The Search Party

by Simon Lelic

  Did he really . . .

  Is he really . . .

  I mean, we didn’t make a mistake or anything? That’s all I’m asking. Like, maybe it wasn’t as bad as we thought it was, or the ambulance people got to him in time, and—

  No.

  No.

  I know.

  I just . . . I can’t believe it, that’s all. I mean, I can see it, literally see it, right in front of me, every time I close my eyes, but even still it . . .

  Oh God. Oh Jesus.

  We just . . . we should never have been out there. We shouldn’t.

  But it was about the act of looking. That’s what it was. The not just doing nothing while you lot dredged the river, and searched the allotments, and the old railway cutting, and all the other places that could have hidden a . . . that Sadie might . . . that . . .

  Sorry.

  I just . . . I didn’t expect it to be this hard. I thought I could . . . that I’d just . . . To be honest, I don’t know what I thought.

  Do we really have to go through it all again? I mean, you know how it ended. How he . . . how he died. And I told you I didn’t see. It all happened so quickly, and I . . . I mean, I’m tired, and . . . and there’s so much I don’t remember, and . . .

  Right. Of course.

  No, I . . . I get it. I do. Let’s just . . . let me just . . . I’m fine. It’s fine.

  I was saying . . . What was I saying?

  Right.

  We had a choice, we figured. Sit around waiting for a call or a text or whatever, or for someone to come knocking on the door, with news you knew was going to be a fist into your stomach. Or go out and join in the search. Not the actual search, where you lot were. We knew you wouldn’t let us within fifty meters, not a bunch of sixteen-year-old kids who you’d basically already accused of being involved somehow.

  But the search. Bigger picture. The Search for Sadie Saunders.

  It’s like, our mums and dads were out there helping you. And most of them didn’t even know her. Not properly. Obviously Sadie’s parents did, but . . . Well. I say that. Although I guess they didn’t really know her either.

  But my point is, we knew her. And me, personally, the whole time I was waiting for news, all I could do was nothing. There was WhatsApp and Facebook and stuff, which helped at first because it felt like you were in touch with what was going on. Not what was actually going on, though, and after a while that became the problem. You realized that nobody had any better idea than you did.

  And it started getting nasty. It didn’t take long. It was stuff about Mason, mainly. Which I suppose was to be expected, not that it made it any easier to see. And later—not even that much later—it was stuff about the rest of us as well. And some of it I know exactly who was responsible. You do too, you must do, but has anyone done anything about it? Of course not. Which is exactly why people think it’s OK. They know they can say whatever they like if it’s not out loud. Worst case, they’ll get put in Twitter jail or something, not actual jail, which if you ask me is where some of these people, people like Lara fucking Sweeney for example—

  Sorry.

  It’s just . . . I get so . . . It’s everything, you know?

  Poor Sadie. And she’s still out there! Somewhere. I keep thinking about the last time I saw her. The very last time, I mean. We were sitting in my room and she was listening to me bitch about my dad. Just, like, about how much of an arsehole he can be. How mean. Because I needed a new blazer for school, for sixth form, and that turned into him asking me why I was bothering taking A levels in the first place. He said it was a waste of time. That I wasn’t smart enough to pass. That I’d be better off just getting a job at the supermarket, because that was probably where I was going to end up anyway. And it didn’t matter what I said back to him, he’d just shake his head at me, sneer at me, the way he always does, and there was nothing I could do to . . . to just . . .

  It doesn’t matter. The point is, I’d texted Sadie, and ten minutes later she was at my house. Just because she could tell I needed some company. You know? Which was typical Sadie. And all evening I was just sitting there talking about myself, about my problems, while Sadie listened, and told me not to pay any attention, that I should follow my heart, that I was capable of accomplishing anything. Which obviously I didn’t believe, but the point is she was there for me, the way she’s always there, except . . . except . . .

  Except now she’s not.

