Goodbye, Perfect

by Sara Barnard

  ‘Eden,’ Connor says again, with more urgency this time. ‘Who was the message from?’

  I mutter, in my very smallest voice, ‘Bonnie.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bonnie!’

  (A weird truth: it feels really good to say it.)

  Connor’s eyes go all wide, like I’ve really shocked him, even though I thought he’d already guessed from my terrible lying. ‘You . . .’ he begins, then stops. ‘She . . .’ he tries. ‘That was Bonnie?’

  ‘She wanted to know how it went with the police,’ I say, as if this is any kind of an answer to the question on his face.

  ‘Eden,’ he says, very slowly.

  I can feel my face turning red, even as I will myself to stay cool. I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say.

  ‘You’re in contact with Bonnie?’ he says finally, spelling it out.

  I nod.

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  I hesitate for a moment too long, which is an answer in itself. ‘No . . . ?’

  ‘Holy shit!’ he explodes. ‘Eden, what the fuck?’

  ‘OK, fine – they’re in Yorkshire.’

  ‘Eden!’ His whole face is one big shock emoji. His mouth is in an actual O-shape. ‘Are you shitting me?’

  I am obviously not shitting him.

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Since Saturday.’

  ‘And you haven’t told anyone? Even the police?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘You have to tell them.’ He says this like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  ‘Er, no I don’t.’

  His eyebrows raise, an incredulous look on his face. ‘Jesus, Eden. Are you being serious right now?’

  OK, so I knew Connor wouldn’t be immediately on-board with the whole keep-this-secret thing, but this reaction is so unexpected it makes me defensive.

  ‘I promised Bonnie,’ I say.

  ‘Then that was a stupid promise,’ he says, like it’s as simple as that. ‘Why did you agree to that?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know in advance!’ I snap, irritated.

  ‘So? As soon as you found out it was Mr Cohn, you should’ve been like, Oh shit, better tell the police.’

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Just no. She asked me to keep quiet and to trust her, and so I have to do that. That’s what being a friend is.’

  ‘Even when they’re completely screwing up?’

  ‘Especially when.’

  Connor lets out a groan and runs his hand over the back of his head.

  ‘Look, think about it this way: if I’d gone off by myself for a while, and not told Carolyn or anyone, and I asked you not to tell them where I was, would you tell them? If you knew I needed this, and that I was completely safe?’

  Connor frowns. ‘But it wouldn’t just be about you if Carolyn and everyone was worrying about you, would it?’

  ‘I’d tell them I was safe.’

  Connor shakes his head. ‘I feel like we’re just having two different conversations here, Eden.’

  ‘Look, fine, whatever, OK?’ I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, and he looks appropriately baffled. ‘Forget I told you.’

  He laughs. ‘OK, sure.’

  ‘Seriously.’

  We look at each other.

  ‘Are you at least telling her she should be coming home?’ he asks finally. ‘Or calling her parents?’

  ‘Yes, obviously.’ Have I actually said that? Yes, I must have. ‘Besides, I really think she’s going to be back tomorrow.’

  Connor’s whole face scrunches in surprise. ‘What? Really? Why?’

  ‘The exam. Our GCSEs.’

  There’s a pause. I can tell by his expression that he doesn’t think this is likely. ‘You think she’s just going to . . . come back?’

  ‘I know it sounds crazy, but this is Bonnie. I just can’t believe she’d miss these exams.’

  ‘Eden, you seriously think she’ll have run off with our teacher and then just be like, Whoops! Better pop back for that Biology exam!’

  ‘It could happen.’ The fact that he thinks this is so ridiculous makes me want it to be true even more.

  ‘You think she’s just going to turn up?’

  ‘Sure. She’ll just come walking into the gym, ready for the exam. A surprise, but a low-key surprise, you know? That would be so like Bonnie.’

  ‘Would it?’ Connor looks baffled. ‘In what world would that be a “low-key” surprise?’

  ‘Seriously, do you think she’d miss these exams?’

