‘What happens now?’ Martha asks, anxious to finish up so she can phone Toby and tell him the news.
‘They’ll want Charlotte Bennett’s parents to identify the hair, and if it looks like a match they’ll carry out DNA testing to be sure. Martha …’ Finn clears his throat. ‘The police are heading down to the Garden of Reflection this morning. Finally, they’re taking your theory seriously. They’ve got forensics preparing to search beneath the patio for the remains of Juliet Sherman.’
By ten o’clock Martha is standing at the edge of the police-cordoned Garden of Reflection in the grounds of Bridge School. The moment Finn Palin was off the line, Martha had phoned Toby, arranging to meet him there, before rushing out an email to Liv. In it, she pleaded with her to meet them at the school, informing her that the police were about to dig up the garden in search of Juliet’s remains. This could be the moment they finally discovered what happened to their best friend. Surely this would get through to her? Liv’s place is only a few streets away, so it would take her just minutes to be there. Maybe she will turn up this time, out of respect for Juliet, if nothing else. Martha can only hope.
Now, without emotion, she takes in the scene, like a spectator viewing events from afar. To her rear is the playground, its paved surface marked out for netball and giving way to two four-floor blocks of classrooms, alongside a warren of prefabricated science labs and temporary classrooms. The playing field ahead of her is hemmed in on the right-hand side by ten-foot wire mesh fencing, and to the left and rear by an imposing brick wall, which looks older than the school itself. She can see Jay and Sally beyond the fence, setting up their equipment to film through the wire, having been told by an investigating officer that they weren’t welcome at close range. Martha knows they’re being lenient in turning a blind eye to her and Toby’s presence, so she’s not going to argue at this stage. Slightly off-centre of the grassed area is the Garden of Reflection – the site of the old swimming pool – a serene patioed area, surrounded by low box hedges, flower borders and a couple of water features that, from where Martha is standing, seem to have fallen victim to vandalism over recent years.
Over beside the frostbitten flower borders, Toby is chatting to the head teacher, who stands with her arms folded, her face set in a concerned scowl. It’s clear to Martha that Toby is doing what he does best: putting the woman at ease, engaging her in conversation and forcing a smile from her. He gestures in Martha’s direction, no doubt telling her that the famous Martha Benn once attended this school, and yes, hasn’t she done well? Martha quickly looks away, scanning the area beyond the high-vis jackets of police officers and school personnel, out across the lawns towards the streets and houses that surround the school. This is an area she once knew like the back of her hand. If she were to wander the streets now, to take her old walking route back home to Stanley House, would she find it changed? Without a doubt. To the right, there are a number of gawkers hanging around on the other side of the wire fence, trying to catch a glimpse of the action, and Martha studies them carefully, hoping to see Liv’s face among their number. She feels an ache of guilt that the Sherman family have yet to be informed about the dig. Finn said that, until there’s a clear indication that they’ve actually found something, they’ve agreed to tread softly, bearing in mind Alan Sherman’s frail health.
At the near corner of the fencing she notices the bike shed, a modern Perspex version replacing the old wooden one that stood there in her day. She can see the original in her mind’s eye, as clear as day, bringing with it the memory of Tim Brayer and his bloodied nose. Tim Brayer was two years older and probably Liv’s most serious boyfriend in all the years the girls knew each other. Up until that point, she’d only had fleeting passions or one-off dates with boys from her own year, but, Martha remembers with an unhappy pang, from the moment she started going out with Tim, Liv had changed. The jokey, couldn’t-care-what-anyone-thinks Liv disappeared, to be replaced by a girl so uncertain of her own place that Martha and Juliet were at a loss to help her. They’d never seen Tim do anything to undermine her, but his physical presence was like a force-field, his arm constantly draped about her shoulders, his answers taking the place of hers. He’d crack jokes that weren’t directly at her expense but certainly nudged close to it, and, whether she noticed or not, he froze out her best friends as though they didn’t exist. Juliet was saddened by the change in Liv; Martha was enraged. But what could they do or say? Anything negative would surely seem like sour grapes on the part of the friends who’d been left behind.
