The lift is waiting and I will it to speed up, terrified Alex will follow me. Scared eyes look back at me from the mirror. The same look I had when Aunt Caroline told us that Charlotte hadn’t come home. My hands shake and I drop my door keys, taking ages to open my room. I have to get to Molly before he does. Has she agreed to talk to him? Is she lying to me? Has this all been a game just to get me back? I know how strong Molly is underneath that damaged exterior. Rain slides down the windows as I feel my successful life slipping away from me. The Grace I have tried so hard to carve out is crumbling to pieces.
In bed I sling the duvet off, unable to sleep. It’s too late to do anything now.
I dream of Molly, trapping me in her arms, me fighting my desire. I wake, angry with my unconscious mind. I’ve allowed Molly to distract me and I’m forgetting what I stand to lose. Grace Cavendish and everything she stood for has to stay dead.
I tell Molly to act normal when we get home, but she is so pale Aunt Caroline tells me to take her up to bed.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘I keep expecting the police to ring. Come and arrest us. I shouldn’t have hit her, it’s all my fault.’
‘I told you, she won’t remember anything.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘Shush…’ I settle her and go back downstairs.
About thirty minutes later the phone rings. Aunt Caroline comes back into the living room.
‘It’s Pauline. She was supposed to meet Charlotte in town three hours ago. It’s getting dark and she’s worried. Come and speak to her.’
Pauline sounds breathless on the phone and speaks so fast I can barely keep up with her. I tell her how we’d met up with Charlotte.
‘We left her in town. She said she had some shopping to do.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Maybe one o’clock.’ They’ll never know it was much later.
‘Do you know where your father is, Grace?’ Caroline sounded stern after I got off the phone to Pauline.
‘No, should I?’
She sweeps her hair from her face. ‘He’s borrowed my car, that’s all. His is in the garage for repair. He didn’t say where he was going. I suppose it’s better if I stay here, but Pauline sounded in a bit of a state. Are you sure you don’t know anything about where Charlotte is?’
‘No, I told you.’
I go up to see Molly, who is waiting in the doorway. I close the door behind us.
‘Who was that?’
‘Charlotte’s mum. She’s in town. Charlotte hasn't turned up yet.’
‘But we left her hours ago. Did you tell her to go to the hospital?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ Her voice squeaks. ‘I’m going to tell Mum.’
‘No you won’t.’ I grab her wrist. ‘I told Pauline we left Charlotte in town at one o’clock. Just in case she was more hurt than we realised. I’m sure she wasn’t, but this is for you, Molly. You don’t want anyone to know you hit her. You could get in big trouble.’
‘But she’ll come back, of course she will. And I’ll deny it.’
‘Just in case, Molly. You have to say the same as me, we agreed, remember? We made a promise. I won’t tell them either. Two against one.’
‘But—’
‘This is really important.’
The harsh ring of the front door bell jangles downstairs and Molly jumps.
‘Pull yourself together. If you don’t stick to our story I’ll never speak to you again.’ I grab her hand, push my palm down onto hers. ‘We’re blood sisters, remember?’
I hear Aunt Caroline’s voice along with the static blurt of a police radio.
‘Girls,’ she calls. ‘Will you come down here?’
The next morning the only trip I make is a dash to the hotel shop to buy newspapers, hood pulled up, not wanting to bump into Alex. I spend the rest of the day holed up in my room, phone switched off.
