by Gina Blaxill
‘Dani?’ I’d asked. ‘You OK?’
Danielle grabbed my arm. ‘I’m sick of town. Let’s get back to the flat.’
Reece and I exchanged a look but did as she said. A bus was passing and we jumped on. Danielle pressed her nose to the window, looking back towards the street we’d come from. She seemed to relax once the bus turned the corner. When I asked her about the man, she laughed.
‘Oh, that’s just someone from work. Super-annoying – drones on for hours about the most boring things. We’ve had a lucky escape!’
Reece and I had accepted this explanation and forgotten about it. But now I knew otherwise – because the man waving at Dani had been the boyfriend in the photo. Or at least . . . I was fairly certain it was. But had his hair been blond? I remembered it being darker . . .
Suddenly I wasn’t sure. My memory of him was like one of those painting-by-numbers pictures you get given as a kid – outline sketched out, but minus any details until you add the colour.
Maybe it didn’t really matter. Danielle was dead. Whether or not the man in the Bournemouth street was the boyfriend didn’t change that. But heck, I still wanted to know.
If only I could get a second opinion . . .
REECE
The last thing I’d been expecting to find in my inbox when I logged in that Wednesday morning was an email from Sophie Hayward, my ex-best friend. But there it was – untitled and out of the blue.
Hi Reece,
If you haven’t instantly deleted this, I need to talk to you. It’s about Danielle. It won’t take long. Can we meet up? Text me. My number’s still the same.
Ta.
Soph
I read it again, frowning. The bowl of porridge I’d been eating sat in front of me going cold. What an odd coincidence. I’d been thinking about Soph quite a bit this summer, even though we hadn’t talked for months – probably because I’d been spending a fair bit of time on Sticky Wicket, an online cricket forum for teenagers. Like most forums, many of the members were idiots, but they were always fun to pick arguments with.
Back when we were mates, I’d even argued with Sophie on the forum. Soph was the only girl I’d ever met who actually understood the rules of cricket. That was one of the reasons we’d first made friends. I later found out that her initial motivation for getting into cricket was that her mum had once hinted her dad liked it.
It was three months ago that Sophie ditched me, back at the start of May. I was still unclear as to why, and I doubted I’d find out. Nothing was ever simple with Sophie. I used to joke that she thought so much that I was surprised her brain didn’t explode.
As far as our friendship went, the end had come shortly after my stupid school play. I’d been forced into it by the drama teacher. He said it’d be a ‘good use for my big mouth’.
The play was Measure for Measure, which was, predictably, Shakespeare. Mum got irritatingly involved. She wrote my lines down on Post-it notes and stuck them all over the house – on my wardrobe, the fridge, even by the loo roll, something my little sister Neve found hilarious. ‘It’s so you can’t help but learn them,’ Mum explained. ‘This is incredibly important to your future, darling – Berkeley’s produced some really well-known actors. It’s a great honour to be in one of their plays.’
Quite who these actors were I didn’t know, and neither, I suspected, did she.
‘But I don’t want to be an actor,’ I pointed out. ‘Anyway, I know my lines. I told Sophie I’d be online now.’
‘Practice makes perfect, Reece,’ Mum said primly. ‘I’m sure Sophie wouldn’t mind your not talking to her tonight. It’s not like she’s your girlfriend.’
I decided to ignore that last bit. Mum wouldn’t understand that I used to see Sophie every day at school and never ran out of things to say. I was trying hard to keep up with her properly. It wasn’t easy, not being at the same school any more, especially now I had new mates who wanted to see me too. Soph didn’t seem keen on them for some reason.
By the time the day of the performance came, I was kinda looking forward to it. Sophie was coming. We hadn’t seen much of each other that week and there wouldn’t be much of a chance to catch up the night of the play. But there’d be time for that at Paloma Watson’s party, which was on Saturday.
