‘And this is one of Abby and her mum … it's amazing; she's as tall as Ann now, isn't she …’
Suddenly I knew that I would disintegrate if I sat there another moment. I jumped up, scraping my chair back. ‘Um, Mr Ryzner – I'll be right back, I have to go to the loo.’
He nodded, frowning down at the photo like it held the answer to a cosmic puzzle.
After I used the upstairs toilet, I washed my hands in cold water, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked hunted. I didn't want to go downstairs again, not for anything. But I couldn't stay up here, could I?
I glanced longingly at the window. There was a tree outside … Oh, right! Ems makes her great escape, scampering nimbly, squirrel-like, to the ground. I sighed and dried my hands on a soft red towel. No. Ems wouldn't even be here. It was just me, Emma, completely awkward as always.
Finally I couldn't put it off any longer. I opened the door and stepped back into the familiar corridor. Family pictures of Ryzners stretching back four generations covered the walls like a patchwork quilt.
Abby's room was the second on the right.
I didn't mean to go into it. It was the last thing I wanted to do, actually. But it drew me like a magnet. I walked the few steps to her room, and put my hand on the doorknob.
I paused, glancing down the corridor towards the stairs. And then I eased open the door.
The familiar riot of colour jumped out at me. It looked just the same. I slipped into the room and closed the door, plunging back in time as I took in the overflowing bookshelves, the walls covered with fantasy images.
If you added up all the time I had spent in here, I bet it would be months. Years.
She had a Lord of the Rings poster; that was new. I looked at the gorgeous guy who played Legolas, with his liquid dark eyes, and remembered how entranced I had been by the first film when I saw it last year. Or would have been, if I hadn't been so worried about Jo and Debbie loathing every second. They were actually laughing in parts of it. Gingerly, I sat on the bed, staring around me. I used to sleep over here practically every other weekend. We'd sit up and talk until three in the morning. I saw Abby lying in bed with her arms crossed under her head, her thick dark hair fanned out across the pillow.
Imagine you could build your own private world – what would it be like?
Um, let me think. It would be a water world, with lots of tropical islands, as far as the eye can see … turquoise blue water shimmering everywhere.
And warm, right? It has to be warm!
Oh yeah, blazing sun. And you'd ride to other islands on sort of like unicorns, but they'd swim …
What, like mer-unicorns?
Yeah, why not? Mericorns.
Sounds great. Plunging through the water …
Galloping over the waves … And there'd be palaces rising up out of the water, too, built of – you know, that glisteny stuff inside of shells …
Emma, you should write a story about this! It sounds fantastic, really great …
I swiped angrily at my eyes and jumped from the bed, ready to dash downstairs and throw some excuse at Mr Ryzner, any excuse as to why I had to go home, right now. But then my gaze caught on Abby's dresser. In the middle of a display of photos of family and friends, there was a photo of the two of us, in a carved wooden frame.
I walked over and picked it up.
The photo looked lushly leafy and green, with Abby and I both barefoot, smiling into the camera with our arms around each other's shoulders. I remembered that day – it was when Mum had taken us to the New Forest when we were eight.
It was all so simple then.
As I put the photo back, it bumped against a silver dragon figurine, knocking it over with a tiny clatter. I started to straighten it – and instead my hand closed around it, and I picked it up. Small, but heavier than it looked. It sat coiled in my palm, its wings flared open.
A door banged shut downstairs, and my heart went berserk. I leapt for the corridor, closing the door behind me.
Downstairs, Abby's father was still just sitting at the dining table, staring at photos. The door to the lounge had been shut; the sound of a TV drifted out.
Abby's gran. My shoulders sagged with relief; I had thought that Mrs Ryzner and the twins might have come home. And if Sheila hated me, I could imagine how Greg and Matthew felt.
‘Well, um … I should probably go now, Mr Ryzner.’ My smile felt pasted onto my lips. ‘But if you have any spare posters that you'd like me to put up, just let me know, OK … ?’
The hair lifted on my arms as Mr Ryzner glanced at me with a confused frown, like he didn't know who I was for a second. Then his face cleared and he stood up, clearing his throat. Suddenly he was Mr Efficient, all bustle and purpose.
