The Orchid Girls

by Lesley Sanderson

  ‘Go and see your mum. Get the camera you were talking about. Do it while you’ve got time between jobs. And think about calling your brother. I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.’

  Back at home, I keep thinking about my camera.

  Is it where I left it? Darkness pressing in, hands scrabbling at the earth.

  I know Mum would love to see me. She’s always there for me, no matter how much I push her away. And she’s on her own now. Guilt slams into me for leaving her alone all this time. I wonder if she’s still working as a nurse. Now I’ve allowed myself to think about Mum, after so long pushing her to the back of my mind, I realise I’d love to see her, make it up to her. We were close, before.

  I watch crap television and drink lots of tea, trying to switch my head off. I can’t resist looking at my phone to see what Grace is doing. I register surprise again that I called myself OrchidGirl, after trying to escape that nickname for so long, but it got a response. I wonder how it made Grace feel.

  I wish she’d reply, but she’s still keeping me waiting.

  Under my bravado it niggles me. I didn’t always hate that name, but nobody remembers that. It was the first summer Grace came to stay with us and Dad’s orchid was entered into the ‘Best in Show’ category in the local flower show. We were posing for Dad and the photographer from the local gazette came over and asked if he could take a proper photo, for his newspaper. We made the front page on that occasion, too. That was the first time we became known as ‘The Orchid Girls’, the headline above the photo of us standing either side of this big purple flower. Dad explained to Grace that orchids came in different shapes and sizes, and next time we went up to the cliff I showed her the wild ones Dad had noted in my book. We each picked one and put it in our diaries. That’s what made us get the tattoos done. We liked being The Orchid Girls until I went and spoilt it all.

  The craving for drink gnaws at my stomach and I’m in bed by nine. But I can’t sleep because my thoughts keep returning to my camera. Grace thinks I destroyed it, but that was a promise I didn’t keep. She doesn’t need to know about it, not yet. Under my thin duvet I hug the secret to my chest, try to get warm as I go over Grace’s words in my head, each one a precious stone I’ve been waiting so long to hear. She might be telling me to leave but I know what she’s really thinking. She doesn’t mean it. All we need is a proper conversation and we could be mates again. Best mates. Just like we used to be.

  Charlotte’s Diary

  Friday 9th August 2002

  I haven’t had time to write cos I’ve been having such a laugh with Grace. Belinda sent me a postcard and said she’s met a Spanish waiter. Slapper! Grace and I hang out on the beach every day and Grace knows I like Jason. He hasn’t asked me out but I reckon he’s about to. He said he’s going to teach me how to swim. I can’t wait, I’ve been on at Mum to get me a new bikini for it. She doesn’t understand why one isn’t enough. Grace has three. Anyway it’s a good job I’ve met Grace cos there’s a party on the beach tonight and Mum would never have let me go on my own. Grace knows me and Molly don’t get on great but she persuaded her to let me stop over. I’m not telling Belinda that!!

  This afternoon we did the coolest thing. If Mum knew she’d kill me, but I reckon I can hide it from her. The weather wasn’t great and Jason suggested we go see his mate Dean, who works at a tattoo parlour. On the walk up Molly and Grace went ahead and I got talking to Jason who said he’s got a tattoo on his back and he’d show me some time!! I actually pinched myself to make sure he really said it. He did!! I said I’d love to have one too and he didn’t say anything moronic like you’re too young (I’ve told him already I’m sixteen – well, it’s almost true) but that Dean was sound and he could organise it if he was on his own in the shop. I was really excited and when we got there I took Grace aside and told her I was going to get a tattoo. She only went and told Molly, and next thing I know we’re all gonna have them done. The shop was all black with designs everywhere and I decided on a rose cos it looks cool in black. Grace was looking at the flowers and then she looked at Molly and pointed at this weird-looking flower and they both said ‘an orchid’ aloud at the same time and giggled. Apparently Molly’s dad’s really into flowers and he once found a really rare orchid. We all decided on the inside of our wrists as we can hide it with a sleeve, or a bracelet in summer. Grace went first and then Molly and they held hands like stupid kids while they had it done. I went last. It hurt like hell but I bit my lip hard so that Jason wouldn’t see. I don’t know how it happened but Dean only went and gave me a bloody orchid instead of a rose. Obviously I couldn’t see what he was doing, and it was only when we were all done and he said, ‘There you go, Orchid Girls,’ that I realised what he’d done. Molly was furious, her face got all red and puffy and I actually thought she was going to cry. God, she’s such a baby. And she’s mad – she was gabbling on about wild orchids on the cliff or some shit. As if I cared about fucking flowers. I’m so pissed off because I’m stuck with this ugly flower on my wrist. I’m gonna get the rose done somewhere else but I’ll take Belinda, not them.

