‘But I don’t really get it. Why would Grace want to destroy it?’
My cheeks burn. ‘We used to take pictures of ourselves, you know, together. Charlotte caught us once and that’s what we were arguing about. She threatened to tell Michael. Threatened to expose us. He was a homophobic bigot, we would have been in so much trouble. Everyone was terrified about him back then. The photos were the only evidence of our relationship. Yesterday I dug up the camera.’
‘And?’
‘That’s as far as I’ve got. I was planning on developing it this morning. I buried it in a metal box to protect it. The film might be OK, but I’ve not had a chance to look at it.’
‘Does Grace know you’ve got it?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t tell her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just a feeling. You don’t know what happened when you were knocked out. Look at it on your own first. Decide what to do after that. This journalist, it seems to me he wants the same thing as you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘To find out what really happened.’
She’s right.
‘You think I should talk to him?’
‘Maybe. Think about it. Can your life get any worse? Bringing everything out into the open can only be a good thing. He might be able to uncover things you can’t. It could be a fresh start for you.’
‘And if I am guilty?’
‘You wouldn’t have to live with the guilt any more. I’m sure that’s what makes you drink.’
‘But we promised back then never to talk about it.’
‘This is about what you need today. Obviously it’s in Grace’s interests not to talk. Look at the life she has – she’s not going to want to give that up readily.’
‘But we love each other, you don’t know her.’ I grip the handle of my cup, annoyed once again that Ellis is doubting Grace.
‘It was a long time ago.’ Ellis squeezes my hand. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt. I really like you, Molly.’ This time she looks into my eyes and there’s no mistaking her meaning.
I shrug her hand off, feeling stung by her comments about Grace. I don’t mean to hurt her, but she has to understand it’s always been me and Grace. It always will be. The sun has gone in now and Ellis looks at her watch.
‘I need to go back into town, I’m meeting Nikki at six. She’s picking me up and driving me out to her place. She lives out in the sticks so I’m staying over.’ She isn’t looking at me any more, and I feel guilty for pushing her away.
‘I’m sorry, Ellis, but I have to see where this thing with Grace leads. But I feel better for talking, thank you. I’m glad you came early.’
‘It’s OK, I understand.’
But how can she?
She looks away as she shrugs her jacket on.
I walk to the bottom of the lane with Ellis, watching her until she’s out of sight, hating myself for hurting her feelings but knowing in my heart that I had to say it. My phone rings and my pulse gallops in case it’s the journalist, but it’s Grace. I swipe to answer and sit down at the side of the road.
Rage explodes down the phone.
‘How dare you, Molly? I knew I was wrong to trust you.’
‘What?’
‘How could you?’
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘Stop lying.’
‘I’m not. For fuck’s sake, Grace, tell me what I’m supposed to have done.’
‘Alex Foster told me you’ve agreed to talk. He’s offered you a load of cash and you can’t resist, can you? This will ruin my life. Don’t I mean anything to you?’
‘Grace.’ I cut her short, hearing her breathe out hard as if she’s smoking. ‘He’s lying. I swear. He texted me too. He’s in Dorset, wants to see me, but I haven’t replied. You have to believe me.’ Ellis’s advice flashes in the background and I remember her hunched shoulders as she walked away. But I shut her words out. Grace is all that matters. She was sent back to me for a reason. ‘It’s true he’s offered me money, but I’m not interested.’
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? He’s offering a lot, you must be tempted. If it’s money you want, Richard—’
‘Shut up, Grace. I don’t want your money. I can’t believe you would even say that. It’s you I want, surely you must have realised that, the other night?’
She doesn’t reply and I grip the handset, terrified she’ll hang up. I have to keep her on the line. ‘Maybe we should talk to him together.’
‘No!’ The panic in her voice is undeniable. ‘He could get you arrested, locked up. It’s better keeping it to ourselves. We’ve managed so far, haven’t we?’
‘You have. You’re not the one responsible. At least I’d know for sure what happened to her.’
