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Authors: Gina Blaxill

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #General

Pretty Twisted (17 page)

BOOK: Pretty Twisted
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‘But she chose that.’

I shrugged. ‘We got the blame.’

‘So she walked out?’

‘Dad met her friends but he didn’t fit in. There were arguments, and one day there was a really bad one and she left.’

‘I don’t see how this is your fault.’

I couldn’t stop myself sounding bitter. ‘Me and Olivia weren’t good enough for her to stay, were we?’

Jonathan paused. I got the impression he might not know what to say. ‘Do you see her any more?’

‘Couldn’t at first. She went to live abroad with some guy she met on her course. She phones and stuff, but it isn’t the same. Apparently she’s moving back soon, but I don’t want to see her. She tossed me out of her life – why should I keep her in mine? And I hope she’s hurt. I’ve hurt all the times I wanted her and she wasn’t there.’

‘Not trying to defend her, but she probably didn’t think things through. People don’t when they really want something.’

‘Well, she
should
have thought. She should have been less selfish.’

‘Are you crying, Ros?’

I rubbed at my eyes. ‘Kind of. I just realized that despite everything, I miss her. Doesn’t make sense, does it? Just . . . I remember what she was like. I loved that mum. Pretending she’s become someone completely different doesn’t work.’

I was thinking of Brighton. A year before everything went wrong we went there on a day trip. It was one of those perfect family days you always remember. When we arrived Olivia and I nearly cried because the beach wasn’t sandy, but Mum turned it around by drawing faces on the pebbles and making this amazing game out of them. We had chips for lunch, two ice creams, and we went on a roller coaster on the pier – it was the first time I’d been on such a scary ride and I was so excited! – and we even stayed on for a firework display in the evening, which was amazing. Thinking of Brighton made me feel sick. Mum had been so good at making things fun – and she’d always been the one who was interested in my artwork too, cutting out paper dolls for me to colour and later on tearing interesting pictures from her magazines for me to work from. How had it got to the point where I didn’t even want to talk to her any more?

‘I feel crap now,’ Jonathan said. ‘Every time I think I’ve got it bad, you come out with something worse.’

‘Didn’t mean to make you feel crap.’ I pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘I’ve never really talked to anyone about this – it runs a bit too deep. I mean, me and Olivia used to, but we don’t have much to do with each other these days. She’s always busy.’

‘I sort of understand.’

‘How? You have two parents who love you.’

He paused. ‘Mum and Dad are older than most parents of sixteen-year-olds. I’m the kid they didn’t think they were going to have – and that brings a ton of pressure with it. I have to do well at everything and be better than everyone else – they push me so much academically. Trying hard all the time gets to you after a while.’

‘You got the best GCSE results in your school – I bet they’re really proud of you.’

‘Yeah, but for every good there’s a bad. Some really bad.’

‘Really bad?’

‘Something happened back in February with a guy called Tom Copeland. I lost my temper, he ended up in hospital, the police got involved and it was a real mess.’

‘Wow. What did you do to him?’

A pause. ‘Don’t want to talk about it.’

My eyes widened. ‘OK. You know I’m here if you do.’

‘Uh-huh. Thanks, Ros. You’re a good mate.’

It was a compliment, but it didn’t make me smile. ‘I phoned last night, you know. I was worried.’

‘Mum said a girl had rung.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Nah, I’m sorry. Unfair of me to send that text at all, but I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He sighed. ‘I’m in the doghouse at the moment.’

‘About last night?’

‘Mum keeps saying that anything could have happened to me, wandering the streets at night. Guess she’s right.’ He let out a half-hearted laugh. ‘Good thing Freya dumped me and Mum and Dad feel they have to be sympathetic, else I’d be getting it worse than this.’

‘What did your parents say about Freya?’

