by Daniel Hurst
I wish I could stay here until darkness returns, but that’s not an option. I have to be on shift at the police station in ninety minutes time, and I also have to make sure that Chloe is getting up to go to sixth form.
It’s Monday morning, only thirty-six hours after my daughter called me and told me what happened to Rupert. Needless to say, Sunday was not a pleasant day for either of us. We mostly kept to our rooms, only coming out for food and drink, which neither of us had much of. If there had been a blessing in this trying time, it had been that neither of us had anywhere to be in the hours after Rupert had been buried. As it was, Chloe could lay low for her ‘hangover day’ whilst I could keep my head down on account of my social life being so dull that nobody was hoping to meet up with me on a Sunday.
But now it’s Monday, and we both have places to be and people to see.
The easy thing to do now would be for both of us to neglect our daily duties and have a day to ourselves, calling in sick or whatever we could say to get out of having to leave the house and put our best foot forward. But it’s important now more than ever that we both stick to our typical routine and get on with our lives like everything is normal. While we know it isn’t, we have to make it appear as if today is just another day.
Go to work. Go to college. Come home. Go to bed.
Don’t behave as if you know about the body that was buried in the woods this weekend.
The image of Rupert’s lifeless face hasn’t returned to me as often as I had feared it would do during the last two nights spent tossing and turning in my bedroom, but I know it is there somewhere, creeping in my subconscious, just waiting to make an appearance and knock me off my stride. Maybe I will see it when I’m driving to the station, glancing into my rear-view mirror and spotting Rupert staring at me from the back seat. Perhaps his vision will come to me when I’m halfway through my shift, sitting at my desk processing papers or on my way to make another coffee when I suddenly see him standing there amongst all the other police officers, his face as deathly pale as the white shirts of our uniforms. Or maybe I will go all day without seeing him until I crawl back into bed this evening, thinking that maybe I have been spared the grim memory until I roll over and see him right there beside me, the blood from his wound dripping onto my pure white pillow.
I don’t know when it will happen, but I do know one thing.
I will see visions of Rupert again, whether I want to or not.
The sound of movement in the bedroom beside me lets me know that Chloe is up, and I pull back my duvet and climb out of bed, aware that I should go and check on her before I start getting ready myself.
Knocking on her bedroom door, I open it slowly because I’m not sure what kind of mood I’m going to catch her in. If she got as little sleep as I did, she will be moody, stressed or weary, and none of those things usually lead to a healthy and productive conversation. But to my surprise, Chloe looks okay. She is already dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a casual blue blouse, which is the kind of thing the relaxed dress code at her sixth form allows. She has also found the time to apply makeup to her face, covering up any bags that might have been under her eyes after a bad night’s sleep, making her look much more radiant than she did the last time I saw her. And now she is rummaging around in her bag, seemingly packing for her day of education ahead.
‘Hey, Mum. Have you seen my English textbook?’
I haven’t seen it, but that’s not why I fail to answer her straight away. My hesitancy is down to the fact that while my daughter appears to be doing rather well considering what she went through this weekend, I am conscious that she could just be faking it. She may be in denial about what happened, or she could be in a state of shock, and the enormity of the events haven’t truly hit her yet. Either way, I need to find out because if she is bottling up her real emotions, that is not healthy, and it’s also not the best way of keeping what we did a secret.
Anything bottled up will eventually erupt out and cause way more damage than if it was just released at an earlier date.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, stepping further into the bedroom as Chloe continues to hunt around for her missing textbook.
‘I’m fine,’ she replies with a cheery lilt to her voice, but that only makes me worry even more. It’s not that I was hoping to come in here and find her curled up in a ball on the bedroom floor crying her eyes out, but there should be a little more acknowledgement of the tragic events she experienced showing in her mood. Instead, she is treating this like it is just another day, which we are supposed to do, but only in the company of strangers. When we are alone, we are free to be ourselves, and that should mean we are both able to talk about what we are really going through right now.
‘Chloe, just stop a second,’ I say, reaching out for her arm and trying to get her to stop rushing around her bedroom for a moment.
‘I’ve got to go. I’m getting a coffee with Zara on the way.’
Her quick movement past me means my hand only brushes her arm, and I fail to get her to slow down and talk properly to me.
‘Found it!’ she cries, and I watch her pull a chunky textbook out from under her bed before stuffing it into her bag and heading for the door. But I can’t let her leave like this. I need to find out how much of a front she is putting on, and whether it is all going to come crumbling down the second she leaves this house and goes out into the real world.
‘Chloe, we need to talk,’ I say, stepping across her and blocking the doorway so that she can’t just rush out and leave me here.
‘Mum, I don’t have time,’ she tries, but I refuse to budge, and she has no choice but to slow down.
‘Please, just one minute. I need to make sure you’re okay.’
Chloe’s fairly happy facial expression falters a little, and she finally stops trying to get past me and accepts that she is going to have to give me a little more than just a breezy good morning and goodbye.
‘I’m fine,’ she says, though she doesn’t make eye contact as she says it.
