35
A young man in a grey suit walked on to the stage and tapped the microphone. It sounded like the beat of a bass drum, which then turned into a spiralling howl. People in the hall put their hands to their ears.
‘Could someone do something about that?’ he said. He took a small pile of index cards from his pocket and looked at the top one. ‘I’m Tom Cooke. I’m the headmaster of Braxton High School and I’d like to welcome you all back.’
Frieda heard a voice, so close to her ear that it almost tickled.
‘He looks more like the head prefect.’
She looked round. It was Chas, standing at her shoulder, leaning in towards her. There was a terrifyingly thin blonde woman just behind him, wearing a purple silk dress and makeup that was a formal mask over her strained face. Her shoulders were knobbly and her arms all sinew and bone. Chas’s wife, thought Frieda.
The headmaster looked down at his index cards. ‘“Born to serve”,’ he said. ‘As you all know, that is the motto of Braxton High School. Someone once said to me that it sounded like the motto of a tennis academy.’ He paused, leaving space for a laugh that didn’t come. He swallowed, too close to the microphone, so it sounded like water in a pipe. ‘But you here, you old Braxtonians, are living proof of our motto. Among you I’ve been told that there are people who have made their mark in business and in the retail sector, in the law and insurance and in the City. We’ve got a potter and someone who can repair your boiler. I might give him a call myself.’ There was a pause for a laugh that, once more, didn’t come. ‘I’ve even been told that there may be a psychiatrist here tonight, so mind what you say to your neighbour.’
‘Your fame precedes you,’ Chas murmured.
‘I’m not a psychiatrist,’ Frieda said.
‘I don’t think they know the difference out here.’
Tom Cooke moved gradually through his pile of index cards. He talked of the refurbishment of the science building, of the challenges of the school’s new academy status; he informed them about a special exhibition illustrating the school’s history on display in the corridors, and he pointed out the location of the pay bar and the fire exits.
‘In conclusion,’ he said, ‘I hope you’ll all think of joining the Friends of Braxton High School and ensuring that we continue the school’s great traditions and, in the words of our motto, continue to serve a new generation.’
There was another silence, then a sprinkling of applause as he walked away from the microphone. Immediately, the atmosphere changed. The lights dimmed, and the murmur of conversation grew louder.
‘This is my wife, Clara,’ said Chas.
Frieda put out her hand and Clara gripped it in her cold thin fingers. ‘I’ve heard of you,’ she said. ‘And I gather you came to our house.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Frieda.
Clara leaned forward, her large eyes glittering. ‘It’s a gilded cage.’ She gave a high laugh and turned away unsteadily on her spindly heels. She was clearly already drunk.
Chas looked after her and shrugged. ‘I don’t know why she insisted on coming,’ he said. ‘It’ll only make her jealous all over again.’
‘Should she be?’
‘Women hate men to have a past.’
‘I think it’s more often the other way round.’
‘What’s your past?’
‘Frieda Klein.’ Frieda turned round. Two women were staring at her with amazed expressions and both gave a little scream of greeting. ‘Frieda bloody Klein,’ said one. ‘You are literally the last person I thought would ever come to a school reunion . Paula and I were talking last night and the one thing we agreed was that you wouldn’t be here.’
Paula, Frieda said to herself. Paula. The name meant nothing to her. She couldn’t remember the faces either. But it didn’t matter because the two women then caught sight of Chas, gave another little scream and hugged him. Chas glanced over their shoulders at Frieda with amused helplessness. She saw how he gave each woman a kiss just a little too close to her mouth. Frieda took the chance to slip away, jostled by crowds of men who had started drinking before they arrived, and women who’d spent too much time thinking about what they should wear to a reunion . How did they want to appear and who was it they wanted to be when they met all their friends and pseudo-friends from the past?
