by Ruth Harrow
'Oh, Hannah. I could show her a good time, spoil her rotten. What Granddaughter wouldn't like that?'
'Another time. I promise, Mum.'
As I tap to end the call, a new notification instantly appears on my screen. A missed call.
The sunshine is bright in the garden, but the roses provide some degree of shade as I look at the display. However, I find myself squinting when I see the name beside the unanswered call.
A thrill of dread sinks over me even before my brain has fully processed the information.
The missed call is from April.
23
Bile rises hot in my throat. I don't understand. April lost her phone. Even Mum with her conspiracy theories says she discarded it. Either way, someone wouldn't be able to retrieve it, would they?
And how could I receive a call from it? It must surely have been broken or water-damaged beyond repair.
After a few minutes of pacing the garden, pulling at weeds mindlessly, common sense catches up with me.
An oblivious third party must have found the phone. Whether beside the river or, even less likely in my opinion, somewhere along the rubbish disposal chain if my sister had indeed thrown it away.
The person that has discovered it will most likely be going through my sister's phone book contact by contact. Probably alphabetically. I must have been high up the list. I know I should call back before they reach M. I don't want this to add fuel to Mum's latest theory. She will only get herself worked up.
My fingers feel clumsy as I fumble with my phone. The steps to call April feel so unfamiliar that I feel sick now with guilt. My eyes sting and I blink determinedly at my screen.
I take a deep breath as the phone starts ringing. The call is cut short and I am left listening to the answering machine.
Perhaps the person is driving now and can't take the call. I wander around the garden a few times and sit on a padded patio chair in the sunshine for a few minutes and then try again. This time the call goes straight through to the answering machine. Has it been switched off?
Maybe it is on another call and has reached Mum?
'There you are.'
I gasp and spin around in my seat in time to see Will step out of the conservatory. He drops onto the lounger beside me with a glass of orange juice.
'I found the paracetamol in the end,' he says. 'My head is still killing me though. What are you doing out here alone?'
'Nothing,' I say automatically.
Will looks at me curiously and I realise I'm giving the same response as Eva when she has been caught doing something she shouldn't.
I lock my phone and slip it back into my pocket. If it starts to ring I shall be the first to know, but I don't tell Will about the phone call.
I can't fully explain why, but I know telling him won't bring about anything good. He will only dismiss it. Bury his head in the sand. Accuse me of jumping to the wrong conclusions as always.
We will argue and nothing will be solved.
If anyone is jumping to unreasonable conclusions it is Mum. Calling me to tell me April has a stalker. How ridiculous. April has always had admirers, yes. I'm sure Mum is blowing it out of proportion to suit her denial. Perhaps she is using it to distract herself from the guilt. Part of me is tempted to believe it too.
But I'm sure there must be a logical explanation for it all.
As I climb into bed beside Will later that night, my belief is starting to waver a little. I have slipped away numerous times throughout the afternoon and evening to call again. I have even sent a text and left a voicemail.
So I am struggling now to understand why, even after trying all day, April's phone remains unanswered.
24
Saturday 24th July 1993
Mum and April have been rowing all morning. I lie on my bed on my stomach reading one of April's old magazines she got bored with ages ago. An article entitled how to get him to like you holds my attention.
It's boiling hot. Dad says today is set to break temperature records. There is no getting away from the heat, even in the house.
I have found the best thing to do is to keep still. Even then, my duvet reflects the heat back into my skin uncomfortably.
With my bedroom door open, I listen to the argument downstairs.
'I'll say it for the last time, April. If you go out with that boyfriend of yours, you will take your sister with you!'
'But why, Mum? Me and Will don't want her hanging around us all the time. Sometimes we want to be alone.'
'That's the kind of thing I'm afraid of! I'll tell you another thing too – you certainly won't just leave her to her own devices again like you did last week. You were supposed to take her to the cinema with you. Your father found her wandering around the village on her own! Imagine if something had happened to her. It would be on your conscience forever, young lady.'
April makes a noise of frustration and mutters something, knowing she has lost the battle, but Mum isn't done yet.
'She was really upset that you had left her out too. Your Dad said she was in tears.'
I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling. My cheeks burn with shame. I wish Mum hadn't told her I was upset. I thought I'd done a great job of holding it in. If only Dad hadn't found me alone on the bench in the village centre and questioned me.
I can't wait to be old enough not to be a burden to be passed around from one unwilling person to the next.
I hear Mum nag April further as their voices quieten and fade away. They must have moved into the kitchen.
Then there is the rumble of footsteps on the stairs as April storms into her bedroom and slams the door.
Moments later she appears in my doorway, applying powder blindly to her face as she hisses at me, 'Get yourself ready. Mum says you have to come out with me and Will today. Hurry up – or you will make me late! Mum has already kept me behind, nagging on at me for ages. Now, Hannah!'
I don't need telling again. I spring up from my bed and realise there isn't time to do anything. April won't let me near her makeup when she is in this kind of hurry.
