The Orchid Girls

by Lesley Sanderson

  ‘How’s Michael?’

  ‘I’ve not heard any more since I spoke to you.’

  ‘He was OK when I saw him.’

  Grace runs her finger around the rim of her wine glass, concentrating.

  ‘Michael knew about the photos we took. How did he find out? What did you put in the letters, Molly?’

  Her pale blue eyes focus on mine and my insides flip. She always had that power over me, and it hasn’t changed. She must feel it too. I top up my glass then go to fill hers, but she puts her hand in the way. The glasses are huge – big, round fancy ones – and the bottle is emptying rapidly, but I’ve already clocked the fully stocked wine rack in the corner of the kitchen.

  ‘They were love letters, Grace, I loved you and I thought you loved me. I was devastated when you didn’t reply.’

  ‘So you didn’t mention—’

  ‘I don’t remember the details. But he’s lying. I definitely didn’t tell him about the photographs. Do you really think he still has the letters? Burning them would be more his style.’

  ‘I don’t know, but we need to destroy anything to do with that time. Now that this journalist is poking about, it’s urgent. Have you seen what he’s published today? He’s written about the ‘Orchid Girls’ case and at the end he asks what happened to them. I’m terrified, Molly. We have to find out whether Michael still has the letters. Now he’s in hospital I can search his flat. Just promise me you’ve got rid of all the photos. If those came out it would end us.’

  ‘I did, I’m telling you. I’m going to Lyme Regis tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re not? Why? Isn’t that just asking for trouble?’

  ‘I need to see my mum. Don’t worry. I’ll check for photographs. I’ll destroy anything I find, I promise. This Emily case is a nightmare, isn’t it? Does it freak you out? It does me. All that stuff about arguing in the playground, her running off – it’s all so similar. It must be worse for you, what with him being involved.’

  I hate saying his name; I was the same with Jason.

  ‘It’s the photograph of her in her school uniform.’ Grace’s voice is almost a whisper. ‘The first time I noticed the likeness I almost jumped off my seat. It gives me goosebumps still. I know I’ve asked you this before, but did you really destroy the camera? I have to be sure.’

  I look down at my fingernails, remembering scrabbling at the dirt with frantic fingers. How the mud wouldn’t wash away, panic mounting, water splashing all over the floor.

  ‘Yes, I got rid of it, like you said to.’ I remember Grace’s wild eyes as she dug her fingers into my wrist, making me promise. I’d do anything for her back then and she knew it. I make a point of staring into her eyes, so that she doesn’t detect the lie. Besides, I doubt it has survived after all these years.

  ‘Good girl,’ she says, and smiles.

  ‘Most importantly, Molly, you need to get rid of this.’ Grace always knows what’s best.

  The camera bangs against my chest as I walk fast, desperate to get home and do what Grace wants. Desperate to please her. It’s all my fault. I pushed Charlotte first but if she’s really got one of our photos then she deserved it. How dare she? I can’t stop looking behind me, convinced Charlotte is going to appear, wrench the camera away.

  The house is quiet and I head straight for the back garden, going to the end of the long path behind the shed. Dad’s shovel has been left out and it was raining last night so the earth isn’t too dry. I choose a patch under the tree so I know where the camera is if I need it. I’ve put it in a metal box to protect it, can’t bear the thought of harming it. I’ll tell Grace the film is destroyed – my hands are too shaky to look at it now so the lie will have to do.

  Sweat gathers on my back and I grit my teeth as I work. It doesn’t take long to dig a hole deep enough. Once the camera has been buried I pile the earth back on top, brushing a few leaves and twigs over so that nobody will notice. As I lean on the shovel and catch my breath, I wonder about the photo Charlotte has. Did Grace get it from her? I forgot to ask.

  ‘I’ve made some food. Are you hungry?’