  We had to all promise NEVER to tell where we got it done and Grace suggested if anyone asks we can say it was at the fair in the next town cos we’re going there at the weekend. Mine is covered with a plaster now and Dean said it will be scabby for a bit but I don’t care. Belinda is going to be so jealous. I won’t tell her Molly got one too, just me and Grace. I’d never live it down if she knew that.

  Anyway it’s the beach party tonight and you never know, I might end up sitting on the beach all night with Jason, chatting and watching the sun rise and who knows what else. He might even show me his tattoo!! I’m so excited.

  Saturday 10th August 2002

  The shit hit the fan after the party last night. My head feels like it’s going to burst. I’m NEVER, EVER drinking cider again. I want to die. I ended up going back to Molly’s, we got back really late and I threw up over Molly’s carpet and Molly and Grace have been grounded. Some nosy neighbour saw us heading down to the beach with ‘much older’ boys and told on us. Grace’s dad came round to visit her and he went mad, terrifying us. He’s so scary. I wish I was in Spain with Belinda. Her mum lets us do what we like.

  The worst thing ever, ever, ever happened at the party. Molly said she was going swimming in the dark and Grace stripped off in front of Jason – her white bikini glowed in the night and he couldn’t stop staring. I was wearing cut-off jeans and my off-the-shoulder sparkly top but it felt all wrong. I got Jason a cold beer to distract him and we were chatting but the whole time he was watching Grace who was just paddling – showing off – she must have been freezing. How could she do that? Next she came over and sat next to Jason and this other boy started chatting me up but I wasn’t interested. Molly came back and one of the boys started strumming a guitar and we all listened. Next thing I know I turned round and Jason and Grace were kissing. Proper snogging. My stomach turned over and I thought I was going to be sick. How could he? And I thought she was my friend. But the weirdest thing was that Molly was watching them. She was proper staring and her hands were clenching the sand, fury all over her face. She looked how I felt. But why?

  Nine

  GRACE

  Richard is in the middle of his speech when I arrive. There’s a hush in the room and I cringe when the silk of my dress swishes as I make my way to my seat, so obviously late as I zigzag in and out of chairs. It sounds like the speech is going well, there are outbursts of laughter which should make me laugh too, but all I can think about is how my face glows as red as the scarlet of my dress and how disappointed Richard will be. Drinking the large glass of water in front of me cools me down and for the rest of his speech I sit with my hands in my lap and try and look interested, a smile painted on my face.

  When Richard has finished speaking, there’s rapturous applause and I am disconcerted, my mind still back in the flat, stuck on Molly. Glasses clink and conversation fills the room as plates of neatly arran
ged poached fish and steamed asparagus are served to the tables. Richard’s face is set to his public mask, polite and interested, poised to smile. He’s always confident when he has an audience. Just like Michael. An image of Michael preaching in church flashes into my head; the hush as he speaks; sitting on my hands to keep myself still, not wanting to draw his attention to me. Molly sitting on her hands, red cheeks looking down at her knees, trying not to laugh. Where did that thought come from?