A development in the Emily case makes the headlines today. A forty-two-year-old man has been arrested. My heart races and I sink down onto the bed and burst into tears. Relieved that Richard has nothing to do with this, the pent-up stress erupts out of me. Thoughts crowd into my exhausted mind. All this time I’ve been terrified of him finding out about my past, when… The realisation that I had suspected him, even for a short while, is overpowering and I try to stop crying, but the tears continue to spill. I read the rest of the article, words swimming through the tears. The news from yesterday is repeated, how Emily’s neighbour was taken in for questioning. I’ll feel better once I’ve spoken to Richard, reassured him of my faith in him. I need to know he’s OK – he must be feeling terrible. I chastise myself for ever doubting him, for being so wrapped up in myself. Knowing the huge secret I’ve kept from him, how well can I ever really expect to know him? I fetch a glass of water, sip it slowly. I try his mobile, pacing up and down as it rings and rings, but he doesn’t pick up. While I wait to speak to him my own problems need action. It’s imperative I get to Molly before the journalist does, stop her talking about The Orchid Girls. I’m terrified it’s only a matter of time before it all comes out. Or is it? There is still a way.
The photo in the paper shows an earlier shot of Emily’s friend’s father, Graham Atkins, outside the police station. He has a defiant look on his face and it triggers a memory. I take the envelope of cuttings I found at Michael’s house which are packed in the pocket inside my suitcase, flicking through them for the picture I’m looking for. There it is: the same furious expression on Michael’s face, with the caption Vicar questioned in Emily drama. Michael wouldn’t talk about it, he never told me anything. I spent years resenting the mystery illness that took Mum away from me for weeks at a time, leaving me alone with Michael, or being packed off to stay with Grandma, and later Aunt Caroline. It was Caroline who finally told me what was wrong, going against Michael’s wishes. No wonder Molly was like a sister to me. She was the only family I had left. Especially as Caroline was different that summer, slightly distant. At the time I wasn’t sure why, but now I realise she was suspicious about my relationship with Molly.
Richard doesn’t pick up his phone. I call repeatedly, getting more and more
frustrated. My room feels hot and I open the window, hearing slow footsteps passing, locals going about their business at a less frantic pace than in London. I don’t belong here. The sky darkens, and when Richard answers his phone I’m so surprised I gasp out loud.
‘Grace, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be home by now.’
Tears prick at my eyes again and I sniff them away. Richard hates me crying. At least my father’s death is a good excuse.
‘Where are you?’
‘I was at Michael’s much longer than I anticipated – you know how it is, looking at photos, old documents. I needed to distract myself. I’ve been so worried. After that I went out for something to eat. I’m going back again later. I read in the paper a man has been arrested for Emily’s murder. I’m just so relieved…’ I hadn’t meant to blurt the words out.
He doesn’t speak at first, and a huge lump builds in my throat.
‘You mean you doubted me? I told you it was all sorted this morning.’ His heels clip as he paces. I wish I could see his eyes, get a sense of his thoughts. Would I see exhaustion from stress, or a glint of fury that I could doubt him like this? Does he still love me? I couldn’t bear it if he doesn’t.
‘Is that the real reason you’re staying at Michael’s?’
‘Of course I didn’t think it was you. I just hate myself for doubting you.’
‘Why won’t you come home? There’s no way you’d want to spend another night there. I know you, Grace, you’ll be missing your home comforts too much. Have you spoken to the police?’
‘What on earth did they want?’
‘It was just routine, to do with Michael. They’ve spoken to Angela now.’
Richard’s breathing is heavier now. He’s pacing about as he always does when he’s
working something out. ‘You should be here. We need to talk. Have you been online recently?’
I’m about to say there’s no wi-fi but I stop myself in time. My pulse is racing.
‘Joanne brought it to my attention to me this afternoon. People posting on your social media.’
I curse his PA, who is sickeningly efficient, like everyone around him. Like I used to be. But all thoughts of Joanne are blasted out of my mind when I hear his next words.
‘Who the fuck are The Orchid Girls?’