‘Lots of stuff about how everything ends sooner or later and maybe we were growing apart anyway – like they know! Dad tried to tell me about a girl who dumped him back in the Dark Ages – it was really awkward.’ Jonathan paused. ‘Dunno how things will be with Dad now. He respected me when Freya was around. It was a kind of “my son has a girlfriend, he’s normal after all” kind of thing. Think he might’ve thought I was gay before.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Dad’s a bit old-fashioned. In his book, blokes play sport, not muck about with computers.’

‘I think you’re unfair on your parents. Sure, you don’t see eye to eye, but it sounds like they’re both there for you.’

‘True. Guess I should be grateful, after what you said about your mum. Puts it in perspective.’

‘If you look hard enough you’ll see that the world’s not that much worse because Freya dumped you. Like my dad says sometimes, with every end comes a new beginning.’

‘I don’t see that.’

‘Well,’ I said, trying to sound casual, ‘you might meet someone else.’

‘Don’t want anyone else. When you love someone, you can’t just turn those feelings off.’

Don’t I know it,
I thought. Once more, Hugh’s words played on my mind: ‘Love tells you who you are.’

Jonathan

Friday 24 October, 10.00 a.m.

‘Please talk to me.’ I’d lost track of the number of times I’d left Freya voicemail now. ‘I said cruel things I didn’t mean and I’m sorry. Stop blanking me and call back – please?’

By the end of the week I decided I had to go and see her again. I was missing classes, but I didn’t care. On the train I found an abandoned London paper and flicked through it.
SECOND GIRL MISSING: POLICE SUSPECT LINK WITH THAMES MURDER
, cried the headline.
Concern is growing for Lyndsey Brown, 17, last seen in the Hammersmith area late on 27 September . . . Lyndsey hasn’t been home since the start of August.
A photograph of a black-haired girl with lots of jewellery accompanied the article. I hoped she wasn’t going to end up like the other missing girl Freya had told me about.

When I arrived at Auntie Phil’s no one answered. I was about to try phoning again when I spotted one of the girls who’d been in the kitchen the night Freya dumped me walking past. I caught up with her.

‘Hi. Do you know where Freya is?’

The girl gave me a dirty look. ‘No, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. She was in tears after you left last Saturday. Screaming at everyone to leave her alone.’

‘Look, I just want to talk to her. Maybe I should try the conservatoire.’

‘Don’t bother. She hasn’t been in all week.’

‘How come?’

‘Dunno. I live across the road – haven’t seen anyone going in or out the house either. Maybe she’s been ill.’

‘When was the last time you did see her?’

‘Saturday – when you were here. We ended up going to the club without her. She went out shortly after we did though. My parents saw her leave.’

‘What? You mean she went out alone, five days ago, and you haven’t seen her since?’

‘Uh-huh. No idea where she was going.’

‘And you haven’t contacted the police?’

She looked as me as though I was from another planet. ‘Why would I?’

‘A girl a few streets away was strangled last month! There’s someone else missing now and she’s from south London too – haven’t you seen the news?’ The blank look on her face infuriated me, and I raised my voice. ‘Freya could have been abducted! If there’s some sicko watching for lone girls, she’d have been a prime target! And if she hasn’t been seen for days . . .’

‘Don’t yell at me. I haven’t done anything.’

‘Have you spoken to her mates? Has anyone heard from her?’

‘How should I know? Look, there’s bound to be an explanation for this. It’s nothing to get worked up about.’

‘One girl’s dead, another’s missing and that’s “nothing”? Are you thick or something?’

She gave me a disgusted look and started walking more quickly. I let her go; I was already heading back to Auntie Phil’s. Checking no one was watching, I felt through the bush by the door. My fingers brushed a plastic bag – and in it a key, just like Freya had said.

Inside, the house was dark and silent. Post lay on the doormat. I placed it on the table by the door. In the kitchen unwashed dishes were stacked in the sink, including the wok from Saturday night. Upstairs, in Freya’s room, I found the curtains closed, the lamp on – and her mobile still on the table. The screen was blank – the battery had worn down.

