by Sue Wallman
Staff are led to police cars. Greta is there among them, white-faced and uncomprehending. I almost feel sorry for her. She’s arguing with the police; she still can’t believe anything bad of the Creek.
I want to know that someone is looking after Will. When I ask, I’m told the paramedics are with him. Computers, other equipment and files are carried out of the security and main buildings, wrapped in clear plastic.
“Mae!” Ms Ray is standing by the gates. Her face is shiny and tear-stained. The sleeves of her shirt have been rolled up and down so many times today they look stripy from the creases. “Thank God you’re OK.” She hugs me and I’m overwhelmed by how much physical contact this day has contained. How much comfort there is in arms being wrapped around me.
A little while later, I walk with the policewoman from before, across the lawn and into the front door of Hibiscus which has been wedged open so that there’s no need for the security code. When I sprint up the five flights of stairs, she can’t keep up.
“Mom!” I call as I burst through the door.
She’s lying on her bed in our ruined apartment. It’s about the one piece of furniture that hasn’t been smashed up.
“He’s gone,” she says weakly.
I nod. I don’t know what the police have told her, but I don’t tell her how he died. Not yet. I’m still processing it.
“He went crazy,” she whispers as she sits up, crunching herself against the headboard. “He thought I knew about your iPad.”
I sit on the bed. One side of her face is bruised and cut, and she’s clutching her shoulder.
“He kept asking me if I knew you were at the library in Pattonville. After he left, I persuaded reception to give me an outside line to the library. It was the new receptionist. The man. I told him Hunter had asked me to make the call and he put me through.”
“It was you who called to warn me?”
She nods, and her voice cracks as she speaks. “I was scared it would be really bad for you this time.”
“Did you know about the vitamins?” I ask.
Her eyes brim with tears. “I wanted a better life for you than I had. I thought Hunter would give it to you. We needed him; he needed us.”
“Why did you trust him for so long?” I ask. It’s not really a question, and she has no answer. I saw it happen – how she wasn’t allowed to make decisions, was confused by other drugs, and how he controlled every aspect of her life.
“I found Federico’s photo,” I say. “I know he’s my dad.”
She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mae. Neither of your fathers were any good.”
I allow myself to hope that without Hunter, in a different place and with her meds sorted out, she might be less of a shadow and more of a person. I hope that Radley Bridge School will give me another chance to sit the scholarship exam. I hope all at once for many things but I’ll manage whatever happens. I have Thet and Noah and Ms Ray, as well as Mom, to help me.
The policewoman is watching us from the door.
“Let’s go,” I tell Mom. “We need to give a statement to the police.”
She nods. She sits and swings her legs round. The floor is covered with smashed-up things and broken glass, fragments of our previous life. I reach for the sandals that she must have kicked off earlier.
Tears roll down her cheeks as she fumbles at her wrist.
“Let me help,” I say, and I remove her watch.
EPILOGUE - ONE YEAR LATER
My first flight. Terrible food. Awesome movie selection. Since leaving the Creek, I’ve become claustrophobic. Any place I can’t leave easily makes me nervous. I glance at the screen in front of me. Less than two hours until we reach our destination. That’s something else. I like to check the time a lot, but I never wear a watch.
I tuck my arm under Mom’s. She’s asleep. She doesn’t need total blackout, like me. My brain is still too used to shutters.
But letting my mind wander to dark places has become a bit easier. Hunter died. It wasn’t my fault; it was self-defence. I still get nightmares about it, and I think I always will. But it’s getting better.
A lot has come to light over the past year. HB was developed to be a vastly superior kind of amphetamine. Hunter hoped it would allow people to stay awake for long periods while functioning at eighty per cent capacity as their body underwent processes that normally occurred when they were asleep, such as tissue repair, toxic waste disposal and hormone regulation. Early tests showed it gave users strength and stamina, but also serious side effects, some of them long-term. Anybody who’s ever taken HB will need to be screened for heart problems for the rest of their lives.
It turned out that Hunter named the drug after his initials. HB represented nothing more than the size of his ego. And Mom and I were not much more than two specimens for him to experiment on. He didn’t think anyone would come looking for us.
His investor, Peter, is a now-disgraced army general who saw the potential of HB for the military. His trial, along with those of Karl, Earl, Abigail, Mick and Raoul, hasn’t got to court yet, but there have been hearings and financial rulings.
