Yeah, sorry Mr Deputy Head, but Erica has abandoned all hopes of a decent education by running away to join a troupe of superheroes. Like that’s going to go down well. I figure that I’ll just have to play coy like I’ve been doing with everyone else, and hope that my poker face is good enough to hold up against the scrutiny of an authority figure.
What I’m not expecting when I finally get into the deputy head’s office, is for Liza to be there. Mr Stanley is there too, sitting behind his desk with his head poised thoughtfully on a tense fist, but I barely notice him. It’s Liza who captures my attention, with her gaunt frame and pale face, made somehow paler by her blonde hair, which is scraped back and forced into an untidy bun. She’s wearing a tracksuit that might once have been white but is now grey, and the half-fastened zip directs my eye to her collarbone, which protrudes painfully. Liza has always been thin, but right now she looks as scrawny as a baby deer, so different from her athletic daughter.
‘Come and sit down, Louise, and don’t be nervous,’ Mr Stanley directs, and I do as I’m told. No chance of running away now.
‘You’re good friends with Erica Elland, am I right?’ Mr Stanley asks, and I nod in reply, too scared to say anything in case I somehow incriminate myself. ‘We were just wondering if you’ve seen Erica at all this week, or even spoken to her. She’s not been in school since Monday. Have you heard from her?’
‘She’s not spoken to me,’ I reply, mouth dry.
‘Would you have any idea where she might be?’ While Mr Stanley talks, Liza’s eyes are wide and searching.
‘No. We had a fight last week. I’ve not heard from her since.’
Mr Stanley sits back in his big desk chair and ponders this revelation. ‘What did you fight about?’ he asks, his tone soft, like he’s trying to coax something out of me.
‘Oh, you know, boys.’ I shrug.
‘It was after she fought with me, wasn’t it?’ Liza sighs. ‘I knew it. I drove her away. And now she’s gone.’
‘You haven’t heard from her?’ I ask. Although I expected her to give me the silent treatment, I hardly considered that Erica would stay away from her mum too. However much they fought, Erica would never just leave.
‘We’ve called the police. Reported her missing,’ Liza mumbles from dry lips.
‘The police?’ I echo.
‘They’ll want to talk to you, but they’re checking in with her father first.’
Mr Stanley fiddles with a pen on his desk, clicking it as though somehow that might diffuse the tension. I wonder whether the police are able to do anything. Would they interfere with Vigil business? Would they be allowed to tell Liza and Mr Stanley what’s going on if the Vigils did talk to them?
‘I think she’s with her father. She must have gone to him.’ Liza turns to Mr Stanley. ‘We’ve been fighting. More so than usual. It’s never been easy, but you must understand – teenage girls, right? Anyway, she used to talk a lot about going to stay with her dad, but I never thought that she’d just up and leave. She drives me mad, but all I ever want is the best for her. Why doesn’t she see that?’
If Erica was here, she’d argue back that her mum has no idea what’s best for her. It plays out in my head as if she really was here, but I stay quiet, for if ever there was a time for shutting up, this is it. I’m relieved that they think that Erica is with her father, but once the police realise that’s not the case, what then? Maybe I should find a way to get through to her, just to let her know that people are worrying and that she has to cover herself. Then hopefully this whole thing will blow over and be forgotten by next week.
‘There’s been this new boyfriend too. Do you know anything about that?’ Liza asks me.
‘Not really …’ I lie. I hate lying.
‘I told her that she shouldn’t be getting involved with boys. Not at her age. Not when so much schoolwork needs doing, and not when she has so much potential. She can’t go around making the same mistakes I did. I won’t have it. And he’s older too – did you know that, Mr Stanley?’
‘Yes, well, about this boy—’ Mr Stanley starts.
‘He goes here,’ I interrupt. ‘His name is Jay …’ It’s only then that I realise I have no idea what his last name is.
