Birdy Page 20

‘I was going to go to the library,’ I said, ‘but you can’t really talk in there and it was a group project so we thought it’d be easier to just go back to Bert’s and –’

  ‘Sorry,’ DS Dale said, interrupting and flipping through her notebook. ‘Can I just confirm – you’re talking about your classmate, Alberta Fitzroy-Black? You’re saying that at around five o’clock on Wednesday the fifteenth of May, you were with her, at her parents’ house?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Alberta’s. We were in her den. It’s like her attic room.’

  ‘And you were there the whole afternoon?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said again. ‘Right from the end of school until about eight o’clock. Maybe half past.’

  DS Dale frowned. ‘You’re quite sure about that? You didn’t pop out for anything?’

  I squinted, pretending to think hard. ‘Nope. I was with Bert the whole time.’

  DS Dale put her notebook down and rested her pen on top. ‘The thing is, Frances, according to our information, you left the Fitzroy-Blacks’ at around four-thirty and didn’t return until almost five-forty-five.’

  I panicked. I searched my brain, trying to work out who could’ve seen me leave. I’d been so careful to pull my hood up the second I stepped outside the door. I hadn’t seen anyone else the whole way to school, so whoever had spotted me must’ve been watching surreptitiously, through a window or something. I didn’t have long to think. I needed to decide how to play this. I could either pretend that I had actually popped out, but just to run some innocent errand, not to go anywhere near Pippa or the school, or I could just deny everything. Tell them their witness had got it wrong. I decided the second option was safer. If I started changing my story now and ‘remembering’ new details like a trip to the shop or whatever I’d look guilty as hell.

  I shook my head, being careful to make my expression look confused and not angry or defensive. ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s not the case at all. I was in the house that whole time. Just ask Bert. She’ll tell you. Your witness or whatever must be confusing me with someone else.’

  DS Dale frowned again and shifted in her seat. She picked up her pen and clicked the button on the end. ‘We did ask Alberta, Frances. And she told us that you left the house at four-thirty. And according to Alberta, you were heading to the school. To talk to Philippa Brookman.’

  38

  Everything seemed to go fuzzy for a moment. I felt like DS Dale had set off a series of little bombs. It was Bert. She’d told them I’d left the house. She’d told them I was heading to the school.

  I shook my head. ‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘Bert wouldn’t have said that. You must’ve made a mistake. Misunderstood what she was saying.’

  DS Dale flicked through her notepad and stopped on a page. She looked down and tapped it with her pen. ‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘No mistakes. Alberta was quite sure that you left her at around four-thirty on Wednesday the fifteenth of May and that you planned to meet Philippa Brookman on the school premises. She said that you returned just over an hour later, having had some kind of confrontation with Philippa.’

  I just stared at DS Dale. I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed out hard. The first thought was, They’re lying. They’re just saying that Bert said that to make me crack, make me change my story. But then I realised that that wasn’t possible – Bert was the only person who knew I was going to meet Pippa. They couldn’t have made it up from nowhere. Bert must have said something. Bert. My best friend Bert.

  I didn’t have time to think about why Bert would have done it, to process how I felt about it. Part of me wanted to explode – I wanted to tell them that Bert was lying, tell them she was a girl who’d had a relationship with a married man, for God’s sake, she was hardly an upstanding member of society. But I knew that that was risky. What if someone else had seen me and they backed her up? I needed to say something. I needed to be clear and reasonable. Whatever story I came out with next I was going to have to stick with, so it had to be convincing.

  My first impulse was to think of somewhere I could’ve been going, some fictitious errand I was running to get supplies for our project or whatever, but I knew that could be hard to think up on the spot. That would bring a whole new selection of puzzle pieces into the mix – where I’d been going, who might’ve seen me, did I have a receipt, CCTV cameras along the route. I realised that my only sensible option here was to stick to something as near to the truth as possible. The thing I had to remember here was that I hadn’t really done anything that wrong. I didn’t go to the hall intending to burn the costumes. I definitely didn’t go there intending to set Pippa on fire. I’d just gone to talk to her. To get her side of the story. That was exactly what I told the police now.

