by S. E. Lynes
Bridget feels more sorry for her than she can put into words. Even if she knew how to phrase what she feels now, she would not say it. She wants to throw her arms around her sister’s neck and ask, How can I fix you? but right now, at this moment, it would be like trying to hold a bramble.
‘It’s not right, Tones,’ she says softly.
‘But she ran out before I…’ Toni sobs, looks desperately out of the kitchen window, as if by some miracle her daughter will come bounding across the patio, all smiles. ‘And I can’t text her because she doesn’t have her phone.’ She looks around the kitchen then, as if searching for something. ‘I think I’ll drive to the café. I won’t go in. I’ll just drive past slowly and see if I can spot her. Or I could go in and say, hey, you forgot your phone.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Or I could text Naomi, couldn’t I? Say, hey, I know you’re with Rosie so can you tell her she’s forgotten her phone? Her number will be in here. In fact, I’ve got Naomi’s number in my phone, I could call her from mine…’
Bridget feels a tightening around her heart. ‘Look, why don’t you and me go into Richmond instead? We can go for coffee in that new Danish place. Saph said the cakes in there are better than sex. We could have one each and see if we can remember far enough back to compare.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Stop trying to make me laugh.’ Toni’s mouth presses tight before she opens it again. She breathes sharply in, as if to make an announcement. ‘You can’t joke me out of this. Either you help me check this phone, or I’m getting in my car and I’m going to see if she’s really where she said she’d be.’ She looks into Bridget’s eyes.
‘Hold on, wait a second. What do you need me for anyway? If you want to check it, then check it.’
‘I… Come on, Bridge. You know more about these things than me.’
Bridget turns away. She throws her cloth into the bucket of soapy water, leans her hands on the countertop, one on each side of the sink. Behind her, her sister sniffs. In the quiet flat, Bridget hears the thrum of a plane as it passes overhead. Over thirty years ago, she and her sister made a pact. And there was, there is and there will forever be no going back.
She turns from the sink to see Toni weeping determinedly, elbows on the table, face in her hands.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘Give it here then.’
* * *
It is quarter to twelve. Bridget sits down next to her sister. There is no justification for doing what she is about to do, and part of her feels dirty even holding the damn phone. So she hands it to her sister.
‘You go as far as you can. If you get stuck, I’ll help, all right?’
Toni inputs Rosie’s password. The neat square apps bloom in orderly rows on the screen: Weather, Messages, Calendar, Photos, Camera, Clock, Maps, Videos…
‘This is wrong,’ Bridget mutters.
‘Please, Bridge. Just sit with me, will you?’
Safari, Mail, Phone, Facebook.
Toni presses the Facebook icon. Immediately, Rosie’s feed comes up in white, the familiar blue band across the top. On the globe icon there is the red notification flag: 15. Fifteen, like her age, like a ranking on this silly little world.
‘I’ve checked through her friends,’ she says. ‘I mean, I don’t know all of them, there’s hundreds, but there’s no one dodgy-looking, none of her teachers or school staff or anything; I checked against the staff list, including the caretakers.’
Bridget wishes Toni would shut up – leave her out of it. She no longer wants to put her arms around her. She would prefer, frankly, to wring her neck.
‘So you’re going to access her private messages? She’ll know you’ve checked her phone if you do that – you know that, don’t you?’
Her sister is biting her thumbnail and blinking over and over like she has sand in her eyes.
‘I have to,’ she says. ‘That’s the whole point.’
In an attempt to slow things down, in the hope that her sister will see sense, Bridget leans back in her chair. ‘OK. Let’s just scroll forward a second. What if you find a message from a boy? What then? Have you thought about that? She’s fifteen years old. She can have a boyfriend, can’t she?’
‘I’m not saying she can’t.’ Toni’s voice rises. ‘But she needs to know she can’t do that without telling me, or there’ll be consequences. She needs to tell me the truth.’
Bridget regrets having said anything. Regrets being here. She should have gone to Saph’s.
‘Otherwise how can I look after her?’ Toni continues, her voice as high as a child’s. ‘How can I protect her, Bridge, if I don’t know where she is or who she’s with?’
Bridget thinks of herself at that age, and all that she had to hide, the consequences if any of it had come out, and even after so many years, a wave of anxiety passes through her.
‘OK,’ Toni says, eyes fixed on the phone. ‘There’s a message from Naomi. I’ll just…’ She presses the icon.
Despite herself, Bridget leans in to her sister and reads the screen.
Rosie Flint
* * *
Hey babes. Can u do me a fave? Can you tell your mum you’re meeting me on Sat morn? In case my mum checks? Gritted-teeth emoji. Kissing-lips emoji.
* * *
Thursday 23.30
* * *
Naomi Philips
* * *
Ooh. Is it Ollie? Yes BTW. But text me after. I wanna know all the deets. Winking-face emoji.
* * *
Thursday 23.35
‘Oh my God,’ Toni shouts at the phone. ‘That’s this Thursday just gone. She’s not meeting Naomi today. I was right – I was bloody right. She’s… she’s been deceiving me all this time. Hang on, what’s this one…?’
Naomi Philips
* * *
Hey doll, wanna meet up this morning?