The answer showed itself on a scorching lunchtime in June, when a sombre Liv had left the others in the dinner queue to go and meet Tim at the bike shelter, ‘to chat’. Martha persuaded Juliet that they should follow and spy on the couple, to find out what was going on to make Liv so low, and so they skipped lunch, trailing them at a distance until they stood unseen on the other side of the shelter. Through the age-shrunk wooden slats of the bike shed they could clearly see and hear the pair, facing them but unaware of their presence. Despite her tiny frame, Liv had never seemed small in Martha’s eyes, her energy more than making up for what she lacked in stature. But now Tim, at nearly six foot, towered over Liv, and she seemed suddenly tiny and indistinct in the shadow of him. As Martha and Juliet watched, Tim pressed his face into Liv’s neck, murmuring low as her upturned face smiled. Martha felt sick with the wrongness of their being there, and was about to indicate to Juliet that they should leave, when another boy appeared, and Liv’s smile dropped away.
‘Go on,’ Tim said, stepping back to create a space for the other lad to step into. His shadow fell away, and Liv’s dread was clear on her face.
The boy reached out and cupped Liv’s small blouse-clad breast in his hand. His startled expression suggested he hadn’t wanted to do it. Tim’s smile slid into an upturned sneer, and he nodded for the boy to do more. Tim Brayer was grinning as though it was nothing more than a bit of a laugh. The smaller boy awkwardly fumbled with the top button of Liv’s blouse, his face now crimson and aggrieved. Liv turned her face away, and for a moment Martha thought she must surely be able to see them standing there on the other side of the wood panel.
‘Fucker,’ Martha spat, unable to contain it, and before she knew what she was doing she was on the other side, violently yanking the boy back by his shirt collar, telling him she’d kill him if he breathed a word of this to anyone. The kid ran across the field without a backward glance.
‘Jealous?’ Tim laughed.
In disbelief, Martha glanced at Juliet, then at Liv, the word ringing in her ears. And that was when she punched him, so hard she thought her knuckles had split through her skin and into his. His nose, an oily dumpling of a nose, appeared to explode, and for a moment Martha was appalled at herself, envisaging her slurring father’s response when the school made the phone call home. How could she have been such an idiot?
‘You dozy fucking bitch!’ Tim screamed, high-pitched now as he tried to stem the blood-flow with the heel of his hand. His words were muffled, his eyes startled.
As he went to leave, Juliet, never one to put herself in the way of unnecessary drama, blocked his path and, without touching him, leaned in and spoke softly. ‘If you mention this to anyone, Tim, we will expose you as the paedo you really are.’
He blinked, then smirked again, about to retort with some clever-arse comment.
Juliet cut him off. ‘Think I’m joking?’ She pointed at Martha. ‘See Martha there? Her dad’s a police officer, and he’d love to hear about you and Liv. You’re a sex offender.’
‘What?’ he choked, the colour draining from his skin as he backed away from Liv, from Juliet.
Juliet nodded solemnly. ‘She’s fourteen; you’re sixteen. Work it out.’
When Tim had gone, the three girls huddled together, gathering breath. Liv was the first to break the silence, returning to the fold with three whispered words: ‘What a cock.’ That was all the thanks Martha and Juliet needed. What a cock.
Over where they’re inspecting the Garden of Reflection it’s impossible to see exactly what the officers are doing, and Toby makes a shrugging motion towards her to indicate that he’s as clueless as she. Again, Martha checks her phone for messages, then wanders over to the railings to take a closer look at the rubberneckers who are loitering there in hope of a bit of local gossip. She could ask if any of them know Olivia Heathcote, but it’s such a long shot that she feels foolish even thinking it. As she reaches the fence her phone rings, displaying an unknown number. With a thrill of hope she takes the call, and moves away from the fence for fear of being overheard.
‘Hello? Liv?’
‘No,’ a man’s voice replies, and her optimism plummets as she anticipates the sales patter that will surely follow. But instead the man asks, ‘Is that Martha Benn?’
