The Orchid Girls

by Lesley Sanderson

  ‘There’s only one, the one Charlotte had. I told you. I burnt the rest. Don’t worry, it’s precious to me, not for anyone else to see. What we could have – I’m not going to risk that.’

  The phone slides out of my hand and I manage to catch it, grip it so hard my knuckles go white.

  ‘You have to get rid of it, Molly, otherwise you are risking everything. Promise me.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Thank God you got rid of the camera.’

  She hesitates.

  ‘You didn’t. For fuck’s sake, Molly!’ Her betrayal stings.

  ‘It was precious to me. Don’t worry. I put it somewhere nobody will ever find it.’

  ‘You mean it still exists? You idiot.’ I’m so angry I could scream.

  ‘What? I was in a panic. I started the fight with Charlotte, remember? Which you so cleverly caught on camera. And then you swanned off into town, leaving me feeling like shit. Then when Charlotte didn’t come home… I didn’t know what to do. And I did get rid of it – kind of, I hid it where nobody would ever find it. Of course I did, it’s me that looks bad on it.’

  ‘You have to destroy it.’ My tone is sharp.

  ‘Why? It’s probably rotted away by now, and if it has survived, it might not be so bad. Maybe it could help me come to terms with what happened.’

  I exhale slowly, willing myself to stay calm. ‘Do I have to spell it out? It might have photos of us on it. You promised me, Molly, this can’t come out. It would damage your reputation too. You’ve already had the journalist hassling you. Just to be safe, it’s best to get rid of it.’

  ‘There’s something you don’t want me to see, isn’t there?’

  ‘No, there isn’t.’

  ‘I knew it. Something happened that day, didn’t it? Between you and Charlotte.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re being like this.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t? It might be something to do with spending the last fifteen years thinking I’m responsible for someone’s death. Tell me what happened, Grace.’

  ‘This is a mistake. I should never have rung you.’

  ‘Stop lying. You’re making me have second thoughts about everything. Bet Alex would love to find out about the camera.’ Richard calls out to me from the bathroom, making me panic, but I can’t leave it like this.

  ‘Who is it?’

  Sweat prickles my skin.

  ‘One of my friends. Go back to sleep. I’ll get rid of her.’

  Silence at the end of the phone. When Molly speaks there’s a chill to her voice which causes my skin to explode in goosebumps.

  ‘Get rid of me, will you?’ She hangs up.

  Richard is working in the kitchen the following morning. I should say something. I don’t want today to get off to a bad start. I press my cheek against his.

  ‘Sorry about the call last night.’

  ‘It seems to be happening a lot lately. It’s her, isn’t it?’

  I nod, biting into my lip.

  ‘I knew it. I think she’s been following me too. You know when you sense somebody is there. That red hair is pretty distinctive, I’m sure it was her. Twice now it’s happened. Do you know where she lives? I could look into it.’

  ‘No, I don’t. But you don’t need to get involved. I’m dealing with it. Please, Richard, you’ll make it worse. I know what she’s like.’

  He looks at me suspiciously. ‘Make up your mind. You said you barely knew her at school.’

  ‘I’m getting to know how her mind works. Look, I’m thinking about changing my number. That way she won’t be able to contact me.’

  He frowns, nodding. ‘OK, but if that doesn’t work I’m going to get this sorted. I won’t have you being harassed like this. You’re still jumpy.’ He turns his attention back to his laptop.

  My fingers cradle my mobile in my pocket, itching to ring Molly. Richard doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, but I can’t face going out, convinced the whole world will have been online, made a judgement on me. I need to get myself together first.

  ‘What are you doing today?’

  ‘Going into the office. I’ve got calls to make.’ He closes the laptop. My mind turns to Emily – is he telling me the truth?

  I grip the edge of the table, plucking up the courage. ‘Richard. I need to be clear about what’s going on with you and the Emily case.’ He raises his hand to stop me but I carry on, words falling out. ‘If I’m asked about it, we need to be on the same page. Otherwise it will look terrible. It goes without saying that I trust you, but I need to be clear about the details.