‘Posters, yes, of course. Just wait a second, I'll get you a box.’
As he went into the other room, I realized that I was still clutching the little dragon. I knew that I should turn around and put it straight back in Abby's room. Or at least chuck it on the piano or something, for someone to find later.
But instead, I tucked it in my jeans pocket.
As I rode the bus home, the posters sat perched on the seat beside me like a mute passenger. I stared at them, feeling like my stomach had been tied into one of those complex sailor's knots. Apart from everything else, I was supposed to be in Brookfield in about twenty minutes, to meet Jo and Debbie at the shops!
The bus trundled slowly up Salt Hill. I had purposely placed the box so that I couldn't see Abby's photo on the poster taped to the front, but now I nudged it around, looking at her round-cheeked face.
I wanted to help, I really did. But how was I supposed to put up posters? What if someone from Balden saw me doing it? What's wrong, Emma? Lost your freaky friend? Ooh, I hope that nasty Esmerelda hasn't magicked her away!
I slumped down in my seat, hating myself for being so craven.
Finally I sent a text to Jo, saying I'd be late, and then got off the bus at my stop, dragging the heavy box the ten-minute walk to my house. I had sweat stains under my arms when I got there. But at least Jenny and Dad were out in the garden, so I was spared the interrogation. I could see them through the back door, along with Nat, who was dancing around in her bathing suit with a hose.
I took the box upstairs and shoved it under my bed.
I didn't know what to do with the dragon. I held it in my hand for a long time, feeling its weight. Finally I hid it in the drawer of my bedside table, shutting it away with pens and an old journal. And then felt a pang of sadness, like he might get lonely in there, all by himself.
I shook my head, blowing my breath out in an irritated puff. Get a grip!
I changed my shirt and left to go meet Jo and Debbie.
‘What do you think of this?’ Debbie leaned her sketchbook towards us. The three of us were sitting in Café Nero later that afternoon, drinking cappuccinos. Or fiddling with them, in my case.
‘Excellent! That's a complete award-winner!’ Jo sat propped forward in the silver café chair, inspecting Debbie's drawing. She had decided on a sort of harem theme, with hip-hugging swirly trousers and a scanty top.
‘Completely brilliant, Debs. I love the, um – purple bits.’ I looked down, stirring the chocolate into my coffee.
There was a pause, and then Jo let out a breath. ‘Look, Ems, enough of this, OK? You're obviously really upset about Abby, and we don't think you should … pretend everything's OK.’
Debbie nodded, snapping her sketchbook closed. ‘We're worried about you,’ she said flatly. ‘We think you need to talk about it more. We're your friends; we want to help.’
Warmth radiated through me, and suddenly I was ridiculously close to tears. Maybe I could talk to them, really talk to them, and it would be OK. Maybe I could even tell them – everything.
‘Thanks, you two.’ I drew my sleeve across my face, and Jo dived into her handbag to hand me a tissue.
‘OK?’ she asked gently.
I nodded, dabbing at my le
aking eyes. ‘Um, it's just been so – I mean, I'm worried about her all the time, and – I keep imagining all the things that might have happened to her, or be happening to her …’
Jo and Debbie sat very still, nodding as I spoke. Behind us, I could hear someone ordering a café latte. I looked down, clicking my spoon against my saucer. ‘But the worst thing is – well, the way I, um … treated her, after I left Balden. See, we—’
‘Emma?’ As Jo and Debbie's gazes flicked behind me, I turned around in my seat – and almost passed out, right across the table and our cappuccinos.
Karen Stipp was standing there.
She looked just the same – tall and confident, with wavy golden-brown hair and dark eyes. And dressed perfectly as usual, in tight black trousers and a shiny white top.
She smiled at me, just like she hadn't completely ruined my life at Balden. ‘Emma, hi … I haven't seen you in ages.’
No, what a surprise! I tend to avoid people who make my life an utter misery.
‘Oh … hi, Karen.’ Suddenly I felt like a neon sign was blazing on my forehead: pathetic Emma, the freak of Balden. I bit my lip and glanced at Jo and Debbie, who were looking at Karen with interest. Somehow I managed to introduce everybody.
