Missing Abby

by Lee Weatherly

  ‘But I want to know why—’

  Dad leapt off the sofa suddenly, scattering cushions. ‘I feel … a tickle attack coming on!’

  ‘No-o!’ squealed Nat, her face bursting in glee as Dad scooped her up. He swung her upside down, his hands like busy spiders. She screamed with laughter, kicking her legs.

  Finally Dad dropped her onto the big leather chair, where she lay convulsing with giggles. His arms hung down by his sides as he turned and looked at me. ‘Are you all right, love? If you want to talk …’

  Have a word with Jenny, I finished in my mind. ‘I'm fine,’ I said, staring at the TV.

  I couldn't sleep that night, and finally around midnight, I sat up in bed and opened my window. Propping my chin on my hand, I breathed in the smells from the garden. And all at once I was back with Abby, on a summer night over two years ago – the two of us lying on a blanket in her back garden, staring up at the stars.

  Do you think there's life on other planets?

  Sure, why not? Little purple men with buggy eyes, buzzing around in spaceships, doing crop circles for a laugh …

  Yeah, really! ‘What shall we do this time, Zeebor? How about a giant smiley face?’

  ‘No, we did that last week. Ooh, I know – we'll do lots of circles, like we're saying something profound about infinity, har har har! That'll get ‘em going!’

  Anyway, come on, seriously … what do you think?

  God, I don't know … yeah, I guess. I mean, look at all those stars … we couldn't just be alone, could we?

  My hand grew numb with my chin resting on it. I folded my arms and dropped my head on them. Abby and I could always talk like that to each other – saying absolutely anything that came to mind, without having to stop and worr y about whether it fitted in, or sounded stupid.

  But I guess that's just something you have when you're younger, isn't it? It's not the real world. I mean, it's not something that you can keep once you start to get older, and things start to change. You can't stay that vulnerable and wide-eyed forever, not without getting your teeth kicked in.

  I guess I should be grateful to Karen Stipp and the rest of them at Balden, for teaching me that. Year Seven in a new school; it was supposed to be so great. I rubbed my temple, remembering the time she and her cronies had cornered me in the girls' loo.

  Hey, Freaky, we saw you and Goth-geek playing one of your little magic games today! Can we play?

  We were not! We were just talking—

  Oh, you're such a liar! You were playing at magicwagic, we saw you! C'mon, Freak – let's play the magicwagic game. It's easy – I do this, and poof, you vanish!

  She had shoved me against the wall, and I'd slipped and fallen, banging my head against a sink. The other two – Amy and Claire – took off then, laughing hysterically as they shoved out the door. Karen stayed behind long enough to actually help me up. She smiled sweetly into my face, tossing her golden-brown hair.

  You should be more careful, Freaky – you're always so clumsy! I wouldn't tell anyone about how clumsy you are, if I were you. You know what would happen, right? Still smiling, she pinched my arm, twisting the skin with her long nails until I yelped.

  When Dad asked about my bruises, I spun him a tale about falling during PE, playing netball. I wasn't about to tell him the truth – that his daughter was a freak who everyone hated. It's not exactly the sort of news flash you want to give your dad, is it?

  I shut my window and lay down again, staring up at the ceiling.

  I don't know why that time came to mind just then, out of all the dozens of times with Karen. It wasn't like it was even the worst one, not by a long shot.

  The girls' changing rooms flashed into my mind, and I shivered.

  Day Three

  ‘Hampshire schoolgirl Abby Ryzner is still missing. The CID has been brought in to head up investigations, and to aid Hampshire police with the overwhelming number of phone calls and tips that have been pouring in, though as yet detectives say they have received little of interest to them …’

  Local news broadcast, Tuesday, 7th September.

  I overslept that morning, and rushed into class just after the last bell. Mrs Conway was already taking the register, her limp blond hair looking defeated.

  ‘Sorry I'm late, miss.’

  ‘That's all right, Emma, just don't make a habit of it …’ Mrs Conway lifted her voice above everyone's talking. ‘David Cianci? Ah, there you are. Please stop talking, you lot, or just keep it down, at least …’

  Jo and Debbie were sitting at a table by the window. I had managed to put them off yesterday, but now they started pelting me with questions the moment I sat down.