  No, really, I—

  Unless . . . I don’t suppose you have a cigarette, do you? I mean, I know that technically I’m too young and probably you’re the last person I should be asking, but I just thought—

  No. No. I get it. It’s fine, really. But, um. Don’t tell my parents I asked, will you? They’d kill me. My dad would. And I don’t usually smoke, not all that often anyway, but at the moment, it just feels a bit like, screw it. You know? Talking about what happened . . . it’s not easy. Especially when I think about how it all began. Our search, I mean. Our adventure. That’s what Cora called it, if you can believe it. And the rest of them were hardly any better.

  Because that’s the thing, you see. They made out like they were doing it for Sadie, but that wasn’t what was going on at all. They were lying. Every one of them. Cora, Fash, Mason, even Luke, probably—they were lying right from the start.

  CORA

  WHAT DID THEY say? The others. What did Abi say? I bet she made out she had nothing to do with it, didn’t she? I bet she’s trying to blame it all on one of us.

  It’s fucking typical. Abi’s such a faker, it’s no wonder nobody likes her.

  Was my friend. Not anymore.

  I bet I know exactly what she told you. I knew what she’d tell you the very second after it happened. I could see it in her eyes. And I’m not trying to make out I’m any less to blame than she is, that I don’t deserve what’s coming to me, too. All I’m saying is, Abigail Marshall, she’s not as innocent as you think.

  Nothing, nothing. I don’t mean anything, OK?

  Look, just . . . just tell me what more I’m supposed to tell you. I don’t know how it happened. It was all such a blur. All I know is it had nothing to do with me.

  Fine. Whatever. But I don’t see how going over and over the same old stuff is going to help. You know how it ended. What does it matter how it began?

  OK, OK.

  The start, then.

  It was Fash who said why didn’t we. Fareed, I mean. Fash is what everyone calls him. Other than his mum, obviously.

  But Fash came to my house. Three days ago. So day four, I suppose you’d call it. We did. Not in a big-deal kind of way, with a great big display or something somewhere, but we all knew exactly how much time had passed since Sadie had gone missing. Although, by counting up, it was also like we were counting down to something. It was like . . . like watching a sand timer. Do you know what I mean?

  In fact, that’s mainly what I’d been doing: lying on my bed, staring at the hands going round on this old watch. Not just any watch. It used to be Sadie’s. It’s stupid really. Just this stupid pink thing. I’m surprised it still even works. But she gave it to me, like, years ago, in return for one of my old dolls. Back when I played with shit like that, this was, so we can’t have been more than seven. And me and Sadie, back then, we were best friends. Like, proper best friends. The way only little kids can be, before all the bullshit like school and stuff gets in the way. You know, boys and stuff.

  Anyway, the idea was I gave her my most precious thing, and she gave me hers in return, which turned out to be this watch. And the thing was, until she went missing, I could never bring myself to look at it. Because I’d cheated her, you see. I knew for a fact she treasured that watch more than anything, but I lied about which doll I loved most. And that’s what I couldn’t stop thinking about. As I lay there staring at the second hand, I couldn’t help wondering
if that’s why Sadie had gone missing. Because of me. Because I’d broken some sacred bond.

  It’s stupid, I know. Don’t think I don’t realize how it sounds. But that’s basically what I was thinking about, until Fash showed up at my door.

  I could tell it was him from the fact he knocked. He’s always been polite like that. Too polite, mostly, which is what we keep telling him. But it’s basically us versus his mum, and I think we all know who’s going to win that battle.

  But what I mean is, the others, they tend to just climb up the pear tree outside my bedroom window and scare me half to death by rapping on the glass. Or, sometimes, by actually climbing right inside. Mason, one time, he hid inside my wardrobe. This was back when me and him . . . when we were closer. And my heart literally exploded. Not literally, obviously, but if it had it would have served him right.

  It took Fash a while to convince me. I think that surprised him. I mean, that’s obviously why he came to me before the others, because he thought I’d be the easiest sell. But at first I couldn’t see the point. Where would we look, for one thing? And why did we have a better chance of finding Sadie than anyone else? But Fash had answers prepared for both of those questions. Which, had I thought about it, should probably have rung alarm bells at the time.