  Connor is quiet for a while, looking at me. When he speaks, his voice is careful, like he’s worried how I’ll react. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think. Not when the facts are that she’s gone, Eden. It’s not like she’s just shut herself in her room and told everyone she’s not going to take her exams. She’s run away. You don’t just come back from that.’

  For a moment, I can’t speak. ‘You think she’s not going to come back at all?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I just mean that when she does come back, whenever that is, and whether it’s because she wants to or because the police catch up with them, it’s going to be for a bigger reason than one exam. Do you have any idea why she went?’

  I shrug. ‘Love?’

  ‘OK, yeah – but why now?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Haven’t you asked her?’

  ‘Sure. She just says she wants to be with Mr Cohn.’

  ‘Maybe she’s pregnant,’ he suggests.

  A jolt of horror hits me right in the chest. ‘What?’

  ‘Would make sense, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘No! You watch too many films.’

  ‘Right, so you thinking Bonnie’s just going to turn up for the exam tomorrow makes total sense, but me wondering if she’s pregnant is too stupid to consider.’

  ‘Can we talk about something else now?’

  Connor takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. ‘Look, I really think you should tell someone.’

  ‘Yeah, I get it.’

  ‘Really, Eeds. Just talk to Carolyn, or something. You can make sure the police know without Bonnie ever needing to find out it was you who told.’

  ‘I’d know. Why is that so hard for you to get?’

  He puts both his hands up. ‘OK, OK. I’m sorry.’ He chances a smile at me. ‘Hey. C’mere.’ He opens his arms to me and I hesitate, part of me wanting to hold on to my annoyance for a little longer, but I can’t resist his face. I move across the blanket and sink into his lap, pressing my face against the inside of his shoulder as he wraps his arms around me and squeezes. A proper Connor hug. I feel him press a kiss against the top of my head. ‘How does she sound when you talk to her?’ he asks after a while.

  ‘Cheerful.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s weird. Like, she knows what’s going on over here, but she’s still all happy about being with Mr Cohn.’ It’s such a relief to be able to talk about this with someone who isn’t Bonnie.

  ‘She’s probably in denial.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Sure. Mr Cohn’ll go to prison for this, Mum says. Prison! And anyway, you’ve got to be pretty heavy in denial to be able to cut yourself off from your family, right?’ I can tell he’s realized what he’s said the instant after he says it because his whole body jerks. ‘Uh . . . I mean . . . Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Obviously it’s different when you’ve been adopted,’ he says. I can tell by his voice that his face is that shiny red it gets when he’s embarrassed. ‘I’m not saying you, um, cut yourself off or anything . . .’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And there were circumstances there, anyway.’ He’s rambling now. ‘So, obviously, you’re not. Um. In denial.’

  I give his knee a pat. ‘You can stop now.’

  ‘Oh God, thank you.’

  ‘Maybe she is in denial,’ I say. It would
make sense. ‘How long does denial last?’

  I feel him shrug. ‘Dunno. I guess it depends on the circumstances?’

  What exactly are the circumstances here? I try and count the things that Bonnie could be in denial about. The fact that her boyfriend is old enough to be her dad. The effect this is having on her family. The novelty value of the runaway life.

  ‘Would you run away with me?’ I ask. I mean it as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh and say yes, like I expect.

  ‘Nope,’ he says.

  ‘Oh great,’ I say, shifting away from him. ‘Thanks.’

  He laughs. ‘Seriously. I wouldn’t ask you to do that for me, and I know you wouldn’t expect it of me either. Giving up everything. You wouldn’t want me to leave my mum, would you?’

  I shake my head immediately. I don’t even need to think about it.

  ‘And I’d never try to make you leave Daisy. That would hurt you, and hurt her, and the rest of your family.’

  ‘What if you didn’t have a choice? What if you had to leave, and you wanted me to come with you?’

