‘That’s what you think.’
Her eyes narrow, her chest heaves up and down against my foot. ‘You’re lying, you’re just a dirty lezzer. He’ll drop you when I show him the photo.’
‘You won’t get the chance. Not unless you beg.’ I hold the camera up. ‘Beg for the camera.’
I lean my weight down on her and she gasps, her face turning red. The camera clicks over and over. Serves her right for threatening us. Who’s the one in control now?
She tried again to push herself up and I kicked her shoulder, forcing her back down. She whimpered and the camera captured the fear in her eyes. That made me feel good. I dangled my foot over her face. That made a good shot. She doesn’t realise what my dad is capable of, how hard he hits Mum, how clever he is at hiding it, what he would do to me.
I leant across her body and picked up a rock.
She pleaded for help, but didn’t make a sound when I smashed it over her head. I can’t resist one more click. Maybe I’ll show Molly what I’m prepared to do for her. The camera fell back against my ribs. She won't be telling my dad anything.
Not now.
Not ever.
Thirty-Six
GRACE
For a moment I think it’s the crash of the wine bottle, but that’s already smashed and Molly lies in a pool of dark red. Cold air rushes into the room making the fire flicker. A tall woman pushes through the back door, where the noise has come from.
‘What the…’
She lets out a cry when she sees Molly, and I hold the knife up to make sure she can see it. She’s not the journalist, but this woman has seen what I’m doing. Is she alone? My eyes dart across the room but there’s no sign of anyone else. She’s tall and strong-looking but her eyes are fixed on the knife, which gleams in the firelight, and fear makes her face glow white in the dark. The sound of heavy rain seeps in through the open back door. Wind pushes the door back and forth.
‘Don’t move.’
She hasn’t stirred since she first saw the blade.
‘Is he with you?’
She looks confused.
‘Who?’
‘Your accomplice, the journalist. Think you can dish the dirt on me? Nobody’s going to believe your words against mine. People know who I am, they trust me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She looks down at Molly, fast, then back at the knife. ‘Please, we should help her. Is she…’ Her last word is swallowed in a gulp.
‘Stop lying. Your girlfriend’s told me everything.’
‘She isn’t my girlfriend.’
‘Shame she thinks she’s mine. Pathetic, really. She’s obsessed with me. She’ll never be interested in you, you know that? It’s only ever been me for Molly. Nothing you do can change that.’
Molly groans and I dig my foot into her ribs.
‘No!’ The woman sounds hysterical. She starts to shake. ‘Please, we’ve got to help her.’ She pulls a phone from her pocket.
‘Stop.’ My voice is calm but rage pulses inside me. Grace never loses control. I lunge forward to grab the phone, knife outstretched. But her hand grabs my leg and I crash to the floor, knife catapulting from my hand.
Molly is on her knees.
‘Grab it, Ellis,’ she says.
Something crashes down on top of me.
Thirty-Seven
MOLLY
‘Ellis?’
‘Don’t move. It looks like you were lying in a pool of blood.’
‘It’s wine.’
‘Ironic.’
My face hurts, I can’t smile. ‘Is she dead?’ My voice is hoarse.
‘I’m not taking any chances.’ Her voice is shaky but clear as she speaks into her mobile. ‘Police, please. As fast as you can.’
Grace is handcuffed and taken away. Ellis comes in the ambulance with me. She won’t let go of my hand.
‘What are you doing here? You said you were staying out. I told you not to come back.’
‘Something didn’t feel right. When I got your text I tried to call you, then when you didn’t reply—’
‘My phone was off.’
‘I decided you needed my help sooner rather than later. I didn’t like the idea of you being alone in that cottage. A gut feeling. I called a taxi.’
‘I’ve been drinking again.’ My head feels strangely clear. The fear must have sobered me right up.
‘Shhh,’ she says. ‘The hospital will look after you.’
Next time I see Ellis I’m in a hospital bed. It’s a private room with my own policeman outside. Mum has gone downstairs for a break. She’s been here all night. I feel so grateful to have her when I need her most.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘At an Airbnb in town. But I’ve been talking to your mum. She says I can stay in the cottage as soon as the police have finished with it. Get it cleaned up for you.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘It turns out your mum had a feeling about Grace all along, suspected that she was somehow involved in Charlotte’s death.’
‘Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘She didn’t want to believe that Grace was capable of it, so she didn’t see the point in telling you. She said Grace was like a daughter to her, but after what happened with Charlotte she had her doubts. She saw a different side to Grace during the trial, how cold she became.’
‘I thought Grace told me everything back then.’ I feel so betrayed.
‘It turns out you didn’t know her that well at all, did you? But she fooled everyone. And would you have even believed Caroline? She could see you were devoted to Grace, but she thought it was just an intense teenage friendship. She didn’t realise the truth about the relationship until it was playing out in front of her. Caroline went to see Grace shortly after the trial, asked her outright. Grace denied the relationship.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Sounds like you and Mum have talked a lot.’
