‘A picture of you from the newspapers?’ I asked. I was trying to understand.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It was like a proper picture, from when I was little. He said it was sent to him.’
‘But it couldn’t have been. Sent by who? How would that even be possible?’ It was silly the way we kept going round in circles. ‘I mean, what did the police say when you told them?’
But then she’d go quiet, stop answering, like I’d caught her out. Eventually she admitted she’d never told the police. It was obvious to me then that she just couldn’t accept it. The fact that he’d lied to her. Cut some picture from a magazine, said it was her.
In the end I’d just forget it, put another TV box set on.
I don’t know who first suggested it, but at the beginning of August we took a trip to the coast. A night or two away like we used to. When Abigail and I were little, our families had taken holidays together all the time. Why not do the same again now? There were still all kinds of camping spots around Whitby. All right then, said Auntie Anne, let’s get away. Let’s book a couple of caravans by the sea.
The August sun was hot in the sky as we drove there – me travelling with Mum and Dad, and the Whites in their own car in front. Lincolnshire was so flat it made the sky above huge. A big, baking blue over the fields. We had the windows down to let the sea breezes in and the temperature on the dashboard read 29 degrees. It was a thick, sticky heat that got everywhere, into every corner and fold. Mum forecasted thunderstorms and it was true we could feel the crackles in the air. I closed my eyes against the flickering sunrays and hung my hand out of the window, trailing it in the air streams as we headed up the coast.
The caravan park was a mile or two inland. It was peak season and the best rentals – the ones right by the sea – had been snapped up months ago, but Uncle Robert had found us two smart caravans side by side, sleeping four each. Two little homes away from home.
We drove slowly over the grass between the pitches, looking out for the number that marked ours. Dad had stopped for petrol on the way, and the Whites had got there ahead of us. It was the twins I spotted first, waving at us, their hair shock-blond from the summer sun. Then the figure of Abigail in the doorway of the caravan, barefoot in her shorts and checked shirt. Seeing her at a distance, I noticed how much thinner she was now.
The two of us helped Mum and Dad unload the car and put the food we’d brought away in our little kitchen. Just like when we were little, Abigail would sleep in our caravan, enough room for everyone. Outside, Uncle Robert and the twins were setting up a barbecue and through the little windows in our caravan and theirs, I could see Auntie Anne next door, dressing a salad. I waved at her and she waved back.
We unfolded the deckchairs Dad had dug out of the garage back home. Some of them still had cobwebs on them, we hadn’t used them in so long. The adults wanted to sit in the shade of the awning Uncle Robert had set up between the caravans but I dragged two chairs out across the grass for me and Abigail. We sat with the charcoal smoke blowing through our hair and I let the grass tickle my bare feet. You could hear the chatter of other families nearby, the ring of plates and click of plastic cutlery. A dog dashed past us, a ragged ball in its mouth, jumping in a little circle when Abigail reached out a hand, then bounding on.
I shifted in the sloping deckchair, turning my shoulders so I could look at her. ‘It’s nice, isn’t it? Being here like this. We used to come to these places all the time, remember?’
She leaned back in the deckchair, stretching out her legs. It had got easier and easier with all the time we spent together. Ever more relaxed, more open, more talkative. ‘Sort of. There’re still bits I remember and bits I don’t. I remember living with you in London. I remember when Mum and Robert got married.’
They came to live with us after the big fight. We moved to Lincolnshire six months after that. I pictured the wedding, three years later. Free of tantrums. All that got so much better, once Mum made my aunt cut ties with Preston. Before that, Abigail was always getting so upset, so angry.
By the time the food was ready, I was starving. We heaped our plates and balanced them on our knees. We sat leaning forwards, elbows almost touching.
‘Did you see the posters when you drove in?’ I asked.
‘What posters?’
‘For the fair. There’s a fair across the way tonight. Look, you can see it from here.’ I pointed so she could make it out – a cluster of lorries, coloured stall-tops, the long arm of some ride that swung in a high arc. They brought back memories too – the whirl of waltzers, the pulse of music, the melting sweetness of candy floss. It had been years since I’d been to a fair.