* * *
19 May
* * *
Rosie Flint
* * *
Hey Nomes. Nah. Because homework. Frowning-face emoji.
* * *
19 May
Unease rises in Bridget, thickens.
‘The nineteenth,’ Toni says, her voice loud in Bridget’s ear. ‘That’s last Saturday. So she wasn’t meeting Naomi then either. I bloody knew it.’
‘Tones, wait. It’s not the end of the world. She’s probably—’
‘There’s no probably, Bridge. Stop sticking up for her. You’re always sticking up for her. She’s meeting a boy, and she hasn’t told me.’
‘All right, all right.’ Bridget snatches up the phone. ‘Calm down, Tones. Just calm down.’
‘What’s that message?’ Toni grabs the phone and stares into it. ‘What’s this one? Who’s Ollie Thomas?’
‘How should I know?’
‘Has she mentioned him to you? Is he from the theatre?’
‘I… I can’t remember. How could I possibly remember? Look, let’s see what his message says and then we’ll have a think, OK?’
Toni puts the phone in front of them on the table. There is an exchange of messages with this Ollie Thomas. Even from his tiny thumbnail picture Bridget can see he is good-looking. A real heart-throb, if you like that sort of thing.
Ollie Thomas
* * *
Gr8 to c u over here on FB. Do you have Snapchat yet?
* * *
18 May 2016
* * *
Rosie Flint
* * *
Cool. No Snapchat cos CBA. Also, my mum’s a FB friend so… Gritted-teeth emoji.
* * *
18 May 2016
* * *
Ollie Thomas
* * *
DW… I’ve come off Snapchat anyway. Too busy. Better 2 PM you on Insta instead if u worried about ur mum? Gritted-teeth emoji. Monkey-covering-eyes emoji.
* * *
18 May 2016
* * *
Rosie Flint
* * *
C
ool. Thumbs-up emoji. Monkey-covering-eyes emoji.
* * *
18 May 2016
‘May 2016!’ Toni cries. When she speaks again, it is through her fingers. ‘That’s a year ago! What does he mean, over here? What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Bridget replies quietly, chastened. ‘I don’t know.’
Forty-Three
Rosie
In the café, his breath on my face. His face in my face. His dirty glasses make me feel sick, Mummy. Can you hear me? I can feel you near. I am here in the café but it’s not now, it’s… When is this? When am I? I am today. I am this morning. I am now. I am in two moments in time, travelling but not travelling. Being. I can feel the pillow under my head. I can see the water above me… I am lying under the dark, the weeds… the hard seat hurts my bottom… not enough padding, you say… when do you say that? Did you hear me say that to myself? My mouth is dry, Mummy, but I’m not thirsty. He is sitting too close too close too close. I want to call you, Mummy… you are near but you are foggy. I can’t shout to you. I can’t call you. I left my phone in the… I ran out in a rage… You are such a pain, you won’t leave me alone. I was so pissed off with you, but now I need you and I can’t call you. You’re always nagging me to call, and I don’t want to have to call all the time but now I do – I do want to call and I do have the time, but I can’t call because I left my phone in the flat I can’t I can’t I can’t. Mummy, help me, help me, help me escape from this horrible man. He’s saying he’s Ollie. He’s not Ollie, he’s someone else – he’s an old man and his glasses are dirty and he’s making me feel sick.
The man smiles. I sense you’re disappointed, which is a shame. I’m really rather a nice chap if you get to know me. I like your jeans, by the way. Is that the fashion, to have the rips and the holes in them like that? He chuckles like an old man. He is an old man.
You’re not… what have you done to Ollie?
The girl from the till comes over. The man smiles at her and asks her how she is. She replies OK but her eyes are dead like she’s bored. I try to talk to her with my eyes, Mum. Help me, I try to say. I really try, Mummy, but I can’t speak. I can’t speak. Is this now or then? Where are you, Mummy? Are you outside the café with Auntie Bridge? No. No, you’re not because that’s last week and this is today. Today – this morning. I’m opening my mouth but no voice comes out. The girl looks at my hot chocolate, but when she sees that the cup is still half full, she walks away.
Come back, I shout to her with my eyes. Come back, come back.
What’s the matter, Sexy Lady? Cat got your tongue?
I have to do someth— I have to… I have to move get out run away. Come on, Rosie. Come on. Get your arse off the chair for fuck’s sake and run. Run, Little Red, run.
I must say, I feel like you’re cross with me about something. Are you sending me to Coventry, young lady? After all the encouragement I’ve given you?
I… I have to go, I’ve got a… a thing. I have to be… sorry.
So soon? Why not stay a while longer? We can chat. You can get to know me better. It seems a shame not to spend a little time together after we’ve got to know each other so well. You’ve grown up through knowing me, don’t you agree? You’re more confident now. I think if we talked you’d learn that beauty is only skin deep and that a man like me actually has a great deal to offer. Experience, for one. He leans forward. Tell me, are you wearing that wonderful red nail varnish on your toes?
What has he done with Ollie? He has killed him! Oh God, he has killed Ollie and stolen his phone and hacked into his computer. He has seen my… he has seen my… oh God.