‘It’s okay not to be,’ I remind her. ‘It would be weirder if it didn’t affect you.’
‘Okay, it’s affected me. I didn’t sleep all night again, and I’ve had to put eye drops in to cover my bloodshot eyes from all the crying I did. Is that what you want to hear?’
My heart breaks for my poor daughter standing in front of me. A couple of days ago, she was a happy, confident young woman, yet now she has just admitted to being up all night, anxious and upset.
Basically, she has turned into me.
‘Come here,’ I say, pulling her in for a hug, and she doesn’t resist as I give her a tight squeeze. ‘It’s going to get better, I promise.’
‘How do you know that?’ she asks me, and I have to be careful with how I answer that.
‘It just will. Time will make things easier. But you must be honest with me about how you’re feeling. Don’t bottle it up here when it’s just me. You can tell me anything.’
I feel Chloe nodding her head as she rests on my shoulder, and I let her stay there for a moment longer because she is almost giving me as much energy to carry on as I am hopefully giving to her. When she finally steps back from me, I see that her eyes are watering again, and while it wasn’t my intention to make her cry, I am at least glad that she is acknowledging her emotions more.
‘Today is going to be so hard,’ she says to me, carefully wiping her eyes so as not to disturb any of her mascara. ‘People will notice that Rupert isn’t there and wonder where he is.’
‘Just try to focus on your work,’ I say, knowing full well that is easier said than done. ‘And maybe don’t spend too much time in the common room over these next few days. Get outside and get some fresh air in between your lessons.’
Chloe nods her head and seems to have got her tears back under control again.
‘What about you?’ she asks me, looking up with concern on her face. ‘How are you feeling?’
I’m touched that my daughter can still
think of me during what is easily the most difficult time of her life, and I decide that honesty is the best policy again here.
‘I’m shattered,’ I admit, rubbing one of my weary eyes. ‘Didn’t sleep a wink either. Work’s going to be fun.’
I try to make that last part sound like a joke and smile, but Chloe doesn’t return it.
‘I really should get going,’ she says, checking the time on her phone.
‘Okay, but before you go, remember the story. People will be talking about the party but only join in if anybody asks you about it directly. You got sick and went home. Otherwise, say nothing and carry on as normal.’
Chloe nods her head as I step aside to let her leave.
‘And call me if you need to talk,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll do my best to keep my phone with me if I can while I’m at work.’
‘Okay,’ Chloe replies as she leaves, and I listen to her footsteps plodding down the stairs.
‘Bye!’ she calls out a moment later, and I go to her bedroom window and watch her walking away down the street in the direction of the college. She already has her phone out in her hand, texting Zara about the coffee meet-up, no doubt, and I just hope that her day goes smoothly.
I also hope I can say the same for me.
14
CHLOE
I’m glad to get out of the house. Mum’s worrying is only going to make me feel worse. I wanted to tell her that I have my way of dealing with what happened, and she has hers, leaving it at that. But I know she wouldn’t have accepted such a sweeping statement, and I can also understand why. It’s not just me she is trying to protect; it’s herself too, so I can forgive her for being a little needy when she came into my bedroom.
It’s still annoying, though.
I check the time on my phone and quicken my pace when I see that I am running late to meet Zara. Between having to look for my English textbook and Mum’s interruption, I lost a good five minutes, and now Zara will be wondering where I am.
Again.
I know she will want to know a few more details about what happened after the party. There is no way my text message will have been enough to satisfy her cravings for gossip. I know her too well for that. She was being respectful when she texted me back, not wanting to make a big deal about me telling her that I had been sick in case I was feeling embarrassed about it. She was even polite enough to leave me alone yesterday when I told her that my hangover was too bad to endure a phone call. But she won’t be so polite today. She’ll want to know all the gory details.
If only she knew the half of it.
I reach the end of the street and turn the corner, wondering if Mum has been stood at the window watching me until I disappear from view. Probably. She’ll be stressing out about whether or not I’ll be able to keep my cool at college today when people notice that Rupert isn’t there. But I’m a big girl, and I’m confident that I will be able to handle it. If not, I will follow her advice and avoid the common room if it gets too much. But I think it will be okay. There will probably be a few people who don’t turn up at college today. It is Monday, after all. Rupert probably won’t be missed, apart from by his close friends, although judging by how drunk they were at the party, maybe they are still in bed too.
I feel like everything is going to be okay, at least today, anyway.
Only time will tell if it stays that way.
But I do feel bad about lying to Mum just now. I was initially honest with her and told her that I was okay, but it was almost as if she didn’t believe me. In the end, it was just easier to lie and say that I’d been up all night like she had. Maybe I should feel guilty about the fact that I was able to drift off for a few hours after what I had just been through, and maybe I do, but the fact is I was able to close my eyes and fall asleep. I had fully expected to see visions of Rupert’s dead body either in my bedroom as I looked at the dark walls or in my nightmares as I slept, but that didn’t happen either. I don’t recall dreaming about anything at all now that I think of it.