Abigail shook her head. She sawed with her knife to cut her hot dog. It made a sharp squeak across the plate. ‘We must have come another way. I didn’t see them.’
Still, I felt the idea fizzing in my fingertips. ‘We should go,’ I said.
She laid her knife down. Her fringe had almost grown out by now, I realized, and she had that section of hair clipped back, though a few strands had come loose. ‘To the fair?’
‘Yes. Why not?’ I glanced over my shoulder at the grown-ups. ‘Let’s ask them.’
Abigail pushed some stray hairs off her forehead. ‘I’ll ask,’ she said.
She lifted herself out of the deckchair and headed over to Uncle Robert and the twins, by the barbecue. I twisted round in my seat to watch. The twins were jostling each other. Play-fighting – or fighting – so close to the flames. They stopped though when Abigail came up, Laurie rubbing his arm, their eyes suddenly hopeful. I couldn’t make out the words but I could see Abigail’s lips moving. Uncle Robert nodded, though his eyes flitted over to Auntie Anne, sitting at the plastic table in the shade of the caravan. I put my plate down on the grass and went over too, the ground warm on my bare toes. I stood myself next to Abigail.
‘And what about you boys?’ Uncle Robert was saying. He half turned to speak to Sam and Laurie. ‘That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’
Abigail reached out and caught his shirtsleeve, pulling him back round. ‘I meant just me and Jess.’ I saw the moment of hurt on Laurie’s face. She never really wanted the twins with her, I realized. Like there wasn’t room, like she was always trying to shove them out the way.
Uncle Robert looked at my cousin. ‘That’s what you want? You and Jess on your own?’ She didn’t say anything, and neither did I. A film of sweat prickled on my top lip. He looked like he had a spirit level in his head, trying to decide how to weigh this up. ‘All right,’ he said slowly. ‘Let me speak to the others.’
He headed over to where the rest of our parents sat by the caravans. He put a hand on Auntie Anne’s shoulder, looked at Mum and Dad, said something to them all. Auntie Anne got up and went inside. Uncle Robert followed her in and I could hear their voices, a tiny bit raised. Not an argument. Just anxiety. It was a lot for us to ask of them – to let us go out there, on our own. Mum half stood up like she wanted to push in after them. Dad stopped her with a hand on her arm. Not now, Lillian. Leave it alone.
We waited.
Eventually, Uncle Robert came back out and walked over to us. He reached into his trouser pocket for his wallet and pulled out two ten-pound notes. ‘For the rides.’ Sam and Laurie turned back to the barbecue, their shoulders sloping. ‘All right, don’t sulk,’ Uncle Robert said. ‘You can choose something tomorrow.’
‘Is it all right then?’ I said. ‘Are we allowed?’
Uncle Robert nodded. ‘An hour and a half then come straight back. Jess, keep your phone to hand at all times. Call us at once if anything happens.’ He was so serious. I felt my heart constrict. This wasn’t going to be just some ordinary teenage fun, I realized. This was going to be a test for us all. I swallowed as I took the two notes from him, folded them and pushed them into my jeans.
‘Hang on a sec while I get my shoes.’ I’d left them in the Whites’ caravan earlier. I darted away up the steps to the open doorway and stopped short. A
untie Anne was still standing at the little sink, folding and refolding a tea towel. The skin looked red round the corners of her eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I was about to step away when she turned round.
When she saw me there, she smiled, but her smile was wobbly, like she was winching it up onto her face. I smiled back, keeping the rest of my face still. ‘I just came to get my trainers.’ They were lying kicked off under the little pull-out table.
I shoved my feet into them, yanking at the loose laces.
‘Auntie Anne?’ She was still standing at the sink. ‘I’ll have my phone and we’ll only be across the way. I promise that we’ll be all right.’
‘Of course. I know. She’s so good when she’s with you.’ The words hung in the air, thick with adult feeling.
‘OK,’ I whispered, suddenly frightened of the promise I’d made.
