by Daniel Hurst
That’s why I’m sticking to the speeds on the road signs.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. My hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly as I move my vehicle through the dark streets near my house. Chloe has told me she is at the park about ten minutes away, the small park, not the big one, which is even further away. That is some consolation because it means I’ll be with her quicker, although not much. I’d much rather not have to be making this risky drive at all tonight.
I knew as soon as I answered the phone that something was seriously wrong. Chloe could barely get her words out and seemed to be hyperventilating. If she were asthmatic, I would have thought she was having an attack, but she isn’t. I considered an allergic reaction to something she had perhaps consumed at the party, even though I’m not aware of any allergies with my daughter either. But then she finally spoke, and I realised her breathing difficulty had nothing to do with her health. Rather, it was the health of the person she was with.
Chloe told me she had been in the park with a guy called Rupert when he had fallen over and banged his head. She told me how much blood there was and that he was unresponsive.
She also told me he was definitely dead.
I did what any mother would do in that situation. I asked my daughter if she was safe, and then I told her to stay calm. I let her know that I was on my way. And now here I am, heading to the park while trying to figure out how my daughter can avoid having her entire life screwed up by this dramatic turn of events. It was an accident, just two teenagers drinking in a park when things suddenly went wrong. But where there is a body, there will be police officers and investigations, reports and accusations. Despite it being plain bad luck on Chloe’s part, I won’t be able to control the narrative once the police get involved. The deceased’s family will want answers, so too the local community who will want someone to blame for such a tragedy happening on their doorstep. If they can find a way of blaming Chloe, then they will.
They might say it was her fault that Rupert was in the park tonight. They might blame her for him drinking so much. They will talk about my daughter behind her back like she is some second-class citizen no longer worthy of their time or respect. Whatever they do, one thing is for sure; if this gets out into the public, it will haunt Chloe for the rest of her life.
She will forever be known as the girl who was with the guy who died in the park. Her name will be mentioned in newspaper articles and TV broadcasts, and it will not be forgotten, not in a town like this. That reputation will be with her forever, and there will be nothing I can do about that once it is.
But it’s not just Chloe whose life will be ruined by being associated with death. It will be mine too. While people like to gossip about children, they love to do it about their parents. If Chloe isn’t blamed for the accident, then I will be.
What kind of mother allows her seventeen-year-old daughter to be out drinking in the park? What kind of upbringing must poor Chloe have had?
Did that girl even stand a chance with a mother like hers?
It’s paranoia on my part, and things might not end up like that, but I’ve found that in stressful times like this, the paranoia always wins. Name the worst-case scenario, and I bet it will happen because it’s the fear of avoiding that which leads to action, and that’s what I must take right now. I told my daughter not to call the police until I was there. She probably thinks that’s because I want to make sure that I’m with her when they turn up and start asking her questions. But that’s not the reason why. The real reason is because I need to see if the police have to be called at all.
I won’t know that until I get to the park and assess the scene.
A quick check on the time on my dashboard tells me that it has been seven minutes since I answered Chloe’s call. I should be there within three, but despite my right foot’s enthusiasm to press down harder on the accelerator pedal and get there quicker, my brain chooses the sensible option, and I maintain my speed. These next few minutes, both in this car and at the park, are crucial.
One wrong move and both our lives could be ruined.
The buzzing from my mobile phone on the seat beside me almost makes me jump out of my skin. I take care to keep my speed as I look away from the road ahead and glance at my device. It’s Chloe calling me again. She is probably wondering where I am. I shouldn’t answer it. To do that would be just as illegal as speeding, and a passing police officer would pull me over all the same. But what if there is a problem at the park, or at least one just as big as the body currently lying there. What if Chloe is no longer alone?
What if she really needs me right now?
Then again, what if it’s good news? Maybe Rupert is okay, after all. Maybe he is alive, and it was just one confusing misunderstanding. Maybe my daughter doesn’t need me to support her through what would be an extremely torturous time.
The suspense is killing me, and even though I am close to the park now, I can’t wait that long to find out.
Against my better judgement, my left hand leaves the steering wheel and scoops up my vibrating phone from the passenger seat.
‘Chloe?’ I say, fearing that the next words out of her mouth will involve the words ‘police’ or ‘witness’.
‘Mum! Where are you?’ she asks me, and she sounds only slightly calmer than she did when I spoke to her a few minutes ago.
‘I’m almost there! Is everything okay?’
‘No!’
Of course it isn’t. What a stupid question.
‘I’m approaching the park. I’ll be with you in one minute,’ I say, and then I realise I have crept over the speed limit. Ooops, I’m committing crimes all over the place now.
‘Hurry up!’ Chloe begs me before I end the call and lower my phone.
But the desperate tone in her voice means I don’t reduce my speed this time.
