Secrets

Twelve years had passed since Fran had last been in the old run-down barn on Gilbert's farm, but time didn't seem to have touched it. Inside and out, it hadn't changed at all. Same damp smell, same chill in the air, same ragged old couch that used to live in Fran's front room before her dad had agreed she could keep it here, so long as Framer Gilbert didn't mind. Of course, he hadn't minded one bit; he never minded anything she and Billy got up to on his old retired farm. They helped him with the few remaining animals living on the land, they ran errands for him as he was too old to be traipsing into town, and they kept him company. In return, he was happy for the two of them to play however and whenever they wanted on his land. This old barn had always been their favourite place. Most of Fran's memories were here. She wondered if that's why it still stood as it always had – un-weathered and unchanged - all the memories it held keeping it alive, but also trapped in the past with them. She and Billy had shared all their secrets in here, from childish dreams to high school crushes. They'd experienced their first taste of alcohol in here, in the form of a cheap bottle of wine pinched from Fran's grandma. They'd got very drunk from very little, and repeatedly promised to always be by each other's side. It was daft, but ever since that night, whenever one of them needed the other, they'd reaffirm that drunken promise together. Fran had broken it, though, twelve years ago. All those happy memories were now sullied with the sadness of lost friendship. Her hand clasped the folded piece of paper in her pocket; her reminder of why their friendship had ended. It was the one secret that neither had shared with the other, but now it needed to be unearthed. The same piece of paper that broke their bond twelve years ago, would today renew it.

She sensed him in the doorway, and turned slowly to face the man who'd been her best friend for her first eighteen years, but a stranger for the last twelve.

"Hi." She said, unsure how to start a conversation with someone she'd actively avoided for so long.

"Francesca." He replied, moving towards her so she could actually see his features, rather than just his silhouette in the sun that shone behind him. He looked so familiar. More memories from their childhood and teen years flickered in her mind, snippets of them playing out like a highlight reel.

"How are you?"

"Good." He moved over and sat on the couch, the same side he always used to sit on all those times they'd sat together. Fran followed suit, taking her old place next to him. "You?"

"Yeah, good." She felt like she'd been looking at his face for too long, so flicked her eyes round the old barn instead, trying to pick something to settle on. "This place hasn't changed at all, has it?"

"Nope."

"Do you still come here? Do you live nearby still?"

Billy exhaled slowly. "Look, Fran, I don't know why you've decided you want to meet up after twelve years of not speaking to me. If you want to reconnect, that's fine, if you have an agenda, that's fine too, but I need an explanation. Over the years I've managed to get to a place of acceptance that you cut me out of your life so abruptly and completely, but whatever it is you're looking for here, whatever your reason for getting in touch, I can't go any further until you tell me why. We shared everything; we spent nearly every day together, right up until that day we opened our exam results. I thought at first that you were upset, that I got the grades to get into Bellhurst and you didn't, so I tried to give you space and time. But it can't have just been the grades. Twelve years. My best friend, the person I'd shared my whole life with, suddenly gone with no explanation. You didn't even come to Farmer Gilbert's funeral. I need to know why, Fran. Why did you cut me out?"

Fran moved the piece of paper in her pocket between her fingers. Anticipation pulsated through her body. She'd envisaged this moment so many times over the years, imagining all the possible ways it could play out.

"I'm sorry. I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Of how you might react."

"How I might react? To what?"

"To something I found out."

"What did you find out?"

Fran gripped the paper in her pocket, took a slow breath, then pulled it out quickly and held it towards Billy, before fear could stop her. He reached out to take the paper, but she held on.

"I need to tell you why we're here first."

"OK. Why are we here?"

"We're here, because I need your help. I killed someone, too.' She released the paper as she finished her sentence, letting him reclaim the evidence she'd held for twelve years.

"What?!"

Billy hadn't opened the paper; he didn't look like he was aware of it in his hand. He didn't look angry or scary as she'd expected though; he looked confused. He was going to play dumb instead of admit what he'd done. She needed to assure him that she wasn't going to turn him in or reveal his secret to anyone.

"I found that, the day we got our exam results. I found it in here, and was coming to tell you about it when we bumped into each other by the door, do you remember? Your journal fell open on the ground and I saw that the page had come from it. I realised you'd written it, and I didn't know what to do. I pretended I got bad grades and couldn't go to Bellhurst with you. I couldn't speak to you, but I didn't tell anyone, I swear."

