The Wayward Girls

by Amanda Mason

  But she keeps her eyes open, even as the light in here gets brighter, fiercer. She can see the look on Nina’s face – not fear or confusion, she’s lit up, just like Bee always was, and Lucy is uncomfortably aware of the pressure building in her head. They stand, looking about the room trying to locate the source of the sound, and there they are, reflected in the window. The image begins to tremble, to vibrate as the window starts to shudder, twisting their limbs into impossible shapes.

  It won’t hold.

  It can’t hold.

  It’s worse this time.

  Nina steps forward. ‘It’s outside,’ she says. ‘Is there someone—’ Her voice fades as she places a hand against the pane, the glass thrumming against her skin. ‘There’s someone—’ she tries again. But they can’t see; neither of them can see beyond their mirror images.

  Lucy feels what she should do next, rather than thinking it; she grabs Nina and pulls her away from the window. They fall to the floor as the pane explodes, showering them with fragments of needle-sharp glass as the cold night air rushes in.

  Lucy takes Nina into the kitchen, leads her to the sink and turns on the tap.

  ‘Here.’

  The water rushes icy cold over the younger woman’s hands, running a rosy pink around the basin.

  ‘Ow.’ Nina tries to pull away.

  ‘Hang on. Let the water run on it for a bit longer.’ Lucy vanishes for a moment or two before reappearing with a small towel. ‘Here.’

  ‘It’ll stain.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She turns off the tap and examines Nina’s fingers. ‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ she says. ‘Some fairly deep scratches, but you’ll live. You were lucky.’ She dries the cuts gently, blotting away the last of the water and the blood.

  Hal sits on the bottom stair in the hall as Lewis bustles past with a broom and dustpan he’s found somewhere. He lets them all get on with it, soothing themselves with practicalities. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

  ‘We got it, right?’

  He opens his eyes and Nina is standing over him, damp hair pushed back from her face, a thin red weal running from her temple to her ear, the towel wrapped around her right hand.

  ‘We got it all on video?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you check?’

  He gets to his feet. The last thing he wants to do is go back into that room, to replay events, but he has no choice.

  ‘We can look now,’ he says.

  20

  Then

  ‘You’re late,’ said Bee, as Isobel walked up the lane. They were in the front garden watching out for her, and Simon was sitting on the doorstep watching them.

  ‘I do have a job, you know.’

  ‘Where’s your car?’ Loo liked Issy’s car. It was powder blue, a Beetle.

  ‘At home. I’ve been working on a story with Liam Carter in Danby, he dropped me off on the way back.’

  ‘Are you going to take our photo today?’ asked Loo. Issy sat next to Simon and Loo sat cross-legged on the grass in front of her while Bee swung slowly on the wooden front gate.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Isobel. ‘When I get my breath back. Aren’t you fed up of having your picture taken?’

  ‘We don’t mind,’ said Bee, concentrating on moving the gate inch by inch across the path, the rusting hinges complaining. ‘We were in the newspapers again. Cathy thinks we don’t know, but we do.’

  ‘We saw the paper in the kitchen, but then she moved it,’ said Loo.

  ‘She thinks she’s hidden it, but we know all her hiding places.’ Bee jumped down and turned to face them. ‘We’re bored,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t we do something?’ said Loo. ‘Can we go and get an ice cream?’

  Bee and Loo took their time choosing as Simon looked around the village shop, which was to his eyes little more than a post office counter, a rack of newspapers and a few shelves crammed with tins and plastic-wrapped bread.

  ‘Morning, Isobel,’ said the woman behind the counter, not much older than Issy and wearing an apron over her cotton shirt and skirt. Her smile faded when she saw the girls. ‘Not at work?’

  ‘Not until this evening,’ said Issy.

  Bee leant over and whispered something in Loo’s ear and Loo giggled.

  ‘Have you two found what you want yet?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Bee, leaning over the small freezer and making a show of rummaging around inside it.

  ‘I’m covering a swimming gala over in Whitby later,’ said Isobel.