8
CHLOE
I can see the headlights from Mum’s car as they turn into the park. Or at least I hope it is Mum’s car. The chances of anybody else driving out here at this time of night are slim, but it is possible. That’s why I refrain from turning on the torchlight on my phone and signalling my location until I know for sure that it is her.
But then the door opens, and I see her get out, which gives me an instant sense of relief. Maybe everything will be okay after all. Mum’s not a miracle worker, but I’m glad I no longer have to be alone in this cold park with nobody for company but a deceased Rupert.
Turning on my torchlight, I wave my phone above my head until I’m sure that Mum has seen me. Then I wait for her to make her way over to me, watching her step over the wooden barrier that separates the car park from the field before scurrying across the grass in my direction. It’s annoying that she can’t just drive right up to me because then she would be here quicker, but the council have prevented cars from getting all the way down here since the winter of 2018 when a load of teenagers destroyed the field by having drag races on the grass and leaving it a mud bath. I remember telling Mum at the time how lucky she was that I wasn’t a troublemaker like those kids were.
Somehow, I think those days are gone.
‘Are you okay?’ Mum asks as she arrives and looks me up and down before pulling me in for a hug.
The feeling of her safe arms squeezing my body makes me want to cry, but I feel bad for thinking that way because there is somebody behind me who will never feel their mother’s arms again.
‘How much have you been drinking?’ she demands to know, looking me in the eyes as a way to try and gauge my level of drunkenness for herself. But unlike earlier, when the park was spinning, I feel like I have actually sobered up a little now. There’s nothing like a bit of vomit, cold weather and a dead body to bring you back into the real world.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, answering her first question but ignoring the second.
Pulling away, I turn around and shine the torch in the direction of Rupert’s body, and it’s a sobering sight when the light lands on it.
His head is facing away from where we stand, and you could almost think that he was sleeping on the grass if you didn’t know the truth. Unfortunately, we both do, although Mum needs to confirm it for herself before doing anything else.
I watch as she steps slowly towards the body, almost as if she is still not entirely convinced that I have been telling her the truth, and Rupert is going to spring up from the ground at any moment and surprise her, sending me into hysterics. I wish that were the case. Mum would no doubt scream to high heaven if Rupert did get up, but she would learn to forgive me for the shock. She would take that over the cold, still body that lies unmoving on the ground below her.
As she walks around him, she looks at his face, and I see the reaction on hers. She is horrified and puts her hands to her mouth, presumably to try and control the nausea that I was so unable to control myself. I didn’t need to see my mum’s response to know that this situation is as bad as I feared, but I get it anyway.
At least I’m not alone now, and I don’t just mean physically. I mean mentally too.
I have company in this psychological torment.
I watch as Mum crouches down to get a closer look at Rupert, and I’m just about to tell her not to touch him as her hand goes out before I realise that she needs to feel it for herself before she does anything.
She needs to confirm the lack of a pulse.
It doesn’t take her long to get this confirmation, and she looks up at me with a dreadful sorrow in her eyes. I can tell that she feels sorry for me at that moment, as well as for the poor young man lying between us. She will be thinking about how my life is ruined and how all my grand plans for university, travelling and a family of my own have now probably been tainted forever because this tragedy will always be the first thing people think of when they meet me now. But there’s not much I can do about that. Rupert is dead, and his body is only getting colder.
‘Can you call the police? I don’t think I can do it,’ I say, shaking my head and trying to keep my voice calm. ‘Tell them what happened. Get it over with.’
I hold out my mobile phone towards Mum as she remains crouching beside Rupert, but to my surprise, she doesn’t take it from me. Instead, she looks around at the dark park and her car in the distance.
‘What are you doing? We need to call them now,’ I say again, and finally, Mum takes the phone from my hand.
I keep my eyes on her as I wait for her to start dialling 999. But she doesn’t do that.
She just turns the torchlight off.
‘Mum?’
‘Listen to me carefully,’ she says, and the tone of her voice is just as cold as the wind blowing around us. ‘If we call the police, then we can’t control what happens next.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘This,’ she says, gesturing to Rupert between us. ‘Once the police get here, anything can happen.’
‘It was an accident!’
‘I know it was, but they don’t!’
I pause for a moment as Mum’s words hang in the air. I have no idea what she is getting at.
‘They will have to take you to the station. They will question you. You have to make a formal statement. They will want to know every single detail about this evening, and I mean everything. You won’t be able to recall it all, certainly not in your state, but they will keep pushing you until you answer everything. They will keep pushing you until you make a mistake.’
‘What are you talking about? I’ve got nothing to hide,’ I say, shaking my head again.