I felt sick. Freya wasn’t the kind of girl to go anywhere without her phone.

Rosalind

1.00 p.m.

Abby and I were hanging out round the back of the art block at lunchtime. She was filling me in on how things were going with Brian, whom she’d met several times since our trip to Gabe’s house. They’d done a lot of kissing, and Abby thought he was fantastic – real boyfriend material. Apparently he liked her too; never wanted her to leave when she went round, said she was beautiful, gave her loads of the jewellery he’d made. I didn’t talk about Jonathan much now; Abby knew I’d explained my no-show to him and that we were talking again, but making up nice things he’d said to me didn’t feel good any more. I was almost sorry half-term was starting tomorrow; at least school was a distraction. The only plus was that Dad had decided to go to Paris with Petra after all.

When my mobile buzzed I thought I was imagining it. No one had ever called me at school before. My heart quickened when I saw who it was.

‘Keep a lookout for teachers,’ I said to Abby, then picked up, trying to sound normal. ‘Hey. What’s up?’

‘Freya’s disappeared,’ said Jonathan. ‘She went off by herself last Saturday and no one’s seen her since. This is totally unlike her.’

‘She’s still not returning calls?’ I asked.

‘Her phone’s still in her room. Couldn’t find her purse though, so hopefully she has cash . . . I’m on the green underground line heading to the conservatoire to check she isn’t there. Maybe I should call the police – I keep thinking about that dead girl—’

‘Calm down, Jono. Why don’t you call her friends first – and her parents. She might be staying with them.’

‘I can’t call her parents – they’d give me an earful! Maybe I can talk to one of her neighbours back home, or something. And I can’t calm down! If something’s happened it’s my fault because I made her get upset and run off, don’t you see? She always has waitressing shifts on Fridays – maybe I can catch her at the restaurant, though I don’t have a clue where it is – Hey, Ros? You know London better than I do. Maybe you could give me a hand?’

My eyes widened. ‘What? Now?’

‘Yeah, any chance of you skipping school? I could really do with having a friend around right now.’

I pictured him, nervy and probably not thinking straight. Of all the people he could have called for help, he had picked me. ‘OK. We’ll meet at Embankment station in an hour. That’s near the music school, right?’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Ros. See you soon.’

I ended the call. Abby reached up and poked my cheek.

‘You’ve gone pale.’

‘Jonathan’s in London,’ I said. ‘His friend’s disappeared and he’s worried sick.’ Snapping into action, I took out my purse. Thankfully Abby and I had been planning to go to the cinema after school and I’d slipped in a few quid this morning. I had just enough for a travel card.

Abby was gazing at me with a funny expression on her face. ‘You’re bunking off school.’

‘He asked me. I can’t say no – God, Abby, how do I even get out?’

‘Claudia,’ Abby said.

We found her round by the Portakabins having a secret smoke.

‘Ros needs to bunk,’ said Abby. ‘What’s the best way?’

Claudia took a slow drag then threw the stub on to the ground, grinding it with her heel.

Infuriated I snapped, ‘There’s only ten minutes of break left!’

‘You don’t want to piss me off or I might not help.’ Claudia gave me a catty smile.

I took a steadying breath. ‘Sorry.’

‘You need someone to distract the dinner staff. Best way out is the east entrance cos you can creep behind the bushes.’

‘How do I do that?’

‘You bribe my little brother and his mates.’ Coolly Claudia held out a hand. I looked pleadingly at Abby. She dug through her bag and found her cinema money. Claudia counted the coins then pocketed them.

‘Go to the east entrance and wait out of sight. When a Year 7 yells that someone’s been hurt playing footie, you get out.’

‘Thanks.’ Feeling grateful to Claudia – now, there was a new sensation! – Abby and I went to the east entrance and hovered just out of sight of the teacher on duty.

‘I don’t understand,’ Abby hissed. ‘I thought you were afraid of meeting Jonathan.’

BOOK: Pretty Twisted
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