White Bodies(22)

“This is against my better judgment, Callie. Promise me that if you stay you won’t go snooping on Felix and me. I know what you’re like . . . especially in this batshit crazy mood you’re in. And there must be no sign of you when we return. Nothing! No forgotten bras or knickers. Not even a crumb or a hair. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“But, really, don’t come here to the flat. Not unless it’s life-and-death.”

I promise, thinking maybe it is life-and-death. My voice sounds thin and strained, maybe because I’m worried about Tilda going so far away, out of my sphere of influence—I need to check where Martinique actually is. Before she hangs up she says, “Chip, chip,” like Mum used to, and after she’s gone I try to concentrate on the positives, like the fantastic fact-finding opportunity that has opened up.





12


Online later, all the talk is of Chloey Percival, the girl who was attacked in Debenhams. She’s still in a critical condition in York hospital, and most of the people chatting in the Controlling Men forum think she’ll die. Some say we should be praying for her. Belle, as usual, is online and discussing the new photos of Chloey that have been posted by her family—of her first day at school, and as a chubby teenage gymnast in a leotard, holding up a silver cup. Belle writes that Chloey was an innocent angel. I tell her to drop the angel and remind her that people are hardly going to point out shortcomings at a time like this. Then Belle says, let’s go to the Zone.

She has big news. Her friend Lavender will leave her abusive husband in two weeks’ time, so the secrecy and planning is intense. Belle and Lavender are busy with practical things—making lists of what to take and what to leave behind. They’re discussing the emotional side too, like how to explain the situation to the children. Belle says that on the big day Lavender will pretend to take them to school, then return home once X has left for work. Belle will arrive with a hired Renault Espace and they’ll load it up and drive to Lavender’s mother’s house five miles away. X will figure out what’s happened and turn up demanding 2 b let in, probably violent, Belle writes. So L will call police. She pauses, then adds:

Back to Chloey—Did u c there will be a CANDLELIT vigil for her in York? Its near me and I might go. Would u like to come? We could ACTUALLY MEET UP!

From nowhere, Scarlet pops up:

No, meeting up NOT a good idea. We shouldn’t be seen together. Don’t do it.

Scarlet always assumes she’s the boss, telling us what we can and can’t do. On an impulse, I send an email addressed only to Belle:

Let’s meet without telling Scarlet. I don’t know why she thinks we should follow her orders—it’s starting to irritate me. Also, I’d like to see York, and I could come by train on Friday, because I don’t work then. What do you think?

I think DEFNATELY YES!!! I dont have 2 work Friday either—so I can litrally meet you at the station. AND we can still Keep our identities secret—like Scarlet says.

I feel excited about the trip, but nervous too. I keep thinking about my meeting with Wilf and how awkward I was. It’s typical of me to be bad at socializing—and I’m worried that Belle will find me too difficult to be with.

On Friday, the anxiety returns, and on the train to York I keep going to the toilet to brush my hair and put on makeup. I’ve bought Fanomenal Lashes mascara and Miracle Touch blusher from Boots and I apply them, then worry that I’ve put on too much blusher, and smear it off again. I’ve tried to dress nicely, and I’m wearing clean jeans and a new T-shirt, white with a smiley face. I told Belle about the T-shirt, so that she can recognize me at the station, and she said she’d wear a green dress and carry a jute bag with a picture of a bee. I look for her through the window as the train draws into York station.

At first I see nothing but crowds of tourists, and when I do spot a woman in a green dress, standing apart, I have to stare hard because she’s nothing like I expected. I thought of Belle as a big, flamboyant person because of her larger-than-life messages online, all the exclamation marks and capital letters, and I imagined a made-up round face and blond frizzy hair, like a huge doll. In reality, she’s tiny—her skin is brown and her hair sleek and black, and she looks like she’s from somewhere like the Philippines or Indonesia. I walk towards her, cautiously, but then she spots me and holds up her bee bag, and I point at the smiley face on my T-shirt. When we meet, it’s embarrassing because we both don’t know what gesture to make—she leans forward to kiss my cheek, but she changes her mind and we shake hands instead.

As we walk out of the railway station I notice that Belle has a nervous habit of scratching her hands and arms. Also, she has a little chirrupy voice, as she tells me excitedly that the candlelit vigil had been at the hospital but has now moved to a small park by York Minster. “We can go there later,” she says. “It’s so lucky you came today, because Chloey’s brother’s going to speak. At least, that’s what people are saying. Have you heard of the Flicks? They’re a York band, and they’re going to perform their new song . . . Oh, it’s lovely to have you here! Perfect.”

She gives my arm a squeeze, then adds, “And you can stay at my flat tonight, in Dringhouses. I have a spare bedroom, and I don’t live far away. It’s just a bus ride. Really short.”

I don’t commit myself. Instead I ask Belle about Lavender, and soon we’re talking about her and Chloey Percival and Tilda (or Pink, as I continue to call her).