‘There’s nothing to find out. If the police couldn’t solve it, how do you think some journalist can? Even if we’re right about Michael, we’ll never know. You can’t do this, Molly. We’ve talked about it, it could destroy everything.’
‘OK, fine. But I have to know, why did you kiss me the other night?’
Silence.
‘Will you leave Richard?’
Silence.
‘Talk to me, Grace.’
But she’s gone.
The supermarket’s still open and I buy one of those strong bags and fill it with booze. Grace won’t pick up her phone. I’ll keep trying until she does – I can’t bear to leave it like that. And Ellis isn’t coming back tonight. She need never know. So much has been said today that I’m drained of energy, can’t fight myself any more. Bottles clink as I stomp back through town, determined to get home before the black clouds loitering in the sky burst over my head.
As I walk back, thoughts are raging around my head. There’s Ellis. She knows the truth and she hasn’t rejected me, but I can’t give her what she wants. There’s Michael. Is he behind Charlotte’s death? There’s Grace. Does she want me like I want her? Mum’s right about one thing – I was besotted; she had this grip over me. Still does. And then there’s Charlotte, the way Grace taunted her with Jason. Her two puppets on a string. Everything revolved around her. Nothing much has changed. Thinking so much makes my head pound.
Back at the cottage, it takes around half an hour to check everything I need is here. Getting the film out of the camera is easy and miraculously it doesn’t look damaged. The metal box kept it safe and dry. It might be too old to develop, but it’s worth a try. It will definitely be worth it if the old photographs of me and Grace come out. Not that I need photos to remember. It feels good to be doing something with my hands, despite the shakes that won’t stop. Working in the dark feels familiar. The air is so icy in the cellar that my skin feels damp. One drink would stop my hands shaking, warm me up. I think of the vodka upstairs – as soon as I get this done my reward is waiting. I imagine the cold liquid sliding down my throat as I peg the photos out to dry.
The sky explodes and rain clatters down. I want to be with Grace. But would she leave Richard? Give up the chance of being the Mayor’s wife? I’ve seen how much she wants it, the way she speaks, the fancy clothes she wears. She won’t give that up for me. Or would she? What if I can make her see?
I empty the shopping bag onto the living room floor and take out a bottle of vodka. I think about Ellis, hoping she won’t give up on me just because I’ve had a drink. But it isn’t fair on her, and I feel guilty for being so weak. Once the vodka is inside me, settling my fears, all I can think about is the feel of Grace’s mouth on mine. I look at our photograph in the firelight. If the photos from the camera come out, there should be lots more of us; memories coming back to life. I have to make her want me. I’m happy to be Grace’s puppet, and nobody can change my feelings. She’s worth it. I know she is.
Feeling resolved, I text Ellis, telling her I’m drinking and to leave me alone. Then I switch my phone off.
The fire flickers and I warm my hands. Flames cast shadows across the scuffed wooden floor and the o
nly other glow in the room is from a dim lamp. Outside, the storm rages alongside the clouds of thought puffing around in my head. The warmth of the fire and the alcohol stoke the flames swirling inside me, and I let them burn.
Molly’s Diary
Wednesday 1st September 2004
She’s never coming back, I know that now. It means I can’t ask her to fill in the gaps. I’ll have to write it down. Just once, for me, before I leave this place, get it out of my system. Because we promised never to tell. And it’s killing me.
I didn’t want to see Charlotte after she threatened me, but I had to go with them that day, to stop her telling Grace. If Grace knows someone’s found out about us, she’ll dump me. She’s paranoid about anyone finding out. Says it isn’t right, what we’re doing. It’s her dad who made her like that.
The bloody wind was terrible that day. I had an idea, a way of stopping her. I thought it was gonna rain cos the sky was so dark grey. The weather meant no boats, no one on the beach except mad tourists in those hideous plastic ponchos they wear. Better for my plan.
Charlotte wasn’t happy when she saw me. Good. She made us follow her up to a high cliff shelf out of the wind.
