Forget Me Never

by Gina Blaxill

  I wasn’t sure how much sense this made, but then Reece had always been a lot more into technology than me. ‘Why do we need your old phone?’ I asked as Reece pulled out a lead from the cabinet by the desk and connected the phone to the computer’s USB socket.

  ‘If I loaded Danielle’s file on to my current phone, it would replace my stuff with hers, and I’m not willing to do that. But it doesn’t matter on this old one.’ I watched Reece as he clicked about on the screen, presumably configuring the file with the old phone. After a while he nodded.

  ‘It’s loading.’

  ‘Are you sure this will work?’ I asked.

  ‘Trust me! This phone will be a replica of your cousin’s the last time she backed it up on Edith.’

  It seemed like an agonizing wait as everything transferred. But eventually everything was ready.

  ‘So,’ Reece said, ‘shall we have a look?’

  The iPhone’s display didn’t just show texts from other people – it showed chains of messages, so we could see Danielle’s replies too. I began to realize just how basic my mobile was.

  The most recent text was from Aiden, dated two weeks before Dani died.

  Hey Dan. Gotta speak to you, please tell me where you are. Hiding isn’t making this easier on either of us.

  Danielle had responded, Get lost! Never want 2 c u again! Wish id never got involved with anything and WISH ID NEVER MET U.

  I reread the message a second, third, fourth time. ‘Involved with anything’ . . . what on earth could that mean? It had to be specific – the choice of words was too weird otherwise.

  Over the next hour we read through all Dani’s texts. Many were from Aiden. Most of them were affectionate and she often replied with loads of kisses, telling him she loved him. The only other message between them that seemed less than friendly was one from Danielle that went, Where r u? Its half past & u said ud b in by 10. just called Carl, said u weren’t wiv him all nite. Where have u been? Who r u with? Aiden hadnt replied.

  There were a fair number of messages from me – texts were the main way we’d communicated – and also from a few other people I guessed were friends. The only name I recognized was Cherie – she’d been a work colleague of Dani’s. Somehow, judging by how frequently Dani had texted me, I’d expected there to be more messages. Perhaps some had been deleted.

  ‘Nothing!’ I said, frustrated. ‘This is driving me nuts!’

  ‘Her emails might tell us more,’ Reece said, scrolling to the email function. ‘If we’re lucky, this should log us in automatically.’

  The iPhone took us straight into Danielle’s email account. A load of messages popped up. One – entitled ‘done and dusted’ – caught my eye.

  From: aiden12@hotmail.co.uk

  To: dani_yellow_rose@gmail.com; charlotte11@ whizzmail.com; PS2000@gmail.com

  Hey guys,

  All going well at Vaughan-Bayard’s end. We can finalize the deal in August. Trials are looking good. Final results due on the 10th. Patrick, please confirm the arrangements for payment. Dani, please double-check about smuggling the data out of V-B. I don’t want any slip-ups.

  Cheers,

  A

  ‘Slip-ups?’ Reece exclaimed. ‘Smuggling out data? Doesn’t sound very above board, does it?’

  My heart sank. ‘There’s got to be a simple explanation. Dani was a good person.’

  Reece raised his eyebrows as he clicked on the next message.

  From: dani_yellow_rose@gmail.com

  To: charlotte11@whizzmail.com; PS2000@ gmail.com

  Cc: aiden12@hotmail.co.uk

  Hi, Aiden already knows but I thought I would keep you in the loop. Getting hold of the data is not a problem, and I can ensure no one knows we’ve accessed it. As soon as A gives me the go-ahead I will get everything sorted.

  Dani

  I couldn’t hide from the truth any more. My cousin had been involved in some sort of dodgy activity with Aiden and these other people. Dani might have been flaky, but her computing skills were one hundred per cent. Clearly she hadn’t been unwilling. And it looked as if the result might be worth a great deal of money.

  So did all this mean that Dani’s death could have been murder after all?

  I looked at Reece. He was frowning at a web page with a blue banner across the top. The logo beside it said Vaughan-Bayard.

