SweetFreak

by Sophie McKenzie

  What is he talking about? He takes a step towards me.

  Fear rises inside me. I shuffle back on the bus shelter seat, flattening myself against the perspex wall behind.

  ‘Who are you?’ I squeak. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Please.’ The boy’s takes another step towards me. ‘Listen.’

  And this time I scream.

  19

  The boy’s mouth falls open in horror. His hand is still outstretched, pointing at me.

  No, not at me, at something over my shoulder.

  ‘I . . . I . . . was just trying to show you the timetable,’ he stammers. ‘There won’t be another bus along here for three hours. The last bus comes then. I’m sorry I frightened you.’

  I glance over my shoulder at the back of the bus shelter. The faded timetable is set inside cracked and grimy plastic.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, feeling both relieved and foolish. ‘Er, thanks.’

  ‘Blue? Blue?’ It’s the girl in the DMs with the rainbow laces. She’s running up the road towards us, scowling furiously. ‘Come on!’ She glares at the boy, whose face under the street light is the colour of the tomatoes Mum insists on putting inside my packed lunches.

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ Blue says, now scowling himself. His hair is shaggier than when I saw him a few months ago. He looks thinner too, his cheekbones sharp in his face.

  The girl folds her arms and studies me. She’s tall and skinny, with loads of thin plaits cascading over her shoulders and three little studs in her right nostril. There’s something effortlessly superior about the way she holds herself. She’s certainly looking down her nose at me.

  ‘Sidetracked by a pretty face, Blue?’ She rolls her eyes.

  ‘I said I’m coming.’ Without a glance at either me or the girl, Blue stomps off.

  The girl looks at me again and, this time, there’s the hint of a smile in her eyes. I smile back, stupidly eager to look cool in her eyes. Then she turns and runs off. Soon both of them have vanished into the darkness.

  What kind of lives do they lead? The girl is at least two or three years older than Blue . . . what’s he doing with her? And where did he get that hippy name? Or those odd trainers?

  It’s now over twenty minutes since Taylor was due to meet me here. I spend a few moments examining the timetable behind me. Blue was right – there’s only one more bus tonight and it doesn’t even come from Taylor’s direction.

  I check my phone again. He hasn’t left any kind of message, which, I’m forced to admit, is not entirely out of character. It’s now over an hour since we were due to meet.

  ‘You’ve stood me up again.’ I say the words out loud, trying to accept what this means: that Taylor cannot possibly be as into me as I want him to be or as I am into him.

  I tug my jacket around me and begin the long trudge home. I’m angry at Taylor. He can’t treat me like this, just cancelling at the drop of a hat without even letting me know. Unless something’s happened to him? I allow myself a little worry over this possibility, but even as I do I know how unlikely it is that anything bad has happened. No, this is typical Taylor: flaky and unreliable.

  It takes nearly fifty minutes to get home. I pass several taxi companies but don’t have enough money to hire one. I would use Mum’s Uber account – she gave me and Poppy the details ages ago for emergency use – but she’ll see the fare and ask awkward questions so instead I hurry back on foot. At home I find Poppy curled up like a cat on her bed watching something on YouTube. Mum, of course, won’t be back for another couple of hours.

  I tell Poppy that Taylor couldn’t make it – leaving out the fact that he stood me up – then I get into bed, feeling numb with misery. Taylor still hasn’t called. He doesn’t overnight. Or first thing in the morning.

  By eleven the next morning I’m beside myself. Perhaps he’s lost his phone? That is certainly more likely than a terrible accident. And, if that is the case, Taylor is probably as gutted about missing last night’s adventure as I am.

  Jamie is pestering me to take him to the woods to play Warriors again.

  ‘Please, Carey, you’re better at it than Poppy. She doesn’t like running through the bushes cos it messes her hair. And Mum won’t run at all.’

  I eye my little brother thoughtfully. He’s waving his sword, a stained tabard hanging cockeyed over his skinny little chest.

  ‘How about I take you to play at Blake’s?’ I ask.

  Jamie tilts his head to one side. ‘Could you take both of us to the woods? Me and Blakey?’

  ‘Sure. If his mum lets me,’ I say, though privately I’ve got no intention of going to the woods. Instead I’m hoping to see Taylor, while our little brothers romp around in Blake’s massive playroom.