I peer at my reflection in my wardrobe mirror. I'm wearing some horrible bright orange shorts that Mum chose for me because she said they were cute. I've always hated them, but Mum insisted today because it is so hot. She paired them with an old denim top of April's because it fitted over me loosely and it didn't have any sleeves.
My reflection looks back at me and crinkles her face in embarrassment; I look goofy, like some kind of silly cartoon character. I'll look ridiculous next to April who is adding the finishing touches to a well-planned and flattering outfit consisting of a short skirt and sophisticated blouse.
Less than five minutes later, I am slipping on my shoes and hurrying after April as she crosses the threshold and steps out into the blazing hot day.
Once on a school trip, my class visited a castle. As I stepped near the hearth of the great hall that day, I felt the heat from a roaring fire wash over me in an instant. That's exactly how I feel now as I step outside. Except now the heat presses in on my skin from every direction.
I'm extra glad of the modifications I have made to my outfit. I've folded up the legs of my yucky shorts up my thigh as many times as I can to minimise their fluorescent hue.
I've also managed to gather enough fabric at the bottom of my denim vest to tie it up into a fashionable knot. Luckily, Mum paid so little attention to us as we left; I know I would never have been allowed out with the flash of tummy I now have showing if she had noticed.
'Mum made me bring her.' April mutters to Will outside, jabbing her thumb in my direction. 'Said she felt like having some peace and quiet in the house. Not that Hannah is ever noisy. Mum just wants us out the way lately. Makes me wonder what she is up to.'
I'm annoyed with April for talking about me in such a way, but I think she must be right if I was allowed out the house like this.
Will shrugs, greeting April with a kiss on the lips. 'It doesn't matter, Babe.'
<
br /> When Will glances at me and says I look nice, I am delighted, but I try not to look too pleased with myself. In return, I mutter what I hope is a casual, 'Thanks.'
Will smirks and takes April by the hand, leaving me to trail along behind them. He has dressed all in black again. He must be sweltering.
He leads us across the driveway and into the lane blocked from view by the hedges.
We round the corner and April giggles delightedly. 'You've finally got it!' she squeals as she spots a small navy blue car.
She rushes forward and deposits herself in the front passenger seat.
Will opens the back door behind the driver seat and I get inside. I reach automatically for a seat belt, but can't find one; I realise there aren't any in the back.
Mum and Dad insisted on having seat belts installed for April and me in their used car. Our parents put up such a fuss about it I feel unsafe now I find myself without one.
April fastens her own with a click and turns to Will as he settles himself into the driver's seat.
'Will, this is awesome! I can't believe it.'
Will peels off his leather jacket and tosses it onto the back seat next to me. I breathe in a wave of his cologne and excitement bubbles in my stomach.
April giggles as we pull away and I can understand her delight. All the windows are rolled down and as we speed along the lane, a pleasant rush of warm air rushes over my cheeks and bare shoulders.
April and Will are doing something cool and for once I am completely included. Joining in, as if I am one of them. An equal.
Just before the car zoomed away from our house, I'm sure I caught Will's eyes flit over my body in the rearview mirror.
My cheeks blaze pleasantly as I suppress a smile and watch the many hedgerows lining Little Bishopsford flash by.
Now I'm not just left behind to sulk alone in my room like a little kid.
Today, everything is going to be different.
I can feel it.
25
The digits of the clock tell me it is five in the morning. The beginning of what would normally be a fine summer day starts to illuminate the room as I look around and wonder what awoke me.
Will lies fast asleep next to me. His deep breaths breeze over me slowly and rhythmically. The intimacy of his warm breath must have inspired my dreams; I had imagined I was talking to April. She lay beside me, whispered things I couldn't quite hear as I lay here dozing. I was frustrated; I knew she was telling me something important.
A lump rises in my throat; I know she was trying to tell me why she had done it.
On the bedside cabinet beside me, I catch some light from my phone screen before it turns to black again.
I blink away my bleary eyes as I try to focus on the display. April's name glows in the gloom, almost as though my deepest thoughts have become a wish to summon her.
For a split-second, I almost believe that if I press call I will hear my sister's voice again. I'm sure I might have done once; she was always one to use a personalised voicemail message. But when I called yesterday I was met with a generic female monotone. Over and over again.
I wonder briefly why she removed her personalised greeting, but I forget once I blink and my own phone becomes a clearer image in my hand.
I realise I have a text from April's phone. Eager, I tap and wait for it to load.
I glance across to Will. His breathing is much quieter now and he seems almost too still.
The message is displayed on my screen, but I find myself blinking harder as I try to take the words in.
Hi, my Little Rose. Did you find out where your beloved husband was last night? Or has he managed to lie his way out of it as usual?
My heart pounds hard as if being forced to pump hot poison around my veins. My phone threatens to slip from my cold grip as my palms sweat.
I glance across at Will. His heavy breathing has abated now.
I stare back at the screen, unable to believe what I am reading.
Little Rose ... That was always what April called me. I can't remember why. It was always her special name for me. How many other people knew that?
