Forget Me Not. Claire Allan
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My heart ached for Ronan, Clare’s older brother by eighteen months. As much as he’d roll his eyes at us and our giggling, melodramatic, annoying teenage ways, he’d been almost as much a part of our gang back then as any of us were. He and Julie had even shared an ill-fated snog at the youth club Halloween disco once. It was such a drama at the time. Drama. We hadn’t known the meaning of the word.
This wasn’t how our lives were supposed to go. Julie, Clare and I – we were meant to live to a ripe old age and become our own version of the Golden Girls. This wasn’t meant to be how it ended. I wondered whether I should have a drink, after all. Numb the senses. Dull the edges, just as Julie was doing.
‘Do they know what happened?’ I asked, not sure if I was ready for the response.
Julie’s hand shook more as she took another sip from her glass, shuddering slightly as the vodka slid down her throat.
‘It definitely wasn’t an accident,’ she said. ‘He didn’t have details – I’m not even sure that I want to know them. But the police are treating it as a murder inquiry. I imagine it’ll be all over the news by teatime.’
Brendan walked back into the room and handed me a mug of tea, but my hand was shaking too much to hold it. I sat it on the coffee table in front of me and looked at my friend. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. It was taking all my strength to keep breathing normally.
‘She was so happy, Rachel. I don’t know when you last spoke to her, but she was so happy. Said she felt her life was finally going in the right direction. She was finally over that bloody break-up and was ready to move on. It was the brightest I’d seen her in years. I don’t understand it. Who would do this to her? You know Clare like I do; she wouldn’t ever hurt a fly. I don’t understand …’ She finally gave in to her tears, her body shaking.
I thought of the last time I’d seen her. It was about three weeks before. We’d met for a hurried brunch one Saturday. She’d been so happy – glowing, in fact. Told me she believed more than ever that it was absolutely true that life began at forty. She was happy in work, hoping for a promotion, and she’d met someone.
I wondered about him. Did he know? Jesus, could he have done it? We knew so little about him. Had the police spoken to him yet? Did they know who he was? Clare had always been coy about him when we’d talked. Said she didn’t want to ‘jinx’ it. But she’d met him through a dating app and they’d been out a couple of times.
‘He’s a real gentleman. Not a player, like so many of the men on those sites. He seems genuinely interested in a relationship,’ Clare had said.
I’d warned her to take it slowly. She was a romantic at heart – threw herself into relationships too easily. Allowed her heart to be broken. She’d reassured me. ‘We’ve not even slept together yet,’ she’d whispered, blushing. ‘But I’m enjoying the snogging sessions.’ She’d sounded so upbeat. Young. Innocent. I’d been almost jealous of her joie de vivre.
‘Joy of life’. How quickly things had changed. I sat, numb, looking at Julie.
‘Have the police spoken to her new man?’ I asked.
Julie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. If they can find him, but you don’t think he’d be behind it, do you? He was making her happy.’
‘There’s something about it all that I don’t like. Did she ever tell you who he was?’
Julie shook her head. ‘She said we’d meet him soon enough. I wasn’t going to push further … Oh, God!’ She doubled over again. Another gut punch. ‘What if they don’t find him?’
‘There’ll be stuff on her phone. Her computer. They’ll find something,’ Brendan piped up. ‘But don’t jump to conclusions. Let the police do their job.’
‘I can’t breathe thinking about it,’ Julie said, tears falling thick and fast.
I felt useless. I couldn’t ease her pain. I couldn’t make sense of any of this. I just hugged her while she cried.
The sound of sobbing was nipping at me. It was too loud. My head was too full. My heart was too sore and yet at the same time I felt as if I were reading lines from a script. No one had these types of conversations in real life. No one. I dropped my head to my hands, covering my eyes, blocking out the glare of the sun through the window.
The doorbell ringing pulled me back to the present. I sat up, moved closer to Julie so that I could hug her as she cried. It seemed such an inadequate gesture.
I heard a man cough as if to announce his presence, and turned round to see Brendan standing with a man in a suit and a uniformed police officer.
‘This is DI Bradley,’ Brendan said. ‘And his colleague Constable King. They wanted to talk to you, Julie. And probably you, too, Rachel, come to think of it.’ He turned to inform them that I was one of Clare’s oldest friends, too.
‘Rachel Walker?’ the policeman asked and I nodded.
‘Yes, it’s good to have you here too, then.’
I nodded again.
Julie and I shifted apart. She pulled the cuff of her cardigan across her face again to dry her tears – her skin now red and angry.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs Cosgrove, Mrs Walker,’ Bradley said, looking at both of us in turn.
‘So, it’s definitely her?’ I asked, knowing even as I spoke that it was a stupid question. He’d hardly be here if it was someone else.
‘A positive identification was carried out a short time ago,’ he said.
I felt my body sag and Julie grabbed my hand. Brendan invited the two officers to sit down on the armchairs on either side of the room. DI Bradley took the seat closest to us and pulled out his notebook.
‘We’re trying to speak to as many people as we can, as quickly as we can, to try to gauge Ms Taylor’s last movements. Her brother, Ronan, gave one of my officers your details. He said you were very close to the deceased.’
I shuddered at the use of the word ‘deceased’. It seemed wrong. I felt angry. He shouldn’t be reducing who she was to how her life ended.
‘We are … were … very good friends with Clare. Yes,’ I said.
Julie just nodded.
‘And can I ask, both of you, about the last time you either saw Ms Taylor or spoke with her? When was the last time you received any communication from her at all, be it a text message or social media chat?’
Julie spoke first.
‘I saw her yesterday. At work. We work in the same building – the pensions office. Or we did.’
‘And how was she? Did she talk of her plans for after work?’
Julie shook her head. ‘It was a busy day. We just had a brief chat at lunch. Mostly nonsense stuff. About the book she was reading and holiday plans. I said I’d call her later and maybe we should go for a drink at the weekend.’
‘And you?’ he asked, turning to me. ‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’
‘I think we had a chat on Facebook a few days back. It was something and nothing. I think I asked her how things were going with her new boyfriend. Hang on, I should have it here on my phone.’
I noticed the glance pass between Bradley and his colleague at the mention of a boyfriend, and I rifled in my bag to pull out my phone, scrolling through my messages to find the last chat I’d had with Clare.
God, if only I’d known it would be the last chat I’d have with her, I’d have said more. It would have been more heartfelt than a simple exchange of gossip. I handed my phone over.
‘Do either of you know the identity of this new boyfriend?’ DI Bradley asked.
I