The show went smoothly. As soon as I’d changed out of my costume I made a getaway and met Sophie and Mum in the foyer. Mum had wanted to bring Neve too, but I’d managed to talk her into getting Aunt Meg to babysit. I didn’t think two hours of Jacobean verse was the kind of thing even the most cultured three-year-old would get a kick out of.
‘Well done, darling!’ Before I could stop her, Mum grabbed me and planted a kiss on my forehead. ‘I heard the parents sitting behind me whispering about how good you were. I wanted to turn around and say, “That’s my son!” but I didn’t want to interrupt your big moment—’
‘Mum! Stop it,’ I begged. Embarrassing or what! I looked at Sophie. She had her hands shoved into her pockets and wasn’t meeting my eyes.
‘What’s up?’ I whispered as we walked out. ‘The play wasn’t that bad, surely.’
‘It was fine,’ Sophie muttered. ‘I’d better go now.’
‘It’s only nine. Come over for an hour. Some of my mates are coming. Unofficial after-show party.’
Sophie made a face and instantly I felt annoyed. She never made any effort with my Berkeley mates. They thought she was bad-tempered and moody. I wasn’t sure they believed me when I explained she was a different person when we were alone.
‘See you at Paloma’s at the weekend then,’ I said.
Sophie shrugged. ‘Parties aren’t really my thing. Always feel out of place.’
‘You might feel more comfortable if you looked the part more,’ I said. ‘I mean, you look cool whatever you wear, but if you dressed up a bit sometimes, it might make you fit in better.’
I nodded at two girls my mates were talking to. They were both wearing sleeveless tops and short skirts, maybe a bit overdressed, but it got my point across. Sophie stared at them, then mumbled that she was going home. I began wondering if she was interested in staying friends with me at all. It felt like I bent over backwards to meet up with her, and nine times out of ten I was the one to text or email. From the way she behaved sometimes, maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.
‘She’s probably just moving on,’ Mum said the next afternoon. Neve was nearby watching Postman Pat, nose almost touching the screen. ‘Sad, but it happens. Why don’t you invite some friends from school over next week to take your mind off her?’
‘Things were just dandy until recently,’ I said. ‘I sent her a text today. She never even replied! What’s changed?’
‘Be fair, Reece,’ Mum said. ‘Don’t forget, it’s only been a few months since that dreadful business with her cousin. Bereavement can affect people in strange ways – as you well know.’
Mum actually sticking up for Soph shocked me into silence. She was right. Danielle’s death had unsettled me enough. We’d been eating lunch with her like everything was normal, then a few hours later she was gone. Totally surreal. And how I felt must be nothing next to what Sophie must be feeling.
Maybe I hadn’t been looking out for her enough. But beyond being there for her and keeping in touch, I wasn’t sure how I could help. I didn’t think Sophie would ever really open up to me about Danielle.
‘Anyway,’ Mum continued, ‘Sophie’s a young woman now. She probably wants to hang out with girlfriends and talk girl stuff. It’s quite unusual for a girl and boy to have a friendship like yours at this age.’
‘Mum, you know that’s stereotypical bullshit.’
‘Less of the language!’ Mum snapped, quickly looking at Neve to see if she was listening. She wasn’t. ‘Picked up at Broom Hill, no doubt; it’s a good job you’re out of that place. I never liked your having to mix with those kids from the Raspberry Valley Estate.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You didn’t mind me going there before we got D
ad’s life-insurance money.’
‘Oh, don’t go on, Reece! I was only trying to be helpful.’ She smiled, patting the sofa seat next to her. ‘Why don’t we watch a film together once Neve’s in bed? I could make some popcorn.’
As I yawned my way through Pride and Prejudice with my mother, I hoped Sophie was OK. She could do funny things when she was in a mood. I sent her an email, and several more texts over the next few days. She didn’t reply. So eventually I decided to leave it. That Saturday I went out with my Berkeley mates rather than to Paloma’s party.
When the next week went by without any contact from Sophie, I got the message. So I did something I never do and gave up.