Karen scraped a chair over to our table, sitting down uninvited with her coffee. ‘Emma, listen, are you OK? We're all really worried about Abby at Balden, so I can imagine how you must feel.’
She actually sounded concerned. I gripped my coffee cup warily. ‘Um – yeah, I'm OK.’
Karen glanced at Jo and Debbie. ‘Emma and Abby used to be really close. It's so awful, not knowing if she's OK or not. I have Abby for a few classes at school, and now it's like there's this gaping space where she sat …’
I took a slurp of coffee as emotions crashed inside me like tidal waves. This could not be true – Karen Stipp being nice!
Jo nodded. ‘We were just talking about Abby … it's really scary.’
‘Yeah, it is.’ Karen took a pack of chocolates from her handbag and offered us all one. Her eyes were wide and innocent as she looked at me. ‘Emma, doesn't it just seem really freaky to you? The way it's all happened?’
I froze in my seat, splinters of terror icing through me. A tiny, questioning smile hovered on Karen's face. Oh, god – any moment now, she'd tell Jo and Debbie what had happened at Balden; she'd tell them.
‘Um – yeah.’ I strangled the words out. ‘It just … yeah.’
‘It's sort of hard for her to talk about,’ said Debbie, unwrapping a chocolate.
‘Oh, of course.’ Karen stirred her coffee, looking down like she was embarrassed to have even brought it up. She glanced over at Debbie's sketchbook, which had some drawings on the front cover. ‘Hey, whose is this? These are really good.’
Before I knew it, Debbie was showing Karen her drawings for the fashion contest, and Karen was gushing all over them, saying things like, ‘Wow, that's fantastic – but have you thought about making this bit in gold? I think gold would go so-o well with the turquoise.’
And Jo and Debbie were smiling, chatting away to her, with Debbie scribbling down Karen's ideas like they were precious coins of wisdom. When they weren't looking, Karen smirked at me over her coffee. Freak, she mouthed.
My stomach lurched as I clutched my cappuccino. Oh my god, how could this be happening ? Why couldn't she just leave me alone! And now Jo and Debbie liked Karen; they liked her. They had forgotten all about me, they were too busy matey-ing it up with a girl who despised me to even notice how upset I was!
Finally Jo glanced over at me, and had the grace to look guilty. ‘Oh, Ems, I'm sorry! You were talking about Abby.’
‘No, that's OK. I don't really feel like talking about it, anyway.’ I rotated my coffee cup on the saucer, carefully aligning the handle at a perfect angle. Karen was sitting back in her seat smiling sadly at me, like she so understood what I was going through.
Debbie shut her sketchbook, shoving it down into her bag. ‘Listen Ems, I've got a great idea … why don't you and Jo come around to my house Monday night? Kirsten is coming over for tea, and we could all sit around and work on my designs. You know, sort of get your mind off things.’ Kirsten is her older sister, who's studying art at Southampton University.
‘Well – yeah, OK. Sounds good.’ The knots in my stomach relaxed enough for me to smile at her, and she and Jo looked really pleased. Bollocks to Karen. These were my friends; she couldn't ruin it for me.
But then Debbie said to Karen, ‘Hey, you could come too, if you like. You had some great ideas.’
I probably looked like I had swallowed a flapping great moth. No one noticed; Jo and Debbie were too busy smiling at their new best buddy. She grinned back at them, brushing a strand of her honey-coloured hair off her face. ‘Oh, I'd really like to, but we're having a birthday party for my gran on Monday night. Some other time, OK?’
And the next thing I knew, the three of them were exchanging mobile numbers.
When I got home I escaped upstairs, scooping Pippin up from his favourite perch on the landing and shutting myself in my room. I popped a CD in and curled up tightly on my bed. Pippin cuddled beside me, purring, and I stroked him, trying not to cry.
I hated Karen. I hated her. It wasn't enough that she had made my life hell at Balden; she had to ruin things for me now, too! And Jo and Debbie—
I blinked back tears as my gaze lingered on Darth Vader in his menacing pose, black cape swirling. And I remembered the first time Jo and Debbie came around to my house last year, and how they had thought Darth was just a scream. Like, that I was being post-ironic or something, having a Darth Vader alarm clock.
