Moth Girls (7 page)

‘Petra,’ Mandy said, her voice hoarse, stuck down her throat. ‘Petra, it’s me, Mandy.

The girl looked stunned, horrified. Behind her the car started up. The noise made Mandy start. The girl turned and headed back to the car.

‘Petra,’ Mandy called out. ‘Wait!’

But the car was moving off at speed. In seconds it was gone. Mandy got down on her knees and scrambled under the wire. When she stood up in the street she saw the taillights of the car turning the corner.

It was gone.

Miss Pearce and Tommy seemed busy preparing for the memorial most of the afternoon. The sixth-form common room was closed off and the only place to sit in-between lessons was the lunch area, which was still grubby from lunchtime and smelt of chips. Mandy had a free period after English so she sat at a table as far away from the serving area as she could. Some other sixth formers were there as well. They were still talking about Zoe’s party. The ripple of conversation had been there all day. Zoe’s older brothers had kept things under control so, although there had been alcohol and dope and loud music, it’d never got out of hand. There had been no fights and no gatecrashers but there had been plenty of drunkenness and lots of people getting together. No one said anything about Tommy and Leanne. Maybe no one wanted to say anything within Mandy’s earshot. Maybe they all knew that she had feelings for Tommy. How could they not? She’d been following him round for weeks.

Not that any of it really mattered. Not with what she’d had in her head since early yesterday morning. She was still in a state of shock. That was the only way she could explain the numbness inside her. She had seen Petra Armstrong.
Hadn’t she?
She had stood on that demolition site and watched seventeen-year-old Petra get out of a car, walk up to the fence and use a torch to look around the remnants of the old house that she’d once been fixated on.

Or had Mandy been mistaken? She’d spent the week thinking about that time five years ago, and then she’d looked at Alison Pointer’s website and the computer-generated image of what Petra looked like now. She’d had Petra on her mind ever since the house had been demolished. Maybe she’d
wanted
to see Petra there and had conjured her up, superimposed her face onto that of the security woman who’d been on call and was checking the site for vandalism.

So why, when Mandy called out to her, had she not stood her ground, ordered Mandy out of the site, taken her name and address or called the police and had her charged with trespassing? Why had she turned tail, scuttled off into the car and driven away at speed?

She remembered the moment that she’d seen Petra’s face. The torch had lit it up for a second and the skin had been ghostly white. But she’d had a moment’s recognition. In that expression she’d seen the twelve-year-old Petra. The blank stare and the lips puckered suspiciously to one side. It had been
her
,
she was sure. But was it just like the bus sightings? She’d been sure each of those times as well.

Twice she’d been in that garden. The first time she’d been chased out by the angry neighbour. A glimpse of his face flashed through her head and she remembered something that she hadn’t thought about for years. The week after the three of them had crept into the garden she’d seen the neighbour again. He’d been in front of Mandy and her mum in the supermarket. She’d been unloading the shopping onto the conveyor belt and he’d stared at her for a moment and then she’d realised who he was. She felt herself go red and could feel his eyes on her and she rearranged the tins and bottles so that they went through first. ‘Heaviest stuff at the bottom,’ she’d whispered to no one in particular and then told her mum she wanted to look at the magazines. She walked off, her face burning, and anxiously hung round the books and magazines, thinking that the man would tell her mum what she’d done. But moments later she saw her mum pushing the trolley towards her. She was smiling at something so Mandy knew he hadn’t said anything.

She looked round and saw that Tommy had come into the hall. She shrunk a little in her seat because she sensed that he was looking for her. Something to do with the memorial service, no doubt. The very thought of it made her shoulders stiffen. He saw her then and waved, and came walking across, full of purpose, intent on speaking to her. A renewed sense of sadness hit her. A little bit of her had thought that his interest in the service had been because he was interested in
her
, but now she realised that wasn’t true. This was a project for him, like all the other things he did.

‘Hi!’ he said breathlessly. ‘I wondered if you’d come along to the common room so that I could just go through things with you. Just to check that you think it’s OK?’

‘Sure,’ she said, getting up, pushing her empty paper cup away.

She followed him along the corridor as he talked about the memorial. He was having music and poems and a couple of spots where teachers would say a few things about their memories of Petra and Tina and then he was going to say something about loss. He was ticking the sections off on his fingers in a businesslike way and she wondered if he would put this on his CV. But then she felt bad. He wasn’t someone who just did things for show; he did things because he liked them. She was allowing her disappointment to turn into something nasty and spiteful.