And now, months later, Sophie had emailed me. I didn’t need to mull things over. I knew what my response was going to be.
Long time no speak, I typed. How’s this afternoon?
SOPHIE
By the time I got off the bus at Muswell Hill, it was a quarter past five. The Broadway was just as I remembered – but then, why would it have changed? It hadn’t been that long since I’d last been to Reece’s. It was one of the nicest days of summer so far – warm but not sweltering – and I was enjoying the feeling of the sun on my legs. I was wearing denim shorts, a long-sleeved polka-dot top I’d made from what had once been an oversize dress, and a sunhat with a wide brim – all charity-shop stuff.
Reece’s house was about ten minutes from the Broadway, but he’d asked me to meet him at the school cricket pitch. The club he played for was an independent one but they used Berkeley’s facilities for their practice sessions. This didn’t fit in with my plans of showing him Dani’s photos, but it was easier to come to his neck of the woods – I could always leave if things got too awkward.
I’d been to Reece’s school several times before. It’s one of those old red-brick buildings with fancy doorway arches and stained-glass windows, and there are statues of former headmasters dotted about the grounds that stare at you disapprovingly. Berkeley is way up the education league tables; you can only go there if you’re loaded.
I started dragging my feet as I got closer. I felt mixed-up – nervous, hesitant and slightly resentful. I never liked going near Berkeley – it reminded me of just how little I had. And what would it be like seeing Reece again after all this time? Everything to do with him – the memories, the in-jokes – I’d closed myself off from them, put them into a little mental box with a sticker that said ‘over’ on it. I wasn’t sure how it would feel to open that box again. Everything that had happened still hurt. I knew Reece probably didn’t see it that way – but he didn’t know the full story.
I saw Reece before he saw me. All the boys on the field were wearing cricket whites and for a moment I wasn’t sure which one he was. It looked like practice had just broken up – half the players were hanging around chatting while the others were clearing up. I stood a little way back, hoping they wouldn’t notice. I knew Reece’s friends looked down on me. But one of them spotted me and said something, sniggering. Reece gave him a withering look and came over, tucking his bat under his arm. For an awkward moment we sort of hovered in front of each other, not quite sure whether there was going to be a hug or not.
‘So . . .’ Reece let the word hang in the air a moment and it became obvious there wasn’t. ‘That was a very random email this morning. What gives?’
He looked quite different from how he had three months ago, mainly because he was wearing his hair in a side parting. It made him look a lot older; I wasn’t sure I liked that – and I definitely didn’t like that his voice had picked up a hint of the clear-cut, posh way his friends spoke. The other change was that he’d grown. One of Reece’s big gripes had always been that I was taller than him – but then I was taller than most people in our year, including the boys. I still had a good inch on him though.
‘I wanted to speak to you,’ I said.
‘Evidently. Must be something fairly seismic. You made it pretty clear after the play you didn’t want anything to do with me.’
Reece’s friends passed us, grinning. One of them wolf-whistled.
‘Shut up, you ignorant tossers!’ Reece called after them.
‘Like I said in the email, it’s about Danielle,’ I said, ignoring Reece’s jibe about us not speaking, and I started explaining what was on the memory stick. Reece arched his eyebrows and I realized how wishy-washy it all sounded. It probably looked like I was making a lame excuse to see him again.
‘I see,’ Reece said. ‘In that case, you’d better come back to mine, hadn’t you?’
Reece’s road was, by anyone’s standards, a lovely place to live, with big, detached and very expensive new-build houses, just a short walk from Berkeley. I was sure that Reece’s mum Effie, arch-snob, had chosen it for that reason. She sang the school’s praises so regularly that I was surprised they hadn’t asked her to write their prospectus.
Reece unlocked the door. The hallway smelt of air freshener and there was a wooden rack for those entering to place their shoes. The walls were lined with precisely arranged photographs in identical frames. At the end was a big picture of Colin, Reece’s dad. I’d always liked that one because, unlike the others, mostly school photos of Reece, it looked natural, with Colin glancing over his shoulder, half amused, half surprised. He had been a nice guy, Colin.