Billy's expression didn't change as he unfolded the paper and started reading. Fran's mind transported her back to the day she'd found it.

There'd been a rare summer storm that morning. The farmlands were soaked, making the mud thick and slimy, but Fran happily trudged through it to meet Billy at the barn. They'd agreed to open their exam results here, together. The barn was empty when she got there, so she'd sat to wait for Billy. That's when she'd seen the paper, and picked it up absentmindedly to read it:

"In the silence between her screams, I swear I could hear more than her frantic heartbeat; I could hear her blood racing through her body; I could hear her sweat pooling in beads on her skin; I could hear her eyes rolling back behind her eyelids. Yet still, I wasn't satisfied. Ever since the first time, I've tried tirelessly to find that same rush, but so far, nothing compares. I should stop. I know I should stop. It's wrong. The first time was an accident. I wanted it to happen, but in a fantasy sense, not a realistic sense. When it did happen... There are no words to describe that feeling. I need to find that feeling again. I can't stop until I do. I shouldn't get caught. I know what I'm doing."

By the end of the third read, the magnitude of what she was reading had sunk in. This was someone writing about a murder. Someone who had killed more than once, and intended to do it again. The realisation hit her that, whoever had written this, had likely been in the barn, her barn. She'd grabbed her bag and hurried to the door, spinning back to make sure no one was lurking behind her. It was as she was looking back that she'd bumped into Billy on his way into the barn, and his rucksack had fallen to the floor. He'd started grumbling about her watching where she was going and how all his books were muddy and that she could help instead of just staring, but she was already shaken from what she'd found, and now she couldn't tear her eyes away from the open journal that revealed where the page belonged.

"Fran!" Billy's shouting brought her out of her flashback and into the present moment. Her heart raced from reliving the memory. She focussed on his face, trying to gauge how he was going to react now that he knew that she knew his secret. "Is this why you cut me out of your life?"

"Yes."

"You thought— you think I've killed people?"

"That page was from your journal."

"Yes, but it's not about killing people, Fran. I was having an affair with a married woman. It's about that."

Fran opened her mouth, but she couldn't speak. Panic compressed her chest and squeezed her throat. She'd just told him she'd killed someone, expecting him to be able to help her, thinking it made them the same, but it didn't. Was he telling the truth? She'd read that passage so many times, the words were etched in her mind. It could easily be about an affair. How could she not have seen that before? Why had she never challenged, or even revisited, her original assumption?

"Fran! Did you really kill someone?"

"I— I didn't mean to. It was self defence."

"Holy crap, Fran!"

Billy stood and started pacing the small barn. He ran his hands over his face and head. All Fran could do was watch. She had no idea how to proceed from here.

"You cut me out of your life, over this!" He threw the paper down next to her. "And now you've come back because you wanted my help. Well, not my help, the help of a murderer."

Tears began to roll down Fran's cheeks. Tears of fear, tears of panic, tears of regret - tears at the complete mess of her life.

"What did you expect me to do? Help you get away with it?"

The tears turned to sobs. "I don't know. I didn't know what to do. I just needed help."

Billy paced a few more times, before taking his seat on the sofa again.

"I can't believe you didn't ask me about it. I can't believe you actually thought I could be a murderer."

"I'm sorry. I was scared. Stupid. I'm scared now. What do I do?"

"You go to the police."

"No, I can't. I don't want to go to prison. I didn't mean—"

"If it was self defence you won't go to prison."

"I will. It's manslaughter."

"No, you won't, and it's not."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm a lawyer."

"You're a lawyer? Oh god, I've just told a lawyer that I killed someone."

Fran hugged her stomach and folded forwards, her knees sliding to the cold hard floor as she did. Billy moved round and crouched in front of her. He cupped her face, gently raising it to look at his.

"Twelve years lost, all over a misunderstanding. And now this." He was speaking more softly now.

She wiped her tears on her sleeve. "I'm so sorry, Billy. I'll go. I'll go to the police so you don't have to keep my secret."

She stood to leave, not wanting to look at him and see that disappointment and sadness again. She'd reached the door when she felt his hand in hers.

"We'll do it together."

"No, I can't drag you into this after what I've already put you through."

"You came here for my help. Let me help. I want to. I've missed you."

She tried to smile, but her face was still contorted by the sobs that wouldn't relent. She gripped his hand instead. She'd missed him too, in the moments she forgot about what she thought he'd done.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll always be by your side, Fran."