  ‘You’re right. She was in the car for about ten minutes. She’d argued with her friends, she was upset. I tried to say the right thing, but what do I know about teenage fallings-out? She seemed brighter when I dropped her off close to the river.’

  His reference to the river is unexpected and I feel a trickle of fear. What if the police don’t believe him? An image of the detective leading the Charlotte case flashes into my mind. A tall man with a sandy moustache barking questions at me, me squeezing Mum’s hand. The memory is like a hand twisting my insides. It was so rare for us to spend time together, and it had to be in front of a policeman. My heart clenches. I can’t bear the thought of him going through that.

  ‘You believe me, don’t you?’

  ‘No need to ask.’ I jump up, hugging him, and we stay like that for a few moments.

  ‘Time I should be gone. Sort that mobile out, OK? Let me know your new number.’

  I don’t remind him I’m going back to Michael’s – I can’t face another lecture on taking time out from work. And now I’ve told him I’ll change my number. As if I don’t have enough to do.

  As soon as Richard’s gone I sit out on the balcony and call Molly, inhaling deep breaths of fresh air into my lungs, wishing my stomach would stop churning. She was pissed off last night; she might not pick up now. But I picture her face last time I saw her, the way she looked at me. Back then, the way her eyes danced when she looked at me used to light me up inside. She’s still in love with me, always has been. Which is why she’s so dangerous. It won’t hurt to let her think I want to see her again. Finally she picks up and my shoulders relax.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d answer. I’m sorry about last night, Molly. You must know I didn’t mean it. Richard was right there with me. I’m confused, that’s all. You’ve had a glimpse of what my life is like. You have to understand this is huge for me. And I do love him, in answer to your question. But I didn’t expect to see you again. It’s difficult.’ I’m speaking quickly, wanting to get the words out so she understands.

  ‘You said you wanted to get rid of me.’

  ‘You don’t want him to get suspicious, do you? Have you been following him? He thinks you have.’

  Molly doesn’t reply. I hear the wind in the background, muffled traffic. I wonder where exactly in Lyme she is, how it feels to be there. Can she see the cliffs frowning down on the town? Do they make her tremble like I imagine they would me? I have so many questions.

  ‘Promise me you’ll stop.’

  ‘I can hardly follow him from here, can I?’ She sounds reconciliatory.

  ‘We need to decide what to do about the journalist. We have to assume he knows, and we have to work out what to do. I can’t have him exposing me to Richard, let alone anyone else. It’ll be the end of my career. I’ve worked so hard to create a new identity, Molly. There’s only one solution I can think of.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Paying him off. We talk to him, make him realise there’s nothing to find out, so he understands that digging around is futile and stops nosing around. It helps no one to discover what really happened to Charlotte.’

  ‘Her family might disagree.’

  ‘I searched Michael’s things, looked for your letters. I couldn’t find them. They must have been destroyed. But he kept all the newspaper cuttings from that time. I’d forgotten he was questioned about his whereabouts. Maybe he had so
mething to hide.’

  ‘Me and Mum were talking about that. Apparently he didn’t have an alibi for that afternoon. He even refused to be interviewed at first, couldn’t believe anyone dared to doubt his word. That only made him look more suspicious. And there’s something else. When I went to see him he said, “I warned her what would happen if she wouldn’t keep quiet”. That’s why I accused you of telling him about us. But I think I know what he meant. He must have thought I was Charlotte. Maybe they had some kind of row? I knew you wouldn’t have told him, that’s what confused me. I’m sorry, Gracie, doubting you like that. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Charlotte had found out about us, she made that clear.’

  Grace gasps down the phone. ‘What?’

  ‘What if she showed him the photo?’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense. Why threaten she was going to if she’d already done it? No, the photo was her trump card. The proof.’

  ‘Imagine how angry he would have been. Did he never say anything to you?’

  ‘He barely spoke to me, couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Do you think…?’