  ‘OK,’ Jamie says.

  ‘Good.’ I pick up an eyeshadow brush. If I’m going to see Taylor I want to look my best. ‘Go and check it’s OK with Mum, then get your shoes on.’

  Jamie races out of the room, almost colliding with Poppy who I hadn’t noticed standing in the doorway.

  ‘He hasn’t called you, eh?’ she asks, leaning against the jamb.

  I shrug, not wanting to get into it with my sister.

  Of course this doesn’t deter Poppy. ‘One of the boys in my class knows someone at Taylor’s school, says he’s a bit of a nutter.’

  ‘What?’ I stare at her. ‘I’ve never even seen him swat a fly.’

  ‘Not a violent nutter, stupid, but definitely ruthless. And he takes things to extremes. And he doesn’t care about people. That’s what this boy said anyway.’

  ‘Well he doesn’t know Taylor then,’ I protest.

  ‘Mmm.’ Poppy wrinkles her nose. ‘You’re really into him, aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I say. But I’m blushing as I say it.

  ‘Liar.’ Poppy grins. ‘Anyway, be careful.’ She wanders away and I carry on putting on my make-up. Could she be right about Taylor? He is selfish, that’s true. And that story about the fire at his school was kind of extreme. But the way he listens to me and the way he’s so upset about his dad . . . those are surely signs that he’s a sweet, genuine person underneath.

  ‘Ready!’ Jamie yells from downstairs.

  I grab my black satin jacket, check myself in the mirror one last time and hurry out. Mum materialises in the hall just as Jamie and I are leaving.

  ‘Thanks so much for taking Jamie. Just so you know, I’ve got a hair appointment later and Poppy’s got a shift at the café,’ Mum says. ‘I’ll be back about three.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. Hopefully I’ll be able to spend the whole afternoon at Taylor’s house.

  ‘Come on!’ Jamie hurtles out the front door.

  Butterflies zoom around my stomach as we reach the gravel drive in front of Taylor’s house.

  I ring on the doorbell. I can hear voices inside but it takes nearly a minute before the door opens. Taylor’s mum stands there. She looks harassed, with no make-up on and a DKNY sweatshirt over artfully ripped jeans.

  ‘Jamie!’ She looks from my brother to me, clearly searching for and failing to find my name.

  ‘Carey,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, er, hello.’ She frowns. ‘Did we have a playdate that I’ve forgotten about?’

  ‘No, but Jamie was hoping he could hang out with Blake for a bit.’ This is true of course, but also such a lie that I feel my neck growing hot. I’m suddenly reminded of the night Amelia asked me to take her and my brother round to Taylor’s house, just as I am doing now, using a suggested playdate as a cover for an attempt to see Taylor. At the time I’d refused, hurt that Amelia would try and use me like that, appalled at the idea of using my brother and at how pathetic and needy Amelia seemed.

  And yet here I am, just as pathetic and needy as she was.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Lockwood says. ‘I’m afraid—’

  She’s drowned out by a commotion in the hallway behind. A middle-aged couple and two little girls with white-blonde hair appear. The little girls are fighting over somethi
ng. At the sight of them Jamie shrinks slightly into my side. I put my arm around his shoulders, feeling ashamed of myself.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘you’ve got people over.’

  ‘Friends of the family.’ She pauses. ‘They’ve come to pick up Taylor. He’s staying with them while I take Blake to my sister’s for a couple of days. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago.’ Mrs Lockwood indicates a jumble of bags under a pile of assorted jumpers and jackets.

  ‘Right,’ I say. A seedling of hope roots itself in my chest. Perhaps Taylor was distracted last night because he was going away. Maybe that’s why he didn’t show up.

  On the other side of the hall the two little girls have stopped fighting. Their parents have squatted down and are talking to them in low, serious tones – I can’t hear what they’re saying but it’s obvious the girls are being told off.

  ‘Mum!’ Blake calls from somewhere high up in the house. ‘Mum!’

  His mother rolls her eyes. ‘Coming!’ she yells back. She turns back to us and I can see she’s desperate to get rid of us and finish her packing.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not a good time,’ she says with an apologetic smile. ‘We’re running late as it is.’