I don't understand who has April's phone. Why would they send such a thing?
I force logical thoughts into my brain. April hasn't sent this. She can't have. We held her funeral over a week ago.
But even as I tell myself these things, I can't help but think of the time I told my sister who I had been dating for months; who I had met who was taking up so much of my time; I told her I had finally found the one; finally experienced the first taste of real love.
She was distraught. I had seen April's jealously before, especially when it came to Will. But I had never expected her to react so badly to my news that I had been dating her ex-boyfriend; that I was in love with him.
She came out with all sorts of things. Things I know couldn't be true. I know Will had made a bad mistake once when he was young, but it was all in the past. I was determined to look to the future, see the best in him.
It was hard to speak to April after that. We so rarely saw each other. I missed her terribly. When Eva was born, my sister was eager to see her niece, but she never lingered long during her visits.
Will stirs.
I lock my phone quickly and put it back on the bedside cabinet before he sees. He stretches and yawns.
'Morning,' he says, seeming very drowsy.
'Morning.'
He puts a large palm behind his head as he rolls onto his back. 'Weren't you on your phone just now?'
'Oh, yes I was. Just checking my emails.'
'And?'
'And what?'
He looks at me curiously. 'Any news from the outside world?'
'No, not really. Just junk mail.'
'That's boring. So what are we doing today?'
'I don't know. Dad wanted to go out for lunch yesterday. He might want to to try again today, perhaps.'
He checks the time and pulls me onto his chest. 'Well, there is no hurry to get up then, is there? We can say good morning properly, can't we?'
His hands slide down swiftly to my hips, tugging at the elastic of my underwear before I intercept them.
'I need to get up,' I say. 'This bed is giving me backache. I'll go for a little walk, see if it rights itself.'
'Now?'
'Yes,' I say, pulling on my clothes quickly so I don't have to see the look of frustration on Will's face. 'I won't be long.'
In the hallway, I quietly slide my shoes from the rack. My fingers brush the silky material of an elegant navy-blue blazer hanging on the coat hooks above. I have vaguely noticed the jacket a few times since our arrival, assuming it belonged to Penny or maybe Mum. But it still hangs steadfastly from its hook, waiting to be picked up by its owner.
As I lean over to slip on my canvas pumps, I catch the scent of flowers. Violets and roses coupled with sweet vanilla make me think of long summers, meandering carefree through tall golden grasses.
I've just taken a step onto the doormat when Dad opens the kitchen door, making me jump.
'Where are you off to at this hour?' he asks.
I spot a cup of coffee steaming away on the kitchen table behind him.
'Just out for a little walk,' I say. 'I didn't sleep well.'
Dad raises an eyebrow. 'Is everything all right with you and Will?'
'Yes, of course.'
'Eva told me you two are having a spat.'
My mouth drops open. 'She said that? Of course not. Everything is fine.'
He continues to give me a scrutinising stare, so I cast around for a change of subject as I slip my keys into my pocket.
'By the way,' I say briskly, gesturing towards the sleek blazer on the hook. 'I've been meaning to ask you, whose coat is this?'
'Eh? I don't know, Love. Sometimes guests leave things behind. I don't have time to chase them all over the country. You're sure everything is OK?'
'Yes, positive. I'll be back in a little while, OK?'
My h
and is on the front door handle, however, when I turn back. 'Dad?'
'Hmm?'
'Do you still have no idea who did that awful thing at the funeral?' My voice comes out in little more than a whisper in the otherwise quiet house.
He looks back at me, surprised. 'I told you, already, Love. There are a lot of bad ones that come down from Telford way. They mess about in the old Wakefields' house a lot. They've heard rumours from their parents. Teenagers messing about, Hannah. That is all it is. Despite what your mother says. I've had to tell her the same thing. She has always been the same – trying to make something out of nothing.'
It surprises me when I discover I'm not the only person up and about in the village. An elderly man dressed in white shorts and a vest walks determinedly, elbows bent, up the lane snaking past Dad's house. We pass with a cursory hello at the point where the road widens near the village centre. I wonder if he knows who I am.
In the heart of the village, the shops aren't open yet; they won't be for hours on a Sunday. Everything is quiet, deserted.
The solitude is rather comforting.
The words of the text keep coming back to me without having to pull out my phone.
Whoever sent that message knows Will was away last night. It must be someone in the village.
An idea comes fleetingly into my mind and I know at once I have to do it. I'm going to follow Will's footsteps and walk over to the Brown Farm.
When I was little, Mum and Dad took April and me up there once or twice. Dylan Brown's parents used to have fruit fields and they would charge by the basketful to pick your own. I hardly imagine their son continues the business.
When I arrive, I am saddened to find that I am right. The fields I remember are now overgrown and weedy, much smaller than in my memory. Or is that simply because the world seemed so much bigger then?
It seems to have taken me longer than I expected to walk up here. I wouldn't have been in any doubt that Will didn't just come over here on the off-chance that his old friend was still around even if he hadn't admitted it. Why did he try and lie to me?