Where the Memories Lie
By: Sibel Hodge
‘I looked everywhere for one, but nowhere had anything like it. I made it in the end, do you remember? I painted SpongeBob on. Copied him off a TV programme. It was almost as big as she was.’
‘If I remember rightly, it didn’t last long, did it?’
‘No. A sudden gust of wind took it away and it ended up smashing on the ground. It took me another two weeks to make a new SpongeBob one, and by that time she said she’d gone off him and wanted one that looked like a ladybird.’ He sighed wistfully.
‘Those were the days.’
I got out of the car and then went round to open his door and help him out. I linked my arm through his and we walked very slowly along a path over the top of the cliffs, well-worn with years’
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Sibel Hodge
worth of use. There were signs at regular intervals that read ‘Danger!
Cliff Edge!’ and ‘Keep Away from the Edge!’
‘I’ve got a good idea,’ I said. ‘How about I bring you in some gardening magazines, instead of reading all those horrible stories in the papers that make you worry?’
‘What stories?’
‘Like the one you mentioned yesterday. The one that you must’ve seen about Georgia Preston, who was murdered.’
‘Georgia?’ He shook his head, looking confused. ‘Who’s Georgia? I never mentioned anyone called Georgia.’ He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re lying.’
I opened my mouth to deny it but thought better of it. It didn’t matter, anyway. It wasn’t important. ‘Yes, I’ll bring you some in next time.’ I smiled decisively.
After a short walk we sat on our usual bench overlooking the sea. He couldn’t manage long distances anymore. As we chatted about the kids and Nadia, Chris and Ethan, he seemed really alert, remembering things we’d all got up to in the past. Even coming out with things I’d completely forgotten, like the time Chris was in a boxing match when he was about sixteen and he knocked out his opponent with the first punch. Chris was always the quiet one of our group, preferring to be on his own a lot of the time, although sometimes his quietness bordered on being broody.
Unlike Nadia and Ethan and me, who were outspoken, he was shy and much more introverted than the rest of us, always a bit of a loner. He loved the boxing, and had religiously practised and sparred at a gym in Weymouth when he was growing up. He did it originally to try and lose some of his puppy fat, but I think the main thing he liked about it was he didn’t have to talk to anyone else when he was working out or fighting. He could just lose himself in the match.
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Where the Memories Lie It wasn’t until we were walking back to the car that Tom stopped suddenly and said, ‘Did you say something about Georgia? Did you mean Georgia Walker? I killed her, Liv.’ He dropped his head in his hands. ‘Oh, God, I killed her!’
I froze, my spine erect and stiff.
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Chapter Four
I need to talk to you,’ I whispered as soon as Ethan came through the front door.
He raised his eyebrows questioningly before Anna ran out of the kitchen and threw herself into her dad’s arms.
I smiled. Or at least tried to.
‘Missed you, Shortie Pants,’ he said, his nickname for her which was woefully out of date now since she’d be taller than me soon.
‘Missed you, too, Dad.’ She pulled back and grinned happily.
‘I’ve been helping Mum make focaccia and scones for the picnic tomorrow.’
I pulled a face. ‘Yeah, well the focaccia looks more like Poppy’s just thrown up on a plate, and the scones are rock hard.’
‘They taste OK, though,’ Anna said. ‘We’ve still got quiches to do. Are you going to help us, Dad? Go on, please!’
He took his jacket off and hung it on the end of the banister.
‘I don’t even know what focaccia is, let alone know how to make it, although if it looks like puke I won’t be trying it anytime soon.