Moth Girls (2 page)

Petra was gone now and Mandy never wanted to see her again.

There was a crowd of people watching in Princess Street when the demolition began. Mandy was there but she avoided eye contact with anyone. The detached house stood out from all the others. It was a different style and older than the semis nearby. It was a big house and for a while, after the killing, it had been turned into flats. The line of bells was still there, on the wall adjacent to the entrance. In the last couple of years it had been empty though, slowly falling apart, its brickwork fading, its front garden growing steadily, the plants and weeds creeping ever closer towards the house.

Now it was full of workmen and machinery.

A loud noise came from a yellow digger. It had caterpillar wheels like a tank and it moved delicately, turning a half circle in the confined space of the front garden. Metal jaws began to rise up as the arm of the vehicle swung into place. Mandy’s eyes focused on the claw of the machine as it bit into the top of the brick wall with a crunching noise. There was a silence for a second. She held her breath as the masonry fell away, pulling part of the top bay window with it. It crashed to the ground causing a flurry of dust.

Mandy pulled the edges of her hood forward, hoping that no one would notice her, but everybody was looking towards the house, concentrating on the activity there.

Mandy toyed with the bracelet she had on. She rotated it gently round her wrist, feeling the different shapes and textures of the beads she’d strung there the night before.

‘Hello, Mandy,’ came a voice from behind her.

Mandy tensed, reluctant to get into a conversation with anyone. The people who lived round here knew who she was and knew about her link to the house. The last thing she wanted was any sympathetic comments. She turned slightly and saw a man in a suit. He had grey, almost white, hair. He was holding car keys and the rain that had just started was dotting his jacket. It didn’t look as though he’d prepared himself for the weather.

‘Officer Farraday,’ she said.

She hadn’t seen him for a number of years but still she knew him straight away. She heard the other officers call him Colin but she had always called him Officer
.

‘Not on duty,’ he said. ‘Just Colin today.’

‘Not on official business then?’

Why did she say that?
Official business?
Tommy would have rolled his eyes.

Officer Farraday shook his head, glancing from time to time at the house.

‘What are you doing these days? You must be … what? In the sixth form now?’

‘I am. Taking A levels.’

‘But not in school today.’

‘No, I’m going in later. Why have you come?’

It was a silly question. He was there for the same reason she was.

‘I passed by a couple of days ago and saw that the house was fenced off. I enquired and found out that it was being demolished today. I spent enough time in that house. I felt I should see it go down.’

Mandy understood. The two of them had connections to this old building. There was a difference though. Officer Farraday had spent a lot of time
in
the house whereas she had never set foot inside. Not once.

‘I expect you have strong feelings about the place as well,’ Officer Farraday said.

She nodded.

‘Do you still think about them, Mandy?’ Officer Farraday said.

‘Sometimes.’

Mandy thought about them
a lot.

‘The case is still open. There’s nothing worse than an unsolved case. Especially when it concerns the probable death of two little girls.’

‘They won’t find anything now, though, will they? Not after all this time.’ Mandy looked at the officer.

‘There are reports of sightings of the two girls. Even now.’

‘But they never come to anything?’ she said, thinking, for a moment, about her own
sightings
.

‘No. But never say never. Their bodies weren’t found. The two girls could still be alive. There have been cases in the USA where girls were abducted and kept captive for many years and then found a way to escape.’

That was true. Mandy had read of such a case recently. A man held three young girls captive in his house in Cleveland, Ohio. She had watched the reports on the news for days. He kept them for ten years. He imprisoned them in a cellar and one of them had a baby. One day, while he was out, one of the girls broke out through the front door and ran to a neighbour’s house crying and begging for help. She made a phone call to the police and they played it on the news. Mandy had listened in amazement at the girl’s frantic attempt to alert the police before her kidnapper returned. Her voice was thin and stretched, like it might break at any point. ‘I’ve been kidnapped and I’ve been missing for ten years. And I’m … I’m here. I’m free now.’ Mandy had gone onto the internet and listened to the recording over and over. She’d tried to picture the girl clutching onto the neighbour’s phone, her eyes darting here and there, still afraid that her freedom might be snatched away at any moment.

She’d thought of Petra and Tina. Who wouldn’t have?

Officer Farraday crossed his arms. Without his uniform he looked like someone who might work in a building society. She wondered why he was wearing a suit on his day off.

‘Without a body you can never be sure that someone is really dead.’ He said it thoughtfully. Maybe he too was thinking of the Cleveland case.