Beyond the people, the special decorations, the bunting and the exhibition, Braxton High School was both changed and utterly familiar, as if she were revisiting her past in a dream. She walked out of the main hall and along a corridor with classrooms on either side. An extension had been built at the end, jutting out into the old playground. All the classroom doors were new and brightly coloured. The whole space had been scoured year after year by new cohorts of teenagers but something remained, a smell, the feel of the wooden floor, so that she felt herself back there, and it was no longer a memory but a vivid, queasy sense of dread and darkness. She could hardly believe that she had come back but she reminded herself that there was a reason: she had a promise to keep.
Returning towards the noise of what now sounded like a boisterous party, she saw a couple walking along the corridor. Their faces were turned away from her towards a project on the wall. As she got closer, she recognized the man.
‘Lewis,’ she said.
He turned round and smiled. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Looks like we couldn’t keep away.’
The woman with him was tall, curvy and very dark, like a gypsy. She wore a knee-length black shirtdress, belted at the waist. Frieda saw what looked like a chain wrapped around one of her ankles but then recognized as an ornate tattoo. Lewis introduced her awkwardly as Penny, then introduced Frieda with a complicated and incoherent explanation of who she was, which made Penny look at Frieda with new attention.
‘Max has been talking about you,’ she said.
‘We’ve got some interests in common,’ said Frieda.
‘He’s being a bit mysterious at the moment. Is everything all right?’
‘I think it will be.’ She looked at Lewis. ‘He’s a thoughtful young man. I like him.’
His face relaxed. ‘Good. In fact, he’s here tonight.’
‘Here?’
‘A group of them are helping out with the catering. Roped in, volunteered, whatever. He’ll probably offer you a cocktail sausage or a mini pizza. Though you might not recognize him – he had to put on smart trousers and a jacket.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out.’
‘We’re going outside for a smoke. Some things never change. You want to join us?’
‘There are some people I need to see.’
‘So one thing has changed.’ He turned to Penny. ‘We used to go out to the sports field at lunchtime.’
Penny slid her arm through Lewis’s and smiled at Frieda. She obviously wasn’t one of those women who Chas had said were jealous of their partner’s past.
Frieda walked back into the hall, where she had to push her way through the crowd. Some still looked like children, others were her own age and a few were much older. This was where she had come from. Frieda felt a lurch at the thought, then saw Vanessa clutching two plastic glasses and looking around. She wore a dark silk dress with a flowery jacket. When she saw Frieda she gave a nervous smile. ‘I was bringing a drink for someone but I’ve forgotten who they are and I can’t find them anyway. Do you want it?’
‘What is it?’
‘White wine.’
‘All right.’
Frieda took a sip. At least it was cold.
‘Is Ewan here?’
‘He’s around somewhere.’
‘He’s right behind you,’ said a voice, and she felt his arm around her shoulders. Ewan kissed her on both cheeks, then held her at arm’s length. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ he said. ‘I’ve just bumped into Mrs Flannigan. You know, the old PE teacher. God, she terrified me. I used to pretend I was ill on days when we had PE. Cross-country runs. Do you remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was all right for you. You could run, which I couldn’t, and also you looked great in shorts. Which I certainly didn’t. Jeremy! Jeremy, over here.’ He waved both arms in the air. ‘I was just saying that Frieda looked great in shorts.’
‘She probably still does,’ said Jeremy. He was wearing a silvery-grey suit and a red bow-tie. Maybe that was the latest look in the City, thought Frieda.‘Where’s Catrina?’ asked Vanessa. ‘Catrina was in the year below us,’ she explained to Frieda. ‘That’s why Jeremy’s here.’
‘I think she’s in some screaming huddle near the front door,’ said Jeremy. ‘It’s really strange. As if people aren’t just remembering the past but actually returning to it. Soon everyone will be snogging on the dance floor.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Vanessa.
‘I won’t be snogging anyone but you, honey,’ said Ewan, patting her on the back as if she had hiccups.
‘That’s because it was Vanessa you were snogging then,’ said Jeremy, with a laugh that took everyone by surprise. ‘But who was I snogging?’ He looked at Frieda, who turned away.
