Una
I’m alone in my room, eating a packet of Cheddars from my snack drawer. Elspeth is in bed and Aggie has left for the night. I keep mulling over what she said about Kathryn arguing with Jemima on the day she died. I wonder what happened. Did Kathryn follow Jemima that day? Did they continue their argument? How did Jemima fall off the bridge? Did Kathryn push her? Was it an accident and Kathryn was too scared to tell anyone, so she hid Jemima’s stuff and pretended she’d moved away?
I get out my phone to ring Courtney when a text comes up from an unknown number.
This is Peter. My phone broke so I had to get another, hence the new number. I’m in Clifton. Would you meet me at the bridge? We need to talk.
I look at the clock. It’s nine thirty. Does he mean now?
When? I text back.
His reply is instant. ASAP.
Adrenalin surges through me. Could I do this? Leave Elspeth in bed and sneak out? It’s one of Elspeth’s rules. She doesn’t like being in the house on her own at night. But I’d be gone half an hour at most, I reason. She’s asleep. She’ll never know. But it’s unprofessional. I begin pacing my ‘rooms’. I don’t know what to do. I glance out of the front window. It’s so dark and fog rolls over the hills in the distance, obscuring the top of the suspension bridge. It’s only a stone’s throw away. Maybe I could go and meet him, then sneak him into the house. We could go into the kitchen and if Elspeth does wake I can answer her, but she won’t see Peter. It’s not something I would normally contemplate doing, but this is important. It’s not like I’m sneaking out to meet a boyfriend. I have to tell him about his sister’s bag. And then – my heart beats faster when I think of it – he could take it to the police. Which means I don’t have to hand in my employer’s daughter. Kathryn need never know I had anything to do with it. She might suspect, yes, but she can’t prove it. I’ll be off the hook.
I’ve lost my appetite so return the Cheddars to my drawer. Then I pull a brush through my hair and grab my maroon coat from the wardrobe, slipping it on and pressing my furry hat onto my head. I hesitate. What am I doing? Is this safe? Do I really want to be walking to the bridge alone in the dark? Jemima died there. I stand in the middle of the room, deliberating. It’s Peter, I reason. He can hardly come to the house to meet me. I grab my phone and decide to text Courtney. It’s something we’ve always done since we were teenagers if we were about to go somewhere alone. It was drummed into us by our parents: Tell Someone Where You’re Going. I’ve heard from Peter. He wants to meet. I’m going to tell him about the bag (which I’ve hidden) and he can go to the police. I’m about to meet him now. Xx
And then I leave the house, mobile in hand like a weapon.
It’s cold outside, the sky moonless. The fog gets thicker and more dense as I head to the bridge. The road outside Elspeth’s house is empty on this cold Friday evening in February, and as I walk across the green, the grass snapping underfoot, I almost turn back. Am I crazy? I’m meeting a near-stranger at night on my own. But it’s only nine thirty, I reassure myself. It’s not late. People are still about: a man’s letting his dog sniff the bench over there, and a couple are strolling towards the pub at the end of the road. There aren’t many cars but that’s because it’s so foggy. It’s fine. It’s fine. I repeat this to myself, like a mantra, as I step onto the bridge.
There’s no sign of Peter. Not that I can really see: the fog seems thicker up here. I look over the bridge and it’s almost as if I’m floating on a cloud. I can’t see the gorge beneath me. I can hardly make out Elspeth’s house from here, either. The comforting lights at the windows and the figures of other people have been blocked out by the weather.
I text Peter’s new number. I’m at the edge of the bridge where the cars come in. Where are you?
I wait with the phone in my hand for his reply but there’s nothing.
Then I see a text from Courtney. Are you mental? Don’t meet Peter in the dark. Get him to go to the house. Xx
She’s right, this is a stupid idea. I was lulled into thinking it was okay because it’s not that late and the bridge isn’t too far away. But with the fog and the silence, well, it’s eerie up here. I feel like I’m a million miles from civilization. The fog is all-consuming, wrapping around me, like cotton wool. I can only see a few inches in front of me. Maybe Peter didn’t mean the bridge, maybe he meant somewhere else like – I trip and my phone shoots out of my hand. I hear it land with a crack on the pavement. Shit. Shit. I crouch on my hands and knees. Where’s it gone? I can’t see it. Has it gone over the side?
‘Peter!’ I shout. My voice is tinged with panic and disappears into the ether. ‘Where are you?’ There’s no answer and I freeze, my heart in my throat, as I realize that Peter isn’t coming. Was it even Peter who texted me? It could have been anyone. It could have been Kathryn. I stand up, blindly trying to reach for something to cling to. ‘Who’s there?’ My heart beats faster and I walk through the fog, towards where I know the entrance is.
I think of my mum. Is she watching over me? She’d be furious that I’ve put myself in this position. Oh, Mum, I’m sorry.
The rising fog mingles with the dark night, turning everything opaque. I can barely see yet I know someone else is on the suspension bridge with me.
I can hear them breathing.
How foolish I’ve been.
Nobody will come to my rescue. It’s too late at night – even vehicles have stopped driving across the bridge due to the weather.
Someone calls my name. I turn, but I’m disoriented and I can’t tell which direction the voice is coming from. I just know I’ve been lured here. I need to find a way off this bridge as quickly as I can. I let go of the railings, stumbling in panic, my breath quickening.