  ‘Well, they’ve got the weather for it.’ The woman rearranged the folded papers on the counter, pushing them into line; her hands were stained with newsprint, her nails painted a sickly pink. ‘You’ve been up the farm then?’ she said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  The woman looked over at the girls, her expression a combination of distrust and pity. ‘I saw it,’ she said, ‘in the Mirror.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of anything else happening at Iron Sike Farm?’ Simon said.

  The woman looked up at him. You could practically hear the questions floating around in her head. Are you the dad then? Or someone to do with Isobel? He smiled politely.

  ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘Never been a hint of trouble until they moved in.’

  A faint stress on ‘they’.

  ‘I see.’ Behind him the lid of the ice-cream freezer thudded shut.

  ‘Here.’ Bee put their ice creams, a Mivvi for her and a choc ice for Loo, on the newspaper display, ice particles soaking into the front pages as the woman snatched them up again. The two grown-ups chose orange ice lollies and, once Simon had paid for them, they crossed the road to the war memorial, a stubby stone cross surrounded by wooden benches, and sat to eat in comfort.

  ‘I love ice cream,’ said Loo, before biting into her choc ice and scattering shards of milk chocolate down her front.

  Bee pulled the paper wrapper from her lolly and dropped it with exaggerated care into the bent wire bin. ‘That shop’s rubbish,’ she said. ‘They don’t sell proper food at all. Everything’s processed and overpriced.’

  ‘You sound like your mother,’ said Simon.

  ‘Her,’ said Bee. ‘She doesn’t know anything.’

  They ate in silence for a moment or two.

  ‘They don’t like us here,’ said Bee.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  Bee took another bite of her lolly, her mouth already stained red, melting ice cream dribbling down her grubby fingers. ‘We came down for a walk, when we moved in, back in March. And Cathy took us in the shop and she said hello and was polite and all of that, and she introduced us and bought some of her rubbishy food and a newspaper—’

  ‘Bee,’ said Loo, ‘don’t.’

  ‘And she was there, that woman, and an old lady too and then, after she’d served us, they didn’t even wait until we’d got out of the door.’ Bee stopped for breath, took another bite of ice cream.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Simon, curious despite himself.

  ‘I heard her – I heard one of them say we were gypsies, dirty gypsies.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I heard them too,’ said Loo. ‘They thought we wouldn’t hear ’cos Anto was making a fuss.’

  Simon looked at Isobel, ready to follow her lead, unsure whether he should offer sympathy or condemnation.

  ‘Haven’t you got any friends?’ Issy asked. ‘There are a few kids your age round here, aren’t there?’

  ‘They’re all boring,’ said Bee. She might have said more but Loo managed to collapse the last of her choc ice all over her frock and Simon and Issy started to fuss over her, as if she was a bloody baby.

  ‘Can we go?’ said Bee, standing up. She wanted to be well out of the way when the stupid cow in the post office found that her ice-cream freezer was unplugged.

  ‘Can we go to Whitby?’ said Bee as they idled their way back out of the village. ‘We could go to the beach.’ They hadn’t b
een to the seaside since moving to Longdale, not once. There was no bus and the train service which snaked along the valley was slow and expensive, or so Cathy said.

  Loo turned to Issy. ‘We could go to your house,’ she said. Issy had described her little flat, up in the roof of an old Georgian house, close by the harbour; it sounded perfect to Loo and she liked to pretend that she and Bee lived in a flat, too. She tidied their room every day and had taken to picking flowers from the garden which she kept in a grubby jam jar on the window ledge. ‘Please, Issy.’

  ‘Maybe another time,’ said Isobel.

  ‘We never go anywhere,’ said Bee, ‘and it’s too hot. It’s not fair.’

  ‘We can’t just vanish,’ said Simon. ‘What about the professor?’

  ‘We could stay close by then,’ said Loo. ‘We could go to the Lido.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Down by the river,’ said Isobel. ‘People swim there sometimes. It’s just a flat bit of river bank.’

  ‘Please?’ said Loo. ‘Cathy won’t let us go on our own.’

  Simon and Issy looked at one another, until one of them, Loo wasn’t sure who, gave in first.

  ‘All right then,’ said Simon.

  ‘But not for long,’ said Issy.