‘Are you having a good time?’ she asked Vanessa.
Vanessa took a gulp of wine. ‘I’m not sure. I suppose I must be. Have you met any old schoolmates?’
‘A couple.’
‘Does it bring back happy memories?’
‘My memories of the school are a bit mixed.’
‘Max,’ said Ewan, turning with a smile. ‘What a transformation. Hey, watch out!’
Max, dressed in black and his hair brushed flat, was holding out a silver tray at a tilt. Several smoked-salmon blinis slithered to the floor and lay face down. A gaggle of teenagers, most of them girls, stood nearby, also carrying trays. They were giggling at him. Frieda saw Ewan and Vanessa’s daughter, Charlotte, among them.
Vanessa stooped and picked them up. She was wearing a dress that was slightly too small for her, her breasts almost bursting out. Frieda saw Max glance down, then quickly away, mortified.
‘How are you?’ Frieda asked him.
‘I don’t know why I’m here.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘Have you seen my dad?’
‘He’s with Penny. Who seems very nice,’ she added encouragingly.
‘Is he … you know?’
‘He’s fine. I think he’s having a cigarette outside.’
‘I’m a bit drunk,’ he admitted. ‘I can embarrass him for once. I finish at half nine. Could we have a talk before I go home?’
‘Shall I meet you by the swings?’
‘Hello, girls.’ It was Chas again. He put an arm round Vanessa and Frieda. ‘Are you meeting up with some of your old flames?’
‘No.’ Frieda stepped out of his embrace.
‘I’ve only just arrived,’ said Vanessa.
‘I’ve already encountered a couple of my guilty pleasures.’
‘I don’t even want to know what that means.’ But Vanessa giggled.
‘I’ve had a couple of women of a certain age come up to me and, well, you know, it’s funny the things you’ve forgotten about until someone reminds you.’ He glanced at Frieda. ‘I suppose you disapprove of the idea of guilty pleasures.’
Frieda was spared having to answer when she noticed Eva standing on her own and walked across to join her.
‘Thank God,’ Eva said. She was dressed in a brightly striped dress and had put on blue eye-shadow. ‘Finally someone I recognize. I really thought I’d know more people but most of them look too young to come to a reunion . Or too old. You look nice, though – I love that scarf thing. Or is it a stole? Do I look like a tent? Is Josef with you?’
The last question was such a sudden change of subject that it took Frieda by surprise. ‘You mean with me at the reunion ?’
‘He could have come. He said he might. People are bringing people.’
‘He’s got a job on a big construction project in London.’
‘Good for him.’
‘Look, Eva, if you want to talk about it …’
‘Because that’s your job, isn’t it? But there’s nothing to talk about. It was one of those modern adult sort of relationships. No commitment on either side. Just two people having a good time.’ She raised her glass, then saw that it was empty. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Now, look over there. Do you remember Mr Hollesley?’
Frieda saw him talking to the two women she had failed to recognize earlier. They were gazing up at him adoringly. ‘Greg. Yes. I met him the other day.’
‘Greg,’ said Eva, admiringly. ‘I would never dare call him that. He’ll always be Mr Hollesley to me. He’s still so handsome. But there were some people who called him Greg even when we were at school. Do you remember Teresa Marland?’
‘I remember the name.’
‘Do you remember the school trip to Belgium?’
‘I didn’t go on school trips.’
‘If Teresa Marland is here, ask her about the hotel room in Ghent and Mr Hollesley and see if she goes red.’
‘I don’t think I will.’
‘Things were different in those days,’ said Eva. ‘They couldn’t get away with it now.’ She looked more closely at Frieda. ‘Am I shocking you?’
‘No,’ said Frieda, slowly. ‘It’s just hearing you talk about what happened with you and Josef. It was painful for you. Then, hearing you talk like that about Greg Hollesley and that girl, as if it was just fun.’
‘Well,’ said Eva, ‘we’re at a reunion . We’re meant to be laughing about the past. All of us have things we’re not proud of.’