We set off across the fields behind the campsite, our shadows tall puppets on the ground in front of us. We walked in rhythm, our arms bumping. Sunset was maybe an hour away and behind us the sky was growing pink, but the heat still hung thick in the air. Through its shimmer I could hear the thump of music, the garbled roar of the DJs, the muffled shrieks of the riders.
Soon we were on the edge of the showground. We crossed the threshold of it together, stepping in tandem into its world. A world of lights and giddiness and fun. At the steps to the bumper cars I held out one of the notes to the skinny man who circled the track, his eyes squinting for customers. We clambered into a car and I gave Abigail the wheel. As we looped the scratchy belts around us, I looked up to see the blue crackle of electricity across the ceiling. My tummy thrilled. I wanted to share it all with Abigail. I’d put so much on hold while she was missing but now she was back and we could do anything we chose. Abigail gripped the steering wheel, the coloured lights chasing themselves over the whites of her knuckles. The man who’d taken our money stepped up onto the back of our car, offering us a pile of grubby change. He leaned down to murmur into the space between us. ‘Ready, girls?’
I looked across at Abigail. ‘Ready?’
She looked back at me, her pupils wide. Ready.
‘Three, two, one—’ shouted the man in the booth and we lurched forward as the current flipped on. I gripped the side of the car as Abigail wrenched the wheel left and right and we were hurled against the rim. I let out a shriek as I was flung sideways, holding up my arms to let them fly too. She twisted the wheel so we flew backwards, heaving into the knot of cars behind. The impact jolted us forwards and laughter tumbled out of me as we plunged and our hair flipped into our eyes.
We rode and flew and it was all over too fast. When the lights went dim and the power dried up we coasted to a stop, breathless. Abigail’s hair stood out around her head. ‘Do you remember?’ I panted. ‘Remember?’ We were burning brighter than ever. I imagined that if I touched her, I’d receive a fizzing shock.
Outside, the air smelled of peppery fat from the burger and hot-dog vans. At a bright pink stall, a woman whipped sugar into towering piles and we bought two giant rolls, bigger than our heads. Far away, on the horizon, was the flicker of lightning – the storm Mum had predicted. I pointed it out for Abigail just as the faintest shudder of thunder moved through us. As we ate, our teeth grew pink, stained with sugar dye.
We stood by the candy-floss stall and watched the people and the rides. And I noticed the two boys standing near the steps of the waltzers, who were watching us back. We didn’t make eyes at them or toss our hair the way Lena might. But they went on watching us all the same, as we bit into our pink clouds.
Then I tossed my bare candy-floss stick away, breaking the connection, and we were off again, running towards the space catapult. We paid our money and clambered into the little cage. When they pulled the lever, we hurtled into the air, the soles of our feet pressed against the sky. It was like spinning in an endless tumble, element after element, and despite all the sugar we’d eaten, I didn’t feel sick and neither did Abigail, and we just tipped our heads back as we spun and whirled, our hands clawing the sides of the cage, our hair flying out like Catherine wheels. The whole thing was a thrilling adventure. That’s what I wanted, I realized now. Both of us in this adventure together.
When we returned to earth the two boys from before were still there, looking at us across the muddy grass. The sun was sinking now and they were almost silhouettes in the glow. Abigail dropped the sticky candy-floss stick she was still clutching into a bin. Even now that the tumbling had stopped, I was still dizzy with the adrenaline racing in my veins.
As we passed by them, the shorter of the boys, the one whose hair was blond and spiky, nodded at Abigail like there was something understood between them. The other one – the tall one with curly black hair – carried a motorbike helmet under his arm. As we headed across the grass towards the arcades, they came meandering after us, the tall one and his spiky-haired friend who walked with his hands deep in his pockets. They couldn’t have recognized Abigail, I was sure of that. They wouldn’t have been so casual if they had. To them we were just two girls, teenagers like them, having a good time.
By the arcades, zinging with lights, the curly-haired boy came up alongside me. He wanted to win me a prize, he said, on the water-gun stall. I giggled, glancing at Abigail, then grinned at him too so he’d know I wanted him to do it. Up close, I could see the stubble on his chin. He slung an arm round my shoulders and the smell of aftershave waved over me. I wondered what Lena would say. If she’d be impressed. Now it was like he was trying to lead me away from Abigail and his friend, like they meant to separate us. I giggled again and twisted back, ducking out from under his arm.