Charlotte’s Diary
Wednesday 14th August 2002
The opportunity came today. I hung around in the cafe until I saw them come out of the house. The girls got into the car, Grace in front and Molly in the back and I spoke to Mrs Conway before she got in, telling her I’d left my bag at their house the day before. She told me Michael was still in there as his train wasn’t due until later. The house was so quiet, spooky. On the way up I snuck into Molly’s room. Grace’s side of the room was tidy, but Molly’s bed was a mess, her jacket and bag tossed on top of it, stuff spilling out onto the flowery duvet. I rummaged around in Molly’s bag and pulled out various items, her camera, pens, sweets and a magazine. At the bottom was an envelope and I took it out, hands shaking, all the time listening in case Michael came out. The stairs had no carpet so I’d hear if anyone came up. The envelope contained a pile of photographs: Grace, more Grace, pouting and posing. Does she think she’s a model, or what? My breath stopped when I got to the last few photographs. There’s no way her uncle developed these. This is what they’ve been doing at the cottage. They’ve taken a photo of themselves – Molly’s behind Grace, her arms wrapped around her chest. And they’re both topless. Dynamite. I slid one into my pocket. A creak outside made my stomach lurch and I held myself still, waited. Nothing. I stuffed Molly’s crap back in the bag and went to see her dad.
He was surprised to see me and my legs were shaking, but I had to go through with it. I needed to get revenge. I told him I wanted to talk about Grace. He looked at his watch and asked if it couldn’t wait as he had to get the train at two but I said it was important and he’d want to know. I was so embarrassed I had to rub my hands over my jeans, they were so sweaty. I can’t remember exactly what I said – something about Grace and Molly messing about with each other and taking photos and it was wrong. He made me spell it out and I think I said something like ‘what girlfriends and boyfriends do’. Then he stood up and a vein was pulsing in his neck. He stared at me for ages and my legs got all wobbly. His hard eyes drilled into me and he spoke in a harsh voice, told me to stop saying such filthy things or he’d make me stop. Mum would go mad if she knew, but I can’t tell her. Way too embarrassing. His eyes were black and scary and I turned and ran and ran. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest but I didn’t stop until I got to the end of the lane, as far away from him as I could.
Thirty-Three
MOLLY
The banging blind wakes me. I’ve managed a few hours’ sleep and I run the shower as cold as I dare to feel more alive. I need to be alert. After breakfast I’ll look at the film in the camera, leave it to develop while I go to Mum’s and carry on with clearing out her rooms. I must keep busy. Ellis will be here soon and I’m longing to see her, to stop feeling so alone.
A loud noise makes me jump and I pull a sweatshirt over my head, stepping into my jeans as I go outside to investigate. Another bang and I realise it’s a knock on the door. It won’t be Mum. Could it be Alex Foster? There’s a large umbrella resting by the door and I pick it up, just in case. I tell myself I’m being stupid and open the door.
Ellis stands on the doorstep.
‘What are you doing here?’ I drop the umbrella to one side, but she’s already seen it and frowns.
‘I was worried about you, decided I might as well come earlier. And Nikki, the craft blogger I told you about, has invited me over this evening after I got in contact with her.’
‘But—’
‘Are you going to let me in? Or were you going to bash me around the head with that umbrella?’
I hover awkwardly for a moment, then laugh nervously. I’m not sure why I feel uncomfortable. She follows me into the kitchen.
‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Good, I’ve brought croissants. Put the kettle on, will you? I’m starving.’
Over breakfast I tell Ellis about Mum’s hoarding and the progress I’ve made. I push the journalist from my mind. Plenty of time to think about that later.
‘I’m going round there again this morning. I’ve cleared a space in the living room, so Mum has somewhere to sit down at least. It means I’ll be out this morning though.’
‘No worries, it’s good for you to keep occupied. I’ll have a look round town, do some shopping. I’ll get something for lunch.’
I show Ellis the room she’s going to be sleeping in, washing up after us while she sorts herself out. We walk down to town together and I leave her to do some window shopping while I go off to Mum’s.
‘The spare key is under the flowerpot outside.’
‘Original,’ she says, smiling. ‘See you later.’
When I get back at lunchtime, the first thing I see is a vase of bright yellow roses on the table. I rub my finger over the orchid on my wrist – these purple flowers are still my favourite, despite everything. A pot simmers on the stove and Ellis is chopping vegetables at the table. The air no longer feels chilly and stale, and I relax.