  My stomach feels like a rope twisted into knots. I shake my head.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘A snack, then.’ Grace fusses around in the kitchen, doors opening and shutting and packets rustling as she pours nuts into bowls. I take my wine out onto the balcony, listening to a gaggle of teenagers, arms around each other, tripping over heels not suited to the damp paths. One holds a bottle high, singing loudly, her friends cackling. Drinking was like that for me once. Fun and carefree. Not like now, when it’s a necessity. An escape.

  I look over at Grace, sitting back down on the couch. The wine doesn’t seem to affect her much, just like when we were younger. Me throwing up at the school disco, Grace holding my hair back. My head is swimming nicely now, but I know I need to take it easy. I can’t lose control.

  ‘What time will your husband be home?’ I avoid saying his name again.

  She shrugs, adding a plate of cheese and crackers to the low table. These are no ordinary cream crackers, but fancy hexagonal shapes covered in poppy seeds and green strands of herbs. Delicate flavours. I don’t do delicate. A chunk of cheddar would do me.

  ‘Late. He works late most nights.’

  She’s not happy.

  ‘Have some food,’ Grace says, and I put a piece of strange-looking cheese on my plate to please her.

  ‘You’re so thin, Molly.’

  My mouth is dry and I take a swig of wine, catching her eye. We both smile.

  ‘I’ve been trying not to drink, but I couldn’t not tonight, could I? Do you know how nervous I am?’

  Grace puts her hand on my arm. It sends a shiver down my spine.

  ‘Don’t be. I didn’t understand why you came back at first, obviously. I was terrified. But I get it now, I do. There aren’t many people you can talk honestly to. It’s the same for me. I don’t care if Michael dies. There. I’ve said it.’ She waves her hand like an actress on stage. The drink is affecting her, too. ‘You’re the only person I can say that to. The only person who knows what Michael was really like.’

  We never spoke about the morning after the beach party, when Michael found out Grace had been mixing with older boys and drinking. I’d been up in the bathroom and when I came downstairs he was shaking her, his fingers white where they were digging into her skin. She let me rub cream into the bruises, and when I asked her if it had happened before she shook her head. But her eyes told a different story.

  My arm tingles where she’s placed her other hand. ‘Doesn’t your husband know anything about what happened?’

  Grace shakes her head, causing strands of hair to fall forward over her face, shining gold as they catch the light from the lamp. Her plate of cheese lies untouched. She pours more wine and I slide down onto the floor, stretching my legs out and leaning back against the sofa. I light a cigarette and she doesn’t complain, sitting on the floor beside me, our legs touching. Her silk skirt slides up her thigh. I blow out a cloud of smoke, trying to focus on the conversation. Images come and go and I remember what she said about putting them on buses and making them go away. But the wheels on my buses spin round and round, digging into the ground, refusing to budge.

  ‘Are you ashamed of what we had?’

  ‘No,’ she turns her full attention to me, her leg pressing down harder on mine. ‘But you have to understand Richard’s position. You know what politics is like, how they try to dig up dirt on everyone. Richard has no secrets, I know that. We talked about it before we got married.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have told him about Charlotte, about the trial?’ I wonder how she could keep such a big secret from someone she loves.

  ‘What’s to tell? They acquitted us in court, didn’t they?’

  ‘The courtroom is a blur to me, I didn’t know what was going on. I was drinking even then, before I went into the courtroom. It turned it into a dream, everything swirling around, long words hanging in t
he air, not making much sense. ‘I thought they’d let me talk to you when it was all over.’

  ‘But they didn’t, and I moved on. Richard didn’t need to know… I went abroad and started afresh, I made myself into another person. A better person. But now everything is at risk, with you coming back, the journalist. And the missing girl in Richard’s constituency doesn’t help. It brings it all back, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It never went away for me.’

  ‘The last few weeks have been difficult, and I’ve disappointed Richard.’ Grace drinks some wine, the red staining her lips, glossy in the dim light.

  ‘How?’

  ‘The photo in the press. You have to understand, image is everything to him. I can’t afford to do anything wrong. Plus he senses that something’s going on. Since you turned up, it’s been hard for me to concentrate on my work. I should never have come back to England. If he knew about the journalist he’d go mad. It could be disastrous for us.’

