By Any Other Name (25 page)

I read on. There’s a bunch of answers saying how strange it is that I don’t talk about old friends, and more speculation. It’s after that the photos start.

She’s been stalking me around the village and taking photos on her phone when I’m not looking, and getting other people like Gemma to do the same in school. They’ve got some
kind of uber-loser competition going on for bitchiest caption for the photos.

Well, Crudmilla, you picked the wrong girl to bully. Because all
this? I just don’t care. It shows just how sad you really are
. And when I count, I see there’s only
about six people posting with her. Even her best friends can’t be bothered with it.

I ring Joe and tell him to look online . . . and then there’s a volley of swearing down the phone.

‘Yeah, I know, I know. No, I’m not upset. I mean, I was shocked, but it’s too . . . oh, I dunno the word . . . to get upset about.’

‘Puerile!’ he spits down the phone.

I laugh. ‘Yeah, that. Anyway, what do you think I should do?’

‘Nothing. She’d just get off on that. I’ll report it as abuse and it’ll get taken down. It’ll bug her more if you don’t say or do anything.’ And then
there’s another torrent of swearing while he rants.

I grin, despite it all. He’s just what I needed.

‘Why she’s so bothered by me anyway?’

‘Your loser ex, that’s why. She’s obsessed with trying to get into his pants.’

‘Yeah, but I’m not seeing him any more so what’s the problem?’

‘He’s obviously not taking her up on it. Maybe she thinks he’s still into you.’

I shake my head. ‘I just don’t get it.’

‘I know,’ he answers and I can hear a smile in his voice – weird.

It’s only afterwards, when we’ve made each other laugh and bitched long and hard until we’ve put it all to rights, and he’s rung off, that a cold little chill creeps up
my spine. A thin, icy shiver along each vertebra in turn, deathly slow.

My picture is out there on the internet, along with my new identity . . . This isn’t supposed to happen. Ever.

I ought to call witness protection . . . but Joe said he’d report it, get it taken down. And the thought of telling Mum and Dad, and them seeing how someone hates me so . . .

They’ll care. Mum will cry, I know she will.

So I choose the most dangerous option. I turn off the computer and try to forget about it.

I gamble.

Please, you up there, whoever you are, let me win . . .

It kills me to close things off with her, but right now it’s too dangerous. I said I’d do anything to stop them finding us. No matter how much I try to justify it
to myself by saying it’s Tasha and she’d never tell etc, I’ve still put us at risk and that’s so wrong. I have to stop it now while no harm’s been done.

The thing with Crudmilla brought me to my senses. I was lucky – two days later the page disappeared. My gamble paid off. But I’m not taking any more chances so shutting Tasha out is
the only thing I can do.

The doorbell goes and I shout to Katie. ‘Come on. Time to go.’

Joe’s dad is driving us to a nearby country park for an Easter egg hunt. Apparently it’s an Easter Monday tradition and Joe and Matt always went when they were kids. They thought
Katie might like it too and I think Matt wants to get out and about from what Joe said.

We hop into the Land Rover. Matt’s in the front and we squash in the back with Joe and the wheelchair. It’s not too far.

Maybe we all need a day doing something like this.

Their dad drops us off and tells Matt to text when we want to come home. Matt sets off towards the registration stand, propelling himself in the wheelchair. I shake my head – it’s as
if he took off in a rush before we could push him. I’d never attempt to push Matt. I’d be too scared. He’s so together it’s not real.

He fills the entry form in and we hover behind. Katie’s hopping on one foot with excitement. The woman at the counter takes the form back. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she booms at
him.

He scrunches his face up at her. ‘I’m in a wheelchair, love, I’m not deaf.’

I wince for him. He doesn’t appear to be anything other than slightly irritated and turns his chair round to hand us the maps. Joe’s scowling at her from under his fringe of hair and
I pull him away before he has an outburst. ‘Stupid bitch,’ he mutters in my ear as we follow Matt towards the start.

Katie’s looking at her map, though she doesn’t understand it, so she hasn’t seen Joe’s blacker-than-black expression as he takes in how many people are staring at Matt as
we pass. ‘They don’t mean anything,’ I whisper to him.

Joe snarls suddenly.

I follow his line of vision and I see Camilla standing at the start, staring at Matt. She’s with Gemma, who’s also staring with her mouth open. Matt stops the chair a few metres from
them. Cam looks lost for words. She doesn’t notice the rest of us at all. Her eyes are fixed on where Matt’s legs aren’t and revulsion spreads slowly over her face. Gemma’s
almost in tears.

‘Hi,’ Matt says tonelessly to both of them and then he turns to Katie. ‘Are you ready? Fastest one to that tree over there! Come on, race you!’ He sets off before
he’s finished speaking and Katie squeals, taking off after him. Cam turns and walks quickly in the opposite direction, with Gemma following, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

‘What was that about?’ I ask Joe, who’s looking like he might explode.

‘Last time he was home on leave, Crudmilla tried it on with him. She was all over him, even though she knows that mate of hers had a crush on him. Matt blew her out. She’s not his
type. But I think she just made it clear to him that he isn’t hers any more.’