The rain had lessened and the digger was continuing its work. It had moved to the side and its jaws were pulling at the guttering. Mandy remembered the two red balloons that had been trapped there the day before. There was no sign of them now. A corner of the wall suddenly came away and fell. The roof beams were leaning to one side as the digger went in again, the metal pushing against the wall. Moments later it collapsed, sending out a shower of small stones and dust.

‘I half expected to see Alison Pointer here,’ Officer Farraday said. ‘But I suppose she’s too busy with her group and her talks. I saw her on television a couple of weeks ago. Did you?’

‘No,’ Mandy said.

Mandy knew that Alison Pointer, Tina’s mum, had been on television. It was a programme that was looking at the girls’ disappearance.
Five Years On
it was called. She’d chosen not to watch it.

‘Well, look at that. I did
not
expect to see him,’ Officer Farraday said.

Mandy turned in the direction of his gaze. Further along the street, standing back from other people, was Jason Armstrong, Petra’s father. Mandy looked him over. He was thin-faced and looked ill. His hair was long and straggly and he was wearing a huge overcoat, which hung off his shoulders. He had one elbow leaning on the roof of a car. He wasn’t looking at anyone, just staring at the old house.

‘Where does he live now?’

‘Not sure. I do know he’s done a few stints in prison. Twelve months for aggravated burglary and a couple of short stays for other things. He’s a drunk. Always was. I don’t know why social workers ever let Petra live with him.’

Now Jason Armstrong was looking in their direction. He seemed puzzled. Mandy wondered if he recognised her. She’d changed in five years but maybe not that much. She caught his eye for a few moments then looked away.

‘I must go,’ Officer Farraday said. ‘I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.’

She watched him walk away. There was a kind of spring in his step as he headed for a car further up the street. Maybe coming here had made him feel better, as if he’d paid his respects.

She looked back to the demolition. Most of the roof had come down. A bulldozer was pushing a heap of rubble away from the house to give the digger room to move further around. A downstairs window frame was half hanging out, the net curtain still strung across the middle.

Mandy decided to go. She’d get to school for her second class. She had plenty of time but had had enough of standing in the street dredging up the past. She remembered something Dr Shukla had said over and over.
It’s time to move on. The past is done, finished
.

She saw that Petra’s father was also walking away. It would be easy for her to catch up with him, say something sympathetic. Her conversation with Officer Farraday hadn’t troubled her at all. But Petra’s dad was something else. He had always been a distant man. The few times she’d seen him in his cab or talking to Petra, he’d all but ignored her. Not like Alison Pointer, who made the most enormous fuss over Tina’s friends.

Jason Armstrong turned just then and saw her. He stopped and leant against the wall. He was clearly waiting for her. She couldn’t change direction because it would be obvious that she was avoiding him. She walked on, steeling herself.

‘Hello, Mr Armstrong. How are you?’ she said.

‘Not so good,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘You’re Mandy, aren’t you? All grown up now. A young woman.’

She smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to answer him.

‘I expect you feel relieved when you look at that house,’ he said.

He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his overcoat. It was cotton, and bunched up as if it had been used many times. He blew his nose on it. Mandy felt marooned. She couldn’t walk on because they were in the middle of a conversation of some sort and it would be rude. She placed her hand on her bracelet, rubbing a couple of the beads with her fingers.

‘You didn’t go in there, did you? That was sensible.’

‘I have to go. I’ve got to get to school.’

His eyes looked empty and he smelt faintly of alcohol. The way he said ‘sensible’ implied some criticism. As if she should have gone in there after them.

He wasn’t to know how often she wished that she had.

She walked off, leaving the noise of the demolition behind her.

Mandy went into school using the visitor’s entrance. She passed by a small car park where the Head’s car and those of the senior teachers were parked. She walked towards the reception doors and was about to press the keypad when she paused and looked round at the small garden area that was set apart on the other side. It had once been part of the car park but was now a half circle of grass backed by a brick wall. The Head called it a ‘remembrance garden’
.

Mandy walked across to it. The grass area was small but there were four pots with miniature bushes planted in them. They looked formal and upright, the foliage trimmed so that each one was exactly the same height and shape. In the summer the garden looked more vibrant with flowers and hanging baskets that hooked onto the wall. Then it was bright and pretty. Now it seemed bare and there were drifts of brown leaves between the grass and the wall that had blown there from nearby trees. The wall itself was curved along the top. In the middle of it was a copper plaque for Petra and Tina. Mandy looked at it. It was solid, square. The words on it were simple.

