When Phoenix has enough shots, she puts her phone in her pocket and helps to hold the unicycle. Imo can tell Dylan’s in safe hands and finds herself with the random thought that it’s not the first time Phoenix has taught a child to ride.
Dylan screws up his face when Tegan says it’s time to go, but he has an unexpected ally. Riku opens another drawer and gets out three beanbags and starts to juggle. Less accomplished than Phoenix, it takes him a couple of goes to get into a rhythm but then he’s up and running. Imo takes a photograph on her phone. A shot of Daddy on his own might enhance Tegan’s fake profile.
When Riku sits down beside Dylan and offers him a beanbag, she suggests a group photo. “Tegan get by Dylan, Phoenix next to Riku.”
Both girls cotton on. Tegan shuffles Dylan in closer to Riku and leans in herself. Phoenix sits down but makes sure there’s a gap on her side so they can crop her out.
When they’ve got what they came for, Tegan goes into bad actress mode: “What do you say to the nice man?” But at least Dylan’s thank you and goodbye wave seem genuine.
They hurry back across the hallway and burst into silent laughter in Tegan’s room. Imo’s belly hurts with the effort of not making a noise, Tegan rolls on her bed with a hand over her mouth, and even Dylan smiles before he gets engrossed in the bag of toys his mother packed.
“I thought he’d twig when Phoenix kept diving out of camera shot,” Imo giggles.
“I didn’t dive.” Phoenix tries to land, arms first, on Tegan’s bed but slips onto the floor, laughing hysterically.
“How did you know how to handle the unicycle?” Imo asks. “And who taught you to juggle?”
Phoenix stands up. “Let me show you something.” She rests her forearms on the floor and pushes her legs into the air. The trousers of her dungarees slip to reveal athletic calves. She drops her legs out to the splits, wobbles and, red-faced, falls on her bum. “I’m out of practice.” She sits up and swallows. “I didn’t want to tell anyone.” She takes a deep breath and looks at them all in turn. “My parents are in the circus. I am too, except in term time.”
Imo claps. “I knew it. What’s your act?”
Phoenix shakes her head. “I chose to go to grammar school. My parents kept touring and I stayed with an ex-circus family near school.”
“That sounds like my boarding school but in reverse.” Tegan bursts out laughing again. “Do you miss it?”
Phoenix’s face grows serious. “Not the danger, I don’t miss that.” She stops as a memory clouds her face, then looks up. “Keep it to yourselves. I don’t usually tell people because of the stupid questions. My parents are fire-breathers and I get sick of people asking me what the secret is. It’s annoying.”
There’s silence but Imo knows she’ll explode if she doesn’t ask. “So what is the secret of fire-breathing?”
Phoenix sits on her haunches and grins. “Don’t inhale.”
The three girls laugh until their bellies ache.
Phoenix recovers first and sets about loading the photos from her phone onto Tegan’s laptop. The images make them laugh harder. The group shot that Imo took is better. Riku looks bemused rather than terrified, and Tegan’s smile is less despotic.
Phoenix resizes the image, cutting herself out of it and loads it, plus the best ones of the unicycle bunch. Satisfied with her new fake self, Tegan sends a request to the convenor of the Parents’ Facebook Group. Imo and Phoenix scroll through Tegan’s profile and high-five at their accomplishment. When Dylan tries to join in, they notice he still has one of Riku’s beanbags in his hand.
Phoenix offers to take Dylan to return it. After they’ve gone, Tegan’s laptop pings.
“They’ve replied already. I thought they’d still be at the barbecue.” She clicks a link. As she reads the screen, her eyes widen and the colour drains from her face. She snaps the laptop shut.
Chapter 46
Imogen
“Come on, Tegan. What does it say?”
Imo feels anger rising, like when Inspector Hare says they’ve investigated a sighting and ruled it out. He never explains why. How can he be so sure that they haven’t given up too soon?
“You’ve gone to the trouble of getting Dylan here, you can’t bail now. Tell me what the message says.”
