The Lie (16 page)

There’s no sign of Ruth’s body on the bank of the river. All that remains of last night’s cremation is a riverbank muddy with dozens of footprints, and a black, ashy rectangle where the pyre used to be. The air is clear and still, and the sun is bouncing off the fast-flowing river. The tinkle of female laughter carries from the waterfall, where a small group of women play beneath the cascading water.

The fence looks smaller than it did last night, the barbed wire on the top less intimidating. Johan and I must have walked around the perimeter twelve or thirteen times before we heard the gong that signified the end of our shift. We chatted, but only superficially, small talk about the difference between Sweden and the UK and the dwindling food rations at Ekanta Yatra. When I asked about his family and friends back home, Johan began pointing out the various flora and fauna we were passing.

When our patrol was over, he walked me to the entrance of the girls’ dormitory. Leanne and Al were curled up in a corner together, while Daisy slept alone a couple of metres away.

“Johan,” I called as he headed back along the walkway.

He turned. “Yes?”

“Did you tell Daisy that she should break her attachment with me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I thought perhaps you’d told her to when she asked you for advice. I didn’t dream for one second that she’d hear what I said to Al. I was just getting stuff off my chest. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Could you talk to her for me? Could you explain?”

He sighed softly. “See what attachment is doing to you, Emma?” He turned and walked back into the main house.

“Hi, Emma, how are you?”

I start as Frank sidles up to me, his hands in his pockets, head down, his beardy chin pointing towards his narrow pigeon chest.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

I want to say yes, I do mind, that I’m cherishing the time alone on the riverbank, watching the water swirl and drift, but instead I shake my head. Unlike the four of us, Frank arrived here alone, and he doesn’t appear to have made many friends. His attempts to befriend me have been creepy at worst, desperate at best, but who am I to reject him just because he’s got no social skills?

“Of course,” I say. “How are you?”

“Freaked out.”

“The cremation?” I nod towards the black, ashy reminder.

“That and … everything else.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Frank’s eyes are ever so slightly too close together, the pupils tiny dark pinpricks in the bright afternoon sunlight. “This is a thousand miles away from normal. It’s sure not sitting behind a desk, staring at a computer screen.”

“Is that what you did? Before you came here?”

“Yeah, I was a banker. In the City. I know, I know.” He holds up two hands as though in surrender. “Don’t tell anyone or they’ll feed me to the Maoists.”

I laugh. “I’m sure that’s not true, although you might want to keep it to yourself around Leanne. She’s a paid-up member of the Socialist Workers Party; at least she was when we were at uni.”

“That’s how you know each other? From uni?”

“Yeah. We all met there. I met Daisy in Freshers’ Week. I’d lost my flatmate in the cram to leave a gig and was scanning the crowd for her when a posh blonde-haired girl nudged me and said, ‘I can’t abide queuing. If we crawl under the merchandise table, we can get out through the fire door.’ The alarm went off and they had to evacuate the entire Students’ Union!”

“Sounds like something she’d do.”

“You don’t know the half of it!”

“You’ll have to tell me sometime.” He raises an eyebrow. “So how about the other two? Leanne and Al?”

“Leanne was on Daisy’s sociology course, and Al was her best mate from halls. Leanne introduced Al to Daisy and … they … they got on really well.” I pause. I don’t mention the number of times Al ran her hand through her hair when she was introduced to Daisy, or the way the base of her throat coloured when Daisy complimented her on the jacket she was wearing. It was obvious to everyone, including Daisy, that Al was attracted to her and Daisy played on it, flirting up a storm whenever we all got drunk together. I don’t know if it would ever have gone beyond that if Daisy hadn’t kissed Al at the bar of the Students’ Union. A barman she fancied was working that night but, other than a few polite nods, he’d barely given her any attention all evening. The kiss got his attention all right, it drew interested stares from several of the men in the queue but when Daisy pulled away from Al, locked eyes with the barman and announced, “Emma’s flatmate’s gone away so we’re having a party! Want to come?” he merely shrugged and turned back to the till. Al looked stunned – by the kiss or Daisy’s sudden decision to throw a party, I wasn’t sure – but when Daisy grabbed her hand and said, “Your loss. C’mon, Al,” and pulled her away, she willingly followed.

