By Any Other Name (11 page)

I knock back the glass of punch – it is lethal, I can tell from the first gulp – and grab Fraser’s hand. ‘What?’ He laughs and resists for a second but then lets me
drag him to the room that’s been beckoning me for the last five minutes. ‘Oh what, you want to dance?’

I grin and nod as I pull him through the door, because the music’s too loud for anything else. And then I lose myself in the beat and the movement.

I don’t care whether Fraser can dance or not – I notice as an afterthought that he’s OK at it but nothing to pay special attention to. I don’t care if he’s enjoying
it or not. This is my Zen place, where the energy touches my consciousness and recharges it.

I dance.

Nothing comes close to this feeling. Nothing else ever touches me this way. Only music takes me here.

I don’t know how long it is before Fraser presses another drink into my hand and I glug that down gratefully. He retreats to the side of the room and watches me. I can’t stop –
it’s been months and months and this feels so good.

Freedom. In every cell.

What stops me in the end is when someone changes the playlist and puts some dumb-ass boy band track on. I head towards the open French doors for air. Fraser follows and we meet on the terrace.
He’s holding a bottle of wine and swigging from it. When he passes it to me, I take a drink. It tastes vile, but I drink more anyway just because.

He’s saying something, but my ears are still blocked from the music and I can’t hear him. It doesn’t matter. I can tell from his face that he wants us to go down the steps into
the garden. I nod and walk off, leaving him to follow and taking another swig of the wine, which now tastes of ‘to hell with everything sensible’. That’s a good taste, whatever
the wine is like.

When we get to the bottom of the steps, he grabs me and pulls me close to him. I stare up into his face, part challenge and part encouragement.

What do I feel now? Not sure . . .

He bends his head. I focus on how good-looking he is. His lips touch mine.

I feel . . . nothing.

Nothing?
How come?

Maybe it’s the wine.

His fingertips are stroking up and down my arms. But they could be anybody’s. Not the hottest boy in the year’s. Nothing special. No electric charge across my skin.

Maybe the punch was too lethal.

But I can walk straight. I don’t feel drunk. Just distant from this, from him. What’s wrong? He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?

He kisses me properly and I go through the motions puppet-like. I doubt he can tell. I think I fake it well enough.

This is too, too weird. It wasn’t this way with Dan or any other boy I’ve kissed. How can I be left cold by a guy this good-looking? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe I’m in a
funny mood, maybe it’s the punch. But I’m not messing this up in case I change my mind later. With luck he thinks I’m just holding him off a little so he doesn’t get carried
away. When he pulls back to look at my face, he doesn’t have a clue that I was less into it than him.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he says and kisses me again. But his words do more to me than his mouth does.

Now, with manufactured pop belching out of the speakers and his lips moving over mine, I know I’ll be glad when the evening is over and we go home. I need to figure out what’s going
on because I don’t get it at all.

I make excuses to get him back inside – I need more punch, I’m thirsty. I drag him over to talk to his mates, then I run off with Gemma for a while and let her drone on about some
guy she fancies in the year above. I fake excitement and squeal along with her. Fraser follows and his hands are all over me, but my skin is still numb to his touch. So weird. I let him all but
grope me for a while, just so I can get a handle on how strange it is.

There’s a vase in an alcove opposite us high up in the wall. It has a Chinese pattern and looks expensive, and it
is
beautiful. But it’s of no use. A decoration with no
substance. That’s what it feels like with Fraser. He’s pretty, but . . . there’s nothing more . . .

I wish I could talk to Tasha right now. Maybe she could help me understand it. Hot is hot, right? Except now it seems like it’s not.

When he takes me home later and kisses me goodnight, I’m glad to wave goodbye to him and close the door behind me so I can stop pretending.

S
o it seems Fraser and I are an item. How did that happen? A week ago I might have wanted it. Now? I’d have to say not really.

Maybe it’ll get better. Maybe I’ll feel different next time he touches me. Maybe I’m simply weirded out from all the freakiness of the past months.

Maybe not.

He texts me on Sunday, not loads but enough to show he’s definitely interested. On Monday at school, he makes for me on the way to registration and slips his arm round me in the corridor.
And suddenly everyone knows about us. Everyone is speaking like we’re together.

So I guess we are together. It could be worse. He’s good for my image. He knows people. He’ll help me fit in.

Only Holly isn’t supposed to be dating the school stud. She’s supposed to keep her head down. For the first time in the last few weeks, I wonder if I’ve been stupid. What have
I got out of the tangential leap I made after the Facebook episode? I talk to some people I don’t really care for and I’ve somehow acquired a boyfriend that I’m not really into,
bizarre though that is.

I mean, what am I doing? All the lengths I went to, to make myself into someone else. I even gave up playing my violin.

Why did I give it up? I can’t fully remember my reasoning now, or rather I can’t get it to make sense any more. Was it the association with everything that happened? Or did I just
overreact to the identity change? It wasn’t as if they told me I had to radically alter
everything
about myself. That was all me.

But when someone holds a gun to your head to blow your brains out, when you’ve seen what they did to a friend, to Katya, you never want them to find you as long as you live. You’ll
do anything to stop that. How did I manage to forget that in the last few weeks?

I remember when the police came to speak to me in the hospital when I was recovering after I got away from the men they sent to kill me. Two women came to talk to me – I never did recall
their names.

‘Where’s Mum and Dad?’ I’d kept asking the nurses that question, but they wouldn’t tell me. Perhaps these women would. ‘And why is there a policeman outside
my door all the time?’

They looked at each other. ‘Don’t you remember what happened?’ the first one said.

‘The doctor never said anything about amnesia,’ the second said to her with a frown.

‘Of course I remember what happened. I want to see my mum and dad. Where are they?’