  ‘I saw it on the news last night, about that girl who went missing!’

  ‘Yeah, Abby Ryzner – what do you think happened to her?’

  ‘She went to Balden Comp, right?’

  Like torpedoes, one after another. I grabbed the easiest one first. ‘Yeah, she went to Balden. I mean, she goes to Balden.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, of course.’ Jo paused, her mouth pursing worriedly. ‘I just meant – well, you know. It's all sort of scary, isn't it?’

  ‘Yeah, really,’ said Debbie. ‘She just stepped off the bus and hasn't been seen since …’ She shook her head, looking a bit awed, but there was also a glimmer of excitement or drama or whatever in her eyes. In Jo's, too, come to that.

  ‘Anyway, so you went to Balden together before you came here?’

  ‘How well did you know her?’

  ‘I – well, actually, we were friends,’ I admitted.

  Their mouths dropped open in unison. ‘Oh, no!’ gasped Debbie.

  ‘Oh, Ems … ’

  ‘No, I mean … we're not friends now. We haven't been friends for ages.’

  ‘But still, you must feel awful!’ said Debbie.

  ‘Were you really good friends?’ Jo's eyes were wide and worried.

  I lifted a shoulder, trying to look offhand, like it had all happened a million years ago. ‘Yeah, um – I guess we used to be.’

  ‘What happened ? I mean—’ Debbie stopped awkwardly, a flush staining her cheeks.

  Jo squeezed my arm. ‘Ems, you don't have to tell us! Only if you want to.’

  I did have to, though. Or at least, I had to tell them something. I took a breath. It was like picking my way through a minefield.

  ‘Well, we were really good friends in primary school. I guess we were best friends, even. But we grew apart once we started going to Balden. She started getting sort of … strange.’

  Heat swept me as I imagined Abby's face if she could hear this. I hurtled on. ‘I mean, she had always been sort of strange, but when we got to secondary school it just got completely sad. She was so out of it; she didn't even try to fit in.’

  ‘You mean the way she dressed?’ asked Jo. ‘Present,’ she called to Mrs Conway, who was still struggling away with the register.

  I shrugged, playing with a strand of gold-tinted hair, watching it shine in the light. ‘Sort of … well, we had uniforms, but everyone knew what a Goth she was, with her black fingernails and all. But the worst thing was – she was still, um … really into pretend games, like on the playground, and she'd want me to join in.’ I forced a laugh. ‘Pretty painful.’

  ‘Pretend games?’ Jo looked utterly blank. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like, pretending to have magic powers, or that we were in a different world …’ I trailed off, hearing Karen Stipp's voice. Look, everyone! Freaky and Geeky are at it again! Ooh, sorry, Freaky, did I break your little magic wand?

  ‘Weird,’ said Debbie, shaking her head.

  I took a breath. ‘Yeah, I know; really weird. So, anyway, we just grew apart, and then in Year Eight I came to school here, and that was the end of it. I hadn't talked to her in ages before I saw her at the bus stop.’

  ‘That's sad.’ Jo propped her elbow on the table, leaning her head against her hand. ‘I mean, that you used to be such good friends.’

  ‘Yeah,
but it happens, doesn't it? People change.’ Debbie popped a mint in her mouth and offered the packet to us. ‘Anyway, I hope she's OK. Do you think she ran away, or what?’

  Oh, please can we talk about something else! I looked down, pretending to be searching for the perfect mint. ‘Who can say?’

  ‘Well, do you think—’

  Jo put her hand on Debbie's arm. ‘Stop going on, she doesn't want to talk about it.’

  Debbie looked injured. ‘I wasn't going on. We're her friends! I just asked …’

  ‘Friends shut up sometimes,’ said Jo firmly.

  There was a long pause, with none of us quite knowing where to look. At the front of the room, Mrs Conway had given up on the register, and was reading an announcement about a teachers' meeting the next week. No one was listening to her.

  Jo twisted the silver ring on her finger. ‘Um – why don't you tell Ems about the contest?’