The impromptu “party” was a complete flop – just me, Leanne, Daisy and Al and two blokes from the flat next door that we ran into on the stairs. They helped themselves to my flatmate’s half empty bottle of wine in the fridge, drank it and then, with no other booze on offer, went home. Leanne went back to Halls about fifteen minutes later and, with Daisy straddling Al on the sofa and noisily kissing her, I made my excuses and went to bed. Any hope Al may have had of turning their one night stand into a relationship was dashed the next morning when, hungover and wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, Daisy nudged Al and, with her most winning smile firmly fixed in place, said, “I got a bit carried away last night, didn’t I? Naughty me. Sorry, darling, it won’t happen again.” I was so angry with her I had to leave the room.

“And Daisy introduced Al and Leanne to me,” I tell Frank.

“Right.” He nods. “And you’ve all kept in touch since?”

“Sort of. We all live in London now, but I don’t see the other two as much as I see Daisy. We used to live in each other’s pockets.”

“Used to?”

“I think we might have outgrown each other.” I can’t believe I’m telling him, a total stranger, the truth about our friendship, but it’s oddly liberating.

“They do say people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Maybe what you need is to invite some new people into your life and see what happens.” He steps closer to me.

I take a purposeful step back. There’s no one on the patio doing yoga, and the back door is shut. There’s no one in the orchard or tending to the veg patch, either. The goats bleat noisily from the pen, but no one is tending to them.

“It’s been lovely talking to you, Frank, but I should get back. The others are probably wondering where I—”

“Have you seen Paula?” He touches me on the arm. “The short redhead who works with the goats.”

Paula. She was the one Isaac and Cera were talking about in his study when I was eavesdropping. Cera was worried about her telling us something, but Isaac reassured her that she’d be okay after her detox, whatever one of those is. I could tell Frank what I overheard in Isaac’s study, but there’s something about him that makes me uneasy.

“Paula? Yeah, I … um … no, no I don’t think I’ve seen her today.”

“She’s disappeared.” Frank grips my bicep so tightly I squeal in shock. “I’ve been looking for her for a few days, now, and there’s no sign of her.”

“Frank.” I look pointedly at my arm.

“Sorry.” He lets go but makes no effort to widen the distance between us. “I’ve asked a few people if they’ve seen her and it’s always, ‘Oh, you just missed her’ or ‘I’m sure I saw her in the meditation room a minute ago.’ Have you seen her? Think. Did she sleep in the girls’ dormitory last night? Was she there this morning? Any night recently that you can remember?”

“I … I don’t know.” I take a step up the bank, towards the safety of house. “I tell you what, I’ll look for her this evening. I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll be flattered that you – Ouch!”

I’m yanked back down the bank by my wrist. “Frank, stop it, you’re hur—”

“I need you to come with me.” He strides off down the riverbank, dragging me behind him. “If Paula is still in Ekanta Yatra, then she’s locked up in one of the huts. It’s the only place I haven’t looked.”

“Okay.” I try to lean back, to dig my heels in to slow Frank down, but I’m wearing flip-flops and they skid and slip on the wet mud. “Let go of me and I’ll come with you. There’s no need to—”

“No.” Frank spins round. “I’m not stupid, Emma. I saw you looking at the house. You want to run away. Being ‘weird’ am I?”

“No, I swear, I—”

“It was like that at work. All the secretaries and PAs gathering together in the coffee room to laugh and gossip about me. Freaky Frank” – his voice goes an octave higher – “that’s what they called me. They thought I couldn’t hear them, Emma, but I’m not deaf, and, despite what they might think, I do have feelings.”

“Of course you do. I totally understand.” I ignore the thud-thud-thud of my heart and put my free hand over Frank’s. If I can unhook one finger, the rest of his grip will loosen and—

“No, you don’t.” He continues to drag me towards the bridge. “You don’t have feelings. Not real ones, not genuine feelings for genuine people. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve turned your nose up at me when I’ve tried to be friendly. Don’t think I haven’t watched you fawn all over Isaac and Johan just because they’re tall and good-looking. I thought you were different, Emma. When you stood up to Isaac about Ruth’s death, I thought you were someone I could relate to, someone I could admire – like I admire Paula – but to see you fawning over Johan last night – ‘Oh, Johan, you big, hunky Swede’ – ‘Oh, Johan …’”

As Frank continues to mumble to himself, hauling me behind him like a sack of potatoes, I scan the riverbank for something, anything, I can use as a weapon. There are a couple of planks of wood, left over from the pyre, but they’re soft, crumbly rectangular lumps of charcoal. I try to grab a branch from a walnut tree as Frank continues to drag me through the orchard, but they’re too high and my fingers brush air.