Perhaps it was all the fatigue from the late night on Saturday that allowed me to achieve sleep so easily. Maybe the deep sleep it put me into is the reason I feel quite refreshed this morning too. Whatever the reason, I don’t feel as exhausted, stressed and fearful as I had led Mum to believe this morning. But that’s only because I didn’t want to make her feel like I had no heart or conscience about what we did with poor Rupert. Of course, I feel terrible that his family will be trying to find out where he is now, and it makes me sick to think of his body being crawled over by all the bugs that live in those woods that make up his final resting place. But there’s obviously nothing I can do about that now that wouldn’t involve Mum and me going to prison for a very long time. I can’t tell his parents what happened, and I can’t show the police where he is. All I can do is try and get on with my life, as cold-hearted as that seems, and it’s what Mum has told me to do.
And don’t mums always know what’s best for their children?
Looking down the street, I spot Zara standing outside the coffee shop with two cups in her hand. That explains why she hasn’t tried calling me to see why I’m late. She’s too busy holding her drink and the one she bought for me. She’s a good friend, and I’ll miss her when we go to university because it will be a struggle to see each other more than once a month or so then. That’s because we’ll be at opposite ends of the country. I’m going up to Newcastle while she is going down to Bristol. Of course, we will catch up with each other during the holidays when we’re both back in our hometown, but university terms are ten weeks long, and I have the feeling that once we start making new friends and exploring a new city, we may start to drift apart. But I hope not. Good friends are hard to find, just like a good coffee shop is. Thankfully, I am now getting to experience both.
‘Skinny mocha,’ Zara says as she hands me my favourite drink.
‘Thanks,’ I say, desperate to take a gulp of it to revitalise my dehydrated body but aware that the liquid in this cup is piping hot and will only burn me if I try too quickly.
‘How are you feeling?’ Zara asks, eyeing me with a little concern. ‘You look pale.’
‘I’ve felt better,’ I confess, pleased that all the extra foundation I put on my face before I left home has done its job. I am trying to look like a person who spent a large part of the weekend puking up, after all.
‘So, what happened then?’
We start walking as I run my best friend through the tale of what happened to me after the house party, or at least the fictional version that Mum concocted for me. How I was on my way to the park to meet everybody but was sick on the way. How I felt embarrassed about getting it on my dress. How I phoned Mum to come and get me instead.
Just like on Saturday night, Zara believes me, although there is one slight difference when I tell it this time. She is laughing at me now.
‘You’re such a lightweight,’ she teases me before fixing me with a serious stare that has me slightly worried for a second. ‘Oh my god, that beautiful dress. Is it ruined?’
I relax when I realise that her serious expression has nothing to do with the fact that she might not believe me.
‘Yeah, pretty much,’ I reply, pulling my face. ‘Unless Mum can perform a miracle on it.’
‘Well, if anyone can do it, your Mum can,’ Zara says, and I nod my head in agreement.
That is certainly true.
If anyone can do anything, Mum can.
15
HEATHER
I’d only been an hour into my shift at the station when I was told I was needed elsewhere.
Usually, I would jump at the chance of getting out from behind the desk and hitting the streets. I enjoy being out in the fresh air, and it’s certainly a more effective way of doing some police work than sitting over a pile of paperwork. But I was hoping for a quiet day today, for obvious reasons. Instead, I’m now climbing into the back of a minivan alongside several of my colleagues, although I’m not sure where we are going
yet. It turns out I’m not the only one, and as we are driven out of the car park and onto the main road through the town centre, I wonder if this might be some training exercise that has been set up for us, hence the unexpected nature of it.
While that wouldn’t be ideal, I suppose it will get me out of my own head a little, thinking less about what I did over the weekend and more on the task at hand, whatever that might be. That’s one good thing about this type of work, I suppose.
Every day is different.
There are many pros and cons to being a police officer, and I weighed every one of them up before taking the plunge and deciding that it was the career for me. I knew that while the starting salary wasn’t particularly high, there would be plenty of opportunities for progression in the force, as well as the fact that the retirement plans were very generous. I also knew that I would get to spend a lot of time outdoors, which suits me perfectly because I’ve felt as if I’m the kind of person who can go stir crazy if I spend too long in the same environment day after day. On the downside, irregular hours are a staple of this job and shift work is the norm. I knew my time with Chloe would be affected, as well as my social life, and that was something I had to consider.
But perhaps the toughest thing to reconcile when I was considering this line of work was knowing that I would be exposed to some shocking and upsetting things. Terrible acts of violence committed against poor victims by heinous criminals. There would be no way of avoiding it.
Did I really want to go into a job that would show me the darker side of society?
I was unsure at the time, mainly because, as the mother to a young daughter, I was already conscious of just how many things there were to worry about when it came to keeping her safe. It probably wasn’t a good idea to start adding a whole new bunch of things to that list after what I would undoubtedly witness as a police officer. But in the end, after careful thought and deliberation, I decided to go for it.
