The Orchid Girls

by Lesley Sanderson

  Back at my flat, I chew on Haribo sweets to keep the jitters at bay – Abdul’s been selling them at bargain-basement prices. I hate the feeling that I’m being watched, it’s making me nervous as hell. I eat one pack after the other while I pluck up the guts to ring Mum. I pick up the phone, tapping in the only number drilled into my memory. Then I put it down again, desperate for a coffee.

  The coffee tastes bitter. Stop putting it off. My hand trembles as I dial the numbers, listening to the sound as it rings out into the room. It’s easy to picture the scene even though it’s years since I left, swearing never to go back. Dad was around then, his slippers by his chair, my pebble photos framed on the wall. I wonder if they’re still there; what they did with my room. I hated leaving him, but even he’d had enough by then. The ringing stops and her familiar voice hits me like an electric shock.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say.

  Loud breath travels down the line. At least she doesn’t hang up.

  ‘Molly, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me, Mum.’

  ‘Let me sit down.’ Shuffling sounds follow. ‘It’s been so long, Molly, are you alright?’

  ‘I’m alright, better than when you last saw me, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, Molly, you were a mess,’ she says, her voice filled with pain.

  ‘I know. I was upset, we both were… can I come and see you?’

  ‘Are you still in Birmingham?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Never settle, you. Seeing anyone?’

  ‘Nothing serious.’

  ‘A job?’

  ‘Just finished one, I’ve been working in a pub. I’ve got some spare time, that’s why I thought I’d visit.’

  ‘Need money, do you?’

  I can’t help feeling hurt. Ashamed. ‘No, Mum, I promise. I’d like to see you. How are you?’

  ‘I’m still working at the doctor’s surgery, I’ve got my own clinic now. The doctors are so busy, we nurses have to do more all the time. Five mornings a week. It gets me out of the house, and you know I like having people to chat to.’

  I’m pleased she’s keeping busy. Guilt gnaws at me for leaving her all alone.

  ‘I spoke to Darren.’

  ‘He rings me every week, he probably told you he’s got himself a nice girlfriend, settling down. He always asks about you.’

  ‘He said the same about you.’

  Her breathing fills the silence and I close my eyes, scared she’s going to reject me.

  ‘I’m glad you rang, love.’

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding. ‘Will it be OK to come down?’

  She doesn’t answer immediately and my stomach plummets. She doesn’t want me.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Of course, it’ll be fine. The house isn’t how you remember, though.’

  Relief floods through me. ‘That doesn’t matter. It’ll be in the next couple of weeks. I need to sort out a ticket. I’ll let you know. Have you got a mobile?’

  I write her number down and ring off. My hand still throbs a little. Speaking to my mum has stirred me up inside. She was hesitant about something. But why wouldn’t she be? So much has happened. And all of it’s my fault.

  Ellis has cooked a lasagne and we eat in the kitchen, warmth spilling out of the oven, making me hungry.

  ‘I was surprised to see you at Chez Elle last night. Especially after you told me about Steve.’

  ‘Not as surprising as you rocking up with Grace Sutherland.’

  ‘Not one of my best ideas. I thought it would be more discreet, but I got that wrong. Someone snapped her with me in the bar and posted it online.’

  ‘I guess she’s used to it. Is that why you were in a bad mood?’

  ‘You noticed? It’s difficult with her, so much to talk about. She’s going to be pissed off about the photo. Another one of her smoking is all over the internet.’

  She shrugs. ‘It must happen to her all the time.’

  ‘I guess.’ Grace will be furious, but I don’t want to think about that now. ‘Have you been there before?’

  ‘Every now and then. I like playing pool, that’s all. It’s less threatening than finding a partner in a mixed place. And that’s if the men let you get a look-in.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ I realise, then, that Ellis wasn’t surprised about the photo. She must have seen it online already.

  The chocolate mousse we eat for dessert is delicious.

  ‘Do you want another?’

  ‘I do, but…’

  ‘It’s sugar withdrawal, it’s normal. And you could do with putting on a few pounds.’

