My mum said, ‘Oh dear, there’s Mrs Farraday.’
I said, ‘Pretend you haven’t seen her.’
But Mum said, ‘I can’t. I’ll have to go and talk to her, poor thing.’
I said, ‘Don’t go. You can’t leave me by myself.’ But she went. She never thinks how I feel.
So I stood all alone with everyone watching, like the first time I went to a school disco and none of the boys asked me to dance.
Caro said, ‘Come and dance with us.’ But I wouldn’t. It looks stupid, two girls dancing with one boy.
Caro said, ‘She’s too stuck-up to dance with us. She’d rather be a wallflower.’
I said, ‘What’s a wallflower?’ I was only eleven then.
But I would have danced if a boy asked me to. Most of the boys stood around jeering and didn’t ask anyone to dance. It wasn’t just me.
It was just me who stood by the TV van, though. Nobody came to talk to me. The police and the TV people were busy. Everyone else was outside the police cordon, outside the light. I could just see them. A lot of the girls from school were there. But none of them said anything to me. It was as if I really was Josie Farraday. Everyone could see me but I didn’t exist. Like I was Josie Farraday’s ghost.
And then this really excruciating thing happened. Mum brought Mrs Farraday over. How could she?
Mrs Farraday was crying, just like Caro said she would.
Mrs Farraday said, ‘I wanted to thank you. It’s so kind of you to do this for Josephine.’
I looked at Josie’s horrible black shoes because I didn’t want to see her mother’s crying face. I wished she’d go away. She was spoiling everything.
And Mum said, ‘It’s the least we could do. We were all so terribly sorry.’
I don’t know why she said that. She never said she was sorry before. She just kept walking round the house saying, ‘My God. Oh my God.’ But she never cried or anything, like you do when you’re sorry. She didn’t know Josie Farraday because Josie never came to my house.
Mrs Farraday said, ‘Josephine told me about you. She said you always got good marks in History and English.’ And that was a big surprise. I never knew Josie cared any more about me than I cared about Josie.
Then Mrs Farraday said, ‘This must be awfully upsetting for you. I’m so very sorry.’ And she walked away.
Mum said, ‘What’s the matter with you? Why didn’t you say something?’ Her voice sort of slithered like a snake. She does that when she’s angry. She ran off after Mrs Farraday.
It’s her own fault, bringing Mrs Farraday over. What did she want? Seeing people cry always makes me want to cry too, even if I’m not upset. And I’m not upset. I’m going to be on TV. This is the best day of my life.
Then I thought, maybe I ought to look upset for TV. Like you always have to look serious in school assembly. And when the Head stood up after the Lord’s Prayer and said, ‘Now, I’m afraid I have some tragic news for you all…’You could see everyone standing straighter and arranging their faces. But you just knew they were dying of excitement and curiosity.
That afternoon we were all given envelopes to take home to our parents. And a teacher came to stand at the gate. Another stood at the entrance to the park.
Caro said it was too little too late, and now all they wanted to do was to stop us talking to reporters. But she still managed to say that thing about all of us missing Josie Farraday. Then we dashed across Kennington Park Road to the newsagent to buy the Evening Standard. Because although the Head told us Josie was murdered we still didn’t know what we wanted to know about it – when, where and how. And why? That’s when we saw the headline – ‘Schoolgirl Killed in Brutal Sex Attack’. We saw that in the shop. I wanted to giggle. Because of the ‘Sex’ word.
So we rushed out of the shop, and I said, ‘What’s a sex attack? I mean what is it really?’
And Caro said, ‘Shut up. I’m reading.’
So I read too, but the more I read the more mysterious it became. Of course I know what an attack is. And of course I know what sex is – we did reproduction in biology last year, and anyway you see it all the time on TV. People kissing and rolling around on beds undressed. And you see sex attacks on TV too – girls in beautiful clothes being dragged into bushes screaming before the man comes and saves them. The man is strong and beautiful, and he says something like, ‘Don’t worry. I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right.’ He has blue eyes and dark straight eyebrows.
But sometimes the man doesn’t save the beautiful girl, and then you see a body and lots of blood, but the girl still looks beautiful, and it seems to me that sex only happens to pretty girls on TV. It doesn’t happen to plain girls like Josie in the borough of Lambeth at six o’clock at night in the middle of January.
It’s very annoying. If only Josie had been prettier. I could feel sorrier for her if she’d been pretty. And I wouldn’t have to stand here with my hair parted in the middle and no styling mousse. I wouldn’t have to look like a freak and a frump for my first TV appearance. It’s very annoying, not being allowed to be pretty on TV.
Even Mum thinks so. She came back from talking to Mrs Farraday and said, ‘Oh dear, your hair. Well, never mind, at least it’s clean.’
I said, ‘I wish they’d let me wear some make-up.’
And she said, ‘Josephine didn’t wear any. Besides you know I don’t like you in make-up. You’re too young.’
A lot she knows. Even girls in the lower third wear make-up. But Mum is always trying to spoil things for me.
Then she said, ‘Listen dear, the man from London Tonight wants a word with you.’
I was so excited I couldn’t speak. So she said, ‘For goodness sake behave yourself and be sensible. Stand up straight. Take your hands out of your pockets. Stop looking at your feet. Just answer his questions quietly and politely. Don’t squirm and look sullen like you did with poor Mrs Farraday. That was very rude and unkind. It’s not like you to be unkind.’
I took my hands out of my pockets – out of Josie’s pockets – but they dangled by my sides and felt lost. I was looking at the man from London Tonight. I hoped he wouldn’t shake my hand, because I knew it was clammy. I wiped it on the back of the ugly blue skirt.
The man from London Tonight is very good-looking even if he’s rather old. He’s tall and he’s got a lovely tan. His eyes are blue and his eyebrows are straight.
When he came over to me, he smiled and looked into my eyes. And even though I couldn’t breathe I found myself smiling back. I couldn’t believe I was actually with him. He is so tall, and his eyes are so blue, no wonder he fills the screen when he’s on TV. You can’t look at anyone else.
He said, ‘You have agreed to help out with tonight’s police reconstruction. You must be a little bit nervous.’
Why does everyone say that? I didn’t want him to say what everyone else said. I wanted him to look into my soul and say something different. Just to me. I waited, but he said, ‘You must be just a little bit apprehensive.’
So I said, ‘I am a little bit.’ Because that seemed to be what he wanted.
Then he said, ‘It must have been an awful shock for you and the other girls at your school to hear about Josie Farraday,’ and he looked at me like he wanted some more.
So I said, ‘We were all very sad. Josie Farraday never did anyone any harm.’ But I still couldn’t breathe properly, and I knew I was blushing. All I could think of to say was what Caro said to the reporters.
He said, ‘So now you are helping the police track down your friend’s killer.’
And I said, ‘Well, it was the least I could do.’ Which is exactly what my mum said to Mrs Farraday.
Then he said, ‘I know the police are anxious to begin, and we don’t want to keep them waiting. So thank you very much for talking to us tonight.’