  Us. She means him. It stings.

  ‘Do you love him?’ I pour myself some more wine, not wanting Grace to see the flush on my cheeks, how much her answer matters to me. But when I look at her, her eyes glisten with tears.

  ‘He never understood why Michael was so hard on me. But you do.’ Her voice drops to a whisper. ‘Seeing you, it’s making me remember who I used to be. I’ve been fighting it, but…’

  My lips part in surprise as Grace leans forward and puts her wine-stained lips on mine, breathing into my mouth as her hands circle my waist, pressing the length of her body against mine. The years fall away as we kiss fiercely.

  It’s only later that I realise she never answered my question.

  Twenty-Two

  GRACE

  My hands are on the back of Molly’s neck, her skin cool, my touch light. She tastes of red wine, top-quality, full-bodied expensive wine, and cigarettes. She slides her hand under the fabric of my shirt, her movements slow, teasing her way up my ribcage, counting her fingers up my back. A glorious tingle shoots down my legs. My shoulders tense and I pull away.

  ‘Stop.’

  Her hand rests, her fingers fluttering.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘Because of him?’

  ‘Of course, and so many other things. It’s not who I want to be. This isn’t me any more.’

  Molly runs her tongue over her top lip and my stomach lurches.

  ‘You can’t deny the feeling. The spark between us. Nobody could ever stop that.’

  She untangles her legs from mine and sits back on the couch, reaching for her glass.

  ‘Don’t, Molly, you’ve had enough, you’d better go.’ I stand up to make my point and she grabs the bottle, gulping some wine. My arms are folded against my chest, not trusting myself not to reach for her again as she makes for the door. She lurches, grabs at the wall and I try to steady her. It takes huge strength to stop myself from pulling her back into my arms.

  ‘Don’t push me away, Grace. You can’t run away from this. I won’t lose you again.’

  I look away.

  ‘You’ll regret it if you do.’

  She leaves me to the emptiness of the room.

  Her empty glass isn’t the only reminder of her presence. My skin still tingles from her touch, long-buried desire coiling inside me. Richard could have come home at any time – it was reckless, stupid. I knock back the wine that sits in my glass, pooled like blood. Why did I let that happen? But I know why. My emotions are in full flight and Richard and I aren’t spending enough time together. Molly has wriggled her way in and outside forces are attacking our relationship. I need to get back to normality. Anyone who’d had a few drinks could have let the same thing happen to them, an emotional moment with a close friend. All that history. It doesn’t mean anything, I almost convince myself as I clean up the kitchen, removing all traces of Molly’s visit. I scrub at the table, determined to erase her memory from the flat, but no amount of scrubbing will lessen how good it felt to kiss her. I hate myself for that. The smell of bleach makes me want to gag. A missed call alert sits on my mobile. It’s probably Richard. If he hadn’t been out so late, this wouldn’t have happened.

  My mobile is ringing, a glow in the dark. It’s Molly. I send the call to voicemail. Richard’s sitting up in bed. I didn’t hear him come in. I kissed her. I can’t believe I kissed her. Guilt makes my heart thud.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Nobody you know. What time did you get back?’ I reach out to him, longing for his touch.

  ‘Don’t change the subject. It’s not the first late-night call you’ve had recently. Are you seeing someone, is that what this is?’

  He climbs out of bed and pulls on his dressing gown. It’s dark outside and a fox screams into the night. I move myself up into a sitting position.

  ‘I’m not seeing anyone. How can you think that?’

  Although I’ve only just woken, my mind is racing. The street light outside catches the glint in his eyes and outlines his handsome profile and my stomach contracts. I can’t lose Richard. I can’t. I make a snap decision to tell him a half-truth, stop him from asking questions. ‘But I have been worried about something. I didn’t want to bother you with it, it seems so petty. It’s that woman from school.’

  ‘What’s happened?'