“This is bullshit.” Tegan opens the screen and reads. “‘Welcome. Your request to join the Abbey Parents’ Group is accepted. You can access our page from the link in your inbox. If you see this message in time, why not go along with your son to our family barbecue this afternoon. Sadly I’m not there as my little girl has a nasty cold. That’s parenting for you! Feel free to contact me or any of our members. We’re a friendly bunch. Jane.’” She points to the thumbnail-sized image of a dark-haired woman. “Reckon that’s the woman at the Freshers’ Fair? The name must be a coincidence.”
Jane Brown.
Imo’s pulse quickens. “It couldn’t be, could it? The name Amber’s neighbour, Cheryl, now uses. What if her college isn’t in Ealing like the old boy thought? It’s here. It’s the Abbey.”
But Tegan puts on her dismissive voice. “Hold on. Don’t get carried away. It doesn’t make her Amber’s neighbour. That happened years ago and two hundred miles from here. There must be thousands of Jane Browns, probably half a dozen in Abbeythorpe alone.”
Imo, deflated, nudges Dylan’s wind-up tractor with her toe. Something made Amber freeze that Tuesday afternoon. Coming face to face with a woman she lied to years before could be what made her bolt.
Tegan closes her laptop. “I’ll contact the group in a few days to see if this Jane person’s kid is better. We can decide then how to play it. This woman might know something about Amber, or she might not. Dylan hasn’t had any lunch apart from ice-cream so why don’t I take us out for a pizza. There’s bound to be a place that does colouring sheets and plastic toys while kids wait for their food. Afterwards we can take him on the swings in the town park.”
Imo thinks of Amber’s sister Jade managing her pizzeria. Would she make them welcome if they lived nearer? She might recognize the tiny image of Jane Brown as her ex-neighbour. Imo’s about to suggest another trip to Surrey but decides not to risk upsetting Tegan’s mood. It’s great to see her taking an interest in her brother.
“And I was thinking,” Tegan continues, “when we drive him home tomorrow, we could stop at Waterworld. Make a day of it. I can buy him swimming trunks and arm floats when we get there. I bet he’d love it.” There’s a knock at the door and she gets up to answer it.
“What the hell do you want?” Tegan’s light tone vanishes.
Imo gets off the bed, expecting Ivor or even Riku to be the cause of her sounding angry. But her breath catches in her throat. It’s the stalker from the nightclub, from the audition. Black hoodie, topknot, sunglasses. Tegan was wrong about him being harmless. He must have taken Amber and now he’s come for them. Her hand creeps towards her pocket but her phone’s still on the desk from uploading the pictures. They’re cornered. Dead.
“The boss wants the kid.” His voice is hard, uncompromising. Imo’s insides are leaden.
“I’ve got Dylan until tomorrow.” Tegan’s tone is haughty. “I arranged it with his mother.”
Imo covers her mouth. What? You don’t mess with people like this. She needs to plead; this weirdo wants to snatch Dylan.
“Mrs Parry made a … mistake,” he says.
This man knows Tegan’s stepmother? The way his mouth twists on “mistake” makes Imo shiver.
“What’s he done to her?” There’s a tremor in Tegan’s voice.
“Mrs Parry is fine, ma’am. The boss says the kid comes back tonight.”
“Why would my father entrust you with picking up his son?”
Imo gasps. This psycho, who’s stalked them across the campus since they arrived, must work for Tegan’s dad. Another piece of ballast snaps its rope. Is nothing in Imo’s life anchored? Tegan, her supposed friend, a girl she lives with, denied knowing this thug when she
raised her fears.
“The nanny’s in the car,” he says.
“Dylan doesn’t have a nanny; Kanya looks after him herself,” Tegan replies.
“New arrangements.”
A lump forms in Imo’s throat; poor Kanya. It’s doubtful she had any say in the change of plan.
“I’m supposed to hand over my brother to a woman he’s never met? Well, he’s not here.” Tegan waves her arms. “So you can’t take him.”
Imo gives a grim smile. Tegan’s tone is tigress. Was it only yesterday that she baulked at calling him her brother?
Through the open door, they hear Phoenix come out of her room with the child. She calls out: “Riku’s not answering but we went to find my beanbag set. Dylan wants to show you his trick.” Her voice trails off when she reaches them.
