Secrets - The Lost Friend

They say I muttered two words when I got back to the estate car park on the Bank Holiday Monday: Vince Macarthur.  

I'd arrived without my most prized possession: my bike. You hadn't returned at all. And I'd lied, hadn't I? Told your mum we were going to the local park but sneaked off to Whaley Hill. Everyone was worried because they knew I wouldn't have left my bike on Whaley Hill or abandoned you.

They say your mum became hysterical, especially when she realised I'd lied. Neighbours drove to Whaley Hill, but friends prevented your mum from going.  It's a good job they did.

I have no recollections of the commotion in the car park. Just of sitting on the sofa at home, wrapped in a blanket, shivering, drinking lukewarm tea, a sick bucket by my side. There were policemen everywhere, some talking into radios. It was like coming to after a general anaesthetic, although I'd been awake the entire time, speaking when pressed for answers. Two days had passed since the Bank Holiday bike ride, two days wiped clean. During that time, I told police that Macarthur had come to the reservoir, looking for us. He'd been angry – that was all remember. The detectives badgered me with questions and forced me to return to the top of Whaley Hill with them.

Once I was well enough, I stood at the spot where it had happened, detectives each side of me.  I stood there, longing to see you; for you and I to jump on our bikes and ride away, laughing and making up the fun rhymes you enjoyed. I shut my eyes and told myself that if I thought hard enough, I would go back in time, away from the harsh surroundings and the detectives who were frustrated with my limited replies to their questions.  I breathed in the stifling summer air, my throat and chest aching as I thought the life I had known just a week before.

In one moment, all that had gone. Even Gordon hated me now and no longer spoke to me.