I nod. It’s coming together now. Ash was Holli’s friend from the bus video. It’s not guilt in Michelle’s tone but self-absolution. None of this is her fault. What could she have done to stop them? It’s Holli and Ash. In her mind, the blame is halved. It’s just the kids messing around. The threat’s not real, in her eyes. Just two kids who may have gone a little bit too far this time.
Of course, it’s impossible not to infer what’s happened here. The pieces fall into place like the first level of Tetris. I’m sure SO15 Andy will enlighten us further once he arrives. But beyond a doubt he will not allow us to film him. We need to get as much footage as I can before he arrives, that’s clear. Before we’re asked to stop.
I stand up and take charge, changing the energy in the cramped flat. “Michelle. We need to take a look at her room now. Film in there.” It’s not a question. I am not asking her. My directing brain has kicked in and we need more for the film, as much as I can smash and grab. Look, I don’t want to take advantage of her, but it’s clear Michelle trusts and responds well to authority. If she feels it’s for the best, then we’ll get what we need. I want that footage of the room for the film and we’regetting it. I hold her gaze slightly too long, deliberately. She looks away.
And it works. She rises, cowed.
“Yes, yes, of course. The police searched it already and took all their own pictures, so I’m sure it’s fine to do what you need to do in there.” She stares back up at me, searching for approval, reassurance. She wants us to know she’s helping. That she’s not going to be a problem like Holli.
She leads us out of the kitchen and down the hall. Phil throws me what I assume is meant to be an accusing glance. He didn’t like that. What I just did. It wasn’t like me. It was cruel.
Fuck it. I’m not sure I care today. I’m not feeling myself. Whatever that means. I’m not even sure who I am anymore. Maybe I died in the South Pacific with Sally Sharpe.
Holli’s room is small. Teenaged. Basic. Phil scans it slowly with the camera. Magazine pictures Blu-Tacked to the walls. Hard-eyed fashion models clutching perfume bottles. Sexuality. Money. Glitter stickers. Dead flies on the windowsill. A doe-eyed Harry Styles foldout. Kanye posters. Wu-Tang Clan posters. Grandiose. Dangerous. A far cry from overcast Croydon: all pre-prison interior design, the faces on the posters sun-bleached after almost five years of staring back into an empty room.
But I’m looking for other things. I sense Phil is too. Even if he disapproves of my methods, I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking: Is there anything religious in this room? Anything at all? I look but I don’t see it. A stack of books by the bed. A Victoria Beckham fashion book, a dog-eared Garfield book,The Power of Now,The Little Book of Calm. The last thing I’d expect Holli to read. But then maybe not. A stab at self-knowledge? Or a gift from a well-meaning mum? Either way, neither of the self-help books looks read. But then, who am I to judge? I haven’t read them either. And anyway, they definitely aren’t the cause of what’s happening now. They are not exactly terrorist textbooks.
Then it hits me. We won’t find anything here. Holli was only eighteen when she lived in this room. These are the relics of who she was. She’s twenty-three now. Growing up changes you. Five years in prison changes you. Who knows what happened to her in that time?
I mean, look at me, my whole life has changed in nine days. I’ve become a liar and a thief. God knows where or who I’ll be in five years. Hopefully not in prison.
The doorbell chimes and our eyes flick to Michelle. She nods and trots off to let Andy in.
Phil lowers the camera.
“Do you see anything?” he whispers. There’s a new urgency in his eyes now too. To him this documentary just became very interesting. He can already sniff awards in the future.
“No. I don’t think there’s anything here, Phil. She’d only been back a week before she left. We need to look elsewhere: Facebook, Twitter, all that. But Holli’s not an idiot—not anymore anyway. If there is something here, it won’t be easy to find it.” I scan the room again but I know I’m right on this one; there are no clues here.
As we enter the hallway a stocky man and Michelle are talking quietly by the front door. Andy. He’s shorter than I’d imagined, but attractive. There’s an easy charmabout him as he turns to greet us, the flash of a winning smile; perhaps that’s why he got the job. A people person. Michelle’s right, he does inspire trust. I’d say he’s early fifties. Good head of hair. An almost illusory whiff of expensive soap. I’m going to have to be extremely careful now. He’s clearly very good at what he does; he’s playing Michelle like an old pro. I’d hazard a guess that Andy is one of life’s winners. I think perhaps everything comes up roses for Andy. Well, let’s go, Andy. Let’s do this, because I am not going to prison. I will not lose this fight. I run my hand subtly inside my coat and push gently against my belly.It’s okay in there. Mummy’s got you.
I fix my game face as he steps toward us, smiling.
“Erin, Phil, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Foster. Call me Andy. Nice to meet you both; thanks for sticking around.” He shakes our hands firmly. We make our way into Michelle’s living room, leaving the camera in the hall. Phil’s not filming anymore.
Phil, Michelle, and I take the sofa while DCI Andy perches facing us on a low leather pouf on the other side of the cluttered coffee table.
“So, I’m not sure how much Michelle has told you, but Holli was on probation after her release. She’s violated that by leaving the house. And she most certainly violated it now by leaving the country.” He says it lightly.
Fuck. This is a little more serious than I had hoped. I didn’t think it’d get that far. Holli’s fled the country?
He continues: “That’s one thing. The probation violation is a separate issue, though. The main issue we’re facing right now is that we’re extremely concerned Holli may be trying to make her way into Syriawith Ashar Farooq. That appears to be her plan. Both her and Ash’s plan. We know she boarded a flight at Stansted Airport fourteen hours ago to Istanbul. We’ve got CCTV footage of them leaving the airport in Istanbul and boarding a bus. It’s safe to say we’re concerned. So that’s where we are.” His tone is serious now, businesslike.
Syria. This is huge. And the awful truth is: this is a documentarian’s wet dream. Events superseding planned narrative structure. Filmmaking heaven.
But I definitely don’t feel that as I sit here. I see what a great story this could be. I see it, but all I feel now is dread. A barreling wall of horror speeding toward me. This is real. Holli has done something really bad. There will be a full investigation. I am involved. We are all involved. And there is a large bag of loose diamonds under my loft insulation. Which will look fairly incriminating if the police decide to search our house. Very incriminating.
With every bone in my body I wish that Holli would just breeze back in through the door, right this moment, sullen and vicious, and just be a bit rude to usall.
“Our job is simple,” DCI Foster continues.
“First, we need to find out where Holli is, make sure she’s safe, if possible bring her home. Second, we need to find out who she’s been associating with, at what stage she became radicalized in prison, and how she managed to leave the UK. That’s the information I’m currently interested in.”
How does he think we can help with that?
“Now, I want to be clear: in terms of Holli herself, as of now she hasn’t done anything wrong. Theprobation violation is very small fry compared to the other things at play here; we’re not interested in punishing Holli for running away. It’s more important to get her home and talking to us about what’s gone on. How she managed to obtain her documents, her contacts. We’re looking to help her, and any other girls like her in this situation. You’ll have to trust me when I say this: it’s not the place they think it is out there. They tend to target younger girls, problem girls, promise great things, and by the time the girls get out there it’s too late to change their minds and they’re trapped. Holli’s going to find that all out pretty soon, if she hasn’t already. They don’t care about these girls; they’re trophies. They are expendable.” Andy looks to Michelle, holds her gaze. “Which is why we need to get her home as soon as wecan.”
Michelle has gone quite pale. Her hand fumbles a journey down to her cigarette pocket; she’s forgotten that she left them on the kitchen table, and for some reason, this thought makes me incredibly sad.