I
N MEMORY OF TWO YEAR SEVEN STUDENTS,
P
ETRA
A
RMSTRONG AND
C
HRISTINE (
T
INA)
P
OINTER, WHO DISAPPEARED ON
T
HURSDAY 28TH
O
CTOBER 2010.
T
HEY AND THEIR FAMILIES ARE ALWAYS IN OUR PRAYERS.

The plaque had flowers engraved around the edge, rosebuds; blooms that had not yet reached their prime.

The garden and the plaque had been unveiled exactly one year after they had gone missing. There’d been a ceremony where all the students from the school had filed into the small car park and stood in silence while prayers were said. Tina’s parents had been there but Jason Armstrong was absent. Poems had been read out and Alison Pointer had made a short speech about the importance of memory and how people were never really gone if they were still in the minds of their friends and families. She also said that she would never stop looking for the two girls.

Mandy had been at the edge of the front row and had stifled a sob at that point. The rest of the class looked serious and solemn but she wondered if any of them really cared. It had been a year since it happened and the girls had disappeared only eight weeks after school had started. There had hardly been time for the form class to bond, to become friends. There had been tears, Mandy had seen them, but they quickly dried up as friends comforted each other and enjoyed a few minutes of drama at the expense of two girls whom they’d hardly known and perhaps hadn’t even liked very much.

Mandy had liked them. Mandy had wanted to be their friend and be part of their girl group, The Red Roses
.

The sound of some students coming through the car park broke her reverie. She looked round and they gave her a wave. Jon Wallis was with them. He was in the upper sixth and lived in her street. He’d been really friendly and helpful to her during the summer holidays when he found out she was staying on in the sixth form. For a while she had thought they might get together but that was before Tommy Eliot turned up. She gave Jon a smile and waved at the others. They didn’t stop to speak to her, probably aware that she was looking at the garden, thinking that maybe she was praying for her lost friends.

A lot of students in her year were like that. Even now, five years later, they tiptoed round the subject in case they might offend or upset her. It was one of the reasons she liked Tommy so much. He’d gone to a different senior school but joined their sixth form at the beginning of term. He didn’t have the shared history that she had with the other students. He was an outsider and that was why she felt relaxed talking to him.

He was the one person she could talk to about Petra and Tina.

She went on to the sixth form common room. Her class wasn’t until eleven fifteen. There were a few students dotted about and she could hear snatches of music escaping from various sets of headphones. She got herself a drink from the dispenser and sat down. She blew across the top of the cup and saw that there were ten minutes or so to go before the current lesson ended. It was history and she usually sat with Tommy at the side of the classroom next to the window. If she was late he would save a seat for her and vice versa. Today he wouldn’t have bothered because she’d texted him to say she was going to the house, to watch the start of the demolition.

He would miss her, she thought. He was always writing notes on bits of paper and passing them to her. He liked to comment on the clothes the teacher was wearing or the mood they were in. Then he wrote completely irrelevant points about things that were going on in the world. Once or twice he put little kisses at the bottom of the note and she felt embarrassed by them and found herself looking out of the window in case she blushed and he noticed.

She remembered the first time she ever saw him. It was at the preliminary meeting of the new sixth form intake where Miss Pearce was welcoming them all. He came in a few minutes late. Mandy was on the end of a row but there was a spare seat next to her so she moved along and let him sit down.

She was startled by his appearance.

He had longish hair and wore a suit jacket over skinny trousers and patterned DMs. The buttons of the jacket were done up to the top. Underneath there was a glimpse of a silver T-shirt. On the floor was a briefcase. It was made from hard brown leather and seemed sturdy and old fashioned, something a boy from a private school might carry.

He looked so different to the other boys in the sixth form. Finally after five years of blazers and dark trousers they were allowed to wear their own clothes. Most of them had on jeans and sports tops and trainers. They’d gone from one uniform to another. Mandy was no different. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, not unlike the other girls in the sixth form.

Tommy was completely unselfconscious about how he looked and had taken a large pad out of his briefcase and was making notes about what Miss Pearce was saying. He was the only one taking notes. After the talk Mandy noticed some of the boys looking at him warily or dismissively. Tommy seemed unconcerned and struck up conversations with anyone who wanted to talk to him.

He talked to Mandy for ages and he told her how he was looking forward to university so that he could live away from home and make all his own decisions. He was going to be a journalist, he said, and expose wrongdoing. He’d seemed a little intense then, but he cheered up quickly and made jokes about his old school. The next day, at the first lesson of her English course, he was there early and called to her, ‘I’ve saved you a seat!’ And she sat beside him and they became friends.