‘The officer is there for your protection.’

‘Where’s my mum and dad?’ I was starting to panic that they weren’t going to answer this.

‘You’ll see them soon. As soon as you can be discharged. They did come to see you while you were unconscious. But if you remember what happened, Louisa, you’ll understand why
it’s not safe for them to come here right now.’

I burst into tears. My head still hurt, with a sharp throbbing pain despite the painkillers, and I wanted my mum so badly.

One of the women tried to put her arm round me. I pushed her away. I didn’t want her. If I couldn’t have Mum, I wanted a nurse there, not those two with their hard faces and lack of
sympathy. Even the woman’s arm around me felt bony and irritated, as if she was only doing it because she had to.

‘Louisa, we need you to try to calm down. I know it’s been very difficult and you’ve had a frightening experience, but we’re here to try to explain how we can keep you
safe from now onwards.’

‘Can I see one of the nurses, please?’ I said through the tears.

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t. We do need to explain procedures to you and we can’t do that with a third party here. It’s just too dangerous.’

The second woman passed me a tissue. ‘You and your family are now in the witness protection programme, Louisa. We were concerned that the people who came after you in relation to Katya
Chernokov’s kidnapping would come after your family as a revenge attack or to try to stop you from testifying against them.’

‘Why didn’t anyone think of that before it happened? And what do you mean, testifying? I can’t testify when you haven’t caught them.’

‘No, of course not.’ The first woman sounded irritated. ‘But you did indicate your willingness to testify if they were caught.’

Yes, I had. I’d seen Katya and what they’d done to her. I’d said yes to testifying after that. I guess that was why they’d let me see her, so I’d agree. I
couldn’t say no after seeing her in that state.

I took a deep breath and tried to regain control. ‘So when can I see Mum and Dad? And what do you mean about witness protection?’

‘We’ll take you to your parents as soon as you can be discharged from hospital. Perhaps tomorrow or the day after. Your doctor says you’re doing well.’

My panic subsides. Not long. I can see them soon.

‘They’re in a hotel in a location only your Witness Protection Liaison Officer knows. He’ll take you to them and from there you’ll go to another location. He’ll
explain it all to you as soon as you come out of hospital. Any questions?’

Any questions? How about a million?

Perhaps I was right in the beginning about who Holly should be – quiet, unobtrusive, invisible. Really I just wanted to be me. But who is me when my friends and my home
are gone, and even Mum and Dad have to be who they’re not? The only one who can still be herself is Katie and suddenly I have an overwhelming desire to be with her. I avoid the others in
school for the rest of the day, making excuses about coursework, and I slope off to the library. The truth is I can’t stand to have to act. Of course, I could
not
put on an act, but I
can’t remember how to do that, except when I’m with Katie.

I race home at the end of the day and my sister is waiting for me. I grab her and hug her, squeezing hard until she squeals.

‘Come on, Popsicle, we’re going to the park.’

I can see the signs of spring bursting through in the gardens as we walk up to the playing fields: daffodils with yellow trumpet heads nodding at us in the stiff April breeze, buds starting to
form on shrubs and trees, and the afternoon sun is that bit warmer than it was last week. I’m with Katie, the day is over and my mood lifts. Maybe life isn’t so bad.

The playground is empty this time so Katie has it all to herself. ‘What first? Climbing frame, slide or swings?’ She’s not a fan of roundabouts generally. I can see her eyes
drawn to the swings, but she surprises me by going for the climbing frame first. I help her out when she gets to the monkey bars – she likes some support when she’s reaching from bar to
bar because she’s scared of falling off. Funny, because she’s got no fear on the swings at all.

It’s on her third time down the slide that I hear a voice call, ‘Hey, Holly!’ When I turn, there’s a bunch of people from school walking across the basketball court
behind us – Fraser’s friends, though he’s not with them. He’s back up the field talking to someone, a girl I can’t recognise from this distance. Lucy is wrapped round
Stuart as usual and Gemma’s showing renewed interest in an ex of hers that she ditched because he can’t kiss well enough. But maybe she’s changing her mind. Being without a
boyfriend when Lucy is perma-bonded to Stuart is bugging her.

They all wave but don’t come over, except Cam who detaches herself from the group and wanders towards the netting. ‘Who’s this?’ She nods at Katie who’s zooming
down the slide with a squeal that makes everyone look at her.

I grit my teeth.

‘My little sister.’

‘Aw, how cute,’ Cam says in a patronising voice, like Katie is a puppy or something.

Katie bounds up. ‘HELLO!’

Cam takes a step back from the netting. The group are staring. ‘Er, hello. What’s your name?’

I clench my fingers round my thumbs as Katie stares at Cam, and stares. And stares some more. ‘I don’t like you,’ she announces after careful consideration. If it wasn’t
so awkward, I’d laugh. Her timing is just so crazy funny.

Cam takes another step back and looks at me, prickling with hostility. ‘What’s her problem?’ Yep, everyone is definitely riveted to us now and Fraser is heading over. The girl
he was with has disappeared.

Katie glowers as a couple of others wander over to join Cam. She feels crowded, I can tell, and I put my arm round her.

One of the boys, a friend of Cam’s I recognise from the party, leans on the netting. ‘You should teach her some manners. That was well rude. You shouldn’t let her get away with
that.’

‘Yeah, tell her off,’ Lucy’s younger sister adds.

They stare at me, waiting, and I can feel my cheeks getting hotter and hotter, and then Fraser arrives. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Holly’s sister was just completely rude to me and she’s just let her get away with it,’ Cam says indignantly. ‘I didn’t do a thing and it’s so out of
order.’ Her eyes start to fill up and I could slap her face for that, the faker. She’s not that upset at all, just going for the sympathy vote because she doesn’t like me.