  ‘I guess so. Mum will enjoy feeding me up.’

  ‘Have you lost weight since you last saw her?’

  ‘No, she’s used to me looking like this, but I was different before, healthier.’

  ‘Before?’

  ‘Before I started drinking.’ But that isn’t what I meant. ‘You know what mums are like.’

  ‘Mine’s the same, every time I see her she “just happens” to have baked a batch of my favourite cakes.’

  ‘Sounds like you get on well,’ I say, feeling a pang of jealousy.

  ‘Doing my amends cleared the air. Honestly, Molly, you can turn your life around too. Have you spoken to your mum yet?’

  I tell her about our conversation. ‘She was a bit hesitant about me staying at the house.’

  ‘It’s just nerves, don’t take any notice. She’ll be fine. I promise.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I’m not convinced. ‘I need to sort out a date, get a cheap ticket. Jodie’s been in touch again, mentioned a journalist. I should never have told her about Grace.’

  ‘She’s bad news,’ Ellis scrapes the last of the chocolate out of her glass, a disapproving look on her face.

  ‘I know, I haven’t replied.’

  ‘You and Grace were good friends, weren’t you?’

  I nod.

  ‘So what is she worried about?’

  ‘She’s paranoid about her image, her brand, especially with the election coming up. I reckon she’s scared of her husband. And that photograph of her smoking – well, it’s her worst fear, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not so Queen of Clean.’ Ellis laughs but I can’t joke about it. ‘Anyone who doesn’t eat chocolate isn’t normal in my book. Doesn’t she trust you?’

  ‘I don’t know what she thinks. That’s partly why I'm getting off to Dorset.’

  ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’ve only just met me,’ I say, smiling. But I can’t ignore how nice it feels to have someone who cares.

  ‘I feel as if I’ve known you for ages.’

  ‘Me too.’

  She grins as she clears the plates away.

  After dinner we move to the sofa. Ellis brings over two mugs of hot chocolate. She folds a blanket around us and the flat is snug and warm. It’s stupid of me to doubt her; I must just be paranoid, with everything going on.

  She switches the television on. We watch a sitcom and I love the way she makes hilarious comments, copies voices. It’s hard to feel jittery in her company.

  The news follows and Grace’s husband is on again. This time he’s talking about road safety, standing in front of a busy junction where two cyclists have been killed this year. Ellis says I should get a bike helmet, but I’ll need to get a job first.

  I watch Richard. He’s confident as he talks directly to the camera, wearing a relaxed smile. Even the hi-vis jacket looks stylish on him. Makes me sick. I wonder how he and Grace got together. In France, I think she said. I suppose that means she can speak French. Another skill for perfect Grace.

  The reporter is interviewing members of the public now, canvassing their opinions of the crossing, and a woman with tears in her eyes talks about her best friend who was killed there last month. A line of words scrolls across the bottom and I read the breaking news that a body has been found near Ash Fenton. The scene switches to the village and Ellis turns the volume up. Everyone is inte
rested in this, just like back then. Screaming black headlines.

  The present will never go away unless I sort the past out. I hug the blanket around myself, suddenly cold as I listen to the report.

  A body has been found in undergrowth in the village of Harping, five miles outside Ash Fenton, home to missing teenager Emily Shaw. The body was discovered by two schoolboys out looking for conkers. The body is of a young female, but at this stage no identification has yet been made. Anyone who has been in the area of Drake’s Common this afternoon is asked to ring the number displayed on the screen below. Emily Shaw has been missing for four days since she was last seen with her school friends in a playground in Ash Fenton. We’ll report more information as soon as it comes in.

  Emily’s picture flashes up on screen and once again I see Charlotte. Of course, Mum was leading the volunteers when it was reported she was missing. She rounded up everyone on the street and organised a search party. Charlotte was treated like a prom queen where we lived, the pretty girl who made the paper every week winning gold cups for gymnastics. Nobody knew what she was really like. I was sick with worry that someone would find out we had been fighting, but Grace said it was best not to tell anyone. She was the only one who knew what I had done. The only other person who knew what Charlotte was really like.

