Chapter Three
She is everywhere, peering out at me from canvases and frames, navy blue eyes and pale-blonde hair. I clutch the carton of juice so tightly to my chest that it threatens to burst and I press a deep thumbprint into the sandwich still clutched in my other hand.
I remember Ivy explaining when we were very young that Lana and I were not identical. While Lana and I may have had the same hair, my eyes are a little lighter, my nose a little longer. Lana was always beautiful and vibrant, while I am kind of awkward, happy to live in her shadow where no one pays too much attention.
“This one’s mine.” Bria points proudly at a painting of Lana sitting on the lawn of a white house with a grey, slate roof. Green foliage frames the windows and there are neat flowerbeds in the front garden.
I step forward to examine the painting more closely. “You painted Evergreen.”
My home, Evergreen, is on the east coast, on the outskirts of an old fishing village called Cormorant’s Bay, just a two-hour drive from school. Unlike the quiet grounds of Malvern, Cormorant’s Bay is a noisy, vibrant place. Colourful boats dip and sway in the harbour and the shrill sound of seagulls is heard all year.
Evergreen used to be my favourite place in the world, warm in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, always smelling of candle wax and furniture polish. No matter where I went, I always looked forward to going home, but that was before. Now it’s just four walls and a roof that houses nothing but sadness.
Bria smiles. “When I think of Lana, I try to imagine her happy, sitting in the garden of Evergreen with the sun on her face.”
Lana loved the sun, she liked to sit with it shining directly on her face, while Ivy lectured her on applying sun lotion and wearing a hat.
I step to the side to look at the next painting. This one shows Lana on the beach wearing a white dress, her back to the observer, her head tilted as though she’s watching the moody, grey clouds painted above the sea.
Evergreen is right by the beach. When the tide is in, you can throw a stone from our back garden and it will land in the surf. When we were little, Lana would stand at the shoreline, her toes buried in the sand. She would squeal with delight when the icy water swept over her bare feet, leaving her toes nipped red with cold.
“You like them then?” Bria chews nervously on the sleeve of the pale-pink jumper she is wearing.
I glance at the other surrounding paintings. “Yeah, they’re….”
Bria exhales dramatically. “You hate them.”
“No, no I don’t hate them. They’re great, it’s all just so…” I struggle to find a word that won’t upset her. “Overwhelming.”
Truthfully, the exhibition is a couple of candles away from being a shrine and the whole thing makes me feel kind of queasy, but I don’t want to offend Bria on our first day together in a month, so I force a couple of tears to the corners of my eyes. It seems to work. Bria suddenly beams with a mixture of sadness and pride, as though the exhibition evoked the kind of emotion she was hoping for.
The rest of the lounge is pretty ordinary, the walls are painted a neutral magnolia and there is a small, flat-screen television on the wall by the window. The new coffee machine sits on the sideboard, along with a caddy that holds a stack of paper cups, stirrers and small sachets of milk and sugar.
Bria makes a selection at the coffee machine and carries two cups over to a short table sitting between two squishy armchairs, then she motions for me to join her. She places a cup of coffee in front of me, the hot liquid sloshing down the side to make a ring on the table, and she points to the uneaten sandwich still clutched in my hand. “Are you eating that?”
“Why don’t we share it?” I unwrap the sandwich and hand her half.
She smiles gratefully and takes a bite.
We eat in silence for a while, it is not uncomfortable, but the weight of all of our unsaid words from the last month hangs between us.
Bria pulls her phone from her pocket and waves it in front of me. “You know there’s Wi-Fi in here? You should hook your phone up.”
“I…left my phone at home.”
Bria looks surprised, but doesn’t say anything. My phone used to be an extension of my arm, I never went anywhere without it, but when the condolence messages started flooding in, I buried it in the bottom of a drawer at home.
“I think it might be broken,” I add hastily. “I should probably speak to Ivy about getting another one.”
Bria continues to look at me as she raises her coffee cup to her lips.
“So, what have I missed?” I ask, desperate to shift her attention.
“You would know if your phone wasn’t broken.” She smirks.
My cheeks flush, but Bria just laughs. “Well, let’s see…I was voted in as head of the events committee and yes, before you ask, that is a thing now; Orla made captain of the hockey team…Jas’s little sister Sabrina joined school back in September…and…um…well, there’s one other, tiny, bit of gossip…”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’m sort of seeing someone…” Bria’s face is tinged with pink.
