,’ he went on, his voice low. Familiar. ‘The nurse told me off for having my phone on so I rejected it. Call Great Western if you don’t believe me. The police did. That’s why they haven’t arrested me.’
Olivia scoffed and he shot a look at her. ‘It’s true.’ He looked at me again and when I stepped back, his face folded. ‘It’s true.’
But it was too late, it was there – the doubt – needling its way in. Then I was walking away, away from him, from Olivia, towards the sound of ‘Amazing Grace’.
I slipped back into the church as quietly as I could, covering my mouth with my hand as I tried to catch my breath so that no one would hear me panting. But Mrs Delaney saw me, of course, and smiled, a gentle, It’ll be OK smile that should have made me feel better, but then everyone turned and began to file out of the church and my heart started banging again.
It wasn’t the time, but I had to find Chloe – I had to – and when I did, I reached for the sleeve of her blazer and tugged her into the corner, next to a statue of Mary, her palms outstretched. The urge to grab the lapels of her blazer and shake her was almost impossible to fight. I guess that was obvious because she frowned at me.
‘What’s wrong, Adamma?’
‘You know that guy?’
‘What guy?’
‘The one from Savernake Forest.’
She closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Not this again, Adamma. I told you—’
‘I know. I know. But are you sure you don’t remember anything about him?’
‘I was shitfaced,’ she hissed, then blushed and turned to check over her shoulder at everyone shuffling down the aisle towards the doors, before turning back to me and lowering her voice. ‘I don’t even remember what I was wearing.’
‘What about the car?’
‘I barely saw it. It was too dark.’
‘Chloe, please.’ I swiped a tear from my cheek with my fingers. ‘Was it Old? New?’
‘Adamma—’
‘Please, Chloe,’ I interrupted, then made myself take a breath and lowered my voice as I remembered that we were surrounded by her family. ‘I think he murdered Scarlett.’
‘What?’ she gasped. ‘No.’
I nodded and she was quiet for a moment, her lips parted.
‘So if you can remember anything, Chloe.’
‘OK.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘OK. Let me think.’
‘Close your eyes,’ I suggested. She did. ‘What can you see?’
She frowned. ‘Nothing. I just saw his car for a second.’
‘Was it new?’
‘No, but it was nice.’
‘Nice?’
‘I don’t know.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘It was shiny. Taken care of.’
‘Did you see a badge?’
‘I only saw the side of it.’
‘That’s something.’ I jumped on it. ‘Do you remember the shape of it?’
‘I don’t know anything about cars, Adamma.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I pushed, breathless with panic as I willed her to say something to eliminate Dominic’s Aston Martin. ‘Come on, Chloe. You must be able to remember what type of car it was. Was it a four by four like The Old Dear?’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘No. It was small.’
‘Small? Small like a sports car or small like a Mini?’
‘Small like a sports car, but that’s all I remember, I swear. I saw the car stop and when I heard him ask if I wanted a lift, I ran. I didn’t even look at him.’
‘OK,’ I said, forcing myself to let go of the breath I was holding on to.
But then she said, ‘He had to wind down the window,’ and I went rigid.
‘What?’
‘When he asked me if I wanted a lift,’ she said, almost to herself, ‘he had to wind down the window and I remember thinking a car that cool should have electric windows.’
‘Cool? You didn’t say it was cool.’
‘I don’t think it’s cool.’ She shook her head, like I was mad. ‘It wasn’t a Range Rover or anything, but my dad would have loved it.’
‘Why?’
‘It was like something James Bond would drive.’
146 DAYS BEFORE
DECEMBER
When I was four, I helped our gardener, Jide, plant a hibiscus in our garden. It’s one of my earliest memories, crouched down next to it, my tiny hands clumsily patting at the soil. My mother bought me a yellow plastic watering can and I watered it every day, anxiously poking at the cloud of leaves for some sign of life, and when it finally bloomed – the delicate heart-coloured flowers erupting overnight – I don’t think I’d ever been so excited. I would sit at my bedroom w
indow for hours staring at it and thinking, That was me. I did that. But when we moved to New York, the hibiscus died. ‘A na-amacha. Sometimes these things happen,’ Jide told me with an elegant shrug when I asked him what we’d done wrong.
I know now that he was right – it probably wasn’t getting enough sunlight or maybe it got tip-borer (yes, I looked it up) – but I was sure that it was my fault, that I’d stopped paying attention to it so it died. I think that’s what happened with Scarlett. Apart from a couple of texts, I haven’t heard from her, not since I’ve been at home with my father. I don’t know if she’s just being Scarlett or if I’ve done something, but something’s changed between us. If you hold a true friend with both hands, then when I got her sister Edith’s wedding invitation, I realised that we weren’t even in the same room any more.
It had been two weeks since my father had been shot and everyone who was going to send a card already had, so when I grabbed the pile of mail from the kitchen counter before I left for the hospital, I expected to find bills and junk, but there it was, a heavy cream envelope with her scruffy handwriting scratched across it.
My first thought was that it was a card, a letter even, something to let me know that she was thinking of me, and my heart relaxed, but before I could open it, my father took off his glasses and shook his newspaper at me.
‘Have you read this nonsense, Ada?’
‘Calm down, Papa,’ I told him, patting his arm.
That made me feel better as well, him sitting up in bed, about to rant, because that meant he was better, and after sitting through two surgeries and seeing more of his blood than I ever wanted to see, I needed him to be better. But before he could launch into whatever had pissed him off, I opened the envelope to find a wedding invitation and my heart tensed again.