‘Except that he doesn’t,’ Mr Stanley takes over. ‘He enrolled in our sixth form at the beginning of term, but then took himself off-register a few weeks ago. Do you know anything about that?’
‘No …’
‘You think this Jay person has something to do with Erica going away?’ Liza asks Mr Stanley.
He turns to me, as if I might have the answers.
‘I didn’t like him …’ I say carefully. ‘We fought about that too.’
‘Is there any chance that Erica might be with him right now, and not at her dad’s?’ Mr Stanley asks.
‘I really couldn’t say. I don’t know.’ I will the conversation to end, because I know that if I start talking about Jay and who he really is, everything else will start to unravel too. Is there any way I can tell them that I’m sure Erica is all right without giving away any specific details?
‘Louise, if there is anything that you can tell us at this point, then it would be incredibly helpful. We’re all concerned about Erica’s wellbeing, so if you’re protecting her –’ Mr Stanley uses his hands a lot as he talks – ‘now is the time to come forward and tell us what you know.’
‘I don’t know anything,’ I insist. ‘We had an argument, and I haven’t heard from her since.’
Except now, instead of thinking she’s run away to the Vigils out of spite, I’m wondering if something more sinister is happening. No matter how I look at this whole situation, I just can’t believe Erica would choose to totally disappear. Because didn’t the Vigils want her to stay in school? Wouldn’t they just escort her back to her mum’s house if she turned up on their doorstep looking for sanctuary? I’d at least expect them to get in touch, or to figure out some way of letting Liza know that everything is fine. Leaving me in the lurch, fair enough – it’s not as if they’ve ever reached out an olive branch to me – but to make Liza so scared; that doesn’t make any sense. And now there’s the police to deal with. Lying to the deputy head is one thing, but lying to the law? I don’t think I could ever handle that. I’m growing increasingly cold as I think about what might be going on, and whether Erica really is safe right now.
‘OK, thanks for your help, Louise,’ Mr Stanley says. ‘The police will be in touch shortly. If you hear anything from Erica, please come and let us know.’
I’m dismissed, and I feel rotten.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and call Erica. As the phone rings, and rings, I steal away into the nearby girls’ toilets so that nobody can see or hear me. I even do that thing I’ve only ever seen on cop shows and in films, checking under the door of each cubicle to see if anyone is hiding. I’m definitely alone.
‘Come on, Erica … pick up the phone …’ I mutter.
I send her a quick message when I realise that nobody is picking up: Where are you??? Are you OK?????
I try ringing once more, telling myself that I’ll leave a voicemail for her. She might still hate me, but she’d hate me more if I just let her mum and the school declare her a Missing Person without telling her about it.
The line picks up but I don’t hear Erica on the other end.
‘Hello? Erica? Are you there?’ Nobody says anything. I take the phone away from my ear so that I can see if the line is still connected. It is. ‘Erica? Erica, can you hear me? Where are you?’
‘You really need to stop interfering with situations that just don’t involve you.’ I recognise Jay’s voice.
‘Where’s Erica?’ I demand.
‘This is none of your business any more.’
‘What’s going on, Jay? Please, just tell me what’s going on.’
‘Relax. Erica’s with me. There’s no need to worry.’
‘Then let me speak to her.’
‘I’m afraid she
’s busy right now. But I can take a message?’
I can feel him sneering down the line, and I rub at the back of my neck to try to stop the slimy feeling creeping over me.
‘Erica’s been declared missing. She needs to come home, or at least let somebody know that she’s all right. Please let me speak to her.’
‘I told you. Erica’s busy. And she doesn’t want to speak to you right now.’
‘But the police …!’ I try.
‘The police can do whatever they like. They won’t find a trace of Erica anywhere. They can go straight to Vigil HQ if they want but we’ll never reveal squat about any of our own people. National security and all that. Erica is with me. She’s fine. And she doesn’t want to talk to you.’
‘Wait!’ I don’t want him to hang up the phone just yet. There’s too much I want to know. ‘Can you at least pass on a message? Can you let her know that I’m still here?’