‘I know that, and you do, but they don’t,’ Mum replies. ‘And Rupert’s family don’t either. They’ll want to know every single detail about their son’s last movements to find out if there was anything at all about his death that was somebody else’s fault.’
‘You mean mine?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it wasn’t my fault,’ I cry, and now I’m starting to feel nauseous again. I thought Mum getting here would make me feel better, but she is making me feel worse.
‘Why are you being like this?’ I ask her as she looks down at Rupert again. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’
‘Of course I believe you. I’m your mother. But I can’t afford to think like your mother right now. I need to think like a police officer.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I have to find out if there is anything that could make me think that you caused this poor boy’s death.’
I’m too stunned to speak for a minute after Mum’s words. Why is she being so cold to me? I don’t care if she is playing the part of a policewoman or not. I’m her daughter, not some random member of the public who should be treated as guilty until proven innocent.
‘Does anybody know that you were here together?’ she asks me, and I shake my head.
‘Are you sure about that? What about Zara?’
‘No, she doesn’t know. Nobody at the party does. We didn’t tell anybody where we were going.’
‘Okay, that’s good,’ Mum says, and the use of the word almost sounds comical in this situation.
‘What’s good? What are you talking about?’
‘What about messages? Texts between you and Rupert? Anything there that could link you?’
‘No, I don’t have his number,’ I say, which reminds me of how long it took me to even get to this point of being alone with him. And look how that turned out.
‘So nobody knows you were here? Either of you?’ Mum asks again.
‘No! But why does that matter?’
Mum finally stands up and walks away from the body, joining me back where I feel it is a little more comfortable because we can’t see Rupert’s open eyes from here.
‘The chances are the police will believe you and put this down as an accidental death,’ Mum says to me, taking my hand and maintaining strong eye contact as if to let me know how important what she is about to say to me really is. ‘They’ll let you go after questioning. Nobody will blame you for what happened, and you’ll be able to go back to sixth form in a few days.’
‘Okay....’ I say, wondering where she is going with this.
‘But your life will never be the same again,’ Mum warns me. ‘This will follow you around forever, not just in your school life but for the rest of your life. Everybody in this town will know your name and not for a good reason. People you meet in later life, boyfriends, employers, even your future children, will be able to find out about this through a simple internet search of your name.’
That doesn’t sound good.
‘No matter what you do and what you might go on to achieve, this will always be the thing that people remember you for. Rupert. This park. Tonight. A drunken teenager caught up in a tragic accident. People will gossip. People will feel sorry for you. And some people will blame you.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask, feeling tears welling up in my eyes.
‘Because I’ve seen it happen to so many other people in my job,’ Mum tells me. ‘Drivers who accidentally ran someone over. A parent who turned their back on their child for one minute, and it was too late. Those people aren’t at fault, but they can never shake that past. Never.’
That foreboding warning is far creepier than the sight of the dark trees behind my mum, and I say nothing for a moment. But in the end, the silence is too much for me.
‘What choice do I have? It’s already happened. Rupert’s dead. I can’t change that.’
‘No, you’re right. But you can change what happens next.’
I study my mum because I’d be forgiven for feeling like I don’t know her at all right now. Is she hinting that there is a way out of this?’
‘It’s your call,’ Mum says, letting go of my hand as if to give me the space I need to think for myself. ‘But you do have a choice.’
‘Say we don’t call the police? What then? We just leave him here and go home?’ I ask, almost disbelieving that there might be an alternative option.
But Mum shakes her head.
&
nbsp; ‘No,’ she replies calmly. ‘We hide the body.’
9
HEATHER
I take hold of Rupert’s hands and start to pull.
As his body begins to move across the ground, I feel like I’m back in that nightmare that I had just before Chloe called me. The sights, sounds and smells are almost the same. The sight of the blood on the shirt. The sound of the body scraping over wet leaves. And the smell of death, that unmistakable stench that fills my nostrils and makes me feel like I am going to be sick.
But this is no nightmare. This is very much real life, and if I needed a reminder then the presence of my daughter at the other end of the body does it for me.
‘I can’t do it,’ she says, losing her grip on Rupert’s ankles again and causing his feet to flop down onto the floor.
‘Yes, you can,’ I tell her, but it’s more of a command than a fact.
I feel terrible for making Chloe go through this, but I know things will be even worse for her if we call the police. If she had insisted, then I would have dialled 999, but I could sense there was doubt there, so it was my duty as a parent to act to protect her. She doesn’t know what is best for her at this moment in time. Of course she doesn’t, she has just seen somebody die right in front of her eyes, and that kind of thing takes a long time to come to terms with. But because of that, it’s up to me to act in her best interests, and despite her scepticism, I know this is the best thing to do.
This way, she has a chance of still having a normal life. This way, she won’t just be some girl that everybody gossips about and Googles.