Wrong-footed, Martha looks around her, needing to locate Toby. She just needs to know he’s nearby. She spots him leaning against a recycling bin on the edge of the hard-standing. Good. Good, he’s still here.
‘Martha?’ the voice repeats.
‘Yes, this is Martha Benn.’
‘Oh, good. Thought I had the wrong number for a minute. Martha – it’s Tom!’
In an instant she recognises his voice, a flood of thoughts and images rushing through her mind. It’s Tom, Juliet’s brother. Tom.
‘Wow,’ she says. ‘Wow.’
Tom laughs. ‘How are you, Martha? Dad told me you’d been around to see him. How are you doing?’
‘Good, really good. Sorry, Tom, I’m a bit … It’s so good to hear your voice.’ Once again she’s struck by the absence of these people – Tom and Juliet, and lovely Mr Sherman, Liv and everything that came with her and her crazy animal-mad family. How had they all drifted so far apart? ‘Where are you calling from?’ she asks. ‘Your dad said you’re living in Paris.’
‘Yes, I’m calling from work now. Thought I should make contact when Dad told me about your show. About the investigation.’
Martha tries to imagine how this must all sound to Tom. He and Juliet had always been so close. ‘Are you OK with it, Tom?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says without hesitation, his voice warm. ‘I’m just processing the whole thing, but, Martha, I’m grateful someone’s looking at it properly at last. I just hadn’t imagined it would be you! Have you made any progress?’
If only you knew, she thinks, glancing towards the garden where a man in a white boiler suit is holding up a hand, halting the machine operator. Toby is jogging over to take a closer look; something’s going on.
‘I think we have, Tom. Nothing I can tell you about yet, but yes, I think we’re on to something at last.’ She can hardly tell Tom about the excavation, when even his father doesn’t know. When there’s no reply at the other end of the line, Martha adds, ‘I’ll tell you as soon as I can. But I’m feeling more confident with every passing day.’
‘Good,’ Tom manages, and she can hear the emotion in his voice. How could Liv have even suggested that Tom was involved in Juliet’s disappearance? Tom, of all people? He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his light tone has returned. ‘So, Dad said I should get in touch if I thought I could help in any way. Well, I think I’ve got something. When I helped clear out the old house with Dad, I took a lot of Juliet’s things with me, as Dad didn’t have the space and, well, to spare his feelings, really. Most of it is of no interest – old bank statements, school files and so on – but when I went through them again this week I found a whole bunch of letters.’
‘Letters? From who?’ Martha has one eye on the activity beyond the police tape, desperate to get over there herself, but wanting to keep Tom on the line all the same.
‘They look like love letters to me. I only opened a couple, but when I saw the nature of them I put them away again. I haven’t got the stomach for it, Martha. What if they’re from him? What if she really was involved with David Crown?’
‘So what have you done with them, Tom?’
‘They’re in the post – should get to you in the next day or so. They might shed some light on what was going on in her last few months. She was clearly keeping secrets, if these letters are anything to go by. I didn’t know she was seeing anyone, did you?’
Martha doesn’t know how to answer. Yes, she’d known, but Juliet hadn’t trusted her enough to share it with her. ‘Not as such,’ she says eventually. ‘I think Liv knew more about it than I did, and I’m still trying to get her to meet up. I don’t think she’s that keen.’
‘Well, good luck with that. Liv’s not the kind of person to do anything she doesn’t want to.’
Martha laughs, and thanks him, eager to get off the phone now that Toby is waving to her from the dig site. ‘Tom, I’ve got your number now – I’ll keep you posted. I promise.’
She sprints across the grass to join Toby, who updates her in lowered tones. ‘OK, the officer in charge said to keep it under our hats for now, but the forensics guys have confirmed that there’s a definite area of interest in the top right-hand corner of the patio.’
Martha blinks at Toby, then back towards the huddle of men in white suits. ‘Juliet?’ she whispers.