‘Erica told me about your fight. Didn’t you get the message? She doesn’t want to be friends with you any more. She doesn’t need you. Erica has bigger fish to fry right now.’
‘Please, this is wrong. She has to at least talk to her mum. Please just tell her to come home.’
If I wasn’t sure about Jay before, now I can say that I really don’t like him. I’m sure Erica wouldn’t do this if she wasn’t being totally manipulated. What kind of Vigil is he? Never mind that – what kind of person keeps someone away from her friends and her mother?
But then I imagine Erica seeing my name come up on her phone and handing it over to Jay to handle. She can’t even bear to speak to me. Maybe she’s given up on her mother too.
Does that mean that I should give up on her? I’ve done what I can now, and Erica’s made her feelings very clear, even if they are via Jay. I should go away and nurse my wounds, protect what’s left of my pride. Except that I’m not sure that I could live with myself if I didn’t carry on trying. And besides, what am I going to say to the police when they come knocking on my door? I still want to do something; even if I don’t mean anything to Erica any more, she still means something to me.
It’s nearly lunchtime so I go straight to the library instead of going back to class. Normally I would go and actually eat lunch first, but my appetite has deserted me. I just want to sit down and think for a moment about what I should do next.
I barely notice when Toby sits down across from me. He waves his hand in front of my face. We’re not exactly back on speaking terms but I guess he senses that something is wrong and wants to help. I wish I was in the right kind of mood to appreciate it.
‘Someone said you had to go to Mr Stanley?’ he asks.
‘Yeah …’
‘What was that about?’
‘Nothing …’ I open up my science textbook and pretend to read.
‘Was it to do with Erica going missing? Apparently her mum came into school and everything.’
For the briefest of moments I consider telling Toby everything, right there in the library. But I talk myself out of it before I even give the thought a real chance. Toby wouldn’t be able to handle this kind of information; I can barely handle this information. And what’s the point of bringing somebody else into this conspiracy who would only be as useless as me?
‘Hey, Louise, are you OK?’ I wish that he’d develop psychic powers and just understand everything without me having to say a word.
‘No, not really,’ I mumble before slumping forward on the desk.
‘What’s wrong?’ He leans over too, so that our heads nearly meet in the middle of the table.
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘You probably could though, if you really wanted to.’
I wish that was true.
‘Have you heard about spider-goats?’ Toby asks, and I turn my head so that I can give him an annoyed stare. ‘I was reading about spider-goats. They’re like these genetically modified goats that have spider glands in their udders, so that people can spin silk from their milk.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I moan.
‘It was on a Vigil forum page I was looking at last night, because some people think that Vigil DNA is being used to develop new technologies and cures for diseases and stuff. Also, I was trying to make you smile a bit.’
‘You were trying to make me smile by telling me about spider silk that can be pulled out from goats’ udders?’
‘At the very least I thought it might lead to a conversation or something.’ He creeps a finger out and pokes me with it.
‘Quit poking me,’ I say.
‘So quit being boring and miserable. Otherwise I’ll have to start describing the specifics of genetically modified goat anatomy.’
We let the silence sit for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. I decide that I’d better get my pen out and at least look like I’m working, so that Mrs Fraser won’t think I’m doing nothing and chuck me out.
‘I meant what I said, you know,’ Toby says quietly to me after a bit.
‘About what? Telling me all about goats’ udders?’
‘No. About telling me stuff. You could probably tell me anything. If you wanted to, I mean.’ He sounds nervous, and I’m at serious risk of blushing myself to death so I dare not look at him. He doesn’t even know the effect he’s having on me.
‘You wouldn’t understand, Tobes,’ I reply.
‘Is it girlie stuff?’
‘No …’ Cue further blushing. I lean my head right over my textbook and put my hand in front of my face so that he can’t possibly see me.
‘Then why can’t you tell me?’