‘Like what?’’
‘We just do. This isn’t the evening to talk about it. Or then again, maybe this is the only evening to talk about it.’
From then on the evening was like a series of snapshots, flashes in a dream. Greg Hollesley came up to her and gave her a kiss on both cheeks, wine breath and aftershave. Max reappeared, and this time he was clearly drunk, swaying on his feet, his tray tipping and wine spilling over the brim of the glasses. Lewis and Penny came back into the room, looking blurry. He whispered something in Penny’s ear and she laughed. Was he telling her something about what Frieda was like as a teenager? Was it funny? Then she saw Eva go up to them. She looked a bit drunk and she put her arms round Lewis’s neck while Penny watched with a bemused expression.
She saw Vanessa and asked her where Ewan was. She wanted to ask him something about the evening, that other evening when they had been together, most of them, most of the time. So many alibis. So few opportunities.
‘He went out with some of the gang for a cigarette. They’re probably behind the bike sheds.’
‘He doesn’t smoke.’
‘He did when he was sixteen, though.’
She saw Chas deep in conversation with one of the women she’d met early on, not Paula, the other. He raised a hand and pushed a strand of hair away from her face, and then touched her lip with his thumb, very gently. It was like watching him at work at a party many years ago. Where was his wife, rail-thin, wretched Clara? She found her in the Ladies. She was standing in front of a mirror, absolutely immobile, staring at her reflection as if she’d seen a ghost.
‘Should I leave him?’ she asked Frieda, as if they were continuing a conversation they’d started earlier.
‘Leave Chas?’
‘Yes. You tell me.’
‘I have no idea. It’s not something anyone can decide for you. And I don’t even know you.’
‘You know Chas, though.’
‘Not really.’
‘I think I have to leave him. But I know I won’t.’
Eva and Vanessa burst in. ‘Guess what?’
‘What?’
‘There’s a fight going on in the playground.’
‘Between who?’
‘I don’t know. Men with fists. It doesn’t look like in the movies, though, more like a messy, undignified scramble.’
Frieda touched Clara’s thin arm. ‘You don’t have to stay, you know,’ she said, then walked back into the noise. The music had started up.
‘Want to dance?’ asked Jeremy, appearing at her side. His head was shiny with sweat. ‘For old times’ sake?’
‘No.’
‘Can’t you even say, “No, thank you”?’
‘I’ll dance,’ said Vanessa.
‘Where’s Ewan?’
‘Probably talking about computers,’ said Vanessa, with a laugh. ‘He was never a great dancer. He just sort of bounced.’
Frieda saw that Maddie Capel had arrived, in a shiny, short red dress with red lipstick like a gash across her face. As she looked at her, Frieda thought, This is what this is all about, people coming here and dressing themselves up and performing in order to say, Here I am. This is what I’ve made of myself. This is what time has done to me. This is what I’ve become.
And then she thought, Someone in this room raped me, raped and killed Sarah May, raped and killed Becky Capel. He’s here.
The music got louder, the lights were turned down lower, people were dancing, at first just a few pairs, then a thickening crowd. It was like a teenage party performed by a middle-aged cast. She saw Eva dancing with a man she didn’t recognize, Greg Hollesley dancing with a woman she didn’t recognize, then with Maddie, holding her close. Maddie’s eyes were shut and her mascara had smudged: she’d been crying. She saw Jeremy standing at the side with his wife, who was saying something in his ear, angrily. His bow-tie had unravelled. She saw Chas walking out of the hall with the woman who wasn’t Paula. She saw Clara leave, car keys in her hand.
‘Aren’t you going to dance?’ Frieda looked around. Lewis was there, but not Penny.
‘No.’
‘Not with me?’
‘Not with anyone.’
‘Why did you come this evening?’
‘Why did you?’
He shrugged. ‘A trip down memory lane?’ he suggested. ‘Look at us all.’
‘I like Penny.’