She’d seen him with Leanne first thing that morning and it hadn’t been awkward. Mandy had simply said, ‘Hello! I heard about you two guys!’ with as much nonchalance as she could manage. The rest of the morning had been busy and the twisty feeling she had in her chest seemed to uncurl. After the memorial school would go back to normal and then it would be half-term. After the holidays she could disentangle herself from the group and put some space between herself and Tommy.

The common room had been set out with chairs and a small platform. Behind it was a whiteboard with an open laptop on a small table beside it. Tommy ducked around the chairs and went up onto the platform. He leant over the laptop and pressed a couple of buttons and the white screen was filled with two photographs of Petra and Tina. They weren’t official school photos although Petra was wearing a school uniform in hers. She’d been in a group but the others had been cut out and Mandy wondered if it’d been taken on the day their class had gone on the museum trip. The photo of Tina was quite different. She was standing outside a front door, possibly her own, and she was wearing a dress and boots and a loose cardigan. Her hands were clasped as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

‘So, we’re starting with this music,’ Tommy said.

A snatch of music came on. It was orchestral, sombre. Mandy recognised a cello playing. The tune was familiar, something she’d heard in the past, but she couldn’t have named it.

‘Then we are going to have the teachers’ memories and then this.’

A song came on which Mandy recognised instantly. It was one of the songs that’d been very popular when they’d been friends. The girls had practised it over and over.

‘Tina Pointer’s mother gave me this. She said that Tina and Petra used to sing this as a girl band.’

Mandy heard it play and immediately pictured Petra singing and Tina backing her up. Once, just once, Mandy had suggested that maybe two back-up singers would have been better than one. Petra told her, in a firm tone, that it was a duo, a
two
-girl group.

‘The Red Roses, they were called,’ he said.

‘I know what they were called, Tommy. I was friends with them.’

‘Course you were. Sorry, that must have sounded completely dumb!’

‘Did Miss Pearce say why we’re having this now? The anniversary is on the twenty-eighth and it’s only the nineteenth.’

‘Yeah, course. The twenty-eighth is in half-term and she wanted to get this done so that the rest of the week was clear.’

‘She wanted to get it out of the way?’

‘No! I didn’t mean that. It’s just that there are other more upbeat things that are planned and it seemed a good idea to …’

‘Get it done.’

Tommy looked awkward. She tried to be positive.

‘I understand. It’s best this way,’ she said in a faux-cheerful voice. ‘Anyway, I should be off. What time does it start?’

‘Last period has been suspended for the lower sixth. So we’ll begin about three. In about twenty minutes?’

‘OK,’ Mandy said, her cheeks feeling tired from holding a smile.

She left the common room and walked swiftly away, not quite knowing where she was headed. She knew for sure she didn’t want to go to the memorial. She had no wish to sit through another ceremony in memory of Tina and Petra, especially one organised by Tommy. The buzzer went for the end of lesson. The noise increased as students spilt out onto the corridors, calling to each other and letting doors bang behind them. Mandy kept walking towards the reception area where it was quieter and calmer. Being a sixth former meant she didn’t have to sign out so she went straight for the doors.

Before she got there she heard someone call her name. She closed her eyes with annoyance. She didn’t want to go back and sit through Tommy’s ceremony. She stopped and turned round. It was Jon Wallis. He was walking towards her. He smiled and patted his pocket. He pulled something out of it.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said.

He held out an envelope to her.

‘At lunchtime a girl gave me this. She was outside school and she asked me if I knew you and told me to give this to you.’

‘At lunchtime?’ she said, puzzled.

‘I looked for you but the common room was being used and then I had a class.’

She took the envelope. Her name was written on the front of it: ‘Mandy Crystal’.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘You’re not going to the memorial?’ Jon said.

She shook her head.

‘I don’t blame you. Pointless exercise.’

He walked away and she pulled the envelope open. Inside was a postcard with some handwriting on it.

Please don’t tell anyone that you saw me. I will contact you.

The handwriting was untidy as if it’d been done in a hurry. She read it again and then the meaning sunk in. There was no signature but she knew who it was from. She turned it over as if there might be more information on the other side, but it was a picture. A picture postcard, the kind you pin on a board. The image seemed to jump out at her then. It wasn’t just any floral design. It was a photograph of a bunch of red roses.

The Red Roses. It was just a duo and Mandy had never been allowed to join.

Petra had contacted her.

It was Petra’s twelfth birthday. Three cards stood on the table: one from her dad, one from Zofia – his girlfriend – and one from Tina. In her bag there was a card from Mandy, the new girl at school, but she hadn’t taken it out of the envelope yet.