So of course I had to go along with it. Flip my hair back and drawl, ‘Yeah, pretty sad, isn't it? Use the force … It makes me cringe so much every morning that I get up just to avoid it.’
I wiped my face on Pippin's fur, sniffing. Well, now that they were best mates with Karen, they'd soon figure out the truth – that I was light years away from being the person they thought I was. Because Karen was sure to fill them in on a few things, wasn't she?
I saw Abby's round face, crinkling up in confusion. Just don't let her get to you. Why do you let her get to you so much? Ha, easy for her to say! Miss Confident. Miss Bolshy Goth Maiden.
I cringed, remembering the worst time of all – Karen's voice ringing around the tiled walls of the changing rooms as she read my notebook, while I huddled by the lockers, trying to hide, trying to disappear. A sickening flush raced over me, remembering how everyone had laughed.
It had all been Abby's fault, in a way, that was the really ironic thing. Because if I had never been friends with her, Karen wouldn't even have noticed me.
I buried my face in Pippin's fur until he meowed and twisted away. Wiping my hand across my eyes, I slowly opened my desk drawer. I took the dragon out from its hiding place, and ran my fingers over its spiny wings.
Oh, Abby, I miss you so much! I miss being friends with you. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry; I just couldn't take it any more. But it's all gone wrong anyway, somehow.
So what are you going to do about it? asked the tiny dragon's eyes.
Day Eight
‘My god, poor Ann,’ murmured Jenny for about the thousandth time, staring at the paper.
‘Is that the story about Crimewatch ?’ Dad glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor with his cup of coffee.
We were all sprawled around in the lounge, finishing up our ‘Townsend Traditional Sunday Brunch.’ Well, it's ‘traditional’ whenever Dad decides he feels like cooking it. I think he thought he was cheering me up, having it today.
Jenny sighed, snapping out the newspaper and folding it over. ‘Hundreds of calls, and not one that's come to anything so far.’
‘Come to what?’ Nat's eyes were wide. I wasn't sure what Jenny had told her about Abby – something suitably non-traumatic, probably, like Abby was off on holiday and was just a tiny bit late coming home – but she was always hinting about, tryi
ng to get more details.
‘Nothing – finish your sausage,’ ordered Dad. Nat made a face, picking at the remains of her breakfast.
I tried to take another bite of toast, and then put it down. ‘So – so no one else saw her, then? After I did?’
Dad grimaced and patted my arm, leaning across the coffee table. ‘Someone might still come forward with something definite, love – the show only aired a few days ago. Or maybe the police just aren't releasing everything they know to the press.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ put in Jenny quickly, looking worried. She was obviously remembering that she was a child-psychologist in training, and that doom and gloom weren't really the way to go.
Nat was wide-eyed, desperate to know what was going on. I looked down, thinking that doom and gloom felt more realistic, actually.
Suddenly Dad jumped up, brushing crumbs from his trousers. ‘Right, enough of this – what do you say we all go out and do something? Go see a National Trust place, enjoy the sunshine.’
‘Yeah!’ yelped Nat, wolfing down her last bite of sausage.
A look of consternation crossed Jenny's face. ‘Oh, but I've got homework to do.’
‘It's just for an afternoon.’
Jenny stood up too, and started piling our breakfast things onto the big wooden tray. The juice glasses clinked together. ‘No, really, I'm afraid I can't … take Emma and Natalie, though.’
‘Oh, come on, Jen. It's a gorgeous day—’
‘Tom, I've got homework. It's due tomorrow; I need to get it done. This is important to me, all right?’ She turned and carried the tray into the kitchen, her curly hair bouncing against the old black cardigan she wore.
Shaking his head, Dad let out a short breath and swung Nat up in his arms, perching her on his shoulders. She shrieked, clutching his neck and giggling. He glanced at me. ‘What about you, Emma? Are you up for it?’
It actually sounded tempting; how sad is that? Wandering around an old manor house with my dad and Nat, peering at dusty furniture.
I shook my head. ‘No, thanks. There's something else I need to do today.’
Missing Abby Page 6