Grace borrowed my camera, said she had an idea. I hung it around her neck and we climbed up after Charlotte. Straight away Charlotte had a go at Grace for going out with Jason when she knew she liked him. Then she said it. In that stupid high-pitched Minnie Mouse voice of hers, she said to me, ‘And you can’t be very happy, following her around like a stupid sheep. You just want her to yourself. I know what you two are.’ She was pointing with her painted false fingernails and I was tempted to rip them off. I told her to stop making things up, because I was scared of how Grace might react.
Grace is watching us, taking photos. Said she wanted to goad Charlotte. Capture her looking a right state, expose how mean and horrible she was to me, show me getting my own back. But Charlotte wouldn’t shut her mouth, stepped right up close to me and called me a ‘dirty lezzie’. She said she’d got proof, she’d got one of the photos from my bedroom. Said she was going to show it to Jason. Grace started yelling at her and I was breathing hard, rage bursting inside me like a Catherine wheel. I grabbed the bag, she pulled it back and I couldn't stop myself, I had to get that photo off her. There was too much to lose. I lost my temper and punched her. Hard, really hard, in the face. She fell backward, opened her mouth like a stupid goldfish. It was only at that point that Grace stopped clicking the camera and went for the bag. Charlotte kicked out at me, knocked me over. Then I hit my head and everything went black.
When I came round, they were both gone. I was shaking, afraid. I’d hit Charlotte so hard, I couldn’t believe it. Then Grace appeared over the edge, said we had to go. She said Charlotte was OK and had gone home. Grace said it was important we didn’t tell anyone, otherwise I’d get into trouble. My head was fuzzy, it was all a bit of a blur. She gave me my camera back and told me to get rid of it. I was scared Charlotte would tell, but Grace said if we stick to the same story, there’s two of us, so they wouldn't believe her. She made me promise to get rid of the camera cos she'd taken photos of us fighting and she was scared it made me look worse than it was. It frightened me, her saying that. She said it was the most important thing, that it would protect us. Otherwise they would separate us, and I burst into tears. That’s when we made our promise. She made me kneel in front of her and she got my penknife and sliced across my hand, then across hers. The pain felt good, stopped me feeling so bad. Then we pressed our hands together to mix the warm blood between our cold hands.
OUR PROMISE
‘Now we are bound together, I will never tell anyone what you did, I swear. This is between you and me. Now you swear too.’
Molly and Grace 2002 – until forever.
Mum keeps asking me what happened. Every time she asks me I repeat our promise in my head. Keep my mouth shut.
Thirty-Four
GRACE
Somehow I managed to convince Richard I had no idea what he was talking about. I promised we’d discuss it over dinner tomorrow. The thought terrifies me, but I’ll deal with that later. First it’s imperative I make Molly see sense. Once that’s done, I’ll suggest the weekend in Rome to Richard – it’s exactly what we need. I didn’t tell Molly I was down here for a reason – I want to surprise her. The temperature has dropped and I’ve chosen what to wear carefully – black skinny jeans, a roll-neck jumper and boots, with no bag to weigh me down. I pat the bulge in my pocket – everything I need is in there.
When Molly opens the door to the cottage her eyes are wide with surprise and she throws her arms around me. This has to go the right way. Her movements are loose as she pivots around and moves into the main room of the cottage, a small sitting area leading on to a dark kitchen. An open fire lights up the room. An empty bottle stands by the bin, reminding me of Richard finding the wine bottle from the night she came over. I push the thought away – I won’t be able to do this if he is lurking in my thoughts.
‘I can’t believe you’re here.’
We sit and she passes me a bottle. ‘Have a drink with me.’
I pour a glass of wine, which I have no intention of drinking. My mind needs to be razor-sharp.
‘I wanted to see you. I’ve taken some time off work, what with the funeral and everything.’