  I told them how I’d confronted Pippa, how I’d found out what she’d been doing to Bert, how she’d panicked and tried to burn her own things. I told it all.

  DS Dale listened without saying anything and without showing any emotion at all. She noted down the whole lot in her pad.

  ‘What the bloody hell were you playing at?’ Nan asked me. ‘Why did you have to interfere?’

  I looked down. ‘She’d been bullying Bert,’ I said. ‘I had to stop her.’

  A look passed between DS Dale and PC Harding. ‘What I’m not quite clear on then,’ DS Dale said, ‘is why you didn’t report what had happened straight away? Especially when you found out what had happened to Philippa? You knew there was an investigation, surely?’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, I knew I’d been the last person to see her alive. I just … just didn’t want any hassle.’

  ‘I see,’ DS Dale said, clicking her pen again and closing her notepad. ‘Right then. Thank you, Frances. I’m sure we’ll have more questions as things progress but that’s it for now.’

  DS Dale and PC Harding stood up and Nan showed them out.

  I barely listened as Nan launched into a tirade about lying to her and sneaking about and the stupidity of getting myself caught up in a police investigation. I just let it wash over me. What was really on my mind here was Bert. How could she have dropped me in it like that? Why would she? I was still holding out hope that there was some kind of explanation. It just couldn’t be a simple case of betrayal. I just couldn’t believe it.

  I thought about texting Bert or calling her to have it out with her, but I decided it was a conversation that needed to be had face to face. I resolved to just act normally and do nothing until we got the chance to talk at school.

  But when I got to school the next day, Bert still wasn’t there. I texted her to ask her where she was as soon as registration had started and it was apparent she wasn’t going to show up again. There was no reply.

  As the day went on, I felt myself getting more and more agitated. Bert needed to get a grip. Why was she still moping around? I’d put up with her being a drama queen for long enough. Now she’d dropped me in it and I had the right to some answers.

  In last period I sent her a text. I was careful to phrase it gently, although it took some effort:

  How are you feeling? Can I come over?

  This time I got a reply at least:

  Better now thanks but helping Mum and Dad with chores tonight so think we’ll just have to talk at school tomorrow.

  I sighed. I didn’t really buy the whole chores excuse, but then I was hardly surprised she was avoiding me. So she bloody well might, I thought, given what she’d done. I started to make my way home, but then suddenly the thought of another evening with Nan and Granddad in that silent house, Nan being even more snappy than ever, me stressing about what Bert had done, seemed too much to bear. I’d had enough. And even now, even though I was angry with Bert, I still missed her. We were never apart for this long. I just wanted to talk to her. I thought if we could just talk, we could sort everything out. There had to be some kind of explanation for what she’d said. I needed to find out what was going on.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. No one came, so I tried the knocker. Stil
l nothing. I stepped back and looked up at the house. The skylight in the den was slightly open and I could hear music drifting out. She obviously can’t hear the bell up there, I thought.

  I went around the back of the house. The back door was open as usual. I slipped inside and followed the music up the three flights of stairs to the den. I’d planned to use the chores she was supposedly helping her parents with as a pretext for my visit. I’d say I’d come to help out with whatever it was.

  ‘Hello!’ I called. I deliberately kept my voice light and cheery. I was determined not to go in there all guns blazing. I wanted to talk calmly, to sort this out and get things back on track. The last thing I wanted was to end up in a row with Bert. There’d been more than enough drama for one week.

  I pushed the door open. ‘It’s only me! It’s Birdy! I’ve come to lend a hand!’

  I stood in the doorway and looked at them. It took me a couple of minutes to register what I was seeing, it was so unexpected. I think I kept my smile in place the whole time. I must’ve looked quite mad, come to think of it.

  It was Bert, huddled in the corner of the Egg. And next to her, their legs entwined, her head on his shoulder, was Jac Dubois.