‘I’m going to have a shower,’ Reece announced, dumping his sports kit at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Get yourself a drink and then we’ll check out the memory stick.’
‘Reece?’ It was Effie. It sounded as if her voice was coming from the sitting room. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Mum? Weren’t you supposed to be out?’
‘I was waiting for you. Meg says she’s not well and can’t take Neve, so I was hoping you’d stay in with her, else I’ll have to miss my class. Did you leave your phone at home again?’ Effie bustled into the hallway. Her face froze when she saw me and I gave a nervous laugh.
‘Sophie,’ Effie said, her expression fixing into a polite smile. ‘What a surprise. Haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘Be back down in ten,’ Reece said, and headed up the stairs. Oh, great – cheers, Reece, I thought murderously.
‘Put those sweaty cricket clothes in the linen basket this time, not on the floor!’ Effie turned to me. I had to give it to her – Effie was looking good. She’d had a rich auburn colour put on her hair, and while the T-shirt and denim skirt she wore were casual, they were well cut and obviously expensive. I suppose if I had money to splash about like she did, I might give myself a makeover too.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Effie asked, heading to the kitchen. ‘We have juice or lemonade, or I’m sure Reece wouldn’t mind you having one of his disgusting energy drinks.’
‘Lemonade’s fine.’ I followed her through. A small girl was sitting at the breakfast bar, busily scribbling away on coloured sugar paper. She looked up when I entered.
‘Neve, do you remember Sophie?’ Effie said, going to the cupboard and taking out a glass. ‘Reece’s friend.’
Neve gave me a sly look and put the end of a crayon in her mouth. ‘Secret,’ she said.
‘What are you talking about?’ Effie asked, but Neve said she wasn’t telling. I slid on to one of the seats. Neve must have had her third birthday by now – I remembered when she was a tiny ugly-looking thing with squinty eyes, that just cried a lot. She looked quite a lot like Reece now, I thought.
‘Where did you go?’ Neve asked as I accepted the drink Effie poured for me.
‘Nowhere special. Just getting on with things.’ I hoped Reece wasn’t going to take a long shower.
‘What things?’
‘Things things,’ I said.
‘Things things things!’ Neve laughed. ‘I’m going to draw you!’
She got out a fresh piece of paper and grabbed the purple crayon, even though I wasn’t wearing anything that colour. Glad that Neve wasn’t going to press the issue of where exactly I’d been, I looked at Effie. She was wa
tching me, lips pursed.
‘So, er, how are you?’ I asked. I had to say something – the heavy silence was making my skin prickle.
‘Very well, thank you for asking,’ Effie said rather primly. ‘And how are you?’
‘OK.’
‘Are you enjoying life with your new family?’
She made it sound as though I’d purchased Julie in a shop.
‘They’re not exactly new,’ I said. ‘I’ve been there a year and a half now. But yeah, it’s fine.’
‘How do foster-homes work exactly? Do they have you until you turn eighteen and then they leave you to get on with things?’
What a way with words she had. I avoided the temptation to answer sarcastically and explained about my Pathway Plan, though I didn’t go into details. I knew Effie was only asking so she could turn her nose up. She’d never liked me. According to her, I had ‘problems’ and ‘a bad background’. I’d heard her and Colin talking about it one night when I was about twelve – they hadn’t known Reece and I were in the next room.
Effie switched the conversation to my studies and I filled her in on my A-level choices. We were searching for something else to say when Neve interrupted by waving her masterpiece in my face. The sugar paper showed a stick woman wearing a massive pair of shorts, with dark hair that fell to the ground and some sort of mask on her face.
‘That’s great, Neve! Am I a superhero or a burglar?’ I asked.
‘Burglar.’
‘Ah right, what did I steal?’
‘Cakes,’ Neve said. ‘Cream ones.’