‘Let’s catch him up.’ I tug Joe’s sleeve and he nods.

We jog up to the tree where Katie is jumping up and down because she won the race. Matt’s laughing at her, but when he thinks no one is looking I see the first hint of pain in his eyes. He
can’t count on everyone any more. He knew that already, I guess, but being confronted with it is something else. I look at Joe and he’s staring into space with his jaw set in an effort
to keep his temper.

I
t’s the end of the holidays and Joe and I are sitting on a grass bank in the sun enjoying our last afternoon of freedom. Matt went back to
the hospital on Tuesday, but only for a short while because he’s expecting to be moved to a rehabilitation place called Headley Court soon. He said he was looking forward to getting
prosthetic legs and being able to walk on two feet again. Even if they were plastic and metal, he added. Again, I winced inside at his bluntness. And I felt ashamed that I was still having
nightmares most nights while he was so adjusted.

The sun’s shining and I’ve just seen the first bee of the year buzzing lazily around some wild flowers a few metres away.

I’m also secretly watching Joe reading as he squints when a beam of sunlight catches him in the eyes. He’s got a silver ring in his eyebrow and I’m looking at the contrast of
his straight black brow with the curved metal. I follow the line of his sharp cheekbones to his pointed jawline. His fringe is flopped off his face for once as he lies on his back holding the book
above him. His forearms are bare and all smooth skin and sinew beneath. Yes, they’re surprisingly attractive. I’ve never thought of forearms as being attractive before.

I wonder what he thinks of me. Does he find any parts of me attractive or doesn’t he think of me in that way at all? I sometimes suspect he does, but he’s so hard to read. Those eyes
can be unfathomable most of the time.

He catches me looking at him and smiles lazily up at me.

And I’m struck by the maddest desire to lean down and put my lips on his.

I smile back vaguely and quickly turn over and pretend to concentrate harder on my maths paper. But I can still feel the pull, like gravitational attraction, between my mouth and his.

We’re both kind of dreading going back to school and also eager to get it over with too. It’s three weeks now to the start of exams. This is it, the vibe in every
classroom says, no putting it off. It’s now.

Joe’s jittery. He gets stopped about his uniform on the first morning before we even reach class. The teacher is the same one who hassled him about his piercings on my very first day. She
huffs and puffs about his trousers being slung so low and his Converses, which ‘are strictly not allowed as you well know’.

He snaps, ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ and she gasps, looking around for another teacher to support her. I drag him away before he gets into more trouble.

We don’t have any lessons together in the morning. I look for him in the canteen at break although I’m fairly sure he’ll be up the field smoking. But I’m hungry and I
want some toast so I’m not going searching for him today.

Unfortunately the person I do bump into in the queue is Fraser. None of the usual crowd is with him. He hesitates and then nods at me. ‘All right?’

‘Yeah, you?’

‘Yeah.’

We shuffle uncomfortably, two people with nothing at all in common. At one time he’d have been the right person for Lou, but as I discover more and more, Lou is gone and Holly has become a
real person.

I don’t know how or when it happened, but I am. I know who Holly is now. She’s the girl who thinks this school is sucky, but a few people are OK. She’s the girl who hangs out
with Joe. She’s the girl who loves Mum and Dad and Katie. And she’s the girl who’s going to get through the next few months and then the trial and have a future.

‘So, you and that Joe, you’re . . .?’

I raise my eyebrows because that’s really none of his business.

Fraser shrugs. ‘That’s what everyone’s saying.’

‘What about you and Camilla?’

He shrugs again. ‘She’s a friend but I’m not interested in her in that way.’

The way he’s looking at me tells me he’s still interested in me, but he’s puzzled too. I wonder if he knows we weren’t working when we touched, when we kissed. We looked
OK to each other, but there’s nothing deeper. I laugh inside – I don’t suppose
he
can ask his mum why.

But he’s not done yet.

‘That Facebook thing with Camilla, um . . .’ Fraser shuffles uncomfortably.

‘What about it?’

‘I asked her to take it down.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’

Did she take it down because she didn’t want to look bad in his eyes? I wonder why he’s decided to tell me this – does he think I’ll see him as my rescuing knight now? Or
is he even telling the truth about this at all?

And then there really is nothing more to say. I make some excuse to go and he nods and says, ‘Bye,’ and we go our separate ways again.

Joe might not be my boyfriend, but we’re together a lot of the time. After school we have a ton of homework for tomorrow so we agree to meet at mine later to plough
through it together. He runs off to milking. I grab a snack from the fridge when I get home then amble upstairs to boot up my laptop.

I have been logging on to my Facebook account, despite what I said to Tasha, just to check that Crudmilla hasn’t posted any new stuff about me. When I log on today, there’s three
messages from Tasha. Although I know I shouldn’t – and I really do pause for at least a minute – in the end I click to open them.

The first two sound worried but the third says she understands. It’s OK. Contact her when I’m able. She loves me too. Oh and click on the link – it’ll cheer me up.

She’s sent me an attachment. It’s a little animated cartoon strip thing that does make me giggle. That’s so cute of her. I save it to my docs but I don’t reply.

It’s for the best. It’s what the police said. No contact. Certainly not until after the trial.