Follow Me Down (10 page)

Olivia didn’t look impressed. ‘You’ve been spending too much time with her.’

When she thumbed at Scarlett, I shook my head. ‘You know I wouldn’t. I mean, I’ve never.’ I stopped to suck in a breath. ‘It’s important.’

‘Of course O will cover for you,’ Scarlett said. Olivia raised an eyebrow, but Scarlett ignored her. I barely had time to thank her before Scarlett took me by the elbow and tugged me away. ‘What’s going on at the
Disraeli
? Did you get in?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, and it should have stung, but with everything going on with Orla, it suddenly didn’t seem as important.

Scarlett tutted. ‘
Granta
Girl?’

‘Probably.’

‘Bitch,’ she hissed, hooking her arm through mine. ‘Forget the
Disraeli
. Who needs it? Print media is dead. Come home with me. Dad’s making risotto.’

Easy for you to say
, I almost said,
you’re already in
, but I shook my head. ‘I can’t. I’m on a mission,’ I said as we rounded the fountain and headed for the Green.

‘Intriguing,’ she cooed. ‘What’s going on? Tell me everything.’

She was so eager, her blue eyes bright, that I hesitated. This wasn’t another juicy piece of gossip about a girl buying a pregnancy test from the chemist in the village or a couple being caught doing it in the A/V Equipment Room. It was serious.
Horrible
. But it was Scarlett, I could trust her and, I reasoned, she might know something.

‘OK. But you must promise not to tell anyone.’

‘Cross my heart.’

When we stepped onto the Green, I steered her away from the group of girls walking towards us onto an empty stretch of grass, then lowered my voice. ‘I think there’s something going on in Savernake Forest.’

‘There’s always something going on in Savernake Forest.’ She waggled her eyebrows.

‘Not that. Things happening to girls.’

The corners of her mouth fell. ‘What sort of things?’

‘I’m not pissed at you, OK –’ I waited for a guy hugging a rugby ball to pass us – ‘but Dominic told me you were at the Abbott party.’

She didn’t deny it, just shrugged. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was driving back from Crofton and Sam flagged me down. I was there for, like, a minute.’

I knew she was lying and almost told her that I knew about the photograph Dominic had taken, too, but stopped myself. It wasn’t the time.

‘So you heard what happened to Chloe Poole?’

She didn’t say that she had, but when she looked away, she didn’t have to. I don’t know why I was so surprised. I guess I was more surprised that she didn’t tell me and it hurt. She knows I run in Savernake Forest every morning. I tried not to think about it as we passed through the wall of oak trees, telling myself that she mustn’t be worried. Scarlett may have her secrets, but there’s no way she’d keep something like that from me if she thought I was in any danger. No way.

‘Apart from Chloe, I haven’t heard a thing.’ She shook her head, then stopped. ‘Hang on,’ she said, looking at her feet as we began to walk down the hill to the car park, ‘do you know Rachel Flock?’ I shook my head. She thought about it for a moment more, then frowned. ‘I overheard her saying that the last time she was there it felt like she was being watched.’

‘Watched?’

‘That’s what she said, she said she was with some guy and it felt like someone was there, but then she thought she was being paranoid because she’d had too much to drink.’

‘When did you hear this?’

‘On Monday, in the girls’ toilets.’

My stomach tensed. ‘Do you think she was talking about the Abbott party?’

‘She must have been.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

‘Nope. That was it,’ Scarlett said with a shrug when we got to the bottom of the hill. ‘I was in one of the stalls and by the time I came out, she was gone.’

‘Rachel Flock, right?’

‘Sure you don’t need to write it down, Lois Lane?’ She winked as she took out her make-up bag and put on her red lipstick.

‘I’m like Rain Man when it comes to names. I never forget them.’

‘So what do you think is going on?’ she asked, rubbing her lips together.

‘I don’t know.’ I realised I was biting mine, and stopped. ‘Something.’

‘Like a peeping Tom?’

My eyes darted across the car park, then I took a step closer. ‘OK. This is the bit you can’t tell anyone, Scarlett, not even Olivia.’

‘I never tell Olivia anything, anyway.’

That was true.