We eat vegetable chilli with fresh crusty bread and strong cheese from the local market. It’s the best meal I’ve eaten in ages.
After lunch she makes some coffee and we take our cups outside, sitting on a blanket on the grass.
‘Are you OK, Molly, really? Who were you expecting earlier? I’d like to have seen you try and knock me round the head with that umbrella! Did I tell you I’m a blue belt in judo?’
‘I thought you looked pretty fit.’
She blushes, pulling up some blades of grass. ‘The umbrella?’
‘I had an email from the journalist I was telling you about. He’s threatening to come to Dorset, and I thought it might be him. Got myself into a bit of a state last night.’
‘It’s a good job I came then.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, smiling.
‘What are you most frightened of?’
My back rests against a tree and I try to make myself comfortable, stop the bark from digging into my spine.
‘Is it coming back here, does that bring it all back, what happened to you?’
I nod. ‘Back then, it was all a bit of a blur, I didn’t understand what was happening to me.’
‘Why don’t you tell me? It can only help, and you know you can trust me.’
I pull my knees up to my chest, squeezing back against the tree.
‘Can I? We’ve only just met.’
She takes my hand and my fingers tingle. ‘What do you think this is? We’re talking, getting to know each other. That’s how it works. I like you, Molly.’
Our eyes meet and I realise what she means. Feeling a spark, I drop her hand. She obviously doesn’t get how serious I am about Grace. And she’ll only lose interest as soon as I’ve spilled my guts.
‘After Charlotte died, Grace and I were separated. We never got to talk about it. Everything that’s gone on recently is because of me. Since I’ve found her again the urge to go over it won’t go away. I’ve always felt responsible, and she’s the only person who knows what we went through. And because I was in love with her, I couldn’t believe she wanted to leave me. I never got closure.’
Ellis stiffens.
‘I thought if she could forgive me then I could forgive myself, stop leading such a self-destructive life, punishing myself for what I did. But she won’t talk about it.’
‘Forgive you for what, exactly?’
I pause, trying to find the right words. ‘You’ve read about what happened with Charlotte. It was such a
difficult time. I started it, Ellis, it was all my fault.’
‘Started what?’
‘We had a fight. I hit her so hard I fell over, knocked myself out, but I thought she was OK, I really did. Then her body was found. That’s when I discovered Dad’s drinks cabinet. And Grace and I made a promise not to talk about the fight but I feel so guilty.’ I’m scratching at the old scars on my arm as I’m talking and Ellis takes hold of my hand.
‘You were kids, Molly. Sometimes promises need to be broken. It seems to me you weren’t responsible, it was all in your head. What happened after you blacked out? I read that Charlotte drowned.’
‘I don’t know. I was only out for a second. Grace rushed me away, said we had to pretend it didn’t happen. She said Charlotte was going to be OK. Then she turned up dead. I hit her so hard, Ellis, I killed her.’ I've never said the words aloud before and my head feels light. I feel tears rolling down my face.
‘Weren’t there any witnesses? Is there anything you can think of that would help?’
I close my eyes. ‘The camera.’
‘What camera?’
‘I told you I used to take photos of everything. On that day Grace had my camera. I was going to show her how to develop them here, in Uncle Bill’s darkroom. She was taking photos when we started fighting. Charlotte and her mates at school had bullied me for years, and Grace wanted to get a shot of me getting my own back, standing up for myself. Show Charlotte for what she really was. She never expected me to hit her. When Charlotte didn’t come back, Grace told me to get rid of the camera because she was taking pictures when I lunged at her. I had to promise to destroy it.’
‘And did you?’
‘Kind of. I buried it. My uncle gave me that camera. It was my favourite thing in the world. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. Burying it meant I always knew where it was, could get it back when all the fuss died down. I thought Charlotte would be OK, you see.’
The Orchid Girls Page 29