  ‘Shall we go and see a film at the weekend? Keep your mind off you know what.’ Once again Ellis says the right thing, stops my mood plummeting into darkness.

  ‘I’d like that.’ The chocolate at the bottom of my cup is extra sweet. ‘It’s alright, this non-drinking, sometimes.’

  We laugh. Her smile is wide and her eyes flicker.

  ‘Good, I’ll see what’s on and text you. Something funny – we deserve a good laugh. And Molly, you’re doing great.’

  The text arrives when I’m about to switch the light off for bed. Same anonymous sender.

  Where are The Orchid Girls now??

  Whoever is sending these messages has made the link with the name I chose for myself on that drunken night I contacted Grace. Somebody else is interested. It must be Alex. What have I done? I’ve started something I can’t stop. Along with my reaction to the body on the news, and everything happening with Grace, the text makes up my mind. I’m right to do this. When I get to Dorset I have to dig up the camera. I buried it all those years ago, but it’s time to unearth it. Maybe what’s on it will help jog my memory. No matter what Grace says, now more than ever I have to know the truth.

  Daily Tribune

  16th AUGUST 2002

  CHARLOTTE BODY FOUND

  The family of Charlotte Greene confirmed this morning that the body washed up on a beach near Lyme Regis, Dorset, was that of the fourteen-year-old, missing for two days.

  The search ended around 6 p.m. on Tuesday, two days after the teenager went missing. Just before 5 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon a member of the public reported the discovery of a bag on Monmouth Beach while walking her dog. Police were dispatched to the area and the body was found soon after. Initial indications suggest she had drowned. A police spokesman, Detective Inspector Robert Sparks, said at least fifty people had been interviewed with regard to Charlotte’s disappearance.

  Hundreds of locals assisted with the search and Johnny Greene, Charlotte’s uncle, thanked the community for participating, asking the public to respect the family at this tragic time.

  The case of the bright young gymnastics star has captured the imagination of the nation. Charlotte attended Lyme Secondary School and was a successful gymnast, representing the county of Dorset in 2000, 2001 and 2002, when she held the title of Young Gymnast of the Year. She was believed to be heading for the next Olympics in 2004, due to start training next month. On Monday morning, British champion gymnast James Donovan appealed for witnesses to come forward on television.

  On Sunday 4th August Charlotte spent the morning walking the cliff path with two friends who allegedly left her in the town centre at around 1 p.m. Her mother became anxious when she had not returned home by 6 p.m. and she was reported missing at 10 p.m., when an extensive search of the area began. A closed-circuit television camera located along the town’s high street showed no images of Charlotte.

  Grace Cavendish, fifteen, one of the friends Charlotte had been with on the day she went missing said, ‘We spent the morning together, hanging out on the cliffs. Charlotte said she was going home for lunch and we walked back down towards town together. I can’t believe this, we hadn’t known each other long but she was the nicest person and I’m missing her so much already. Please come back, Charlotte, we love you so much.’ Since Charlotte’s body has been found, her two friends have been unable to comment.

  Twenty

  GRACE

  I force myself to work the next morning, editing the photos from my last few recipes and adding a flurry of posts to Instagram. That should keep everybody off my back. I eat a bowl of porridge for lunch. It’s the first thing I’ve been able to keep down since Molly sent a text this morning saying she’s received another anonymous message. She forwarded it to me and I retched in the sink, sweating, seeing the old Grace reflected there. But she can’t come back. I won’t allow it.

  Where are The Orchid Girls now??

  I look up Molly’s OrchidGirl account, but no connection has been made to the old case yet. Her profile consists of the generic avatar, without any personal details. Nothing to link the photo of Molly with me in the bar to this account, thank God. My fear lessens. But it threatens to grow again when I fast-forward to Alex Foster’s page. Today’s unsolved case is a young girl whose body was found in the Scottish Highlands. Year 2000. Getting closer. I hate this Alex guy with his probing questions, prodding and poking and finding things out. Things I have tried so hard to bury. Could he be the anonymous texter? The idea seems ludicrous; he’s a professional journalist. Is he in this with Molly? That ex she mentioned. How would I know?