‘Too early to say. But – strictly off the record – he says it looks very likely they’ve found human bones down there. He said everything’s going to slow down a lot now, while they work out how to excavate the area without damaging any evidence – could take hours. We may not get any answers today, but Martha,’ he says, taking her wrist in his hand as she looks at him, breath held, ‘this could be just the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.’
For several minutes they stand there, side by side, gazing at the activity all around them. The white tent is adjusted to fully screen off the site from the public beyond the fence, and the head teacher is sensitively updated before she returns inside the school building to continue with her day. Just another day for her; for most of the people here. But not for Martha. A sob threatens to rise in her chest and she turns away from Toby, swallowing it down, an empty judder of emotion. She’s got her whole life to grieve; right now, she has to keep it together. Now that they’ve found her, Juliet deserves Martha’s full, uncompromised attention. She let her down once before, and she’s damned if she’ll fail her again.
‘What now?’ Toby asks Martha.
Resentment takes over. Liv should be here. If she did nothing else to help in this investigation, she should have been here, to share in this moment they’ve all longed for, the moment when Juliet’s whereabouts are at last uncovered. If not for Martha, she should have been here for Juliet.
‘Right. Toby, can you head over and find Sally and Jay – they’re just beyond the fence.’ She passes him a handwritten script sheet, penned just moments earlier. ‘I’m meant to be doing a piece to camera, with the excavation tent and activity in the background. Can you do it?’
‘Where are you off to?’ Toby calls after her as she walks away.
‘I’m going to call in on Liv,’ she replies without a backward glance. She bites back her tears as she strides on, tugging up the collar of her jacket, picking up pace. ‘She doesn’t get off so lightly. I don’t care how upsetting this is; Liv needs to be here.’
22. Casey
Martha says the police are digging up the gardens at Bridge School this morning, and I’m to meet her there. A body. She says they think a body may be buried beneath the foundations of the patio. Juliet’s body, she says. I feel sick as I read the words, sick at the thought of a body dumped in the ground like any old rubbish, crushed beneath rubble and concrete, hidden forever from the world and the people who love them. What a terrible thing, wh
at an evil thing.
Please come and meet me there, Liv. If it is Juliet, I’m going to need your support – I don’t know if I can do it alone and I think she’d want us to be together when she’s found.
I’m unsettled by her needful tone, the way she pleads with me – with Liv, with her friend. More than anything I want to be there for her. I want to be her friend. But I’m not Liv, and only Liv will do, and it makes me angry and scared and lonely to know that I can’t rush down there as I so want to, to take her hand in mine and help her through it. For an hour I pace the living room, forcing myself to eat a breakfast I know will rush through me like a freight train, popping anti-spasmodic pills in a bid to ease the morbid cramp that doubles me over. I return again and again to the email message displayed on my laptop screen, wondering what to do next, what action to take. After I’ve sat on the toilet for a while, the pain in my stomach begins to subside and the answer comes to me. I will go to the school, but I’ll keep my distance. Then, in a way I will be there for Martha, and the next time I email I can tell her that I did go as she asked, but failed to find her, and so returned home. Perhaps I can restore her belief in me, if I just make a bit more of an effort.
Within an hour of receiving Martha’s email, I am standing outside the school fence watching the comings and goings on the school grounds, as police officers and men in white boiler suits mill about, shifting tent panels and writing on clipboards. There are others alongside me, locals who have caught wind of the activity and are speculating about the reason for the forensics tent and police presence.
‘Someone said it was a stabbing,’ a young man with an ugly dog informs his friend. ‘Some gang thing.’
‘A kid from the school?’ his friend asks.
The dog owner nods knowledgeably.
Amazing! How people are so quick to fill in false detail when ignorant of the facts! ‘Everyone’s an expert,’ that’s what Mum used to say when she didn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d say it to Dad when he tried to encourage me to eat more at mealtimes, telling me I was a growing girl and it wouldn’t do me any good to go hungry. ‘And what do you know about it?’ she’d ask, irritated at him for encouraging me to break my diet. ‘Everyone’s an expert these days!’
Beautiful Liars_a gripping thriller about friendship, dark secrets and bitter betrayal Page 17