  ‘Birdy!’ Bert said, struggling to push herself upright. ‘What are you doing here?’

  I didn’t answer the question, I just stared at them, looking from one to the other. Eventually, I said, ‘I don’t think he should be here. You’re not allowed to see him, remember? Your dad said.’

  Bert looked confused and maybe a little bit amused. ‘What? Yes I am. Dad likes Jac actually.’ Bert smiled at Jac in the most nauseating way and he returned the look. It was almost unbearable to witness. It was like I wasn’t there.

  ‘No,’ I said slowly and clearly, like I was explaining something to a small child. ‘You’re not supposed to spend too much time with him. Your parents don’t want you being harassed, after everything that happened with … you know. I was worried about you so I spoke to your dad myself and –’

  I knew I was taking a risk, mentioning my little warning visit to Charlie, how I’d let him know what Jac had done at the party, but I was thinking on my feet. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that. But Bert cut me off.

  ‘Oh, Birdy …’ she said, sighing and swinging her legs out of the chair. ‘I know you came over telling Dad that Jac and I had been up to all sorts at that party – he told me straight away.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ I said. ‘He didn’t!’

  ‘He did, Birdy,’ Bert said. ‘It’s OK. I don’t mind. I know it’s hard for you … it’s always hard being the single one. I know you were just upset and feeling left out, that’s why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to embarrass you.’

  I couldn’t think of anything to say for a minute. I just stood there, breathing hard. Staring at Jac’s hand, resting on Bert’s knee. Just casually sitting there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘But,’ I said eventually, ‘your dad phoned the school. Got Jac taken off the show. The seating plan … he was moved away from you.’

  Bert looked at Jac and then to me, frowning. ‘What? No he didn’t. Dad wouldn’t phone the school. That’s not really his style.’

  ‘Got kicked off the play ’cause of my shit maths grades,’ Jac said, with a proud grin. ‘All my own fault, that. They’re still shit actually, so they shouldn’t have bothered.’

  ‘And I don’t really see what the seating plan has to do with anything,’ Bert chipped in. ‘That doesn’t really add up does it? Who cares where we sit for the register? It only takes two minutes.’

  ‘Would take more than that to keep me away,’ Jac said, leaning forward and pulling Bert close to him. She collapsed in his arms, shrieking in mock protest. They giggled and then he leant down and kissed her forehead.

  I didn’t move. I could hear my pulse in my ears.

  ‘Get off her,’ I heard myself say. ‘Get off her and get OUT.’

  My voice started off quiet, but I shouted the word ‘out’. It made them jump. They turned to look at me. The smiles disappeared from their faces.

  ‘Birdy …’ Bert began.

  Suddenly I remembered something. I unzipped my bag. ‘Here,’ I said, hoping my voice wasn’t giving away how desperate I was feeling. I reached in and pulled something out. ‘I bought you a present.’

  It was a little porcelain blackbird figurine I’d found a week ago at a craft fair outside the church. I’d bought it for Bert just after the Allenby email. I thought it’d cheer her up – a little reminder that I was still there for her, that I’d always be there for her, blackbirds forever. But then the whole naked photos and Pippa thing had erupted and there hadn’t seemed a good time to give it to her. Now though, I was glad I was able to hand it over. She needed that reminder more than ever now.

  ‘It’s a blackbird,’ I explained, holding it out to her.

  But she didn’t reach forward to take it. Instead she sighed. ‘Oh, Birdy,’ she said, closing her eyes for a second. ‘You know, I think I’ve had just about enough of blackbirds for a while.’

  Jac began to laugh. ‘A blackbird? You’re mental, you are.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Shut up,’ I hissed.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Jac said, turning and looking at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Why don’t you shut up? Why don’t you shut up and get out? Why are you here anyway? Why are you always hanging around, like some fucking poodle? She told you not to come.’

  ‘I’m warning you,’ I said, my voice low and dangerous again.

  Jac laughed. ‘Warning me? What are you going to do – set fire to my head?’