  ‘Well, of course I’d want you to come with me.’ He’s careful now, choosing his words. ‘But . . . I guess I just think it would still be selfish to put that on you. I’d just never ask you to. I think that’s what love is. It’s caring about the person’s entire life, not just the bit with the two of you in it.’

  I sit up on my knees and put my arms around his neck, looking down at his sweet, freckly face. My Connor. ‘You’re kind of the best, you know that?’

  He smiles. ‘Was that the right answer, then?’

  ‘A hundred per cent. Full marks. A star.’ I lean down to kiss him, feeling his arms curl around my back, pulling me close.

  I spend another hour or so with Connor before he has to go back home. I like the idea of having some time completely to myself after the frenzy of today (and yesterday . . . and the day before . . .) so I don’t go straight home. I meander into town and stop off at Chrissy’s, which serves the best hot chocolate in Kent.

  There’s a queue, as always, and I’m standing in it, minding my own business, thinking about how much difference it would make to put cream into hot chocolate instead of milk, when my brain suddenly tunes in to the conversation that’s going on directly behind me.

  ‘There’s obviously something deeply wrong at the school,’ one woman is saying. She has a thick Welsh accent, heavy with disapproval. ‘That this could even happen. It’s not right, now, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ her companion agrees, less Welsh but equally judgemental. ‘And she seems like such a nice girl, not like some of those awful kids from Kett Academy. What’s a nice girl like that doing, causing so much trouble?’

  I make a face at that word. Nice. It’s even worse than good. Here’s the thing about Bonnie – she’s brilliant in a lot of ways: she’s funny, smart and loyal, the best person to have on your team for pretty much anything, but she’s not always . . . totally . . . nice. She has it in her to be mean to Rowan, snide about her parents, impatient with people who can’t keep up with her.

  She has an edge to her, that’s what I’m saying. Maybe everything I’ve said about her being a good girl, with all her academic achievements and being Head Prefect, you’re thinking of her as one of the nice girls, too. Sweet and soft. The kind who sits at the bedside of old ladies to listen to their stories all day.

  Nope.

  I mean, she’d sit at the bed of old ladies, and she really would listen to their stories, and they’d all love her and call her ‘dear’ and insist she has another biscuit or whatever. But she’d be making sure she was getting some kind of credit for it. She’d be sweet-talking the managers just in case she needed a reference from them one day. That’s Bonnie. Good, sure. But smart. A few sharper shades down the line from nice.

  I almost want to turn around and tell them. Luckily for all of us, I’ve reached the front of the queue. I order my hot chocolate politely, like a good girl, but I can’t quite resist making eye contact with one of the women when I turn to leave. And making a face. Just so they know that I’m one of ‘those awful kids’ from Kett, and that I heard them.

  The funny thing is, even though Bonnie is supposedly the nice one, if she was here she would have said something. She’d have been so polite about it, practically angelic, but she would have found a way to stick up for me if she thought I was being slighted, even indirectly. She’s protective like that. Once, our History teacher Mr Hale said – in front of everyone – that if all students were like me he’d have stopped teaching years ago, and Bonnie said, ‘Variety’s the spice of life, sir,’ so cheerfully and brightly that he didn’t even realize she was being sarcastic and agreed with her.

  Outside, I sit on one of the benches by the river and wait for my hot chocolate to get cool enough to drink, pulling out my phone to message Bonnie. I’ve decided I might as well ask.

  Me

  Bon, are you pregnant?

  For once, she replies immediately.

  Ivy

  WTF no! WHY?

  Me

  OK good – just checking.

  ???????

  I thought maybe that’s why you left.

  Oh. Well no (OBVIOUSLY). Did the police say something about it?

  No.

  Ivy

  Do you think they know where we are?

  Me

  No, they seem totally clueless.

  GOOD! That means we can relax a bit ☺

  There’s still time to get back in time for Biology tomorrow.