‘We have. She said you coming to stay helped her see what a mess she’d got herself into. Your dad dying was such a shock to her, and she took it out on the house. She’ll be fine, she’s a strong woman under all that. Like her daughter. Tough, underneath it all.’ As Ellis finishes her sentence, she reaches out to me.
‘Thank fuck you came back.’
She squeezes my hand and grins. ‘You really thought you’d killed her, didn’t you?’
I nod, tears welling up. ‘Grace told me Charlotte was OK and I believed her. It was only when she didn’t come home that I began to wonder. I started it all when I pushed her – I thought it was all my fault. Then she tried to make me believe it was Michael. If Grace hadn’t taken the photos, I’d never have known. How sick can you be? To photograph that?’ The image makes me feel ill. I wish I could erase it from my memory. I push myself up in bed, heart thumping. ‘The photos from the darkroom, what happened to them?’
‘The police took them. The policewoman who helped you into the ambulance. Do you remember?’
‘The last thing I remember is a knife in my face, then you.’ My body starts to shake. ‘Where’s Grace?’
‘It’s OK, she’s in police custody. She’s been charged with the assault on you and they’re questioning her about what happened to Charlotte. The photos prove that Grace was the last person to see her alive. She’ll get herself an expensive lawyer, but whatever happens she’ll be punished for attacking you. If you press charges, that is. You are going to, aren’t you?’
‘I thought she loved me, Ellis.’ Tears fall down my face, and my sobs are so violent my ribs ache. I’ve wasted years on her; how stupid could I be? The future looks black, empty. I’m exhausted.
‘You’re not stupid, don’t say that. And she did love you, in her own way. But it sounds like she couldn’t cope with it, didn’t understand it. I feel sorry for her, in a way. Even though she did some terrible things.’
‘How can you? She killed Charlotte. And she attacked you.’ The truth is finally sinking in. ‘You’re
too good for me.’
‘I wish you’d stop talking crap. I believe in forgiving people. This will ruin her, Molly.’
‘Like she ruined me.’
‘Yes, past tense. But you’ve got the rest of your life to live. The doctors have told your mum they’ll help you – go through a proper detox, get professional help.’
‘And I’ve got you.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Ellis leaves when Mum comes back in. She puts her arms gently around me and I let myself cry. Once I’m done I feel different. Lighter.
‘You did good, Molly. I always knew you were innocent. No wonder you’ve been so messed up.’
Relief floods through me, hearing my mum’s belief in me. ‘I like Ellis,’ she says.
‘Me too, Mum. My first proper friend. Since—’
‘She was never your friend. Forget about her. Please.’
I hope I can.
‘Why don’t you stay down here for a while? I could help you rent a place.’
‘Could I move into the cottage?’
‘With everything that happened there? Would you want to?’
‘It was Uncle Bill’s home. Grace is done spoiling my life. I won’t let her take that away from me, too. Besides, it’s where I found out the truth. That freed me. And I’m going to take up photography.’
She smiles. ‘Uncle Bill would be proud.’
I go to pour myself some water but the jug is empty and Mum goes off to fill it. Alone, I realise that the weight that was pressing down on my chest has lifted. The dark shape of the future is lightening, and I sit up straight in bed, squaring my shoulders. Rehab, photography, Ellis. Anything is possible now that I know I’m not guilty. I run my fingers over the scar on my hand, faint now, but a reminder; trace my finger over my orchid tattoo. It’s a link to Dad, that’s what it means to me now. I don’t need to punish myself any more. I’ve got a smile on my face when Mum comes in.
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘I’m gonna be alright, that’s what. And we’ll sort out your house, Mum.’
‘We’ll sort you out first.’
When Mum leaves, I close my eyes, feeling different, calm. A slight sound makes me flicker my eyelids open again. Darren is standing there. Same boyish face, jeans hanging down off his skinny bum, sensible jumper. He grins and I want to smile back but my mouth is wobbly, my cheeks feel wet.
‘Don’t go all soft on me, sis.’
I reach out for his hand.
‘This is getting to be a habit,’ he says, pulling up a chair, scratching the stubble on his jaw. It doesn’t make him look any older. ‘Visiting you in hospital.’
‘Crap sister, aren’t I?’
‘No, you’re alright. I’ve been talking to Ellis, she seems to think you’re pretty cool.’
I open my mouth to speak but a yawn overtakes me. He squeezes my hand.
‘Sleep,’ he says. ‘You know I’m here for you, yeah?’
I squeeze it back.
Thirty-Eight
GRACE
Richard is allowed to visit me in custody.
The policewoman points to the seat. ‘Sit down.’
I glare at the officer who guards me and sit back down. Richard’s in a new suit. I can’t believe he’s had the cheek to go out shopping while I’m stuck in this dump. He looks tired, his eyes full of pain.
‘What’s going on Grace? What are you doing in Dorset? This is like a mad nightmare. But it isn’t, is it?’
I go to talk, but he carries on. ‘You’re not the person I married.’