‘Because there’s every chance that your life might be at risk if I do? Plus I’m pretty sure that there’ll be a ton of paperwork involved.’
He thinks I’m joking. When I don’t say anything else he pulls out his own books and gets to work. After a few minutes I feel brave enough to take my hand away from my face and take a peek up at him. This is the most we’ve chatted in a while, without him bringing up my bunking off. But he thinks that a quick joke will make everything go away, as if my problems are normal and not weighed down by serious repercussions. God, I wish I had normal problems. If I’m in hot water, it’s creeping up to my neck right now.
Then it hits me: what happens when you get yourself completely in over your head? You go and find a responsible adult to deal with the problem for you!
I just can’t believe that Jay is following the proper procedure with regards to what’s best for Erica, especially after what she’s told me about how the Vigils work (even though that isn’t a lot). Surely if I went to the Strand and spoke with the Vigil people themselves, they’d sort out this Jay mess and send Erica home before the police get too involved? Tomorrow is the weekend, and screw whatever homework needs doing; I’m going to take myself down to London and get this whole thing sorted out.
Saturday, and the garden is hidden under a sheet of frost. Everything looks so calm and serene. And yet the urge to act is striking me in the gut with electric bolts of energy. I can’t even sit still while I eat my breakfast; my left leg is jumping under the table, the hand not holding my cereal spoon is tapping on the countertop. My heart races as I think about what I have to do today, and how I’m going to go about it. How exactly do you march up to the headquarters of a superhero organisation and tell them you think that one of their members is up to no good?
I’ve been playing it out in my head and there’s not a single scenario where I can imagine sounding remotely grown-up. And even in the best-case version, where the super-guys do their thing to find out what’s been going on and reprimand Jay for being a colossal douche, how is Erica going to react afterwards? I mean, I’d like her to see the error of her ways, agree that Jay has been manipulating her all along and go back to being my friend, but what if she still absolutely hates me?
It’s only when I’m putting the milk from my cereal away that I see the note my parents left me on the fridge. They’ve gone out early to an antiques fair out of town and
won’t be back until late afternoon. I suppose they thought I could use the quiet time to get on with revision. As if it’s possible for me to focus on schoolwork right now.
While I shower I think about whether I’m just being a huge idiot about all of this. It’s quite possible that Erica is absolutely fine, just getting on with her new life with her new superhero friends. There’s every chance that I’d just be embarrassing her by getting involved and interfering in her dream, which would only make her hate me more. Maybe I should just stay at home today and think about making new friends, ones who appreciate good crochet skills and a mild stationery obsession.
My phone buzzes on my bedside table, and I groan, thinking that it’s probably Toby asking me some stupid question about our physics homework. It may only be nine in the morning but I figure if anyone is going to be stuck into schoolwork at this time of day, it’s going to be him.
Jay’s coming after you! An unknown number.
The hairs on the back of my neck prick to attention.
Who is this? I type back, hesitating before I hit send.
It’s Erica!!!!!!!!
I squeal and drop my phone, but rush to pick it up again and type back: ARE YOU OK????? WHERE ARE YOU?????
No time to explain! Get out of house and go somewhere safe! PLEASE!!!!
I hit the call button, hoping to get through to her right now and find out what the hell is going on. She’s scaring me something silly, and yet there’s also a bristling uncertainty that this could be a wind-up. I get straight through to an anonymous answer-machine service; the phone doesn’t even ring.
PLEASE DON’T CALL. Another text message, just moments after I end the call without leaving a message. YOU’RE NOT SAFE. GO HIDE BEFORE JAY FINDS YOU. PLEEEAASSSE!!!!
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her if she is winding me up. I wish I knew what the hell was happening, but right now my gut is telling me to do exactly what she says and ask questions later.
I get dressed, quickly and haphazardly, wondering where Jay might be and how much time I have before he arrives. If he arrives. It hasn’t left the realm of my imagination that this might all be some strange, elaborate bluff, or some weird punishment from Erica for what I said to her.
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