They’d been like that for seven weeks and during that time her feelings had grown and become something else. Every day she looked forward to seeing him and felt aggrieved if he wasn’t around. When she was with him the day seemed brighter somehow, with stacks of time for doing things. She even
looked
better, her hair fuller, her smile wider. She longed to tell him, to say something to him about the way he made her feel but she did not know where to start. On good days she thought that the same thing might be happening to him. He was instantly popular and chatted to loads of people but he always seemed to look for her as if she were his anchor. If she was around he seemed to feel a need to touch her: lightly on the shoulder, his fingers on her arm, a loose clasp of her wrist or a pat on her back.

He was genuinely interested in her. He knew about the missing girls, he’d passed the remembrance garden often enough, but when he realised she had been the third girl he was shocked and full of sympathy. To other kids the story was old news but to him it was as if it had happened the previous week.

The buzzer went for the change of lessons, followed by the noise of doors opening and voices spilling out into the corridors. In moments the sound was louder, as if someone had turned the volume up. The common-room door burst open and several students came in, some chattering, some shrieking, others looking at their mobiles.

Tommy appeared. He looked round the common room and smiled when he saw her.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘You didn’t miss much in history …’

She smiled.

‘See the house demolished?’

‘Yeah.’

He sat down in the next seat, his legs straight out in front of him. He was humming under his breath. He’d moved on from the comment he’d just made. It was another reason why she liked him. He didn’t dwell on her bad experiences. He was upbeat, ready to change the subject. She appreciated that. With him she felt there was the possibility that she could enjoy herself again.

He was wearing a Fair Isle jumper and loose jeans with plimsolls. His briefcase was sitting on the floor between them. He didn’t look like anyone else in the sixth form. She knew his clothes were from charity shops. He created his own style and boasted that he almost never wore anything that was new. She looked down at her own clothes: dark trousers and the hoodie she had worn to the demolition. Underneath it was a black T-shirt. Not exactly imaginative.
She
had no style at all but his clothes seemed to tell some kind of story. She wasn’t quite sure yet what that story was.

‘History was full of the usual stuff. Imperialism and the Scramble for Africa. Got a couple of new essay titles. I’ve made notes.’

‘On a memory stick?’

‘No. With a pen. On a piece of paper. I told you I remember it better if I actually write it down. I can photocopy it for you?’

‘I can’t read your writing.’

‘I’ll go through it with you.’

‘A memory stick would be easier.’

‘It’s a bit of a misnomer, really. A memory stick that
remembers
nothing. It should be called a copy stick, as in, there’s a
copy
of what you want on this.’

Mandy sighed. It was so easy to get into some kind of profound conversation with Tommy. On the other hand it was difficult not to admire his passion for stuff, even something simple like a conversation about history notes. He was always involved in something. One week he was making music videos, the next he was setting up a joint blog and taking part in writing a novel set in the distant future.

‘You do the Shakespeare essay?’ he said, gulping down some water from a bottle.

‘I made a start.’

‘It’s due in tomorrow.’

‘I know. I’ll get an extension.’

‘Isn’t that just piling it up to be done later?
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow.
’

‘You sound like Miss Pearce.’

‘That reminds me, there was something I wanted to ask you.’

He picked up his briefcase and sorted through some papers. It was always full of handouts and pages of notes. He religiously printed everything out. ‘I don’t trust computers!’ he’d said over and over. Now he pulled some sheets of paper from a folder and handed them to her. Mandy was expecting some notes from the session she’d missed. Instead it was a printout of a newspaper report. ‘Mystery of Missing Girls’ was the heading.

‘What’s this?’ she said, even though she knew full well what it was.

‘Miss Pearce has asked me to do a talk about it. For the fifth anniversary.’

The fifth anniversary was in two weeks.

‘It’s just for the sixth form. I think I’ve been asked to do it because I’m one of the few people who weren’t in the school at the time it happened. Thing is I feel a bit awkward about it. I wasn’t sure whether you’d be all right with me doing it.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Miss Pearce had talked to her about it a couple of weeks before. She’d said she planned to ask Tommy to do it and hoped that Mandy wouldn’t mind.

‘I just wanted to check with you. And, she also wants me to write something for the school website. I’ve been doing some research, I mean, I know you told me all about it but I thought I’d better read up on stuff. Those are some of the documents that I’ve downloaded. If you’re all right with what’s there then I can use them for my research. I hoped you wouldn’t mind looking through and just telling me if they’re accurate.’