  Once Richard is finished, he walks over. But when my arm winds round his waist his muscles are tense and I know the only reason he isn’t shaking me off is because we are in public and all eyes are on us. I sense them boring into me and I am shaken to the core, feeling incredibly self-conscious, just like I did when I first came to London and left my old self behind. My transformation into the Grace I am today didn’t happen overnight.

  But tonight, Richard needs me, even if I have let him down, and I pull myself together. I switch on the charm as I turn to the man at my left with my winning smile. Heads turn towards me as I laugh and nod and slip back into my public persona. I control the urge to tell Richard what happened; it will have to be dealt with later. But he can’t know the whole truth. No one can.

  Everyone wants to speak to us and we don’t get any time together, so it’s impossible for me to explain. As time passes the urge to talk about what happened, or at least some of it, surges inside me and the last place I want to be is stuck amongst all these people. There’s a moment when we’re together and I open my mouth to start but Richard turns away coldly. I grit my teeth and fix my smile back in place.

  Time drags, and I’m watching Richard talk to an attractive brunette who drops her head back and laughs at whatever he’s said. I have to speak to him. Waiting is killing me. I take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter before I tap Richard on the arm.

  ‘Darling.’

  He switches his attention from the brunette for a second and smiles with his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘Grace, perfect timing, we were just talking about you. This is Sophie, she’s a food blogger like you.’

  ‘Hi Sophie,’ I say. ‘Richard can I—’

  He waves to someone across the room, not paying me any attention.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies…’

  He cuts me off and I compose my face, trying not to show my frustration to this familiar-looking woman.

  ‘Richard was telling me you’re developing a range of products. That’s so exciting.’

  Her words remind me that I’ve forgotten to confirm the branding meeting tomorrow. Shit. Another thing to worry about.

  She holds her hand out. ‘I’m Sophie Ingram. We messaged each other on Instagram the other day.’

  ‘I remember, you’ve got a book out too, haven’t you? I’m so happy to meet you.’

  Sophie is easy to talk to and I spend the rest of the evening chatting to her. We exchange phone numbers before I leave, but all I can think about is apologising to Richard. I can’t stand it when he’s angry at me. The champagne should take the edge off my nerves, but I can’t forget my dramatic evening. Tomorrow I’ll think of a way to deal with Molly, stop her impacting on me and Richard. Stop her from ruining everything.

  The car is filled with unspoken words. The driver appears oblivious, but I know better than to speak in front of him. Richard slams the car door, and I thank the driver before I get out. Rain assaults me and I pull the hood of my jacket over my head. Memories from the car park flash through my mind and I run the short distance back to the flat, wanting to put them behind me.

  I shake the drops off my raincoat before I hang it in the hall, slipping out of my heels. Richard has poured himself a glass of whisky by the time I get in.

  ‘What happened? Do you know how embarrassing that was? You know what the press are like, expecting us to make a public entrance, and then I turn up on my own. It was humiliating.’

  ‘Darling, I’m so sorry.’

  His muscles twitch and he moves his arm as I automatically go to reach for him. It’s just a small movement, but visible enough.

  ‘A call came through from my editor and we were talking. I must have missed the text saying that the car was outside.’

  ‘But how? You’d have seen it on your phone.’

  ‘I had it on speaker, I was fixing my make-up. You know how it is.’

  He opens the balcony door for some fresh air and a shout filters in from outside. He paces as he talks.

  ‘The slightest little thing can be turned into a big drama. Did you see the way people were watching you when you came in?’

  ‘Oh come on, everybody was listening to you. No one even noticed me. And I tried to explain, but it was impossible to get you alone.’

  ‘You know how important tonight was.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry, I really am. Your speech went down well, why can’t you just be happy about that? It was a lovely evening, and I made a good contact in Sophie. I liked her.’

  Richard runs his hands through his hair, shrugs, his shoulders slumping with fatigue.

  ‘It’s done now. I’m going to bed.’