‘You think she can save me?’
‘I think only you can save you.’
‘Same old Frieda. You shouldn’t have come back.’
‘People keep saying that.’
Eva broke away from her partner and made her way towards them. She’d taken off her shoes and her hair had come loose. She looked absurdly young. ‘Come and dance, Lewis,’ she said, holding out her hand to him.
‘Not just now.’
‘Please. Just once.’
He took her hand and let himself be led into the crowd. He’d always been a good dancer.
‘All alone?’ It was Vanessa again, breathing slightly heavily.
‘Hello. Are you enjoying yourself?’
‘Well,’ Vanessa began, then stopped. ‘Wait here,’ she said, and disappeared into the crowd. A couple of minutes later she re-emerged. She was clutching a bottle of white wine and two plastic glasses. ‘Let’s go outside for a moment. I can’t talk in here.’
The two of them walked out of the front entrance of the school, the one that was normally reserved for teachers. They sat down on a low wall. It was dark now and they could see shapes of people around them. Some had their arms around each other, kissing, murmuring. There was a glow of cigarette ends, the smell of smoke.
‘How old are these people?’ said Vanessa. She poured wine into two of the glasses and handed one to Frieda. Then she took a cigarette packet out of her pocket. She offered one to Frieda, who shook her head. She lit one for herself. ‘For one night only,’ she said. She took a deep drag, then coughed.
‘I was going to ask you,’ said Frieda, when Vanessa had got her breath back. ‘Max told me about Becky giving you a package to keep.’
‘That’s right. He seemed very agitated about it.’
‘Why did she give it to you?’
‘I have no idea. I imagine she didn’t want Maddie finding it.’
‘Do you know what it was?’
‘It was all taped up. She obviously didn’t want anyone prying.’
‘You weren’t tempted to look?’
‘Of course I was tempted. But she trusted me so I couldn’t. One of the things you learn with having children is that they have to have their secrets.’
‘There are good secrets and then there are secrets that are better told.’
‘Yes.’ Vanessa sighed. ‘Now I wish I’d made her confide in me more, but at the time it seemed like she was just another adolescent. Like Charlotte. Or Max – he’s another one I fear for.’
‘He’s very upset about Becky.’
‘That’s complicated, of course.’
‘Why? They were friends.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘He was more like her stalker. I think he scared her a bit. That’s why I was a bit taken aback when he came storming round to our house asking for that bundle she left. It seemed odd.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I don’t think I’m saying anything in particular. Just that you shouldn’t believe everything Max tells you. He’s very like his father was, isn’t he? I know you and Lewis went out, but that was decades ago. He always was a bit of a strange one.’
‘Who isn’t?’
Vanessa laughed. ‘That’s true. Anyway, I feel sorry for the young ones. It makes me remember what it was like at that age. So intense. So easy to go off the rails.’
‘You were close to Becky.’
‘She was a sweet, vulnerable girl and she was friendly with my girls. I was fond of her. I wish I’d been able to help her.’
‘I’m sure you did what you could.’
‘I don’t know.’ Vanessa said. ‘And I worry about the effect on others. I do feel anxious about Max, though.’
‘In what way?’
‘I think he let Becky’s suicide get to him. He seemed distraught. I’m afraid he may do something stupid.’
‘He seems all right to me,’ said Frieda.
‘He’s so unstable, like his father. I talked to him this evening and something about him really scared me. It reminded me of her.’
Frieda started to say something but then a man stumbled past them, brushing up against Frieda so that her wine spilled.
‘That was Jeremy,’ said Vanessa.
‘I know.’
‘Where’s he off to?’
Frieda just shrugged.
‘You hate this place, don’t you?’
‘That’s not right exactly.’