  ‘But Taylor isn’t going with you?’ I ask, hating myself for the needy edge to my voice.

  ‘That’s right,’ she says absently, glancing at the messy pile of bags again. ‘Taylor and Abi are such great friends.’

  Who the hell is Abi?

  As I think the question, the answer walks into view: a girl about my age in a skin-tight mini dress and expensive-looking leather boots. She has the kind of hair I’ve always envied: long and shining like a gold sheet. It’s clear that she’s related to the two little blonde girls and their parents. There’s a shared air of designer chic radiating off all of them.

  ‘Mum!’ Blake yells again.

  ‘I’m afraid I have to go,’ Mrs Lockwood says. ‘Oh, Abi, hello.’

  She hurries away as the girl, Abi, wanders over. She looks me up and down with a critical and appraising gaze. ‘Are you looking for T?’ she drawls.

  I gulp, torn between repeating my cover story about bringing my brother here to play with Jamie and admitting the truth in an attempt to get information.

  I settle for something half way between the two. ‘I was wondering if he was here,’ I say, blushing at the note of desperation I can hear in my voice.

  ‘I see,’ the girl says. She looks down her nose at me. Jamie she ignores completely. He tugs at my hand, trying to drag me away. ‘Well,’ the girl says slowly, as if I’m a total idiot, ‘T is here. He’s coming to my house in a minute so he’s busy packing a bag. Who shall I say was asking after him?’

  It’s an oddly formal phrase to use, but it sounds authentic in the girl’s mouth. She’s so poised, a real beauty with slanting eyes and those long, long legs. My own legs feel like jelly; I’m beyond intimidated.

  ‘How come you call him T?’ The question slips out of me like an accusation.

  A slow smile spreads across the girl’s face. I can see she has sussed my jealousy and is enjoying it. My face burns. Jamie’s yanking on my hand becomes more insistent.

  ‘I call him “T”,’ she drawls, ‘because we’re close,’ she lowers her voice, ‘if you know what I mean?’

  She’s inferring that they’re a couple, isn’t she? Or at the very least that they’ve linked in the past.

  ‘Taylor has lots of nicknames,’ she goes on. ‘T is just the one I use.’

  What a bitch. She must know she’s upsetting me.

  ‘I know he has nicknames,’ I say, my whole face burning. ‘Like Super H.’

  I still don’t know what that nickname refers to, but at least it’s a way of proving I’m close to Taylor too.

  ‘You call him Super H?’ The girl raises her elegantly plucked eyebrows. ‘I thought that was just at his school.’

  Defeated, I look away. Jamie is pulling on my arm with real effort now. I take a step away from the house.

  ‘I bet you don’t even know what Super H means,’ the girl hisses.

  I meet her gaze. I know I’m giving away my feelings but I don’t know how to shut them down, how to stop transmitting how helplessly I’ve fallen for Taylor.

  ‘H for Hacker,’ the girl says, conspiratorially, then she straightens up. ‘I’ll tell T you were here.’

  And with that she shuts the door in my face.

  I let Jamie drag me down the path and along the street. My mind reels. Super H means Super Hacker? I think about what Poppy said earlier and how Taylor put the blame for the fire at his school on that other boy, Mooney.

  My breath catches in my throat as a horrific thought flashes into my head. Could Taylor be SweetFreak?

  It’s unthinkable, isn’t it? And yet he’s told me plenty of times that his dad works in IT and there was loads of tech in his room. And you don’t get a nickname like Super Hacker for nothing. It sounds like he could have easily hacked my computer and covered his tracks. And, if he’s as ruthless as Poppy said, maybe he wouldn’t care about me getting hurt in his attempt to hurt Amelia. Maybe he even enjoy toying with me, knowing he’d ruined our friendship.

  I tell myself it can’t be true. That I know Taylor, that he’s a kind and thoughtful person who likes me. He’s my boyfriend for goodness sake, not that either of us have ever used that label.

  And yet what if it is true? What if Taylor, having bumped into me on the way to his little brother’s school, thought it would be fun to play games with me. The fact that he forgets when we’re supposed to meet and ignores my calls shows that I’m hardly always on his mind. Maybe he decided to play games with Amelia too, once he got bored of going out with her. Nasty, evil games . . . No. Wait. He couldn’t have known about the dead bird. Poppy posted about it on NatterSnap but Taylor goes to a different school and probably wouldn’t have seen that.