“Tegan’s postgrad friend?” she says, looking at the man and holding Dylan close.
“Did she tell you that?” Imo moves towards the doorway. A lie. This man is no one’s friend.
“I’ll bring him to the car,” Tegan croaks, as if holding back tears. She scoops Dylan up and kisses his hair.
Phoenix offers to help carry his belongings.
“Marlon will do it,” Tegan says, her face hardening. “He’s a loyal donkey.”
The man’s face remains impassive behind his shades.
Chapter 47
Sunday 9 October
Imogen
The muzziness isn’t only in her head; it’s seeped through every vein and bone. Fifteen hours in bed, and crying for Sophia for most of them, she’s ravaged, like an addict on a come-down.
Already afternoon? A flurry of lightness in the molten lead of her mood. But her phone taunts her that it’s not twelve yet. So much of the day to kill. Which day? Monday again, more lectures missed? But her memory lands on Sunday.
She feels pinched and pummelled all over. It’s how her body was after Sophia had been missing a week and her composure finally snapped. The pain of every organ twisted. The realization that the toxic uncertainty could last forever. It’s a memory that refuses to dim. She has a hazy sense of her dad lifting her onto the sofa. Someone – Freddie – putting a cushion under her head. Her body in shiver-spasm, only days later able to process what went on as she lay there. The raised voice of Grandma Jean seeing off more doorstep journalists; Dad’s repeated phone calls to Sophia’s friends; another sombre-faced policeman, filling the lounge with unexpected aftershave. And then the recollection of animalistic shrieks, not recognizable as her own even though they must have been. Worst of all, Mum’s silent tears, turned away from her.
Somehow her mind still holds room for pictures of her life before: with Sophia, screaming in delighted terror on Colossus at Thorpe Park; at the village hall with her final bow as Violet Beauregarde, Grandma and Freddie on their feet applauding; Hurry-up-and take-the-photo-Dad through gritted teeth as she poses in her Year Eleven prom dress. She mourns the loss of normal Imogen almost as much as she grieves for Sophia.
Her mind stretches from her family photos to Tegan’s fake Facebook profile. How deceptive images can be. The woman – Jane Brown – what does her profile say about her? Something stirs in the fog. She only caught a glimpse of the screen before Tegan shut it down, but Jane Brown’s profile starts nagging. It niggles her out of bed, into her dressing gown and to Tegan’s door, even though she’s probably out with the Conservation crowd and Imo’s done being friends with her anyway; she doesn’t need a friend whose father hires henchmen and lies about it. Tegan’s omission is a doubt too far.
When Tegan opens the door, Imo decides to get to the point.
“I’d like to browse the Parents’ Facebook account. See what it says about Jane Brown.”
“Good for you.” Tegan starts to close the door.
“So can I have your password?”
Tegan opens the door again. “Is that it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me after last night?”
Imo blinks. What does she mean? It takes her a moment.
She blushes with shame. “I’m sorry about Dylan. How are you feeling?” How could she have got so wrapped up in Tegan’s deceit that she forgot Dylan?
“How do you think?”
Imo’s never seen her looking less than immaculate before, but her hair is uncombed and her face bare. The way she fronted up to that Marlon man must have been an act. Inside she was probably as scared as Imo.
“Do you think he’ll take care of Dylan?”
“My father?” Tegan’s voice croaks and breaks into a cough.
Imo thinks of the birdlike, friendly, lonely Kanya. What has their jaunt with Dylan cost her?
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” she tells Tegan. “We went along with it.”
Tegan looks at the floor and shakes her head. It’s the first time Imo can remember Tegan breaking eye contact with anyone.
“I’ll come back later. Perhaps we can go for a walk.” Imo cringes. People keep telling her to go for a walk and now she’s suggested it. What the girl will really want is to be left in peace. “If I could just get that password off you.”
Tegan steps into Imo’s space, craning her neck. “Is that all you can think about? You can’t make normal decisions like have a shower or care about your real friends, but you fixate on a girl you knew for two days.” She points at her, her eyes wide with anger. “You let me bring my family into this, my baby brother, and you still can’t leave it alone. You want to drag some poor woman from the Parents’ Group into it too. If she is Amber’s neighbour – and that’s doubtful – don’t you think that girl’s brought her enough trouble?”