‘You know, people can surprise you, even at their worst.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Vanessa drained her glass and refilled it. ‘Doesn’t this bring back memories?’ she said. ‘In the garden at parties?’ In the dark, Frieda could barely make out her expression. ‘People don’t always stand by, you know. A few years ago I was out with a girlfriend – we had a meal or something, a bottle of wine, maybe more than a bottle. Afterwards I was walking back, looking to get a taxi, and I bumped into a group of young men. They started saying things and then it all got out of control. They started touching me, putting their hands on me.’ She stopped while she took another drag on her cigarette. ‘It was horrible, utterly humiliating, and then it became frightening. I thought that was it. Then, quite suddenly, a man walking past intervened. I thought they were going to kill him but he somehow managed to talk them down and take me by the arm and get me away and find me a cab. In the end nothing happened at all and I never knew his name. I sometimes think there’s an alternative universe where that man didn’t walk past and I’m dead and those men are in prison or maybe still walking free.’
There was a long silence.
‘Ewan told me that story,’ said Frieda.
‘Really?’
‘In a slightly different version.’
‘That’s the thing about a marriage. You have your fund of stories.’
Frieda looked at her watch: it was nearly half past nine. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said. She made her way down to the playground, which was empty now apart from a man standing alone and smoking a cigarette. Max wasn’t there. She waited a few minutes, then walked swiftly back inside and through the hall into the kitchen. It was full of teenagers. A couple was standing up against the wall, kissing; the boy had his hand up the girl’s skirt, and Frieda recognized the girl as Charlotte. She tapped her on the shoulder.
‘What?’ said Charlotte. ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘I was looking for Max.’
‘That creep. He’s pissed.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’ She stared at Frieda, wrinkling her nose. ‘You’re weird.’
Frieda went back into the hall and made almost an entire circuit of it, in the dim lights and grinding music, through the hot bodies and past the grinning, grimacing faces, before she found who she was looking for.
‘Are you having a good time?’ said Lewis. He seemed more sober than anyone else in the room. ‘I’ve been talking to Penny about the old days.’
‘Where’s Max?’
‘Max?’
‘Yes, where is he?’
‘I’ve no idea. Probably still in the kitchen. I saw him a bit ago. He was having a fine old time.’
Frieda felt she should stop worrying but she couldn’t and at first she couldn’t remember why, then suddenly she could. She remembered Vanessa’s words: she had said that Max reminded her of Becky.
‘Ring his mobile.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘We don’t have time: ring his mobile.’
Lewis pulled his phone out of his pocket and called.
‘Straight to voicemail.’
‘We’ve got to find him.’
‘Won’t you tell us what’s going on?’ This from Penny.
‘I’ll explain later. Come with me.’
She pulled Lewis after her and they ran outside, past couples and groups. The night air was cold and damp.
‘He’s not in the hall or the kitchen or the playground. Let’s look in the car park. Keep calling his mobile.’
They hurried through the rows of parked cars. She stared around at the dark crouched shapes of cars, then back at the school where lights spilled out across the gravel driveway. They could hear the music from where they stood, but faintly.
‘How did he get here?’ she asked Lewis.
‘With me and Penny. He’s staying with us for the weekend.’
‘Did he say anything about leaving early or going on somewhere else?’
‘No.’
He could be anywhere. In one of those unlit classrooms, by the bike sheds, on the sports field, on the flat roof that was so temptingly easy to climb on to, in some clinch with one of the girls who’d been laughing at him earlier. He could be smoking with a group of friends. He could have gone on to a pub.
‘We’ve got to go to your house. Where’s your car? Have you got your keys on you?’
‘Yes.’
Lewis wasn’t protesting any more. He had picked up on her urgency. He ran over to a small, rust-spotted car and unlocked the doors. They both climbed in.
‘Is it far?’ Frieda asked, as they drove out of the school gates.
‘Near the old barracks, up the hill.’
‘I know them.’
‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’
‘I think he’s in danger.’