  ‘Pharmaceutical-research company,’ Reece said. ‘UKbased, main site’s pretty near here. Ring any bells?’

  The name did sound familiar. ‘Dani worked there,’ I said, remembering. ‘She never told me much, but I think it was a pretty big organization with a small IT department.’

  ‘Aiden’s email mentions things “going well at Vaughan-Bayard’s end”. Seems safe to conclude that whatever was going on involved the company. He and Dani met through work, right?’

  The other people, Patrick and Charlotte, might be work colleagues too, I thought. I opened my mouth to say this to Reece – but before I could speak he said, ‘I’ve just come up with a fabulous plan for what to do next.’

  Hearing the smug note in his voice, I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘There is, however, a problem. You’re gonna hate it.’

  REECE

  Sophie eventually left just before dinner-time. When I came in after walking her to the bus stop, I found Mum in the dining room, standing by the French windows, staring out across the garden.

  ‘You OK?’ I touched her shoulder.

  ‘The new locks have been fitted,’ she said. I could see that she’d been crying.

  ‘Why don’t we have a cup of tea?’ I said. ‘Looks like you need one. Neve’s in bed, right? You want to talk?’

  ‘Tea won’t make things any better, Reece,’ Mum said wearily. ‘The past two days have been very stressful. The police don’t seem to think the burglars will come back, but still . . .’

  I almost told her what Sophie and I suspected but stopped myself. If Mum knew the break-in had been because of Soph, she’d go ballistic. Part of me felt like a traitor; my family were suffering because of a friend I’d invited round. But I pushed those feelings aside. They were pointless. Dropping Sophie in it wouldn’t make things any better.

  ‘One day you’re getting along just fine, then something happens and you realize just how fragile it all is,’ Mum carried on. ‘What if the burglars had attacked us? I can’t protect you and your sister from something like that. There’s only so much I can do – and that makes me feel I’m not enough.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ It came out sounding awkward.

  Mum sniffed, then gave me a thin smile. ‘Listen to me. No point going on, is there? Are you home this evening, or out?’

  ‘Home.’ I hadn’t given the matter any thought, but I knew it was the answer she wanted. We ended up watching one of her costume dramas. I hated it when Mum went needy like this. It made me miss Dad. And it made me feel inadequate.

  At least this coming week I’d have something new to focus on, if the plan I’d outlined to Sophie a few hours ago had legs. When I’d explained, Sophie had cried, ‘Undercover work experience? Are you for real?

  ‘Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.’ I’d quite enjoyed the indignation in her voice.

  ‘This isn’t a detective story, Reece! And you’re not a secret agent! Those films you watch have messed with your mind. D’you seriously think you’re going to find anything?’

  ‘Might,’ I’d said. ‘You’ve got to admit, work experience there would be a good way to poke about. Vaughan-Bayard’s deffo a part of this.’

  ‘What makes you think you should do this? Danielle was my cousin.

  ‘Use your brain, thicko! Stalker Aiden works there. You want to run into him?’

  Sophie had gone silent.

  ‘Aiden would know you were up to something the moment he saw you, but he won’t know who I am,’ I’d continued, pretty confident that the man wouldn’t recognize me from the brief glimpse he’d caught of me back in Bournemouth. ‘Once I’m i
n I can get chatting to people. There’s got to be some trace of what they were up to.’

  ‘The company might not do work experience. They might think it’s odd.’

  ‘Most big companies are cool with it,’ I’d said, though I had no evidence to back that one up. ‘It’s free labour. Schools always encourage students to use the summer “productively”. I can just lie and say I’m thinking of doing pharmacy at uni. I go to a nice posh school and I’m taking sciences next year. They’ll swallow it.’

  ‘They’ll make you work. It’s the holiday. Isn’t there other stuff you’d rather be doing?’

  ‘Why d’you always have to look for negatives? It’ll only be for a week. It’s not like I had plans.’