Imo backs away.
Tegan calls after her: “Let’s face it, Amber legged it because she’s ashamed. She led her family, her boyfriend, her neighbour on a merry dance and you want her to lead us on another one. Grow up, Imogen.”
When Daisy Is Three
“I don’t want to get out,” Daisy wails as Mummy drags the arm floats down her arms. Mummy is being too rough. She usually gets them off in the showers but they haven’t shampooed today and Daisy still has the stinky swimming pool smell on her.
The changing room is empty so Mummy spreads their things along the bench. They’ve never had this much space before. Daisy cries harder because the others are still swimming.
“Hush, sweetie. It’s time to go.” Mummy peels her out of the wet costume and sits her, naked, on the bench.
“It’s not, Mummy. The swim lady hasn’t done the Goodbye Song.”
“Quick, quick,” Mummy says, holding out Daisy’s fluffy snowflake towel with the hood.
Daisy leans back and feels immediately cosy.
“How’s that?” Mummy says, dabbing Daisy’s nose with a corner of the towel. “Are you warm now?”
Daisy tries to wriggle free in a noisy, sobbing sulk.
“You’ll be cold,” Mummy says sharply. “Up to you.”
Daisy stops wriggling and studies Mummy, trying to gauge how cross she is. She seems to be in a hurry. Her shoulders are still speckled with water droplets but she’s putting on her clothes. Keeps glancing towards the door. Eventually she smiles. “Would you like a breadstick? Or strawberries?”
“I want crisps,” Daisy says petulantly.
Mummy rummages in the rucksack. “We don’t have crisps. Nasty, salty things.”
“The other mummies have them.”
That funny smile crosses Mummy’s mouth. The one she keeps for people she doesn’t like. She opens a plastic tub and places it on the bench beside Daisy. The strawberries glisten and their sweet tang makes Daisy’s mouth water. But she turns away, folding her arms.
“Why can’t I swim?”
“You know why, Daisy.” The towel on Mummy’s head has pulled her forehead, lifting her eyebrows. “Mummy said you mustn’t speak to anyone. We only came because you promised.”
Daisy bursts into fresh tears. “We always talk to the swim lady.”
“Not today.”
Silent tears roll down D
aisy’s cheeks as Mummy tugs her into pants, vest and tights.
“Are we going to the café?” They usually have beans on brown toast with the other mummies and children. Daisy’s not sure what will happen as the others are still swimming.
Mummy zips up Daisy’s boots. “We’re going straight home.”
Her skin grows stone cold and she shivers. “I don’t want to.”
Mummy looks up. “Eat your strawberries.”
“Home is scary, Mummy. Funny noises.” And a big bang woke Daisy in the night.
Hurriedly, Mummy packs everything into the rucksack, including the strawberries. Her face glows a fierce pink. With Daisy on her hip, she gathers the bag and coats and heads for the door. Daisy’s bathing suit is still on the bench.
“You’ve left my costume, Mummy.” She stretches her arms and legs towards the bench but her waist is clamped to Mummy and they keep moving away.
“It’s the unicorn one,” she says urgently. “With the pink bows, Mummy.”
But the door closes behind them and they speed past the pay place to the car park.
“The pink bows,” Daisy sobs.
Chapter 48
Monday 10 October
Phoenix
An admin office has been transformed into an X Factor audition queue. A zig-zag cordon of red rope conducts the long line of students to desks where secretaries receive their assignments and take their signatures.
They’ve come together in Tegan’s car because they were both running behind the 9 a.m. deadline. No reply from Imo; Phoenix assumes she’s already set off. Tegan is in charge of signing in her group’s Business Studies project proposal. Phoenix has written an essay. Blood, sweat and apostrophes – it’s years since she’s written anything of length, having ducked out with A levels in Maths, Physics and Design Technology.
“I’ll know to get here at ten next time,” Tegan says, sighing at the wait ahead of them.
Having Dylan taken away hit her hard. Phoenix can tell she’s still not herself, otherwise she’d be working these queues with her sales pitch, shifting jackets.
The Roommates Page 16