  And then I remember how Taylor’s mum dropped Jamie at home just as I was putting the pigeon in the bin outside our house. She could have clocked what I was doing and mentioned it to Taylor. I don’t know how he could have got the bird into Amelia’s locker, but he definitely had a potential motive. I remember clearly that he said he had blocked Amelia because her messages annoyed him. Suppose they annoyed him enough to make him want to punish her? He didn’t care about the boy who got framed for the fire at his school, maybe he didn’t care about framing me?

  ‘Carey! Carey!’ I’m suddenly aware of Jamie jumping up and down beside me.

  I stop pacing along. We’re closer to home than I’ve realised. Almost at the point where the woods intersect with the park. I am desperate to get home and think about all this.

  ‘Carey!’ Jamie shouts.

  ‘What?’ I turn on him, irritation flaring.

  ‘You said we could go play in the woods,’ Jamie pouts. ‘But we’ve just walked past the entrance. He points to the pathway just a few metres behind us.

  I frown. No way am I in the mood to play Warriors of the Doom Wood. ‘We’re going home,’ I snap.

  ‘No.’ Jamie stamps his foot. ‘No, you promised.’

  I boil over, a horrible swear word erupting from my mouth. ‘We’re not going to the woods, d’you hear me? You’re so annoying sometimes, Jamie Logan. I can’t stand you!’

  I want to bite back the words as soon as I’ve uttered them. But before I can speak, Jamie’s mouth wobbles, his eyes fill with hot, angry tears and he turns and rushes away.

  ‘Jamie!’ I yell after him. ‘Jamie, come back!’

  But he’s already out of sight along the path into the woods.

  Irritation rises inside me again. What’s he playing at? He knows he’s not allowed to go into the woods without me or Mum or Poppy. I know the way through the trees, right through to the cliffs on the other side, but Jamie is too little. He’ll get lost.

  ‘Jamie!’ I shout again. I walk back to the pathway and peer into the dark forest. There’s no sign of him. He’s probably hiding nearby. ‘Ja
mie, I’m sorry I shouted. Come back, please!’

  I stand and wait. The sun goes behind a cloud, leaving the air damp and chilly. I shiver. ‘Jamie?’

  I run into the woods. Where on earth has he gone?

  ‘Jamie?’ A finger of fear hooks itself around my heart. ‘Jamie, stop mucking about.’

  No reply.

  ‘Jamie, you win, we’ll play Warriors. I didn’t mean what I said. Please come out.’

  I stand, waiting. A car whooshes past, whipping up the leaves at the edge of the trees. I go deeper into the woods. It’s quieter here, just the sound of the wind in the branches.

  ‘Jamie!’ I call again. ‘Please!’

  But though I shout and shout, my little brother does not reappear.

  20

  Fear chases reason as I race through the wood, retracing my tracks over and over, even though it’s obvious Jamie isn’t here. I’m panting for breath, sweat dripping down my face and my back. Where is he? He can’t have just vanished. I crash over twigs and leaves, pushing past branches, my throat hoarse from yelling his name. I widen the scope of my search until I’m almost at the point where the woods narrow, close to the sea.

  There’s no way Jamie would have come this far. I turn around and take a circuitous route back to the place where I last saw him, the entrance to the woods close to the park near our house.

  It starts to rain as I call Jamie’s name one final time. Nearly fifty minutes have passed since he ran into the woods and there is still no sign of my little brother. I imagine that he’s lost, wandering among the trees. I imagine he’s run through the woods and down to the cliffs on the other side. I imagine him falling, terrified, into the sea below. I don’t know what has happened or where he is, all I know is that I’ve lost him.

  I hurry home, not bothering to wipe my damp hair from my eyes. It’s just after three o’clock. Poppy and Mum should be back by now. How am I going to face either of them? Jamie is the very heart of our family, the only pure and innocent element.

  What if someone’s taken him? Maybe the same person behind SweetFreak? Taylor? Abi would have told him I’d come to the door, he could easily have followed us to the woods. Maybe he took Jamie as the price of my silence.