Our Sister of Blackthorn #2
“Of course, yeah, of course. Just need a cuppa first…”
* * *
I’ve nipped out for a minute to record this.
James is still making our drinks in the kitchen, and I told him I needed to make a call.
I’m amazed by how rundown this place looks.
The rust, the damage. There’s a thin layer of dirt on everything.
And the stains… I don’t even know what they are, but some of the walls have these dark brown stains on them, almost like something is seeping through the concrete.
There’s a big bloom of it in James’s hallway, a brownish damp patch on the wallpaper.
Maybe it was always like this, and I’ve just forgotten—but I don’t think so.
As for James himself, he looks old. Clearly the past decade hasn’t been easy for him. I can’t imagine what it must be like, still being here, stuck in Blackthorn. It makes me aware of my own privilege, if that doesn’t sound too…well, privileged. I’m so used to the bustle of the city now.
Hang on…yes, he’s calling for me. I’d best get back inside.
* * *
“Thanks for the coffee, this is perfect.”
She has set the microphone back on the sofa as if nothing happened. When Jim hands her the mug, she places her phone on her lap, and he notices it’s already recording.
“S’okay.”
“You were saying something about Emma, before we stopped? How did people take her disappearance, here on the estate?”
He stares at the undissolved coffee granules floating in his cup. Gradually getting smaller and smaller, until, at some unmeasurable moment, they cease to exist completely.
“Em? She was…she was liked, right? I mean, you knew her same as me. She wasn’t from round here, but she still had time for everyone. I lost count of the afternoons she spent here, with me and my da. Like she was one of the family, y’know? He loved her, he did, which made it all so much harder.”
Sophie leans in again. “I had no idea she came here so often…was that just when you were dating?”
“Yeah. You know what it was like, being that age. We were together whenever we could manage it. That’s why I never… Just some things need doing, right? You don’t have no choice. I didn’t approve of what happened—that wasn’t me.”
He’s said too much. He knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth, but what did they expect? He’s sacrificed more than the rest of them, hasn’t he? This has been his burden most of all. His hands are shaking so badly that he has to lean forward and place his mug on the carpet.
“Sorry,” Sophie is frowning now, her hand automatically drifting to her phone, making sure she has all this on the record, “do you mean you know something about her disappearance?
“I shouldn’t speak to you.” Jim shakes his head. “I knew I shouldn’t, but they said…”
“James, is there something you’re trying to tell me? It’s been a long time since she disappeared, but we all want answers still. Emma’s parents—they need to know what happened. Is there something you didn’t tell the police?”
“The Bizzies?” He almost laughs. “Nah, wouldn’t tell them the time of day.
They didn’t care about her—still don’t care about us.
Mikey spent a week in hospital after that run-in with them, didn’t he?
Them and the council, they’d have used Em disappearing as an excuse to pull this place down.
And we couldn’t have that. The estate…it’s part of who we are.
It’s more than just the flats, you know. We’re a community.”
There’s a pause as he watches her processing what he’s told her, the questions and confusion written on her face.
Finally: “What did you do, James? Was it you?”
He lifts a hand to wipe his eye without realizing what he’s doing. “I loved her. You should know that better than anyone. We were in love, me and her. I thought we’d spend our life together. Only, decisions had to be made.”
“Is she dead? Is that what you’re saying, that Emma died here?”
Jim knocks his mug as he jolts to his feet, splashing milky coffee onto the carpet—but he doesn’t care.
Not anymore. He knew this would happen, didn’t he?
He told them all—and they’d told him not to worry, that getting her here was the important thing.
Sophie Ward, the girl who got away. Only she hadn’t, not really. No one ever left Blackthorn for good.
“Why did you have to come digging all this up? Hey?” He’s shouting now but he can’t help it.
His hand scratches at his eye like he wants to pluck it out.
“It ain’t good for us, and it ain’t good for you.
Can’t do Em any good now, either. It’s just the way things are—can’t be stopping that, or changing it.
She’s gone, but she’s not gone. She’s always here with us still.
You don’t understand, but you could, if you open your eyes, if you accept the way things must be.
It’s what I had to do. I loved her, and she’s still here with me. ”
Sophie coughs. Her eyes flick to her phone again.
“James, let me get this straight—are you saying Emma died here, on the Blackthorn Estate? That you and some of the other residents covered it up, back in 2013? Can you prove this?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll show her to you.”
* * *
So, I haven’t got much time, but I wanted to record this before James takes me to what he claims is Emma’s last resting place.
I never… When I approached Berry to do this interview, I never thought it would lead me here.
We’ve had a couple of cases reopened thanks to this podcast, but this…
I mean, if she’s really buried here, on Blackthorn, then there’s proof of an actual crime, of a murder or…
covering up her death at least. James hasn’t told me exactly what happened yet, but he says it’ll all make sense.
Anyway, I’ve only got a few seconds. He thinks I’m going to the loo…
I can’t believe where this has gone, so I just wanted to get this down.