I pick up my bag. I thread my arms through my jacket sleeves.
My mum’s waiting outside, I say.
Is she, dear? I don’t think so. That was last week, wasn’t it? You’re getting all muddled. We’re doing so much better this week, aren’t we? Last week you left and before we had the chance to chat, we were interrupted by your mummy.
There is no Ollie.
It hits me like a kick in the chest.
People do this. Fake profiles. We learnt about it in PSHE. Oh, Mummy, you will be so cross with me. This is the bad thing. I think this is it. I don’t get away, do I? He takes me and ties me up in his van. It’s not Auntie Bridge’s van. It’s his. He throws me in the back and drives off with me. I remember the tin space, banging my arms, my head. It’s him, standing in the light when the door opens. It’s him ripping the tape from my mouth. He knows everything. He knows everything because I have told him everything. Me. I did that. I gave him that. Everything. Idiot!
Am I dead? Am I dead, Mummy? Is this heaven’s waiting room?
What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?
He is leaning towards me. His breath smells. What should I do, Mummy? Keep it nice – stop it from turning nasty? Keep it safe and nice. Shout? I can’t shout. I want to, but I can’t.
It was nice meeting you, but I… I really have to go now.
When I get home, I will tell you everything. I am so sorry I lied. I am so, so sorry. This is what I am sorry about. Yes, this is the nasty thing.
I get up. My legs shake.
He gets up too. Perhaps a walk in the park would be better, what do you say?
No! I mean, sorry, I… I actually have to go home.
Then at least let me pay for your hot chocolate. I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t pay for your drink on our date, would I?
I’ve already paid, thanks. I back away. He stays at the table, thank God.
I turn away from his horrible big blinking eyes, his dirty glasses. I try not to run. I walk quickly towards the door. The girl on the till isn’t even looking; she is serving someone, chatting, smiling. The other girl, with the blue hair, is at the back, putting cooked breakfasts on big white oval plates onto a crowded table. The café is noisy but no one is even looking at me. How can this be happening in front of everyone? In daylight? In this nice, busy place? Why can’t I ask for help, Mummy? Why can’t I tell him to leave me alone? Why can’t I shout to her, the girl with the blue hair? To the four women who have just come in, laughing together? To the Polish girl on the till? They would help. Blue-hair girl would be cool. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I tell her what’s happening? It is broad daylight. Why can’t I speak out?
If I get outside, I will be OK. I will get the bus.
No, I won’t, because he could get on the bus too, and if no one else gets off at my stop or if there’s no one out on our road, I will be toast.
I will walk home.
No, I won’t. He could follow me, wait until we are alone, until there is an alley or a quiet street or a doorway, and just push me into it, quick, while no one is looking.
I will call you, and if you don’t answer, I’ll call Auntie Bridge. No, I can’t, can I? I’ve left my phone in the flat.
I will walk… around. Just around. I will stay here on the high street where there are people. I will do my breathing, like before a performance. It is broad daylight. Do re mi fa so la ti do.
I will calm myself down. I will go into a shop and politely ask to use their phone. If he follows me in, I will say, This man is not my father, I don’t know him, he is following me. Help. Help me. Call the police.
Beep beep… Is that you? Is that you, Mummy?
I step out onto the street. The light hurts my eyes. I feel the door behind me not quite close, open again. It’s him. I know it without having to turn around. I can feel him. My mouth is dry. I am gulping. I am moving my tongue around, trying to create spit.
Heavens, you are in a hurry, young lady.
Beep beep…
I turn left, walk towards the crossing. I will not cross. I will not go into the park or near the park gate. I will walk slowly. I will do my breathing. Do re mi fa so la ti do.
There are people on the pavement. There are couples, there are families with dogs, little kids in buggies. I smile at them. A mum smiles back. A kid eating a croiss
ant in his buggy waves at me. I wave. I smile. Can’t they see the sweat on my face? Can’t they see him behind me, talking to me like he knows me?
Good idea, he is saying. A brisk stroll around the town on this fine Saturday morn. I don’t often get out, you see. This is quite a treat.
It’s OK; it’s OK. I will calm myself. I will do my breathing. There is a church on the left just before the crossing. There are old people outside selling plants and second-hand books. I will buy a second-hand book! Or a plant. I will buy you a plant, Mummy, to say sorry. You love plants. I will ask them, politely…
Hey, slow down, he says from behind me. Don’t you want to stroll in the park with me? It’s such a lovely day and so crowded here.
Beep beep…
Calm. Breathe. I will pretend to buy a geranium here at this nice church. You love geraniums, Mummy. I’ll buy one and I’ll whisper to the lady with the short grey hair: This man is following me. Help. Help me.
Rosie darling, you can’t ignore me like this. He says it quietly but his head is near my head and I hear him. All I want to do is talk – get to know you a little. You could come back to my place…
Beep beep… Beep beep… Beep beep. I know that sound. That sound saves me, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it, Mummy?
Cooee! Rosie! Rosie darling!
Beep beep. Beep beep beeeeeep. A red Mini. The sunroof is down. It’s Emily! She stops at the crossing. She is waving. I burst into tears and run to her.