  Debbie smiled in relief. ‘Oh, right! It's this fashion design thing; I thought I'd have a go – it's run by Kiss, Kiss. ’ She fumbled in her bag, pulling out the magazine to show me. ‘The top ten entries are going to be modelled at a fashion show, with the press there and everything. You both have to help me, OK?’

  So of course Jo and I said we would, and we started talking about what sort of outfit Debbie should design, and which of us would model it. ‘Why don't we go into town on Saturday?’ said Jo. ‘Look around the shops, get some ideas.’

  And slowly, I felt myself relax. I had got away with it.

  They still didn't know about Karen.

  I rang Mum in Chicago that night, perched on my bed with the cordless phone. When she first moved to America, Dad did loads of shopping around, comparing all the prices (he loves doing that), and he found this really cheap international phone service for me to use, so that I can ring her whenever I want. Mostly we e-mail each other, though. It's like she's turned into my pen-pal or something.

  Not that I actually needed a pen-pal right now.

  ‘Emma!’ she said when she picked up. ‘I was just going to ring you … are you all right?’

  My chest clenched as I twisted the white duvet cover between my fingers. ‘No, not really. Mum, something awful's happened—’

  ‘Oh, darling, I know. I just got off the phone with Jenny. I can't believe it. My god; Abby's poor family – I don't know what I'd do if it were you; I'd go mad …’

  I gripped the phone as she went on, feeling weirdly let down. I guess I wasn't surprised that they had told her, but I still felt a bolt of disappointment that they hadn't left it to me. It was so typical! They were always having secret conferences, the three of them. Four, now that Paul was around. Obviously the world would come to an end if they ever asked me what I thought about anything.

  ‘Emma, did you hear me?’ Mum's soft voice rose slightly, sounding anxious.

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I said, do you want me to come home for a while?’

  Part of me wanted to shout, Yes, please ! But how could I tell her to spend thousands of pounds on a plane ticket just to come here and hold my hand?

  I plucked at the duvet. ‘What about your job?’

  Mum works completely stupid hours at the art gallery, like up to twelve hours a day sometimes. When I was in Chicago, I went to a show she'd organized. She says it's hard work to set them up, but during the actual show all she seemed to do was drift about with a glass of champagne, kissing artists on the cheek.

  ‘Don't worry about that; I want to be there for you if you need me. There would be a few things I'd have to tie up, but I could be there in a few days. Maybe a week at the very latest.’

  ‘No, that's OK.’ Why didn't she just come, instead of making me decide for her!

  ‘Emma, are you sure? I could ring the travel agent this afternoon and sort something; it would be no problem at all.’

  ‘I'm sure,’ I said.

  There was a pause. I imagined her standing in the gallery, surrounded by weird sculptures and blotches of colour on canvas, twirling a strand of brown hair around her finger. Finally she let out a breath. ‘OK, well … if you change your mind, give me a ring, all right? I could hop on a plane and be there in less than a day.’

  ‘Yeah, OK.’ I hugged myself, staring at the poster of David Beckham on the wall. Becks is gorgeous, that goes without saying, but suddenly I remembered the amazing spaceship poster that I used to have there instead, the one I took down when I started going to St Seb's. I used to love staring at it, imagining travelling to different worlds …

  ‘I do hope she's all right,’ said Mum in a low voice. Suddenly she sounded like herself again, like she wasn't thousands of miles away any more. ‘I remember the two of you toddling around together when you were only three or four years old … you were inseparable.’

  ‘Yes, but not now !’ I blurted out. ‘Mum, we weren't even friends any more, not since I changed schools! Why did I have to be the last one to see her?’

  There was a long pause before Mum answered. ‘Darling, I don't know … but I do believe that everything happens for a reason.’

  Day Four

  Hundreds of local volunteers joined in the search for Abby yesterday as the Hampshire Constabulary trawled nearby fields, but nothing was found … Abby's parents have appealed to the public for help in finding her, and admit that they fear she has been abducted. Daily Post, Wednesday 8th September

  The video of Abby and her brothers was shown over and over again, hundreds of times. Every time I looked at the TV, there she was, her round face crinkled up with laughter.

  ‘Emma, how long have you known Abby?’ asked PC Lavine, sipping at a cup of tea. She and PC Morton had come back to question me again, at home this time.