‘Someone was raped,’ I said it so quietly, I wasn’t sure she heard me over the crunch of gravel beneath our feet, but then she rolled her eyes.

‘Chloe wasn’t raped. Some perv just tried to get her in his car.’

‘No. Someone else. On the same night.’

She turned to me and gasped, her cheeks suddenly pink. ‘Who?’

‘I can’t say.’

She stopped and grabbed the sleeve of my blazer. ‘Adamma, it’s me.’

I stopped too. ‘I can’t, Scarlett.’ I shook my head. ‘I promised.’

‘But I’m your best friend, Adamma. You know I won’t tell anyone.’

‘I know, but I
swore
.’

‘Fine.’ She tossed her make-up bag back into her bag and I thought she was going to give me the silent treatment, but as we were about to walk out of the car park, she crossed her arms. ‘So you think there’s a rapist in the forest?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Where are you going now?’ she asked as we turned left out of Crofton.

‘I spoke to Mr Lucas about it and I’m going to tell the police.’

‘When did you speak to Mr Lucas?’

‘Just now.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing. Just that.’

‘I’m surprised he’s encouraging you to speak to the police. Ballard will go batshit when he finds out. Every parent will pull their daughter out of school.’

‘I know. But I think I should warn them. What if it happens again?’

She went quiet as we walked under the shadow of the forest. I could see that she was chewing on the inside of her cheek and I wondered if she was worried, if she knew something she wasn’t telling me. But as we stepped into the daylight, she resumed her usual swagger.

‘You could just
call
the police, you know?’ she said, flicking her hair.

She was right, I didn’t have to go to the police station, I could just call. There was still time. I could run back to Crofton and endure a telling-off from Mr Crane for being late for Debating Society, but there was something about Scarlett’s attitude, about the way she flicked her hair, that made me more determined. Then she said it: ‘The police won’t do anything, you know.’

My heart clenched like a fist and I had to take a breath before I could speak. ‘So I should just do nothing? I should let him get away with it?’

‘Look.’ She stopped when we got to the police station and turned to face me. ‘Adamma, you are so sweet and kind and I know that you’re just trying to do the right thing, but you can’t fix this. I know you want to, but you can’t.’

I felt something in me hold on,
dig in
. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know the details, but if this girl – whoever she is – won’t report it, then it’s probably because she knows there’s no evidence.’

‘Or because she thinks no one cares.’

Scarlett frowned at that. ‘Is that what she told you?’

‘She thinks it’s her fault for drinking too much.’

Scarlett started chewing on the inside of her cheek again, then, after a second or two, she sighed. ‘Go.’ She nodded at the police station. ‘Do what you can.’

‘That’s all I can do, right?’

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’

I told her I’d be OK and we hugged – for a moment longer than we normally do – then she was gone. I watched as she made her way across the village green towards the hill that led up to her house, her ponytail swinging, then I turned to look at the police station. I pressed my palm to the door and was startled when it didn’t move. I tried again and, when it still didn’t move, I reached for the brass handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge, just rattled loudly in its frame.

It was closed.

I took a step back and stared at it, then reached into the pocket of my blazer for my cellphone. I checked online and cursed myself: it had just closed. It’s Ostley, of course it closes early. I should have looked it up before I stormed down here.

Deflated, I decided to head back, but as I was putting my cellphone back in my pocket, it rang. I don’t know how he knew – how he
always
knows – but it was my father.

‘
Kedu
, Ada, when is your next exeat weekend?’ he asked when I answered. I could hear him flicking pages back and forth in his diary and imagined him in his office, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he tried to decipher his handwriting.

‘October the twenty-fifth, Papa.’

‘Excellent.’ I heard the scratch of his fountain pen as he wrote it down. ‘I’ll be in Lagos that weekend if you’d like to come with me.’

‘OK.’

He was quiet for a moment and I thought he was going to ask about another date, but he said, ‘What’s wrong, Ada?’

I went rigid, my heart beating desperately as I grasped for something to tell him – I wasn’t feeling well, I’d had an argument with Scarlett, school was kicking my ass,
anything
– but I’m a terrible liar, which is his fault, ironically. It was also his fault that I was standing outside Ostley police station when no one – not Mr Lucas or Scarlett, even Orla – thought I should be there. That’s why I answered my phone, isn’t it? Because I knew what he’d say.

