Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner (read book txt) 📗

eyes, wait for the slam as my body hits the ground. But it doesn’t come, and instead I seem to swing, as if I’m caught. And I realise that before I knew my hands had even moved, they have gripped, tightly, around something. The steel rings of the gutter. I am here, still here. But my hands are weak, and the metal is hard, and every muscle in my body says let go, I can’t hold on. I can’t, I can’t.

Nothing about this moment feels real. The smell of the bricks, of the moss in the gutters. The cool silence of the air. And then he is back. I see his vacant face, and his hand, a hammer in his hand. He is grimacing, as if in physical pain, as he holds the hammer up, just above my fingers, where they are gripped around the metal of the roof.

‘Daniel,’ I cry, ‘don’t do this!’

Daniel’s face is blank, as if he is looking straight through me. The hand holding the hammer is trembling. My fingers are holding tight, but I can feel the metal give way slightly, almost imperceptibly. It is over, I know that now. This will soon be over.

‘You should have listened, Katie,’ Daniel says again. His expression hardens. He pulls his arm back, preparing to slam down the hammer. I grip tight, close my eyes.

There is a bang, a slam. But the impact I am braced for hasn’t come. Shouts, voices. When I open my eyes, there is a voice I know.

‘Katie? Katie?’

There are hands reaching out. More shouting. The voice is calling my name. I know I have to let go, to reach my hand up. But I am too afraid. My cheeks are wet. I feel the wind in my hair. It’s so high, and I can’t let go. I can’t.

ONE YEAR LATER

HMP Bowood

20 November 2019

You used to talk about that day often, and we were all forced to listen. And I suppose it was perfect, to you. You just never knew the truth.

There really was something about it, a sort of golden quality. The light on the water dazzling, like diamonds. We’d all been so drunk, on the sun, our youth. Each other.

You didn’t see us on the opposite bank, under the willows. You couldn’t see past the leaves, under the surface. I wish I could say that was the first time. But it started long before that.

At the back of the theatre, after a rehearsal one night. Everyone else had gone home. It had been building for weeks. She tormented me. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, that Red Riding Hood cloak. When I was awake. When I was asleep. When I was fucking you, Helen. I am sorry to cause you pain. But that was how it was. I couldn’t stop.

It was raining, the night it happened. I was hanging around on purpose, hoping she’d be doing the same. I’d heard the scrape of a chair, footsteps, slipper-soft. And she was there, at the back of the empty stage. Still in her costume, but her feet were bare. She’d pulled her hood down. Let her hair fall over one shoulder. Until then I hadn’t known she felt that way. That first time. The sound of the rain, the smell of the stage paint. It felt like a revelation. I’m not trying to hurt you, Helen. I just want you to understand. I had never felt anything like it. And the more I had of Serena, the more I wanted. And that day, when I reached for her, under the water by the punt, she reached for me too.

When she said she didn’t mind taking the boat back, and she looked at me, I knew then what would happen.

We were on the floor, on a canvas sheet, when we heard them. I could see their stupid Ravens ties. I knew one of them. Rory’s mate. There was no time. They were going to catch us, they’d tell Rory. They knew we had taken the boat.

Serena started going mad then. Saying, hide, I don’t want them finding us here. We’ll be sent down. I laughed. I was high, giddy with her. I told her not to be so stupid. We’d sat our exams, we’d paid the fees. They weren’t going to send us down for taking a boat. But she insisted. Just stand the fuck back there. Stay in the shadow until they’ve gone. They won’t see us.

It took a while before we could see what they were doing. But we did. We saw. And Serena was right, they didn’t see us. The girl did, though. She looked right at me, her eyes locked on mine, her lips parted, trying to say something. And I didn’t do anything.

And she saw that, too.

Serena didn’t touch me again that day. I knew what we’d just seen. What we’d witnessed. But Serena saw it differently. She wanted to stay out of it – said we didn’t know the whole story. And anyway, she said, there would be questions. About why we hadn’t helped. Why we had done nothing.

You insisted we all go out that night. You were so happy, Helen, and it was like it would make it all OK again, if we all went along with you. I remember in the queue of the club, looking at your face, your innocence. You were so pure, so beautiful. I kissed you like you were my child, buried my cheek in your red hair. I’d wanted to be good again, like you. But all I could think of was the girl in the boathouse. How she’d cried. How she’d wriggled, struggled underneath the boy. How her glassy eyes had found mine, asking for help.

The next day, the police came round. You’ll remember this part, of course. Someone they’d questioned had seen us on the river, noticed the college crest on the punt. Mentioned it to the cops. The cops figured we’d have