I think… I guess he feels guilty in some way?
I don’t know—maybe he is guilty, maybe he did this.
I have a can of pepper spray in my bag, just in case things go south, but I’m not getting that vibe from him.
He just looks…sad? Resigned? Tired, too.
Like this whole place. Hang on, he’s coming back…
* * *
It takes them almost ten minutes to gather Sophie’s things and head along the balcony and down the concrete steps, winding their way to the bowels of the building.
Sophie’s still recording as she goes, and she keeps stopping to narrate an observation into her phone, or describe the utter disrepair of everything that surrounds them.
The microphone has been stowed away somewhere, and Jim is glad.
None of this should be on the record. It was all so much easier back then, but now, in this age of amateur broadcasters and video bloggers…
More than ever, Blackthorn must hide in plain sight.
Her phone they can deal with later. It won’t be the first time.
The concrete grows darker as they descend. Jim doesn’t know why—it’s as if the building is a gigantic sponge, soaking up water from below, gradually, over the decades. If that’s true, then it has soaked up so much more besides. Like a plant, or a fungal growth, the Blackthorn Estate needs to feed.
When they reach the ground floor, he pushes open a stained metal door at the base of the stairwell, and they descend again, down one flight of stairs, then another.
The steps are worn in the middle by the procession of feet over the years, polished smooth by shoes in their thousands.
Dim strip lights cast shadows on the concrete.
The air catches in the back of his throat like fine particles of rust, scratchy and metallic on his tongue.
Jim senses Sophie tensing beside him, but he says nothing.
It’s as they reach the bottom landing that she speaks, her voice thin and weak in the near darkness.
There’s another door in front of them, once green but now stained red and brown around the edges, like something has leaked through from the other side.
It’s cold, and an electric shiver runs through his bones.
“What…what is this? James? Did something happen to Sophie down here?”
He can hear the other question in her tone; the one that wonders if she is safe here, if she has maybe bitten off more than she can chew. He knows the answer to that, and her other questions, but there’s no point in telling her. The time for words is long past.
“It’s best I show you,” he says, pushing the door open so she can step through. “You’ll see. It’ll all be clear soon.”
The basement room is as big as the footprint of the estate, running beneath the tower blocks like a dry lake.
The ground is packed earth, unfinished but trodden down over the years; the ceiling above is dark, featureless concrete.
There’s an unsettling sense of the weight above them, pushing down, the room itself little more than a trapped bubble of air that might pop at any moment.
There are no light fittings, but the occupants of the room have brought their own. Sophie can see some of the faces beyond the torches and phone screens, held in front of them like beacons. Was that Mikey Strickland? And Jackie, who Jim had cheated on Emma with, back in the day? And?—
“Simon? Is that you?”
There are others too, faces she remembers but couldn’t name. Fifty of them, maybe sixty, packed into the wide darkness like a congregation at church. The room stinks of wet dirt and sweat.
“What is this?” Her doubt has turned to panic now; Jim hears the fear as she tries to shine her own phone on some of the faces. “Why are you all down here? Did…what did you do to Emma?”
Jim doesn’t look at her as he speaks.
“I’m sorry you had to hear it like this.
It’s not right. But Em—she died here, in this room.
We’re not proud of what we are,” there’s a murmur around the room, “but we do what we have to. The Blackthorn has its ways, and there’s nowt we can do to change that.
If it makes things better, she died helping us to live, Em did. It didn’t mean nothing.”
Sophie turns back to the door, but the crowd has closed behind her. Her hand is shaking so badly that the light is bouncing around, throwing shadows across the floor. Jim can see the app is still recording—not that it matters. None of this will matter soon.
When her phone light hits something uneven in the floor she staggers forward, abandoning any attempt to retreat.
Jim knows what she’s discovered: the outline of bones poking through the dirt, arms spread so that the ribcage cracks wide, the skull, jaw broken, half-submerged where the heart—Emma’s heart—should be.
“I’m sorry,” he says, as she vomits in the dust and four of the men move forward to pin her down.
“Really I am. But you’ve seen what the estate’s become.
The council, they don’t help. We have to look after ourselves.
If we’re to have homes to live in, then the Blackthorn needs fresh blood. Em knew that, in the end.”
As the men pull back Sophie’s head, Jim takes his father’s knife from his pocket and steps forward. Somewhere, beyond the concrete walls, he can hear singing.
* * *
I should have thought twice before doing this… You can probably hear from my voice that I’m getting all choked up. It’s strange being back here, on the Blackthorn Estate. Revisiting old haunts is always unnerving, I guess. They’re never quite the way you remember them—familiar but different.
Maybe I’m remembering things wrong, but growing up, I always felt like there were people all around me, a real sense of community.
Even on the Blackthorn, there were always familiar faces, folks saying hello.
But something’s changed—to me or to the estate, I can’t say.
All I know is that I’m not one of them anymore. I have everything they don’t.
I’m the outsider now, aren’t I?