The car veered round a corner. Rain started to fall heavily; the windscreen wipers had frayed and the loose rubber slapped against the glass. Soon they were out of the centre of the town and were driving along the ridge of the hill, looking down at Braxton. Here, the houses were identical, row upon row of small, flat-fronted buildings in an interlocking grid of small roads and cul-de-sacs. Frieda saw that all the roads were named after flowers: Hollyhock Close, Sunflower Street, Lupin Rise. It felt very quiet, no cars on the roads and no people; most of the windows were unlit, with curtains drawn. Lewis screeched to a halt outside number twenty-seven Campion Way.
At the front door, his hands were trembling and he couldn’t get the key into the lock. Frieda took it from him. The door swung open and they stepped into the tiny hall. Everything was dark and quiet.
‘There’s no one here,’ Lewis said.
They heard the screech of tyres coming from the road at the back of the house as a car drew away. Frieda called out but there was no reply and she ran up the stairs, two at a time.
One door was open and the room empty. One door was closed. She hurled it open and stepped inside, Lewis on her heels. She could hear him breathing, a ragged gasp.
Even before Lewis turned on the light she could see the shape in front of them. Above them. Legs moving slightly. The dazzle of the bulb brought his face into view, blue lips and open mouth. Open eyes staring. Strung from a rope.
‘Hold him up,’ she said. Lewis looked at her unseeingly. She wrapped her arms around Max’s legs and pushed upwards, taking the weight from the rope. ‘Do this. Hold him.’ Lewis was staring at her, his face sweating. He looked like he was in shock. Could he do this? Then, like a man in a dream, he put his arms round his son’s legs and Frieda stepped away.
‘Just for a few seconds,’ she said.
She ran down the stairs again, feeling her ankle turn on the bottom step, into the kitchen, wrenching open drawers until she found a serrated knife, and then upstairs again. She pulled a chair from the side of the bed and stood on it, then sawed at the rope until it gave and Max’s body fell in a soft, heavy heap into Lewis’s arms and toppled him; they lay on the floor together, father and son. Lewis was crying out Max’s name.
She pulled Lewis away from Max, put her phone into his hand. She turned the boy over. He lay there in his ill-fitting black jacket. His eyes were closed now. White drool ran from his mouth. The noose was still around his neck.
She put her hands firmly on his chest and began pumping up and down, up and down. Behind her she could hear Lewis giving his address through retching sobs.
Chest compression. Pause. Mouth-to-mouth. Lewis’s son, who looked so like the boy she used to love. Pause. Chest compression. His eyelids were blue. Mouth-to-mouth again. A bitter taste on his lips. She felt Lewis beside her.
‘Is there anything?’ Lewis was crouching at her side. She could hear his hoarse breathing.
She tried not to think or feel. Just to make her body into the machine that would bring Max back. For they had heard that car screeching off as they entered the house. It couldn’t have been long – seconds rather than minutes, even.
‘Feel his pulse,’ she said to Lewis, and he put his thumb against the blue vein on his son’s thin wrist.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell. I don’t know. Frieda.’
They heard the sirens and then they saw the blue lights striping the ceiling. Lewis ran down the stairs. Frieda could hear him crashing, falling. Then the door was opened, and soon the room was full of people, calm voices, instructions, a stretcher. A mask over Max’s chalky, spittled face. The rope removed from his neck. A blanket over his motionless body. She stood up, cramping in all her limbs.
‘Go with him in the ambulance,’ she said to Lewis. ‘And call his mother on the way. I’ll stay here to wait for the police.’
‘Yes,’ He stared at her wildly for a moment, his face a clench of horror, and then was gone.
Frieda could hear the police car coming over the hill. She went quickly into the bathroom and ripped off several sheets of lavatory roll, then returned to Max’s room and to his narrow truckle bed.
Very carefully, making sure she didn’t make contact with it, she picked up the little red squirrel that had lost half its tail and had been Becky’s favourite soft toy. It had gone missing but it was now on Max’s pillow. She wrapped it in the toilet tissue so that no bit of it was exposed. Then she lifted up her dress and tucked it under the waistband, arranging her scarf so that it covered the bulge, before she went downstairs to let the police inside.