“Really? Who is it?”
“It’s…Nick, Nick Archer.”
“Oh.”
Nick is Lana’s ex-boyfriend. They broke up long before she disappeared, but I always thought that Nick still had feelings for her.
Ivy gets on well with Nick’s mother and they often speak. Ivy said that Lana’s disappearance hit Nick really hard, but I guess he’s trying to move on. All of my friends are.
Bria reaches across the table for my hand and I instinctively retract it. It’s become a habit. I have to brace myself to feel what others feel, prepare for the onslaught of emotion. If I see it coming, sometimes I move away without thinking.
She looks a little hurt. “You hate me, don’t you?”
“Don’t be silly, I could never hate you,” I force a smile on to my face. “I’m happy for you, really.”
“It’s early days, but I really like him.” She says, looking relieved.
“That’s great.” I don’t have a problem with Bria dating Nick, I want her to be happy. I guess I just need to practice showing enthusiasm.
“You know, Nick’s got a hot, new friend.” Bria raises an eyebrow suggestively. “He’s called Caleb Vedmak, he transferred from some school down south after the Christmas holidays.”
I scrunch up my nose. “What kind of a name is Vedmak?”
Bria shakes her head. “I think his family originates from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Everyone likes him. Molly’s already trying to stake her claim, but he asked Nick about you. I think he likes you.”
I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. “We’ve never even met.”
Bria rolls her eyes. “He saw you in some of my photographs online and thought you were cute.”
I pull a face. “Cute?”
“Yes, that’s what he said.” Bria laughs. “And I know you’ll like him. He’s got that mysterious, handsome stranger vibe going on and he’s got this accent…Anyway, you’ll have a chance to talk to him next Friday.”
“Why, what’s happening on Friday?”
“Just a little gathering on the patio.”
My eyes flit to the window. “Outside, in this?” The snow is now falling fast and thick, the wind driving it at the windows so that it slaps against the panes like wet sand.
Bria huffs as she follows my gaze. “Well how was I to know it would snow in April?” Her shoulders slump as she observes the bleak conditions. “It’s crazy, all this strange weather, the earthquakes…maybe I should just cancel.”
I try to think of something to say to cheer her up. After all, Friday night might prove a welcome distraction, once I get over the anxiety of having to be around lots of people at once. “No, don’t do that, it can be a themed party…Eskimos or something.”
Bria brightens then. “That’s actually not a bad idea. I’ll just tell everyone to wrap up, get a couple of patio heaters so w
e don’t catch hypothermia…I’ve already got a gazebo on standby in case it rains...Anyway, it’s really just a small, welcome back thing. The real party is on St George’s Day; we’re having a medieval themed banquet.”
“Wow, the school must have a big events budget this year.”
“They do now,” Bria grins mischievously. “My father made quite a large donation when they made me head of the events committee, I guess it kind of swung the vote.” Bria’s father is the CEO of a major finance company. They live in a huge house in Kensington, but he chose to send Bria to a school in the northern countryside where she wouldn’t be distracted by the bright lights of the city – at least that’s how Bria put it.
I look at her incredulously. “So they gave you the job because they knew your father would make a donation?”
Bria looks at me sheepishly. “Well, I may have told one or two people that if I won the vote, my dad would donate enough funds to pay for a party or two each term.”
She looks suddenly guilty, her eyes wide and her mouth making a little ‘o’, as though it has only just dawned on her that she may have given herself an unfair advantage.
I laugh then, the sound reverberating around the empty lounge, an unfamiliar ringing that I haven’t heard in months. Guiltily, I snap my mouth shut.
Bria cocks her head. “It’s OK to laugh you know. Lana wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I know,” I say. “It just feels wrong, disrespectful or something.”
Bria shakes her head. “It’s not disrespectful and besides, there’s only you and me here.”
We spend the rest of the day in the lounge, watching the snow pile up in the corners of the windows, but our solitude doesn’t last long. When Sunday arrives, the corridors are filled with suitcases and excited voices.
I plan on spending the afternoon hiding in my room, away from the stares and the whispers, but Bria forces me to return to the lounge, reasoning that it’s best to start with the sixth formers before I have to face the rest of the school.
I reluctantly agree to go, but as we reach the small staircase, the nerves get the better of me and it takes all of my strength and much pleading from Bria, to get me to step over the threshold.
The sound of voices rises when Bria opens the door. Most of the seats are occupied and the people sitting closest turn when they realise I’m standing there.