‘It’s all lies, Richard. The girl who went missing at school, that’s what all this is about. I had a teenage fling with Molly, the woman who’s been stalking me. Big mistake. Turns out she’s borne a grudge for years, has come up with a ludicrous story about me being responsible. It’s all nonsense.’
‘Your solicitor tells me there’s photographic evidence.’
‘About that solicitor. He won’t do. Why haven’t you appointed Douglas? This is some idiot the police appointed, and apart from anything else he’s got bad breath.’
‘Christ, Grace. You don’t realise how serious this is. Even if you’re right and there’s no case to prove you killed that girl, you attacked Molly. With a knife? Really? I don’t know you any more.’
‘It was self-defence.’
‘That’s not what the witness says.’
‘Her? She’s one of Molly’s mates, she’s got a string of mad girlfriends. And that reporter had an intern snooping around for him, sending texts, following us, did you know that? That must be a criminal offence, surely? Everything I did was to protect you and your reputation. I know what scandal can do to you. I’ve done this all for you, Richard.’
He looks appalled. Disgusted. ‘Have you seen the papers? The damage has been done. Marianne’s party are thrilled, although they won’t come out and say it.’
‘You didn’t answer me. What about Douglas?’
‘I don’t think it’s appropriate to appoint him to you. It’s over, Grace. I’m filing for divorce.’
‘No, Richard. Don’t do this. Don’t let her win.’
‘This has nothing to do with her.’
My fingertips are white where I’m gripping the edge of the table. I lean towards him.
‘Richard, please. What about us? What we have? Everything we’ve built together?’ I hate how desperate, how needy I sound, but I can’t help it.
Richard pushes his chair back with a scraping sound that rips through me. He leaves the room without looking back.
Grace’s Diary
Sunday 15th June 2014
The one blemish on my new clean life is Michael. I’m his only relative, so inevitably I end up being responsible for him. He’s a sick man, but then he always was sick in the head, I was just too young to understand. Stupid to think I could leave him behind.
Richard loves me, he understands about my difficult childhood and he’s paying for Michael to have a full-time carer. Understanding I couldn’t talk about it, he insisted on a therapist on Harley Street. Only the best for Grace Sutherland. The stories I tell him are the best, too. I’m good at telling stories. Playing the game.
In return I’ll do my duty, play the good daughter, attend to Michael’s needs.
When the time is right I’ll get my own back. Get him for killing my love for Molly. Get him for making me hate my sexuality, making me hate myself.
He’ll pay.
All in good time.
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A Letter from Lesley
Thank you so much for reading The Orchid Girls. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.
To keep up to date with the latest news on my new releases, just click here to sign up for a newsletter. I promise never to share your email with anyone else.
The germ of an idea for the story has been with me for a long while, and it has grown and changed over time. It is a very different story from the one I originally began writing, but the secret, obsessive heart remains the same. I wanted to explore a female friendship which develops from the intensity of the teenage years and continues into adulthood, enhanced by the suppression of a terrible secret. The story also enabled me to look at different attitudes towards sexuality twenty years ago and today. With The Orchid Girls, I hoped to create an evocative novel about obsession, secrets and the blurred lines between love and lies.
If you enjoyed The Orchid Girls, I would love it if you could write a short review. Getting reviews from readers who have enjoyed my writing is my favourite way to persuade other readers to pick up one of my books for the first time.
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Acknowledgements
So many people have helped me along the way wit
h The Orchid Girls.
This book started out as one chapter which got me accepted on to the Curtis Brown six-month novel writing course, and I’d like to thank everyone at Curtis Brown Creative for helping me develop my novel. To all of my fellow students of the 2015 cohort, your feedback and support have been invaluable. Neil McLennan, Tamsin Hopkins, Abby Rae Delbianco, Moya Poulton, thanks for reading earlier versions.
Particular thanks go to Erin Kelly, whose summer school of 2017 showed me how to be the writer I hope one day to become – you’re a true inspiration.
Thanks to the judges of the Lucy Cavendish Fiction Prize for shortlisting me for the 2017 prize, and for the kindness of everyone involved with the event.
I can’t say a big enough thank you to my lovely agent Hayley Steed for seeing the potential in my shortlisted piece and asking me to submit to the fabulous Madeleine Milburn agency. Meeting Hayley and Anna Hogarty for the first time, and seeing how much they loved my book, will always remain a special memory. Thanks to you both for your editorial input and to everyone else at the agency for the constant support and championing of your authors. Hayley, I’m so proud to be your first ‘official client’.
To the Next Chapter Girls – Louise Beere, Cler Lewis and Katie Godman – you know how much you and this writing group mean to me – I couldn’t have done it without your belief in me and my writing.
To my lovely editor, Christina Demosthenous – working with you is a joy and from the very first email ‘Best News Ever…’ I knew it was going to be a dream partnership. To everyone at Bookouture – you all work tirelessly and with infectious enthusiasm for your authors and I’m so proud to be one of them.
And to everyone else – all the other writers I’ve met along the way, too many to name but nonetheless important. I’m so happy to be one of such a friendly group of people.
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