‘This is where I’m supposed to say I’m sorry,’ Molly says, looking hopeful. Firelight flickers, casting shadows on her face. ‘But I can’t. Charlotte told him about us, you know. She threatened to – I never told you, because I knew how much you’d be hurt, but we argued about it. I didn’t think she’d dare go through with it. But I worked it out – that’s what he was trying to tell me the other day when I visited him. You know how angry he would have been. Mum says he didn’t read your letters, Deborah did, but she was scared of what he might do. It’s likely she got rid of them. But I think he might have been involved with Charlotte’s death. Lost his temper and lashed out. You told me he hit your mum, and I saw him hurt you too.’
I shiver. ‘That’s what I thought when I found the letter suspending him from the church. Can you imagine what that would have done to his pride? Plus he kept all the cuttings about the case. Why would he do that?’
‘Mum says he didn’t have an alibi. You could be right.’
‘You’ve been talking to Caroline, then.’
Molly’s eyes light up, orange from the fire and sparked by the conversation. How she used to be. Her face glowing, she looks more attractive in this moment than ever before, but I hate her, too, for making me have these feelings. I’ve spent years suppressing them, finding Richard, building a new life. I’d just begun to believe they were gone for good, and she comes back.
She speaks quietly. ‘It’s early days but we’re talking, yeah. It feels good. Do you realise what this means? That I’m not guilty. All my life…’ Molly takes a long drink from her glass, the red of the wine staining her lips.
A memory catapults into my mind: her lips stained with strawberries; one of the first times we kissed.
‘And to find out while I’m here, with you.’
Our eyes meet, making my stomach surge and her thin arms pull me down on top of her, her mouth finding mine. ‘Gracie,’ she whispers. This time I don’t stop her. I let her hands move over my skin and I give into the pull, remembering us, me and Molly, how good we are together, how good we always were. Her mouth tastes of thick red wine and I can’t get enough of the taste. I don’t resist when she removes my clothes. The heat from the fire warms me from the outside, while Molly’s touch sends my temperature roaring from the inside, her breath on my breasts, light hands on my thighs. Her body arches as a guttural sound wrenches out of her and she gasps my name into my neck.
Afterwards, Molly lights a cigarette, looking into my eyes as she places it in my mouth. Our smoke mingles together in the air. We could be sixteen again, gawky shoulders and undeveloped bodies. But even then we always knew what we were doing; we fit
ted together. The urge to capture the moment, to take a photo, that came from Molly.
‘We were ahead of our time, weren’t we?’ I look into the fire as I speak.
‘Dykes have been around since forever, didn’t you know?’ she says, finishing her sentence with a laugh.
The word makes me shiver despite the heat from the fire, and I pull my sweatshirt back on, shaking Molly’s hand from my thigh.
‘That’s not what I meant. Taking photos of ourselves. Everyone does it today. Selfies, sexting.’
She twirls my hair in her fingers and I shift my head to make her stop. Revulsion for what I’ve allowed to happen is blurring my vision. I must stay focused. ‘The photo you mentioned, do you have it here?’
‘I might have.’
So that’s how it is.
‘Why didn’t you get rid of it like I asked?’
She flinches and I put my hand over hers briefly.
‘It’s OK, Molly, I’m glad you kept one.’
‘You are?’
I nod. ‘It captured us together. I get that. But why risk it?’
‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Grace. I burnt all the personal photos we took, you know, the other naked ones.’
I blush as she speaks.
‘But it’s not those photographs I’m talking about,’ she continues. ‘Before Charlotte’s parents moved away, I went to see them.’
‘Why?’
‘Mum made me. It was excruciating. I spent most of the time in the toilet pretending I had bellyache. Pauline didn’t want us there, it was obvious. While they were talking downstairs, I went into Charlotte’s bedroom, found the photo.’
‘I don’t believe you. The police would have found it.’
‘They didn’t know where to look. She’d hidden it under another photo. It’s how she hid photos of her crush. She showed me one time. So it was in her room all the time, the one of us. She never did have it in her bag.’
The Orchid Girls Page 30