“Help!” I shout as we approach one of the huts. “Somebody help me!”

I drop to my knees, using the force of my body weight to pull my wrist from Frank’s grip, and crawl back towards the bridge. I feel a hand on the neck of my T-shirt and I’m yanked back onto my feet.

“Stop it!” Frank shouts as he wraps his arms around me, pinning my arms to my side. “You’re being hysterical. I just need your help.”

“Help!” I shout again. “Hel—” A hand across my mouth muffles my cry.

Frank presses the side of his face against mine, his stubble scratching my cheek, his sweat smearing my skin. “Calm down, Emma. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want your help. I am looking for Paula.” He speaks slowly and deliberately. “When I find her, when
we
find her, you can help me confront Isaac. He listens to you, Emma.”

“Mmmm.” I nod my head beneath his hand. “Mmmm.”

“I’m going to have to gag you.” He rips the scarf from the waistband of my shorts and wraps it round my mouth. “If you scream, they’ll come running and we’ll never find Paula. You understand that, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Now stand up.” He puts his hands beneath my armpits, grunting as he gets to his feet. “Walk!”

He prods me in the back and I take a step forwards, towards the hut.

“You know what I thought?” he says from behind me a few minutes later. “When I got here and I saw those huts? I thought they’d make excellent little fuck pads.”

When I don’t react, he prods me again. “They’re all at it. You know that, don’t you? They’re all fucking like rabbits, the dirty hippies. Your friend Daisy has fucked half a dozen of them – I’ve heard the men talking about her. Even that skinny bird you’re friends with has put out a couple of times. Everyone’s getting some. Everyone apart from me and you, Emma. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

We’re within feet of one of the huts. The edge of one of the massage “beds” is just visible through the door standing ajar. I clench my fists as Frank pushes me towards it.

“You’re different, Emma. You won’t put out for just anyone. I sensed that about you the first time I saw you. You’re different, special. You recognised that in me too, didn’t you? That’s why you were so coy. You wanted me to chase you, to pursue you. That’s what I was told. That’s what—”

I hit Frank in the jaw as hard as I can. He reels backwards and I fall towards him, the force of the punch unbalancing me, and I hit him again, in the throat this time, and then land on top of him as he collapses to the floor. I roll away before he can recover, tearing the scarf from my mouth, scrambling to my feet, and then I start to run. I run as fast as I can back through the walnut trees, back over the bridge, heading for the waterfall, towards the other women, towards safety, towar—

My right foot slips out from under me and I hit the ground.

“You fucking bitch.” Frank is on top of me. I hit out at him, at his angry, red-cheeked face, at his small, beady eyes and his wet, open mouth, but this time he grabs my wrists and pins them either side of my head, first with his hands, then with his knees. He uses his full body weight to pin me down as he lunges towards me and tries to press his lips to mine. I whip my head from left to right, but he grabs my chin and holds it still. He lowers his face towards mine and then I feel his wet lips and his slimy tongue parting my teeth. He twists his tongue around mine then plunges it deep into my throat, making me gag.

My mind goes into hibernation. It crawls into a dark place and waits. Then Frank’s hand is between my thighs, cupping me over my cotton shorts, and my body jolts back into action. I bounce my heels against the bare earth and arch my back, pressing up and down with my hips, and I wriggle and twist and try to build up the momentum to throw him off me, but he growls into my mouth and claws at the waistband of my shorts, yanking them over my hips, ripping them down over my thighs. My knickers go with them.

Frank is breathing quickly, his forehead dripping with sweat, his jaw hanging open, a pool of saliva gathered beneath his bottom teeth.

I can’t move.

I can see him. I can feel him. I can smell him.