  My eyes were on Bert then. She looked down. Guilty.

  ‘Jac,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t.’

  Jac wasn’t going to be put off now though. ‘Bert told me how you went to pay Pippa a visit. How she got one of your “warnings”. Next thing we know she’s gone up in flames.’ He’d got out of the chair now and was standing facing me. ‘What happened, Frances? What did you do to her?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I did nothing.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘They’ll find out soon enough. Then you’ll be carted off to some asylum and we can all forget you ever existed.’

  I think until this point I’d actually forgotten why I’d gone over there in the first place. I’d been so shocked to find Jac there that all the fire and police business had gone right out of my mind. But now it came back to me.

  ‘You told them,’ I said, turning to Bert now. ‘You told the police I went to meet Pippa. Why did you do that, Bert? Why couldn’t you just stick to our story?’

  Bert didn’t answer at once. She looked down into her lap. ‘It just wasn’t right to lie,’ she said eventually. ‘Pippa’s dead, for God’s sake. That’s serious.’

  ‘So?’ I said, throwing my hands up. ‘Who cares? Pippa was a cow, Bert. Can’t you remember what she did to you? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?’

  Bert sighed and looked upwards towards the skylight. She closed her eyes for a second. Then she opened them and looked at me again, her face completely blank.

  ‘Maybe you should go now, Frances,’ she said. Her voice was so cold suddenly. And the name – not Birdy. Frances.

  ‘Birdy,’ I said quietly. ‘My name is Birdy.’

  ‘Cuckoo, more like,’ Jac said, sinking back down in the chair next to Bert. She burrowed into his shoulder like she was trying to hide.

  The next bit is slightly blurred, in terms of memories. I remember being angry obviously. A raging fury. The kind that takes you over, makes you feel like you’ve got fire running through your veins. I remember there was a snow globe on the shelf. It was one of those ones that shows a summer scene – a palm tree and a hammock – but still with the white powdery snow. That made me even angrier. Who puts a fucking beach scene in a fucking snow globe for fuck’s sake? I picked it up. And then I threw it.

  Jac must’ve looked down momentarily, not seen it
coming, because he didn’t even duck. It hit him right on the top of the head.

  ‘Argh!’ he shouted. ‘Bitch!’

  ‘Frances!’ Bert said, climbing out of the chair and coming towards me. ‘Stop. That. Now.’ She was speaking firmly and clearly. It was horrible. Like she was talking to a toddler. Or a dog. ‘Calm down. Go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m staying. I’m spending the evening with you. Just the two of us.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m spending the evening with my boyfriend. Tomorrow, we’ll –’

  But she never got to tell me what we were going to do tomorrow, because I’d picked up the scissors from the shelf – they were the big, dressmaking kind – and in one quick, forceful movement, I’d lunged forward and stuck them into her.

  You hear those stories, don’t you, about people suddenly finding unknown strengths when they have to – lifting cars off babies and all sorts. It must’ve been like that because I don’t remember it even being that difficult. There was no resistance really, the blade just sunk right in. Like cutting into a cheesecake. They were stuck right in her side, the scissors. They looked funny, poking out like that, the cheerful red and white spotted handle just perched there, suspended in mid-air.

  Bert’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor. Jac was all over her at once. Flapping, fussing. ‘Bertie,’ he kept saying. ‘Bertie, Bertie, Bertie.’

  He pulled the scissors out. That was stupid. You shouldn’t take the plug out, I thought everyone knew that. That causes all sorts of mess. God, the blood! It was all over the place. They’ll never get it out of the carpet. Served them right though. There, I thought. That’s what I think of your precious evening with your precious ‘boyfriend’.

  Jac stared up at me, his face grey. ‘You’ve killed her,’ he said.

  39

  Of course, I hadn’t actually killed her.

  That was just Jac being a drama queen. No doubt he had visions of killing himself with the grief of it all, the two of them lying there together, beautiful pale corpses. A right little Romeo and Juliet scene.