  Grace knows what I mean. And it’s true he had such a temper. He put the meaning into the word rage.

  ‘That he did it? Oh, God. Could that mean I didn’t kill her? Maybe we should tell the journalist – he could help us find out for sure.’

  ‘No. You can’t be sure you’re right, and what if you’re not? Blame will fall on you. We can’t let this get out, Molly, please listen to me. Nobody else knows about our relationship. Don’t hang onto that last photo and get rid of the camera, and then we’re safe. That’s assuming the letters have been destroyed.’

  Molly hesitates. ‘Mum knows about our relationship.’

  ‘What? How? Have you told her you’ve found me?’ I feel a burst of anger that someone else knows.

  ‘She saw your photo. My phone was on the table when you called me. She’s always known, she told me. Deborah asked her to stop me sending the letters and she read one. This is huge, Grace. If Michael did it… how can I find out for sure?’

  ‘You can’t, Molly. Why would you want to do that? Let’s just leave it behind us. Please.’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening? I killed her, that’s what I’ve always thought. You know how hard I hit her. I was protecting you. I’d do the same now. But there’s a chance I might not be guilty, Grace. This could change everything.’

  ‘Then promise me you’ll destroy the camera. Today. Do it for me, please.’

  ‘OK. But I need to see you. My old bedroom, it brings back so many memories.’

  Vivid images assault me. Molly curled on the floor, the room lit by candlelight. Secrets shared, warm hands on my skin.

  My arm feels wet and I see it’s raining. I’ve been so engrossed in the conversation I hadn’t noticed the sky getting darker, umbrellas opening up down below.

  ‘Call me back when you’ve got rid of the camera. We’ll arrange something, I promise.’ I ring off, close my eyes and give in to the thought fermenting at the back of my mind. I want to see her too.

  Molly’s Diary

  Monday 12th August 2002

  I can’t even tell Grace about this. No need to anyway, because I’m not going to let it happen.

  Fucking pencil keeps breaking cos I’m pressing down so hard on the paper, imagining it’s Charlotte’s eye I’m sticking it into. No, she deserves worse than that. And I’ve made a plan.

  Charlotte came to talk to me. I was listening to loud music in my bedroom through my headphones to stop myself from thinking about Grace being out with Jason. I can’t stand the thought of them together. Makes my skin crawl. Charlotte stood in the doorway and asked me if I was feeling lonely without my friend. She said the word friend extra loud in case I didn’t get her meaning. Made some snide remark about us being close.

  I hated her being in my room, the way she stood there looking down at me. That’s when she said it. That she always knew there was something different about me, and Belinda was going to love it. Charlotte stood there with a sneer on her face, asking if I was dreaming about Grace. Said she knew all about us and what we got up to. Her words made me feel cold inside and I jumped off the bed, knocking my radio onto the floor, telling her to get out. But she kept talking poisonous words, said she’d followed us to the cottage and seen us in there and I knew what she was saying was true from the nasty look on her face. She said Grace was leading Jason on and she was going to tell him, put him straight. Shame I couldn’t tell her the truth – that Grace is using him so nobody will find out about us. But I hated her reminding me about Grace with him and I lost it with her. I grabbed her arm and twisted it, her puny arm no match against my strong one.

  Her face was screwed up in pain and she threatened to tell Grace’s dad about us. But she wouldn’t dare, would she? I was so shocked I let go of her and she left me standing in the middle of the room, staring after her. I locked the door so she couldn’t come back in and my whole body was shaking. If she tells Grace’s dad I can’t imagine what he’ll do to us. Worst of all would be separating us, and I can’t let that happen. Never. I’d die without her.

  I have to stop Charlotte before she speaks to him. Find a way to silence her.