  ‘You were right about her stalking me. Once she saw you and realised who you were, she started threatening me.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘You have to tell the police.’

  ‘No.’ My stomach clenches at the mention of the police.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because that would make it real.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Grace! This is real. Phone calls at night, lying to me. How much more real do you want it to be?’

  I hate how angry he is. ‘Stop shouting. It’s been horrible.’

  He sits down on the bed, lowers his voice. ‘Explain it to me. She must have some kind of hold over you, otherwise none of this makes sense.’

  ‘I don’t want you involved.’

  ‘It’s too late now. I am involved when you lie to me. Tell me. You can talk to me, Grace.’

  For a moment the possibility of opening up hangs in the air, letting it all spill out. I’m being ridiculous.

  ‘Honestly,’ I look directly at his eyes, the way he’s squinting in the half-light making him look vulnerable. I feel a rush of love; Richard only wants what’s best for me. ‘She’s all talk. But I’ve got it under control. Promise me you won’t worry.’

  ‘How can I not?’ He sighs. ‘This is the worst possible time for this to happen.’

  A rush of nausea hits the back of my throat and I swallow hard.

  ‘I’ll deal with her, I will. This mayor thing, Richard, you know I want it as much as you do. I won’t let anything spoil it for you, I promise.’

  ‘It’s not just my career that’s at stake.’

  He doesn’t need to remind me. Neither of us sleep much after that. I lie as still as I can, not wanting to give Richard any more reason to be annoyed with me. Every time I think about kissing Molly I want to scream, the snapshot blown up in my mind, only to be replaced with the photo Charlotte had in her possession, each image worse than the last. Will pushing Molly away make her angry? What if she’s lying about the photos? My heart thuds so hard I’m scared it’s going to wake Richard up.

  I’m stirred awake by Richard throwing the covers off the bed. He switches the radio on; a drop in temperature is forecast, and I shiver at the thought of winter approaching. The topic switches to news from Ash Fenton and Richard stops knotting his tie as the newsreader announces that the body found in Drake’s Common has been formally identified as Emily Shaw.

  ‘Christ,’ he says, ‘I wonder how Mum is. I presume you heard they found a body yesterday?’

  I nod. ‘It’s so sad. I was worried it was going to be her. Jean will be devastated. Are you OK?’

 
; ‘Me?’ He looks surprised.

  ‘You knew her.’

  ‘Barely, but yes, it hits you hard. She was so terribly young. Those poor parents, it’s impossible to imagine how they’re feeling.’

  If only that were true.

  Richard runs a comb through his hair, takes one last glance in the mirror. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

  Picturing Emily’s body hotlines my thoughts to Molly. I remember last night and sit up, adrenaline pumping through me. How could I have let that happen? That isn’t me any more. No matter what people say, it’s unacceptable and it could damage my career. It could destroy everything I’ve built for myself.

  Cold air tickles my bare legs and I heave the duvet back up to snuggle in bed. When Richard comes back I’ll entice him in, take his mind off the news, make up for the bad feeling between us and erase the unwanted thoughts seeing Molly has stirred up in me. Today will be a fresh start. Richard clatters about in the kitchen but he doesn’t appear with the coffee. An ominous silence follows and doubts creep in. Unable to wait any longer, I pull on a thick sweatshirt and some leggings and go to find him.

  ‘I thought you were coming back up.’

  He’s standing by the recycling bin, an empty wine bottle in his hand.

  He turns his face towards me and his eyes are cold.

  ‘What’s this?’

  Shit. Molly must have left it there last night. How did I miss that, and why was Richard going through the bins? Is he that suspicious of me?

  He paces up and down the kitchen. ‘Trouble is, I don’t believe you drank this. You never drink more than a glass. Someone was here, weren’t they? Who was it, Grace?’

  ‘Nobody, you’ve got it wrong.’ I’m babbling, can’t get the right words out. What can I do? What can I say? He can’t know Molly was here. ‘All that internet business really got to me. People can be so vicious. It’s stupid of me to be shocked, but I am.’