  Once he’s gone upstairs, the evening plays back in my mind. I hate the fact that it’s ended with Richard in a mood. I feel guilty for letting him down, but I can’t help thinking that he’s being harsh. Not for the first time in recent weeks, I notice how different he is from the man I first met. But I remind myself that he doesn’t know what it cost me to move back to England. And he must never find out.

  Richard is asleep when I climb into bed, which frustrates me as I lie still and listen to his regular breathing. Only now do I allow the cinematic reel of scenarios to play in my head. The nightmare of Molly turning up this evening could have been a lot worse. She might have forced her way in, or kept me prisoner. She was so out of it she may not even have known what she was doing, and my whole body feels cold at the thought of what she might do next. I can’t believe how much she’s changed. Young Molly was always laughing, full of energy she couldn’t contain. I barely recognise her now. My mind spirals into various fanciful scenarios, each worse than the last, but one thing is clear: Molly is not going to go away.

  Richard sleeps on, and I can’t stand it any longer. As I get up, my bare feet make no sound on the wooden slats of the staircase, no creaks give me away. Insomnia used to be a regular friend all those years ago, my eyes snapping open at my memories every time I tried to sleep. I spent many nights staring at the ceiling, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Wishing I had Molly to talk to. The kettle is quiet when it boils and I take my camomile tea and laptop over to the sofa.

  For years I resisted the urge to look up the actual case – our case, but tonight, just like the other night, the lure is too strong, and when the search engine opens my heart starts to beat rapidly when it lands on a recent link. It’s a story by someone called Alex Foster. My heart thumps as the search loads, horrified as the page opens with the latest news on the disappearance of Emily Shaw. What has that got to do with it? I skim over the article, which blurs as I reach the words I’m looking for, unable to imagine why this page has loaded. This Alex person is writing a series on his blog covering past cases where girls have gone missing in similar circumstances. My eyes skim over cases in Bradford, Gloucester, Manchester, London, dating from the 1930s to the present day. A crime series, a different case each day, starting from the oldest and moving forward. There it is in black and white, big, bold type to make sure that nobody misses it: The Orchid Girls. The words pierce my skin. It’s only then that I realise my hands are covering my mouth in shock. A warm hand lands on my shoulder and I jump, knocking my mug, causing tea to slop over the floor. I get up to find a cloth to wipe the mess away.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Richard is looking at the page I’ve left open on screen.

  I breathe slowly in and out, pull down my top which is riding up my back, cold air chilling my skin.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  Richard looks at Em
ily’s photo. ‘It’s her, it’s upset you, hasn’t it? But you’ve never even met her, Grace.’

  He mustn’t have seen the Orchid Girls headline, and I breathe out slowly, relieved. I stroke my finger over my wrist, where the little purple flower used to be.

  ‘No, but you did. I remember you talking about her. She’s only a kid, so vulnerable. I can’t bear to think of her out there alone, or even worse.’

  ‘They’ll find her,’ he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. ‘She’s feisty, resourceful. She seemed a lot older than she was. We have to believe she’ll be OK. It’s late, come on, let’s go back to bed.’

  Back in bed Richard stretches out on his side, his mouth set.

  ‘Talk to me, Grace, something’s wrong, I know it is. You’re so jumpy. A random missing girl can’t be upsetting you like this. What is it? I’ve never seen you like this before.’

  ‘It’s being in the public eye. I’m finding it a strain.’ The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

  ‘How can you say that? You’re doing what you always wanted, aren’t you? It’s a bit late to change your mind.’

  ‘That woman from my childhood turning up the other night unsettled me. She was a bully at school. Got me thinking about internet trolls.’

  ‘You can’t let stuff like that bother you. They’re cowards with nothing better to do. Your business is doing so well it won’t be long before you can hire someone to take over your social media accounts. Work hard, don’t do anything to upset people and you can’t go wrong.’

  ‘People might start telling stories about me, you never know what they could make up.’