  Twenty-Nine

  MOLLY

  The low ceiling is cracked and needs painting. For a second I’m not sure where I am. Then it hits me. Dorset. I remember talking to Grace, talking about Michael. Was it him? Did he kill Charlotte? If it was, it’s too late, he’s dead. If we’re right and he was guilty all along, then I need proof. I have to know for sure I’m innocent. Never telling the police about the fight between me and Charlotte is lodged like a stone in my chest which gets harder every time I think of it. Grace didn’t share my guilt; that’s how she could put it all behind her. I wish I was the same. Then I wouldn’t have been haunted all these years. I drag myself out of bed. The room spins but I didn’t drink yesterday. That’s good. And I can stay at the cottage tonight – I need my own space.

  After pacing around the kitchen, going over the conversation with Grace, I get to work in the living room. The tower of newspapers in the corner is a good place to start, and I’m sorting out magazines when Mum opens the door, knocking it against my knee. Pain ricochets up my leg and tears spring to my eyes. I imagine a cold vodka, crunchy with ice.

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘I’m not throwing these away,’ she says, grabbing a handful of Nursing Today magazines. ‘I haven’t read them yet.’

  ‘Fine. I won’t bother then.’

  I kick at the pile of newspapers and they slide over the floor. She leaves the room. Moments later, I hear a crash. Mum’s voice calls out and I run into the kitchen. She’s on the floor surrounded by a pile of plastic Tupperware.

  I pull her to her feet and she sits at the table while I make her a cup of tea, her eyes shiny with tears.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’ I hate seeing her like this. So different to the strong lady that brought me up.

  ‘The landlord’s given me a month to clear up, otherwise I’m being evicted.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘You’ve only just got here. I didn’t want to burden you with it.’

  ‘It’s going to be OK, Mum. I’ve already told you I’ll help. We can do this.’ I reach over and grab her hand.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Molly. Although you’ll have enough to do sorting out the cottage.’

  ‘It’s good for me to have lots to keep busy with.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ She looks so grateful, and I hate myself for not being here to help earlier.

  Up in my room, I log on to my phone. Alex Foster has sent me a link. The title alone makes my stomach clench in dread.

  INTERESTING STORY FROM THE DAILY TRIBUNE

  ORCHID GIRLS – LATEST

  Two fifteen-year-old girls have been found not guilty of the murder of schoolgirl Charlotte Greene. The jury at Yeovil Magistrates’ Court also acquitted the girls of manslaughter. The accused schoolgirls
had been the last people to have spoken to Charlotte, whose body was found on a beach in Dorset seaside town Lyme Regis. The two girls shot to fame when they were dubbed by the media as ‘The Orchid Girls’, growing to notoriety for refusing to elucidate on the case of their missing friend.

  I don’t need to read any more, remembering how they still thought we were guilty, no matter what the judge ruled. How could I forget? I go to Alex’s comment instead: The Daily Tribune went mad for this story, didn’t they, Molly? I thought you were a liar. I’m right, aren’t I? Are you sure you have nothing you want to say to me?

  I just make it to the bathroom in time for my breakfast to slop down into the toilet bowl. At least Jodie doesn’t know where I am; she can’t tell him that. Even if I’m right about Michael, who will believe me without evidence? Michael can’t defend himself, plus everyone thinks he’s a good man. Terror overwhelms me as I realise this is never going to go away. Going back to the cliff seems like the only solution. As much as it frightens me, I need to exorcise some demons.

  The wind blows my hair out when I leave the house, glad of the thick jumper I’m wearing. Time to face the cliff side. Fear prickles my skin. The sea is choppy today, but blue compared to the dingy green of the London canal where rubbish is dumped and bodies are hidden. I walk fast to try and warm up, but it’s the sight of the water stretching out that’s making me cold. The path continues down towards the beach and I stop at a point where I can look out over the bay, see the town in the distance, the dark wet sand as yet unmarked. The salty air makes me feel alive, my whole body on alert. I feel the tug of memories pulling at me.

  The breeze gets stronger closer to the shore and I make myself head to the beach where the sand lies undisturbed. I pick up some stones and hurl them across the waves, putting off the inevitable. The wind stings my eyes when I peer across to the beach where the rocks become more treacherous, under the highest point of the cliff. It looks exactly the same as last time I was there. I can’t help shuddering.