So I closed my eyes and took a breath. ‘Papa, something happened to my friend and she won’t tell the police and I don’t know what to do,’ I said, all at once, and I felt five years old again, tearing home to tell him that someone had stole Mbeke’s bicycle, back when my first instinct was to tell my father when something went wrong.

I think it still is.

‘Where are you now, Adamma?’

‘Outside Ostley police station.’

‘Then you know exactly what to do.’ I heard his chair creak and imagined him sitting back, his forehead creased. ‘I know I’m always pleading with you to think before you do things, Adamma, but, in this instance, you don’t need to.’

I let go of a breath and, when I opened my eyes again, I saw a man walking towards the tiny three-bay car park in front of the station, to the only car parked in it, a battered green thing that should probably be put out of its misery.

I thanked my father, then told him I’d call him back and took a step forward.

‘Excuse me, Sir?’

I don’t think he heard me, because he just opened the car door, reached across to grab a cellphone from the passenger seat, then closed it again and started walking back the way he had come. The voice in my head told me to
Leave it
again as I watched him go, but it felt too much like giving up on Orla, so I went after him.

‘Excuse me, Sir?’ I said again when I’d caught up with him.

He eyed me warily. ‘Why are you following me?’

I hesitated. What if he wasn’t a police officer? Maybe he’d just parked his car outside the station and there I was, chasing him down the street. As I watched him tuck his cellphone into the back pocket of his jeans, I realised that he didn’t look like a police officer. But what do police officers look like? Do they wear fitted black T-shirts and jeans? I guess they do.

I slowed to a stop, letting him go. ‘Sorry, Sir.’

‘Stop calling me Sir,’ he snapped, turning to face me. The sun must have been in his eyes, because he squinted at me, his blond eyelashes suddenly invisible. ‘It’s DS Bone.’

‘DS? That’s Detective Sergeant, right?’

He didn’t say anything and I don’t know if he was impressed, but I earned an arched eyebrow. ‘I’m CID,’ he said, finally, putting his hands on his hips.

‘Ostley has a CID branch?’

He turned away from me with a chuckle. ‘Of course not,’ he said, continuing up the road. ‘I’m meeting a friend for a drink and I left my phone in my car. You can’t be too careful around here,’ he said when I’d caught up with him again, ‘what with all the Crofton kids hanging around, hopped up on Earl Grey.’

I stared at him. I think he was trying to be funny. I didn’t laugh.

‘Would you be able to help me, DS Bone? My name is Adamma Okomma and I need to speak to someone, but the police station is closed.’

‘Dial nine nine nine.’

I thought he was joking, but when we got to the pub, he didn’t stop, he just strolled into the beer garden and around the picnic tables towards the door. There was a sudden spill of voices as he opened it and when it snapped shut behind him, I stood there, staring at it. It was like walking into a lamp post. I stepped back, picturing cartoon bluebirds chirping and circling my head. I should have taken the hint, but I’m not very good with no, so, before I could stop myself, I was pin-balling off the picnic tables and charging through the door.

The Crown is the sort of pub that when you walk in – especially in a Crofton uniform – everyone looks up so it was one of the most stupid things I’ve ever done. If someone had reported me, I would have had a letter sent home to my parents for sure. But I didn’t think, I just looked for him among the people sitting at the small, dark wood tables. The pub is so tiny that I thought I’d see him straight away, but I had to hunt for him. Eventually I found him in the nook between the fruit machines, sitting at a table with a group of men in rugby shirts. He didn’t seem surprised as I approached them, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

‘I don’t like being wrong,’ I told him, ignoring his friends as they looked up from their pints. ‘In fact, I think this might be the first time it’s happened. But my friend was raped and she won’t report it because she thinks the police won’t listen.’ I had to stop and suck in a breath. ‘Of all the things to be wrong about, I wish it wasn’t this. Enjoy your drink, DS Bone.’

The fruit machines chirped – as if in applause – as I stormed back out of the pub, my legs weaker as I wondered what my parents would think of me shouting at a police officer. They’d be mortified.