A hush falls over the room, a few people wave politely, some look away hurriedly, unable to meet my eye, the rest turn to whisper to their neighbours, they aren’t even discreet about it. The television is on and there are scenes of rioting on the screen which seem a million miles away from the still lounge, shouts and cries spilling from the speakers.
“Come on.” Bria crosses the lounge to an empty bistro table at the back of the room. From here, I can see everyone, but they would have to turn their heads in an obvious, uncomfortable manner if they want to continue gaping at me.
I spot Molly, Jas and Orla sitting on large, brightly-coloured cushions in the corner. Molly has her back to me, but Jas sees me. She smiles widely. Orla follows her gaze and raises her hand in a half wave, like she isn’t sure if I will return the gesture. I take a breath and smile back in a way that I hope is welcoming and not off-putting.
Molly looks over her shoulder, her long dark hair shielding much of her face. It fails to hide the curl of her lip, or the way her eyes narrow.
She looks away and the three of them put their heads together.
“What was that about?”
Bria is at the coffee machine again. “What?”
“Molly, what’s up with her? Are you two still friends?”
Bria glances past me, as she hands me a cup of sweet, yet peppery liquid, the steam rising in thick coils. “I guess. I don’t spend much time with her anymore. She was pretty upset about Nick and me.” She frowns and a tiny line appears between her eyebrows.
“Really?” I find it strange that Molly would care so much about Bria and Nick’s new relationship. He may have been Lana’s ex-boyfriend, but I always got the impression that Molly didn’t like him very much.
“What about Orla and Jas?”
“We’re still friends, I saw them over the holidays,” Bria takes a seat beside me. “They feel bad for Molly so they’re still spending time with her. Apparently she’s not coping very well.”
That makes two of us. I remember how Molly had looked at the funeral - miserable, just like everyone else, mourning the loss of her best friend.
I wonder if it feels different, losing your sister to losing your best friend. Does it hurt any less? Would I feel different now, if I was sitting here with Lana instead of Bria?
I shake the thought away. “So, why does Molly care so much about you and Nick?”
“She said I was betraying Lana.”
“That’s just silly, Lana and Nick were just friends, they broke up months before…” And just like that, the heavy feeling of sorrow claims me again, memories of pain, sleepless nights spent curled into a ball, hoping that she would come back, seep into my mind. I take a deep breath. “I’m sure if Lana was still here, she would give you her blessing.”
Tears gather at the corners of Bria’s eyes. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back, Casey.”
I’m worried that she’s going to start crying right here in the middle of the lounge and I have no more words of comfort, so I hurriedly take a sip of my drink. The liquid is bitter, and still too hot to drink. I spit it back into the polystyrene cup. “Urgh, what is this?”
Bria snorts and wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Chamomile, it’s supposed to help you relax, it’s supposed to help you sleep too. I thought you might need it.”
I sniff at the drink and wrinkle my nose. “Does it keep nightmares away?” The words are out of my mouth before I realise what I am saying. I don’t talk about my nightmares to anyone except for Dr Parker.
Bria’s eyes are wide. “You have nightmares?”
“The same one, over and over again.”
“What happens…in your nightmare?”
I pull at the sleeves of my jumper, pulling the cuffs over my hands to hide the spontaneous tremble in my fingers. “I see her fall from the cliff.”
Bria’s hands fly to her cheeks, “Casey, that’s awful,” More tears gather at the corners of her eyes. “I have nightmares too, about that night.”
“You do?”
She nods slowly, her eyes wide, fearful. The look of horror etched on her face stirs a sudden, morbid interest within me. “What happens in your nightmares?”
Bria inhales deeply. “Well, I see Lana standing by our campfire,” she screws her eyes shut, as though she’s trying to mentally grab hold of the dream. “The smoke from the fire is almost black and it must be irritating her eyes, because there are tears streaming down her face. She looks up and I think she sees me, but then I realise that she’s looking past me, like there is something, or someone, behind me. She takes off up the path that leads to the cliffs. I try to call after her, but no sound comes out when I open my mouth,” Bria’s voice has a sudden dreamy quality. “I follow her, but she’s too fast and when I reach the cliffs it’s too late.”
“You see her fall?”
Bria shakes her head mournfully and takes a shaky breath. “No. In my dream, she doesn’t fall.”
“So what happens?”
“He takes her, the man with no face takes her.”