  It was almost like she didn’t want my help. I’d felt a little annoyed. Wanting me around on one hand, pushing me away on the other; Sophie was so bloody inconsistent. But then she had had a shock. Never in a million years had we been expecting to stumble on to those emails on the phone. Up until now I’d not believed there had been anything unusual about Danielle’s death. But now while it still looked like a suicide, it was clear that she was up to her eyes in something dodgy. I couldn’t help feeling hyped up. I’d been expecting this to be a quiet summer holiday – lots of cricket, sun, lazing about and ignoring my school assignments. Now Soph and I were involved in espionage.

  After a moment Sophie had sighed. ‘I guess doing this just makes it seem . . . well, serious.’

  ‘That’s the way I roll, doll,’ I’d said lightly, and Sophie had laughed.

  ‘OK, fine. It’s a good idea. And I might be able to help you get a foot in the door. Dani had this mate, Cherie, from work – I met her briefly at Dani’s funeral. I could contact her and say I’ve got a friend who wants work experience. She might be able to pull a few strings.’

  Cherie had certainly done that. It turned out she was the Head of Research’s PA, so had quite a bit of power. That didn’t surprise me. Everything had been sorted out more quickly than we’d dared hope. Come next Monday, I’d be inside Vaughan-Bayard.

  I wanted to set a good impression on my first day of work experience so I made sure I arrived bang on nine thirty. Mum had been delighted when she’d heard what I was doing, especially about my ‘wanting to study pharmacy at uni’. She’d always been worried about my ambition to play cricket at county or even country level in the future, saying that it wouldn’t lead to a steady income, and how if I got injured I wouldn’t be qualified for anything else. I felt bad about drawing her into the lie but what other option was there? Running a hand though my hair and hoping I looked smart enough, I pressed the intercom by the gate. A woman’s voice answered, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m Reece Osbourne, starting work experience here today. I’ve been told to report to Cherie.’

  ‘Oh yes, we’re expecting you. Come in.’

  There was a buzz and I pushed the gate open. It was then that I got my first proper look at Vaughan-Bayard Pharmaceuticals. The only pictures I’d been able to find online had been of the top of the building, which was about all you could see from the street, thanks to the walls ringing the site. Even the gate was solid metal, preventing passers-by from seeing through. If the thrillers I’d seen on telly were to be believed, pharmaceutical companies had every reason to be intensely secretive.

  As I walked through the yard towards reception I studied the building. For somewhere cutting edge it looked quite old and a bit shabbier than I’d been expecting. Still, I guessed it’d be a lot swisher inside.

  The polished marble reception was more like it – light and airy with plush leather sofas. Rows of photos on the walls showed serious-looking people who were apparently the company directors. They’d be rocking fun on a night out – not, I thought. The receptionist told me to take a seat.

  After about ten minutes Cherie arrived.

  ‘You must be Reece. Lovely to meet you; did you get here OK?’

  ‘Er . . . fine.’ I found myself tongue-tied. Cherie looked like a supermodel. Well, maybe more a movie star – way too hot for someone who worked in a place like this. Her hair was dyed dark red and she wore shoes and lipstick the same colour. She was much taller than me, even without the heels she was wearing. She had a natural authority to her that told me she got stuff done and didn’t take any crap.

  Cherie raised an eyebrow and I felt myself blush. I had a feeling she knew exactly what I was thinking. She probably had this effect on everyone and was well aware of it.

  ‘You’ll need to hand over your phone every morning,’ she said, nodding to the security guard standing by the reception desk. ‘No one who works here is allowed to bring their mobile on site. You can collect it at the end of the day.’

  This was a blow. I’d been planning to text Soph with exciting little updates throughout the day. But there was no point arguing, so I did as Cherie said. I also had to walk through a machine which looked very similar to the ones they used for security checks at airports, presumably to make sure I wasn’t taking in anything I shouldn’t be.

  ‘I’ve a timetable for you,’ Cherie said, leading me down a corridor with the same floor pattern as reception. The air felt a little damp. It reminded me of the science block in Broom Hill. ‘You’re going to have a crash course in each of our different departments to give you an idea of what we do and how we do it. We can’t really give you any depth of knowledge in a week though. Sound OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She was walking very quickly. It was difficult to keep up with her. ‘I’m thinking of doing something science-based when I apply to uni, possibly pharmacy, so any first-hand experience is great.’