It was gone five and she was ironing a shirt for her dad. She could hear him in his bedroom singing along with the radio. He was picking up an airport fare that evening and wanted to look smart. Petra took care that the iron was not too hot. Her dad was particular about his clothes. Hanging on the back of the door was his best jacket, still covered with the dry cleaner’s plastic bag. Petra had picked it up on her way home from school. She’d already removed the laundry tag from the inside pocket but she’d left it covered because her dad liked it like that.

Her phone beeped. She took it out of her pocket. There was a message from Zofia:

Happy Birthday Kochanie

She grinned. Zofia was always using Polish words.
Kochanie
meant ‘honey’ or ‘baby’. Zofia was very affectionate.

Petra turned the iron off. In her back pocket there were two twenty pound notes: her birthday present from her dad. She still had other gifts to look forward to: Tina’s and Zofia’s. Tina said that her mum, Mrs Pointer, had something small for her too. She was going there for her tea and a sleepover as soon as she’d got changed.

Her dad came into the living room. He was wearing black trousers and a white short-sleeved vest. He was singing along to the music that was still playing from his bedroom. His hands were in tiny fists in front of his chest, moving like pistons in time with the beat. He closed his eyes and exaggerated the movements as if he were at a disco. She shook her head. He had good rhythm, she had to admit, but his way of dancing was embarrassingly old fashioned.

The track ended and he opened his eyes. He was threading his new leather belt through the loops on his trousers. When he had done up the buckle she handed him the ironed shirt, which was still warm. He slipped his arms into it and began buttoning it up. He was humming something all the while. She scooped up a tie from the back of the settee and held it up.

‘Good girl, Petra,’ he said, taking it and draping it around his neck. ‘You want a lift to your friend’s house? I can go that way.’

She shook her head as he concentrated on the tie, knotting it but leaving it loose at his neck, like lots of the boys in school did. He picked up his jacket and unpeeled the plastic wrapping. Then he put it on, brushing it down.

‘How do I look?’ he said.

‘Good. Who are you picking up?’

‘New client, Mr Constantine. Off the books so no tax. A mate gave him my name. I’m meeting him at Heathrow then he wants me to drive him round a number of places in the West End.’

‘Like a chauffeur?’

‘Kind of. It might become a regular thing. Give me a bit of cash in the bank. It’s better than just taking people to hospital and back day after day! You’ll be OK? Round your friend’s? I won’t be back till morning.’

‘Course.’

He picked up his phone from the table.

‘Listen to this,’ he said and held it out in the air.

A ringtone sounded. It was the theme tune of a television programme. Petra smiled. Her dad was always getting new ringtones and playing them to her.

‘Cool, isn’t it?’

‘It’s all right,’ she said, rolling her eyes. No one said ‘cool’ any more.

He put his phone in his jacket pocket and looked as if he was about to go. He hesitated though and turned back to Petra.

‘We’re all right, aren’t we? You and me? After the other night. No hard feelings?’

Petra frowned. She looked down at the ironing board. The cover was stretched and the thin foam backing was showing through in places. They really needed a new one but they never seemed to get round to buying it.

‘I had a few too many; you know that, don’t you? I wasn’t myself.’

Petra glanced at her forearm. The sleeve of her blouse covered her skin. When she looked up her dad caught her eye. He looked expectant, as though there was some particular thing he was waiting for her to say.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

He stepped across to her, put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a kiss on the head. She could smell his aftershave and feel the heat of his body.

‘You get me, Petra, don’t you? You know I don’t mean any harm,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re my best girl.’

A music track sounded from the radio in his bedroom and he let go of her. He began to dance backwards, his eyes closed, his fists keeping the beat.

‘You should go,’ she said. ‘You might be late.’

‘Chop! Chop! You’re right. See you, love!’

When the front door shut, she found herself relaxing. The music was still playing from her dad’s bedroom so she walked in and turned the radio off. His room was in disarray, his discarded clothes lying across the bed, his shoes at angles on the floor beside a pair of trainers. She made a
tsking
sound. He liked his things kept in order. She picked up the clothes and put them in the washing basket. Then she tidied the shoes, lining them up along the edge of his wardrobe. She smoothed the duvet and walked across to his window. She put her arm up to draw the curtain. The cuff on her blouse fell back and she saw the bruise then, a splash of navy that would slowly turn yellow and brown. At least her wrist wasn’t painful any more.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d just lost his temper.

She closed his bedroom door and felt her spirits rise. There was the sleepover to look forward to.

On the way to Tina’s house she thought about The Red Roses. Their performance wasn’t as polished as she wanted it to be. And the new girl in school, Mandy, was getting on her nerves, always mooning around. She’d told her, nicely, that she couldn’t be in the group and she’d said that was fine, but Petra had seen how enviously she looked at them when they were rehearsing.