  Lol OK I’ll bear that in mind. Xxx

  By the time I get home it’s after four, and next morning’s exam feels an awful lot closer than it did before I left. I take my Biology revision guide into the living room and lie on the sofa, trying to concentrate on ecosystems and food chains, but I only manage ten minutes before Daisy comes in crying, a large patch of skin along her wrist and elbow shredded and bloody, demanding care.

  I clean up the wound and bandage her arm, only half listening as she wails about misjudging the leap over a bench, and heat up a cup of Ribena, which she drinks curled up in my lap like a five-year-old, hiccuping.

  And then Carolyn and Valerie come in from their trip to the supermarket, laden with bags to unload, and Carolyn wants to know everything about Daisy’s elbow and the bench and whether I remembered to clean the wound properly before I bandaged it, which obviously I did, and we’re unpacking and talking and Valerie’s bought me a Good Luck card for my exams, and then Bob’s back, and he wants to know about the elbow and the bench, and also how did it go with the police this morning, and Daisy suddenly remembers that the police were interviewing kids at school all day, and we all want to know about that.

  And then it’s dinner-time, and then it’s dark, and then it’s nine o’clock and I haven’t done any more revision, and I know as much about biology as I did this morning, which isn’t much.

  Valerie offers to test me, but I say no because there doesn’t seem to be much point now it’s so late, and anyway I don’t really want her to know how bad I am at science, not when she’s so perfect at it.

  I retreat to my room and get comfortable under the covers of my bed, thinking about how this day and night would have gone if everything was normal. Bonnie would have wanted to spend the evening on her own, getting ready, but she’d have made time for me in the day. She’d have tested me without making me feel stupid, helped me with the parts I still have a chance in, and made me feel better about the bits I don’t. I would have teased her about being so smart and how obsessed she is with academics.

  I miss her. I miss the Bonnie I knew.

  I turn on the BBC News channel in time to catch an interview with a former police detective about the case. He’s talking slowly, patronizingly, about how we live in a surveillance society and it’s ‘impossible, just impossible’ to stay hidden. Except they have stayed hidden, haven’t they? It’s been four days. If it was that easy, why didn’t they get them straight away
? The BBC woman points that out, and I smile, but the detective just repeats himself, almost word for word, and the interview ends. Useful.

  I go online and do a quick sweep of the news sites and Twitter to see if I’ve missed any actual updates on the case while I was out and occupied, and find a long think-piece in the Telegraph about what this ‘debacle’ says about the relationship between students and their teachers in ‘the age of social media’, which features three paragraphs detailing the journalist’s own schoolgirl crush and mentions Bonnie by name twice.

  Why isn’t it enough for any of these newspapers or radio stations to just report the facts of the case? What’s with all the commentary and guesswork? Why do they have to keep talking about how she’s a schoolgirl all the time? Once is enough, you’d think. But no. It comes up a lot. It’s everywhere. Schoolgirl Bonnie Wiston-Stanley. Schoolgirl, schoolgirl, schoolgirl. Like that’s the only thing about her that matters – her age. I don’t really want to think too much about why that is. As gross and weird as it is to think of Bonnie and Mr Cohn being ‘in love’ or whatever, it’s a million times worse to think about him going after her even though – or worse, because – she’s underage. Like, that’s a whole different level of sleazy wrong. Thinking about it makes me feel ill, so I try very, very hard not to.

  The other buzzword is ‘good’, just like it has been since Bonnie first went missing. It’s as if all the editors and journalists from all the different papers got together and agreed that this would be their angle: Bonnie is a good girl who doesn’t do things like this. They all seem to find this so fascinating. Why someone like Bonnie would behave this way, as if it would be less surprising if it were a different kind of girl, whatever the hell that even means.

  It makes me feel weird, reading it all like that. Bonnie’s ‘goodness’, I mean. Because I’m not an idiot; I know what it means. It doesn’t just mean ‘good’ as in makes her bed in the morning, is polite to old ladies, goes to church. It also means that she is white and middle class. No one has to tell me this for me to get it. You don’t have to be in the top sets to understand how the world works.