  But what he said was, Sadie might still be out there. Alone somewhere, hurt maybe, and for all we knew, everyone else was looking for her in the wrong place. Why weren’t they looking in the woods? We knew Sadie liked to go walking there. We all did. When we were young the woods had basically been our playground—we’d climb trees, play manhunt, all that—and Fash’s point was, we knew them better than anyone.

  And the other thing he said was, why not go? You know? Because the alternative was to keep doing what we’d been doing, and Fash made out he was as sick of waiting around as I was.

  So I agreed. And Fash grinned, all relieved and that. Which should have been another clue. But at the time all I was thinking about was how long it had been since I’d last seen anyone smile. And Fash, he’s kind of funny-looking anyway. Not ugly, I don’t mean that. He’s tall and he’s dark, obviously, and he’s got nice eyes, but he’s also a bit . . . gangly. Like his bones are a size too big for his body, even in his face. You’ve seen him, you know. So all I’m saying is, when Fash smiles, it’s almost impossible not to smile back.

  “So what are we waiting for?” Fash said. “Let’s get going.” We were in my room, and Fash was sitting on my bed. He patted the rucksack he’d dropped onto the mattress. It was his schoolbag, so I hadn’t really noticed it until then. I should have, I suppose, seeing as it was still the summer holidays.

  “Now, you mean? But what about . . . I don’t know. Our parents. Your mum.”

  Fash’s expression sort of clouded. Fash’s mum . . . she doesn’t hit him or anything like that. She’s not like Mason’s dad, for example, and she’s not an arsehole like Abi’s. But even so, she’s got this control over him. I mean, strict is putting it mildly. She’s protective, is what it is. If she could, she’d put him in a box, and only bring him out on special occasions.

  “I told her I’m staying the night at Mason’s,” Fash said, and I could see how bad he felt about having lied to her. “And your parents are out, right? Which, the way I figure it, gives us until teatime tomorrow. And, anyway, the day after that, we’re supposed to be back at school.”

  Which I’d almost forgotten about. Going back to school. Starting sixth form. Or, actually, I didn’t forget. The truth is I’d been trying not to think about it: the idea of going back to school without Sadie. Without even knowing what happened to her.

  So I started packing. I did what Fash did, and used my schoolbag. He told me he would have brought something bigger, but chances were we’d be spotted by someone on our way out of town, and he didn’t want people to start asking questions. What he meant was, he didn’t want anyone spreading rumors. Even more rumors, that is.

  That’s the problem with living where we do. When I’m old enough I’m going to move to Australia. Arizona. Some place with no rivers, no woods. No crappy fairgrounds and cheap-arse tourists. No washout summers. No . . . no frigging ice cream vans. Seriously, how many ice cream vans does one town need? No caravan parks. No caravans, full stop. No wind. Nothing above a gentle breeze. No Harvesters. No sodding Morrisons. No net curtains, either, or people who know your name. Nobody who knows your business when you don’t want them to.

  No woods. Have I said that already?

  Well, anyway, it’s worth saying twice.

  Lots of people. Hundreds of thousands of them preferably. Millions. Or, failing that, none at all.

  The population here is supposed to be, I don’t know, ten thousand or something, more in the summer obviously, and yet you always end up seeing the same faces. Literally, wherever you go. And people always end up seeing you. Watching you. They smile and they talk about the weather and the wind and the seagulls—people are always going on about the sodding seagulls—but really all they’re doing is looking for some petty scandal to fill their sad, pathetic little lives.

  Anyway.

  It took me about thirty seconds. Packing, I mean. I would have taken longer over it if I’d known we’d be gone for two whole nights, and if I’d known what was going to happen with the weather. But it had been dry for so long, it seemed like it wouldn’t ever rain again. Hard to believe now, right?