  I had to stop and think. ‘Most of my life, I guess. I mean, I used to live across the street from her, and our dads work at the same place.’

  ‘Abby's father and I both work at Clarkson Chemical.’ Dad was still wearing his dark grey suit from work. ‘She and Abby used to be great friends, but then a couple of years ago Abby started … well, going a bit wild, I suppose. So Emma asked if I'd send her to St Sebastian's, which I was more than happy to do. The academic standards are higher, and she's made friends now with some really nice, decent girls—’

  Flames scorched up my neck and cheeks. ‘Dad, ’ I hissed. ‘Will you stop? It's not like Abby isn't decent.’

  Dad looked annoyed as he glanced at me. He hates to be interrupted. ‘Well, you were the one who wanted to go to St Sebastian's, love.’

  ‘Yes, but that's not why,’ I muttered under my breath. But I knew he thought I had been so upset all of Year Seven because of Abby going off the rails or whatever, and that that's why I had wanted to change schools. Well, why wouldn't he think that? It's only what I had told him. Because there had been no way that I was going to enlighten him with what had really happened.

  I wasn't going to now, either. I looked down, fiddling with my watchband.

  PC Morton was watching me keenly. ‘Emma, can you tell us how Abby started “going a bit wild”, as your dad put it?’

  My face scalded. ‘She didn't … I mean, she's just really into Goth stuff, that's all. She's never done drugs or anything like that.’

  ‘Not so far as you know,’ said PC Morton. ‘But you haven't been in touch with her for some time, have you?’

  ‘I still know what she's like,’ I muttered, looking down. I was so aware of Dad sitting there, nodding his head like he had been right all along. He had hardly even seen Abby since she was around seven, which is when he moved out of our house!

  PC Lavine put her teacup on the table. Her voice was warm and soothing, like sinking into a hot bath. ‘Emma, when you were on the bus with Abby, did you notice any of the other passengers?’

  They quizzed me over every aspect of the bus ride again, in mind-numbing detail. If possible, I think it went even worse this time. I really tried, but the whole thing seemed like a dream now, as if the details of the bus ride were a
fuzzy nursery rhyme I had learned once. After a while, Jenny started making tea for Nat and the smell of pizza and chips wafted in from the kitchen.

  Finally PC Morton nodded, flipping his notebook closed with a sigh. ‘Right, Emma, I think that's all for now.’

  We all stood up, and PC Lavine touched my shoulder. ‘You've been wonderful, Emma. Thanks so much for your help.’

  After they left, Dad shook his head. ‘My god, poor Ann and Charles. The writing's really on the wall by now, I'm afraid.’ Rubbing his forehead, he went to the fish tank and dribbled pellets into the water.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Icy fear swept over me. Ann and Charles were Abby's parents.

  Dad turned and frowned at me. His voice sounded almost harsh. ‘Listen, Emma, I want you to promise me that you'll always be careful, all right? Stick with your friends, don't go off places on your own. The world's full of nutters, unfortunately.’

  I felt like I was going to shatter into pieces. I knew what he really meant; I knew what he thought had happened to Abby. Oh, god – it couldn't be true, could it?

  ‘All right, love?’ He came over and hugged me. Suddenly I was shaking, and I buried my head in his arm. ‘Just be sensible, that's all,’ he said, smoothing my hair.

  The bottom of my wardrobe was a complete tip, with heaps of old clothes and games shoved into it like a jumble sale. Dressed in the oversized blue T-shirt I wear to bed, I crouched on the floor and started pulling things out – an old scarf, a stuffed walrus called Simpson, a pair of boots.

  The box was still there, nestled in the very back of the wardrobe. I sat back on my heels, staring at it. It felt like some ancient archaeological relic. I started to drag it out, and then stopped.

  Nothing had changed, really, had it? What was in the box had nothing to do with me any more. The carpet prickled against my bare knees as I crouched there, running my fingers over the cardboard lid.

  Isn't that sweet! Freaky is writing a story! Hey, everyone, listen to this – ‘The two novice mages …’ Oi! Quit trying to grab, you rude cow!

  My stomach lurched like I had just drunk a pint of rancid milk. I slammed the box back into place and went to bed.