  The path ran across one of Peter Eglon’s fields and down to the Esk. They had to walk one by one in single file so as not to damage the crops. Bee, then Simon, then Loo, then Issy, all the way down to the river. The water was shady there, dark green, cool and quiet.

  ‘Let’s swim,’ said Bee.

  ‘You can’t swim,’ said Loo.

  ‘Paddle, then,’ said Bee, looking out across the glistening water. ‘It’s shallow enough.’

  It was, and the river ran slowly here; it was low and clear enough to see the great stone slabs that lay on the river bed, rusty brown and shadowy.

  ‘It’s too cold for me,’ said Issy, sitting on a fallen tree trunk and fiddling with her camera.

  ‘You haven’t even tried it,’ said Simon.

  ‘I don’t need to. You go in if you want, but you’ll be sorry.’

  Loo was standing on the very edge of the river bank, peering in. Loo was right, the water was shallow here, and the light danced on it, dazzling her.

  ‘Well, I’m going in,’ said Bee.

  ‘Fine.’ Simon sat down and, after kicking off his shoes and socks, began to roll up his jeans. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Issy, raising her camera.

  ‘Coward,’ said Simon.

  Bee kicked off her sandals and clambered carefully down the bank. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Is it cold?’ asked Loo.

  ‘No,’ said Bee, walking into the river, up to her knees, up to her thighs.

  ‘Bee. Your frock,’ said Issy. Bee looked down; the skirt of her dress swirled and bloomed briefly against the river’s lazy current before darkening and sinking.

  ‘You’ll get soaked,’ said Loo, perching carefully on the bank and slipping off her flip-flops. Bee reached down and snatched at her dress, then, glancing over her shoulder at Simon who had just stepped into the river, she pulled it up and over her head.

  ‘Catch!’ The dress landed next to Loo. She placed her feet gently into the water. Bee was a liar; it was freezing. Simon staggered a little, from the cold perhaps, or maybe the pebbles on the river bank shifting.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Bee.’

  Loo could feel the goose bumps rising on her legs. Her feet were watery pale in the river, numb. She stood and edged her way cautiously in, wobbling slightly as her feet made contact with the cool and slimy mud.

  Behind her, Issy took her place on the river bank, kicking off her sandals and dipping her toes in the water. Bee, wearing only a pair of faded blue knickers and an off-white bra, waded further in.

  ‘This is brilliant,’ she said.

  ‘Not too far, Bee,’ said Issy.

  ‘Brilliant!’ She turned to face Simon, scooping up armfuls of water to splash him, making the air between them sparkle. ‘Come on, Simon, come in,’ she said, splashing the water again, droplets catching in her hair and on her face. ‘You know you want to.’ As if they were quite alone, the two of them.

  ‘It’s cold,’ said Loo and Simon turned to look at her. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘Come on, Lucia.’

  She thought for a moment and then tucked the hem of her skirt into the leg of her knickers, and made her way carefully towards him, slow and determined.

  ‘There. See?’ he said, catching hold of her fingers. ‘Well done you.’

  And he stood there smiling at her as the sunlight bounced off the water and a cool breeze wrapped itself around them both.

  ‘Come on,’ said Bee. ‘You have to come right in, Loo.’ And she stepped back, the water rising to her hips.

  ‘Bee …’ Issy was knee-deep now, her camera abandoned on the bank.

  ‘Come back,’ she said.

  Bee looked at Issy and smiled. She stepped back, once, twice more, until the water circled her waist, then she slipped under the water and out of sight.

  None of them moved. The water closed over Bee’s head and still none of them moved.

  ‘Bee,’ said Loo, ‘don’t.’ And she let go of Simon, pushing forward, frantically propelling herself towards her sister.

  ‘Christ.’ Simon caught hold of her and pulled her into his arms. ‘No, Loo, not you as well,’ he said, hauling her back towards the river bank. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ And Loo wrapped her arms and legs around him, burying her face in his neck, suddenly too afraid to look.

  It was Issy who got to Bee, reaching her just as she resurfaced, coughing, gasping for air. She saw Issy and scowled.

