talk.
‘Phonecall from Mrs Laird. You can pick it up on line two.’
I immediately recognize Birkens’ voice. ‘No, not today. I don’t have time for her ramblings today. I have to drive Alex McCarthey to her house. Have someone take a message and tell her Davey here will get on to the McAllastair boys tomorrow.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ says the unfamiliar voice. ‘She said there’s a body out by the Ring of Brodgar. Right out in the open. She said it’s a girl. A dead girl.’
Suddenly the air leaves the room and I’m panting for breath. I hear my mug hitting the ground and feel hot liquid spray up my leggings. My hands are shaking wildly. What did he say?
I see Birkens in the doorway, looking at the spilled tea all around me. He looks at me, as I gasp for air. He slowly reaches his hand out to reach me, but I don’t take it. I see his mouth opening, but I don’t wait for his words. I just start running. I run down the hall, away from the three police officers. I hear them shouting my name, running after me.
I don’t stop.
I keep going down the hallway, having no idea where I’m going. Then I see a green exit sign lit up and I know that’s my way out. I slam into the door and push it open. I hear a click and the fire alarm wails.
My name is being called again, but this time it’s only Birkens yelling it. I run faster, harder, until my thighs throb. I don’t hear him behind me any more. He couldn’t keep up.
Overgrown blades of grass strike my legs as I run through the field. The long stems tangle around my boots, and grip me, pulling me down into the soil like in my dream. But unlike in my dream, I’m stronger. I fight back and push through them, hearing them snap and break.
The earth is damp from the morning rain, and my boots sink slightly into the thick mud. It slows me down, but again I fight through.
I can still hear the police officers calling my name even though they’re long gone now. Their voices echo in my head. Then I hear Olivia’s. She’s screaming, like in my dream.
I can’t help her.
I can’t reach her.
Olivia, I’m coming.
Wait for me.
I know exactly where I’m going and I know I’ve reached it by the crowds of people gathered. Their bodies block the standing stones and I can’t see past them. Two police cars with flashing lights are parked horizontally, and officers frantically tape off the car park, shouting to the crowd to move back. But they don’t move. They strain their necks to see more. They’re enjoying this, I think. They like the drama, the excitement in the air. They crave it. They’re bored. They are here because they need this.
I start pushing them out of the way, hearing them swear at me. A couple of them turn and see my face and nudge their friends. They recognize me. They all think exactly what I’m thinking – that’s my sister out there. My sister’s body has been found.
She’s dead.
I push them harder, screaming at them, ‘Move!’ My body hits the yellow tape and I see a female office running towards me. ‘Stop!’ she yells. But I don’t. I can’t.
I duck under the tape and start running again, this time faster. Another officer starts chasing me, but he can’t reach me.
The slick grass is harder to run on, and it slows me down. I see two officers standing over something. It’s long, and it lays awkwardly on the ground. I see an arm. A leg. Long dark brown hair spread wide on the grass.
Suddenly I feel arms around me, pulling me away, pulling me down. I hear Birkens’ voice trying to calm me but I thrash violently. ‘Let me go!’ I scream. The officers ahead turn at the noise and that’s when I see her more clearly.
My sister. My big sister. That’s me lying there. That’s my blood. We share the same blood. And it’s everywhere. It’s all around her head. It’s on the grass, it’s matted in her hair.
Then everything goes blurry. I grip Birkens’ shoulder and throw my head back. I see birds soaring overhead, circling us, circling her. I open my mouth and scream my sister’s name. Then darkness takes me.
Olivia
I met him at my school. He’s a little taller than me, with dark hair and even darker eyes. But there’s a kindness to them too. He wants people to know only the character he performs. And most people only see that, only want to see that.
But not me.
I see him for who he is, who he really wants to be. And he’s so much more than that character.
We all play characters to a certain extent. We’re all pieces in a game, moved by hands not always ours. And we play our roles well. We do what people expect us to do, say what they want us to say, even if that means lying. Because the truth is so much harder to hear for most people.
I played the game for too long. But I can’t any more. I’m so tired of it. I want to make my own decisions now, play by my own rules. Even if that means hurting people, many of them people I loved at some point in the game.
I feel the worst when I think about hurting James. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t keep up the facade any longer. He’s kind, he’s sweet to me, he’s been a good friend. But I’ve met someone. And he’s different. I feel different when I’m around him. I don’t feel like the character I play. I feel like me.
My friends noticed him too. They made comments to me, and nudged me when he walked past. I smiled, he smiled back. And when I passed him, I turned back to see if he was still watching. And he was.
I didn’t see him again for ages after that first time. I don’t know why. I looked around the school for him, out onto the street, down to the beach in case he walked there, down the big hill to see the ferries come in from Isle of Graemsay or Moaness. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.
Then one day, I saw him again. And after that I saw him every day.
We would hang out after school, get coffee from The Gallery Coffee Shop in Kirkwall where no one recognized us. You know, the kind of coffee that comes in a little to-go waxed paper cup, and we would sit on the beach away from Stromness, away from the big hill so no one saw us. I would bundle up and stick my hands in my pocket, and he would gently take my hands and hold them between his to warm them up. I would giggle, he would smile. And we did that most days for the first month.
We would talk for hours before I had to leave to pick up my sister from her friend’s. I wouldn’t want to leave so when I did, I would be a little angry at my sister for making me do it. I know it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. She would have just walked or taken a bus or asked Siobhan’s mum for a lift home, if only she knew. But she didn’t. He asked me not to tell anyone, not my sister or my friends, and I won’t betray his trust like that.
And I don’t think they or she would understand. They will judge me, without hearing the whole truth. They won’t listen to me, not like he does. Only he listens.
He listens to everything I have to say, not just the important stuff. When I talk, his eyes are on me and he’s absorbing every word, every syllable that leaves my lips. I didn’t know I liked to talk so much until I met someone who liked to listen.
I wish we could go for dinner or see a movie at the cinema together like a normal couple, but we can’t. And that’s OK, I guess. Because what we do, our little moments together, is enough for me. And I’d rather that than nothing at all.
He’s seen me dance. He snuck into the Autumn Dance Showcase and saw my performance. I knew he was coming so I had time to be nervous.
Butterflies