  Next up was Abi. And I swear to God we had to stop her from packing her hair dryer. She didn’t take much convincing, though, and I remember being impressed at the time. I guessed her dad was probably on one, and she was desperate to get out of the house. Abi’s dad is always giving her a hard time about something. She’s too fat, too thin, too ugly, too stupid. He’s basically the opposite of my parents, who are so wrapped up in their own shit, they probably wouldn’t notice if I did just move to Arizona. I’m talking about my mum, really. Chris, my stepdad, doesn’t really count, because he’s barely any older than I am. He’s like, twenty-nine or something stupid, which is why my mum married him in the first place. Because she’s in denial, basically. That she’s forty, not twenty-fucking-four. She pretends to herself I’m, like, her little sister or something, because she can’t accept that she’s old enough to have a teenage daughter.

  But anyway, with Abi I assumed that was what it was, and that she was as upset about Sadie as she said she was. Because that was the other thing: she made out like it was such a big relief to finally be doing something other than sitting around waiting for news. But really she was just like all the rest of us. The truth is she only came because she had to. Because she was worried about what we’d find.

  Luke was trickier. We went to him next—me, Fash and Abi. And with Luke, it . . .

  God. If only we’d . . .

  No, I’m not fucking OK. Why the hell would I be OK? About any of this?

  I keep seeing him lying there. Just . . . lying there, and . . . and none of us able to do anything, except . . . except . . .

  No, it’s fine.

  I said no, OK? A break’s not going to help anything.

  What I was saying was, with Luke, when we went to get him . . . it was complicated, that’s all. I mean, Sadie was his sister. His twin. So can you imagine? Not only is your sister missing, presumed . . . presumed all sorts of stuff. But your parents are pretty much AWOL, too. Emotionally, anyway, at least in terms of him and Dylan. God, poor Dylan. I mean, for Mr. and Mrs. S it’s only ever been about Sadie. They’ve always been convinced she was going to be this superstar—an actor, a dancer, whatever, because Sadie could do pretty much anything, and they’ve been pushing her down that path since she was four. Stage school, singing lessons, private coaching, all that. And what that meant was, Luke and Dylan got . . . not neglected, exactly. Overlooked. Which was fine as far as Luke was concerned, because he’s always been kind of self-sufficient—just getting on with things in his own way.
But for Dylan . . . I mean, he’s twelve, so it wasn’t the same as when he was younger, but Dylan’s always been . . . tricky. Like, not as bright as his brother and sister, for one thing, nowhere near as bright, to the extent his parents were convinced for ages that there was something wrong with him. ADHD or whatever you call it. They had him on Ritalin and everything, until Luke convinced them to take him off it. If you ask me, the only thing Dylan needed was some attention from his mum and dad, and maybe a bit of help at school. But there was fat chance of that. Instead, Luke was basically the one taking care of him. Sadie helped, too, when she could, but most of the responsibility fell to Luke.

  And Dylan was there when we stopped by. That day, I mean. The day we left. We knew their parents wouldn’t be. They’d basically spent every day since Sadie went missing down by the river. But I guess we forgot about Dylan, and it was because of him that Luke refused to come with us. Well, what he said was, he couldn’t.

  “What am I supposed to do with Dylan?” he said. “Just leave him here on his own?”

  We were standing on Luke’s doorstep, and I could see Dylan behind him in the living room, sitting on the sofa. Normally he would have been playing one of his video games, but today he was just staring at the TV. I don’t think he’d even registered the doorbell. Up until then I’d barely even thought about Dylan, about how he must have been missing Sadie, too. But it suddenly struck me that he was probably taking it as hard as anyone. Harder maybe, because Dylan worshipped Sadie almost as much as Sadie’s dad did, and I doubt he really understood what was going on.

  “It’ll only be for an hour or two,” said Fash. “Your parents will be back soon, right?”

  Luke sniffed. “Who knows?” he said. “They might be out all night if someone doesn’t give them a shove in the right direction. Although my aunt said she’d come by to make us dinner.”

  “So there you go then,” Fash said, like that settled it.

  Luke looked doubtfully over his shoulder.