At the water-gun stall there was a long, sticky queue. The four of us stood with the jangling, clanging music swirling round us. Spiky Hair was digging in his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered Abigail one, twitching the bright white box. I didn’t catch how she reacted – the curly-haired boy was talking to me, and grinning like he’d made a joke. I hadn’t heard what he’d said above the music, but I laughed anyway.
He leaned closer. ‘Do you want to then?’
‘What?’
Curly Hair held up the helmet. ‘Ride the bike.’
Right then, it seemed so obvious to say yes. What else was it but the next part of our adventure, after the dodgems, the candy floss, the whirl of the space catapult? ‘Abigail?’ I said. ‘You want to go see the bike?’
In the crowd, someone bumped her as they came pushing past. Against the chiming of the slot machines, her voice seemed muffled, hesitant or something. ‘Okay.’
Well, she’d said okay. I gave Curly Hair a wide smile.
I tucked my hand in Abigail’s arm, gave a half skip as we weaved between the stalls, out to the fields beyond the fairground. The sky was liquorice-coloured, the sun had nearly set. Curly Hair had parked his bike at the edge of the fields and crouched down now to unlock the chain. He swung a leg over the saddle in an easy movement, his hips tilting as he settled himself astride. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘Who’s first?’
I don’t think till that moment I’d really intended to get on. I hadn’t stopped to picture this. But now I thought, what harm can it do? It was only another ride, another way of having fun, hardly different from the ones we’d paid for. And what had we come here for, but to have fun?
‘Jess—’ said Abigail. But before I could change my mind, I hitched myself onto the saddle behind him, my jeans squeaking on the hot leather. Out of the gloom came the spark of a lighter, Abigail leaning away as Spiky Hair offered to light her cigarette. Curly Hair gunned the engine, making me shriek. I shouted out to Abigail, but the racket of the engine ate up my voice. I gave her a wave instead, grasping his shoulder as we jerked away.
He didn’t go very far or fast, but it was still the most fun I’d had in ages. I squeezed my arms around his waist, squeezed with my legs too, taking in deep breaths of his smell. Is this what I’d been keeping back from? Well, no one could say
I was holding back now. Not Lena, not Tom, not anyone. I tipped my head back, sent a shout up to the sky.
After just a couple of minutes, we coasted back to them. In the little light that still glowed in the sky I could make out their figures, shadowy, and the dancing point of a cigarette. Closer now came a spark of lightning and after a period I couldn’t measure, the growl of thunder. Something wet on my forehead. The first spatter of rain.
I climbed off the bike, legs a bit shaky, the insides of my thighs feeling a bit bruised. I couldn’t stop smiling though. ‘You want a turn?’ I said to Abigail. ‘Have a go, honestly, it’s brilliant.’ I wanted her to ride the bike. I wanted for us both to have done it. Matching, breath for breath. Curly Hair wiped his tongue along his lip, his mouth turned up in a crooked-looking smile.
Abigail dropped her unsmoked cigarette into the mud. ‘I don’t think so.’
My heart dropped. I’d so wanted both of us to have had this fun. We’d always, always done everything together. ‘You just have to hold on tight,’ I told her. ‘Trust me, once you’re on, you’ll love it.
‘You just have to hold on,’ Curly Hair said, like mimicking me. Spiky Hair’s expression was impatient, almost a sneer. The rain was coming down harder now. Abigail stood there, her hair darkening in the wet and I felt something grow hollow in my stomach. I wanted to say now, but don’t if you don’t want to, but already she was lifting her leg over the seat. Her face in the darkness was so grim, so set. Curly Hair twisted round sharply to look at her. ‘I said, hold on.’
She closed her arms around his waist. With her cheek flattened against his back, I couldn’t see her expression. Curly Hair gunned the engine and yelled out something I couldn’t hear. As the bike went ripping away across the field I thought I saw him put his hand on her thigh.
Little White Lies Page 15