  My mobile rings and I pick up despite not recognising the number. A man introduces himself as a colleague of Lily, the journalist from Eat Clean who interviewed me the other day.

  ‘I’d like to clarify a few points before we publish the story – could you spare a minute of your time?’

  My throat feels dry. Why hasn’t Lily contacted me herself? But he explains that she’s been called away at the last minute, and he’s friendly enough. I’m overreacting.

  ‘OK,’ I say, sitting at the kitchen island as if it’s a formal interview.

  ‘Lily feels the article lacks depth, and wants more of a human interest angle. She wants to follow your journey from childhood onwards. She said she raised this with you, but ran out of time during the interview. I’d like to go over those details with you now, if that’s OK?’

  My seat suddenly feels hard and I reach for a cushion. Should I trust him? ‘I thought the article was more of a book review, going over the last twelve months of my career. As you know, the book follows the months through with my recipes, each of which has a new twist. The book also mentions my move to London from Paris, which is well-documented. The––’

  ‘Yes, that’s been covered. I know you studied nutrition in France. Lily’s specifically asked me to find out more about your childhood in Dorset. This is what readers will want to know, to learn more about you.’

  I push the chair back and it scrapes against the wood. I’ve never mentioned Dorset to Julia, let alone Lily. How did she find out? It struck me as strange that Lily didn’t contact me herself, and now I hold myself rigid, convinced this man is not who he says he is.

  ‘What did you say your name was again?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he says. I cut the call and drop to the floor, my legs like twigs, no longer able to support me. My movements are robotic as I call Molly, lurching backwards and forwards as I will her to answer. Only she will understand the terror that mentioning Dorset has unleashed in me. But she doesn’t pick up.

  I open my eyes. It’s dark and my mobile is ringing. I must have fallen asleep – broken, sleepless nights
catching up with me.

  I let it go to voicemail. It’s Richard, telling me he’s working late tonight. Only a few weeks ago, an evening in would be the perfect opportunity to get on with my self-promotion on social media, upping my followers. I’m due to make vlogs to tie in with each chapter of my book, but the ambience isn’t right and I’m not in the mood. I slice an avocado and some cherry tomatoes, placing some gluten-free bread in the toaster. Richard being out isn’t unusual, but tonight I can’t help wondering who he’s with, trying not to fixate on the team of attractive young women who work in his office. Even more reason for me to up my game, to make sure the new Grace doesn’t slip.

  Seeing Molly has reminded me how few female friends I have in my life. Carrie is the only one, and now she’s texted to say she’s totally loved-up, which means she’ll disappear for a few days, before deciding he isn’t the one: her usual pattern. It’s my choice to keep female friends at a distance, because I can’t let anyone get too close. Women are more of a threat in that way. But when Carrie’s not in a relationship, she’s only ever got one thing on her mind – men. She’s just like Charlotte was. You’d be in the middle of a conversation with her and she’d stop mid-sentence, a boy catching her attention. Pathetic. She was obsessed with Jason. I only got off with him to show her that I could. And she hated it. Women can’t be trusted where men are concerned. But Molly was never like that. Meeting her again is like settling back into an old skin. I mustn’t get drawn in; I need to remember why I’m doing this. There’s too much at stake.

  The balcony door is open and I step outside to cool down for a moment. Richard tried to prepare me for this: the long hours, the little time he would have for me, but it still hurts. I try not to think about what success would mean for us – if he were to be elected Mayor of London, would he have any time left for me at all? I shiver involuntarily. The feeling of being neglected reminds me too much of the time after the trial, when dark thoughts filled my head. I give myself a shake, reminding myself that this is what we both want. I breathe in the cool air and stare into the black night.