  Without speaking, Issy grabbed hold of Bee and dragged her roughly back to safety, the pair of them staggering against the water, leaving a foaming wake. Bee slipped on the muddy stones, falling forward and vanishing briefly under the water again, pulling Issy with her, before Issy forced her way back up, pushing Bee up onto the river bank.

  Bee climbed slowly out of the river on her hands and knees and lay breathless on the ground, water streaming from her skin and hair, her underwear transparent. Blood ran freely down her leg from a scrape on her knee.

  Issy sat down next to her. ‘You stupid bloody girl,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t – can’t—’

  Bee was lying on her back, gasping, struggling for air.

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  She rolled onto her side. ‘Can’t—’ Her shoulders were heaving.

  ‘Bee?’

  ‘Asthma,’ said Loo. ‘She has asthma.’

  Simon and Issy were both kneeling over her now.

  ‘Does she have medicine, Loo? An inhaler?’ asked Issy.

  ‘It’s at home. I think. She never bothers with it, she never—’

  Bee took one last shuddering gasp of air, then lay motionless on the ground.

  ‘Shit.’ Simon leant over Bee, placed one hand tentatively on her shoulder. ‘Bee, Bee, can you hear me?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Bee.’

  He shook her and the girl rolled onto her back, her eyes closed, pale and still.

  ‘Bee,’ said Loo, ‘Bee. Don’t.’

  There was a minute of agonised silence then Bee opened her eyes and burst into laughter. ‘Your faces,’ she said. ‘You should see your faces.’

  Michael and Olivia were sitting in the kitchen, a newspaper spread out on the table in front of them.

  ‘Good grief,’ Michael said when he saw them all. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We went to the Lido,’ said Bee, ‘paddling. Is there anything to eat?’ And she picked up the newspaper before he could stop her. The picture on the front page was the one Isobel had taken of the professor holding up the marble, the rest of the room slightly blurry behind him. The headline was one word. PROOF?

  ‘Isn’t there a picture
of us in this one?’ she said, flicking through the paper.

  Cathy came in from the garden carrying a basket half filled with greens from the vegetable patch. ‘What on earth have you two been up to?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Simon. ‘The girls wanted to go down to the river and—’

  ‘We went paddling,’ said Loo. ‘Then Simon carried me back.’

  ‘But look at the state of you,’ said Cathy, dropping the basket on the table, grabbing a tea towel and setting about drying Bee’s hair.

  ‘It’s just water,’ said Bee, pushing her mother away.

  From somewhere above the door came three sharp raps in succession.

  ‘Bianca,’ said Cathy.

  ‘Don’t fuss.’

  Three more sharp raps.

  ‘Come in,’ said Bee, but of course no one did. In the front bedroom the baby began to wail.

  ‘Bathroom now, both of you,’ said Cathy. ‘Get dried off and put some clean clothes on.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said Bee. ‘What are we having for tea?’

  ‘Now,’ said Cathy.

  ‘Bye, Simon,’ Bee said, flicking her long hair back over her shoulder, pointedly ignoring the other grown-ups as she led the way upstairs. Cathy sat at the table, closing the newspaper, pushing it to one side.

  ‘We were thinking,’ Michael said, ‘that today might be a good opportunity to involve Olivia in the conversation with Tib.’

  This wasn’t the first time, of course. Michael had been pushing for this ever since Olivia had arrived. Upstairs a door slammed and the baby’s crying took on a frantic quality.

  ‘The thing is, I don’t have much time,’ said Olivia. ‘I’m expected back in London shortly. We neither of us mean to rush you, but I’m not able to stay for very long.’

  ‘We’re very fortunate,’ said Michael, ‘that Olivia is able to join us at all, that she is willing to help Lucia.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Cathy. ‘It’s just, I’m not … sure.’

  ‘Sure of what?’ Michael asked.

  ‘I’m not sure it helps,’ Cathy said. ‘Maybe all this attention, all this fuss, is just making things worse. I’m sorry,’ she said to Olivia, ‘I know you’ve come a long way, but maybe we should just call a halt to everything.’ She stood. ‘I’m sorry – the baby—’