The Red Roses had been Petra’s idea. She’d decided that she and Tina would form a group. They sang songs at Tina’s mum’s birthday party. They wore black leggings and red T-shirts and had silk roses in their hair that were fastened onto headbands. They wore deep red lipstick and sang hits from the charts using a karaoke machine.

One day they might go on one of the talent shows on television.

In school they didn’t use the machine, just practised their singing and their dance moves and designed costumes for their performances. They intended to ask Miss Pearce if they could perform at a year assembly but not until they were word-perfect and their dances were choreographed. When Mandy started at the school and hung round with them she acted as a kind of audience. They were definitely going to make a short film for YouTube.

Petra turned the corner onto Princess Street. It was still light and there were kids in school uniform hanging around the newsagent’s. She looked away as she passed them and crossed the road towards the turning for Tina’s street. She sighed as she thought back to Mandy. She didn’t
dislike
her, but it was odd having someone new around. Mandy’s mother was friendly with Tina’s so they couldn’t ignore her. But Petra and Tina had been best friends for as long as she could remember. It had always just been the two of them. Now Mandy was always there and it made Petra a little insecure.

Tonight though it was just her and Tina.

She was approaching number fifty-three Princess Street. When Petra was on her own she often slowed down at this garden wall and stared at the house. The place had fascinated her for the last few months, ever since the day her dad had pulled up at it to deliver a package. She’d waited in his cab while he’d gone in the side gate and then come out moments later. Now she came to a complete stop and scrutinised it. The house was bigger and older than all the others in the street and it was crumbling. The brickwork was chipped and battered, and the wood around the windows was fraying, the paintwork peeling off like skin. The solid wood front door had had its corner eaten away by something. The guttering was hanging down and when it was raining a stream of water poured from it.

It was broken down. If it’d been a car it would’ve been taken to the scrapyard.

No one ever saw the owner. Her dad had told her about him though. His name was Mr Merchant. He knew because he sometimes did errands for him. Mr Merchant was a recluse, which meant he never went out. He was thin, his legs like sticks. He could hardly get off his chair to answer the door. He lived in a room at the front of the house, her dad said. The rest of the place was unused. Every single room had been taken over by cobwebs and if you looked hard enough you could see mice darting in-between the skirting boards.

But that wasn’t the worst thing, he said. At times there were mysterious knocking sounds that came from upstairs, even though Mr Merchant clearly lived alone. Once or twice, her dad said, he had glimpsed some shadowy movements in the hallway. One night, after bringing Mr Merchant some shopping, he’d gone up the stairs to check that no one had broken in and had felt something brushing at the back of his neck. He said it’d made his skin crawl.

Petra had shivered at this thought.

She’d pointed it out to Mandy a couple of days ago when they were walking home from school. Mandy had said, ‘What a dump!’ Petra had been put out by this. That was the trouble with new friends. Their thinking wasn’t always the same as yours.
Tina
knew that Petra was interested in this house so she chatted to her about it. Tina understood Petra. One day Petra had told her that the two of them (without Mandy) would creep into the house to have a look around. Tina had made a face at this but Petra wasn’t worried. She could always persuade Tina to do the things she wanted her to do.

Later that night, after they’d watched recordings of some
X Factor
and eaten pizza, crisps and ice cream, she suggested to Tina that they should become blood sisters. Tina agreed instantly. Petra explained, solemnly, that Mandy was not to know about it. Tina promised and crossed the fingers on both hands. When it was time for them to go to bed Petra smuggled a knife from Tina’s mum’s kitchen up to the bedroom. When the house had gone quiet and she was sure Tina’s mum was asleep she pulled it out from under her pillow and sliced the top of her thumb with it.

‘Oh!’ Tina whispered loudly, her face shocked.

Petra moaned quietly as blood oozed from the cut. She held her thumb in the air and ignored the sharp stinging pain that came from it.

‘Your turn,’ she whispered to Tina, holding the knife out.

Tina looked a bit sick and shook her head rapidly.

‘Just a tiny prick.’

‘I don’t … My mum will …’

Petra grabbed Tina’s thumb and held the point of the knife to her skin. Tina’s eyes were tightly closed and she was baring her teeth. Petra felt a moment’s hesitation. She’d done it to herself but it was harder to do it to someone else. Especially as she felt Tina pulling her arm back. She glanced at her own thumb now, dripping blood onto her T-shirt. She quickly pushed the point of the blade onto the soft pad of Tina’s thumb.