  We came to a staircase. Cherie led me up to the second floor and through a door with a plaque on it, reading: ‘Giles McIntyre, Head of Research’. She swiped her staff card to get in – most doors seemed to be security protected, which wasn’t going to make poking about easy. The room inside had another door leading off it – to another office, I guessed – and a very neat desk, filing cabinets and a water cooler. Cherie poured me a glass, which I gulped down. It was a lot hotter here than it had been down below.

  ‘Now,’ Cherie said, settling at the desk and gesturing for me to pull over the seat by the coat stand, ‘I don’t usually deal with work-experience kids myself, but as you’re Sophie’s friend I’m making an exception. How much do you know about Vaughan-Bayard?’

  I’d done my homework. If I was going to be convincing in my role as a keen future pharmacist, I needed to be able to blag. Luckily, blagging came naturally to me. I repeated what I’d read on Wikipedia.

  Cherie nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. We have other research centres elsewhere in the UK. We’re one of the largest independent British pharmaceutical companies. Most are owned by conglomerates now, often stateside.’

  ‘So do you manufacture things we see in the shops, or is it just research?’

  ‘Research. Once a drug has passed all the trials we send it elsewhere to be produced – that’s a massive job in itself.’

  ‘Would it be cheeky to ask what you have in the pipeline?’

  ‘If I told you I’d get the sack,’ Cherie said, smiling. ‘New developments in our industry can be worth millions. There are no end of rival companies who’d love to know what we’re up to.’

  ‘But that wouldn’t matter, right? You patent your research.’ I knew about patenting from watching Dragons’ Den. Whenever an entrepreneur came along with a new proposition they’d be quick to point out that they had a patent so no one could steal their idea. A company as switched on as Vaughan-Bayard would be quick on the uptake there; too much to lose. I guessed another company could try to develop a similar formula that didn’t violate the patent. However, that’d take time, maybe years.

  ‘You have done your homework.’ Cherie sounded faintly impressed. ‘Yes, we use patents, but only after a certain point in the development process. You can’t effectively patent a formula until you know it will work.’

  Before I could ask a
nything else Cherie started explaining the employment structure of Vaughan-Bayard, the range of products they’d already developed and then what her job as PA to the Head of Research entailed. She obviously had a lot of knowledge about the company and everything that went on there.

  At one point the office door opened and a man wearing a dark blue suit entered. He had thick grey hair and wore rimless glasses. This must be Giles McIntyre.

  ‘Morning,’ Cherie said. ‘How was your weekend?’

  ‘Very nice, thank you – went over to Hadley Wood on Saturday with Mike, then caught some rays at Lord’s on Sunday.’ McIntyre hung his jacket on the hanger by the door, looking at me quizzically. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘This is Reece,’ Cherie said. ‘He’s on work experience with us this week. I mentioned it on Friday, remember?’

  ‘Of course; how forgetful of me.’ McIntyre shook my hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Reece. I hear you want to work in the pharmaceutical business.’

  I nodded, but I was more interested in his mention of Lord’s – the home of cricket. I’d first gone there with Dad for my eighth birthday to watch England play and I’d never forgotten it. Since then I’d spent as much as I could afford on seeing county matches there. Maybe someday I’d be on the other side of the boundary, actually playing on the field.

  Before I could stop myself, I said, ‘Yesterday looked like a brilliant day’s play. It would’ve been wicked to see that hat-trick live.’

  Mr McIntyre looked startled. Too late I remembered that this was the Head of Research at a powerful pharmaceutical company. And here I was mouthing off to him about cricket.

  ‘Er . . . sorry if that was rude,’ I said. ‘Just got excited. The word “Lord’s” makes something go ping in my brain.’

  For a moment I thought I was in trouble. But then Mr McIntyre smiled.

  ‘Yes, it was an excellent day’s play – I’m only sorry I can’t be there today too, though I do intend to tune in to Test Match Special later. I’m ninety per cent certain itll be a draw though. So, do you play yourself?’