Austin’s parents sued and went to the papers, as did those of other patients. Will met Austin’s parents and messaged me to say that they’ve asked him to be involved in a foundation in Austin’s name. He gets to help decide which teenage mental health projects the money is spent on.
An air steward walks past, and checks I have my seatbelt on underneath my blanket. “Not long now,” he says. He can tell I’m nervous being on a plane. But I also can’t wait to get there.
I discovered Mom’s dad died years ago, before we left England. But we’re going back, and in a few days’ time we’ll visit Uncle Frank and then Callie. I’m intrigued to meet them, but it’s Noah I want to see most. We’ve messaged loads. He’s happier at school. Happier generally. Still into human rights, but he’s able to switch off more. He knows I found Drew online, but Drew didn’t want contact. He said he had to put the Creek and everyone associated with it behind him. I’m still recovering from that, if I’m honest.
Noah knows how much I like Radley Bridge House, and I tell him pretty much everything about my new life, but there are things I’m looking forward to saying in person, like how much I miss him. I have friends at Radley Bridge, but I’m different to the other pupils. It doesn’t matter. That difference makes me strong. It makes me determined to achieve things.
We live near my school, Mom and I, in a tiny rental property. We don’t like it too tidy, and although we eat healthily, we always have a few emergency packets of potato chips in the kitchen cabinets. Mom works for a gardening enterprise that supports people with special needs and volunteers for an animal rescue charity.
Noah, Thet and I sometimes have three-way Skype conversations. Noah teases Thet about talking too much, but I’m happy about that because it means she’s OK. She finished her novel and she’s started another one, which is just as brutal. We don’t talk much about the Creek because we don’t want our lives to be defined by what happened there, but also I think because it’s only been a year. When Thet and I met at Christmas, we cried for a solid evening and then we did that friends thing I always dreamed of: we lay on her big bed in her grandmother’s house and laughed about things that wouldn’t have been funny to anyone else.
Ms Ray says I have to concentrate on getting into a good college. When she’s not sending me articles to read or researching the requirements for different colleges she’s retraining to be a lawyer. She helped Ben, Luke and Joanie’s parents find new employment. The kids are at a proper school now, and Joanie kept sending me weird drawings until she settled in properly. Nobody knows where Everleigh, Greta and Zach are, but Greta didn’t return to Pattonville college and the Hummingbird Sports Hall is called something different these days.
The plane lands on the Tarmac with a worrying bump, and we emerge into the cold of the airport terminal. There are endless corridors. Long lines. Questions about the purpose of our
trip here.
“Pleasure,” I say. “Visiting friends and relatives.”
The immigration official asks why it’s me who speaks and not Mom. I tell him it’s because Mom takes a bit of time to reply. She has a condition, but she’s getting better every month. He wishes us a good trip, and we follow everyone else to baggage reclaim. There are bright lights, lots of people, many different languages being spoken, noise. But we manage.
We pull our wheeled suitcases towards the sliding door. It opens and Noah’s there.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A heartfelt thank you to Becky Bagnell at Lindsay Literary Agency.
Major thanks to Lucy Rogers and Linas Alsenas – this book is so much better because of your suggestions and editing skills (credit to Linas for the vintage pen finale). Lena McCauley, thanks for being there at the early stages. Sean Williams, another storming cover from you. Lucy Richardson, you’ve been an excellent publicist. Thank you to the rest of the supportive Scholastic team, particularly Olivia Horrox, Fi Evans and Pete Matthews.
Much gratitude to Caz Buckingham for my new author photos. I know it was a tricky assignment.
Kristina Collins, I’m indebted to you for your close read.
I’ve met many inspirational bloggers, vloggers, librarians and booksellers in the last year. Special mention to Vivienne Dacosta, Michelle Toy, Faye Rogers and Christopher Moore, Kate Priestley at Kingston Libraries, Jamie-Lee Turner at Waterstones Birmingham, Margaret Wallace-Jones at the Alligator’s Mouth, Richmond, and Pat Freestone-Bayes at Regency Bookshop, Surbiton.
To everyone involved with the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, Book Bound and Kingston Writing School, I’m grateful for all I’ve learned and the friendships. Sara Grant, thanks for the encouragement. David Rogers, thanks for the opportunities.
My lovely critique buddies, NM Browne, Zena McFadzean, Sarah Day, Az Dassu, Camilla Chester and Annie Harris, thank you for your behind-the-scenes support.
My fellow #LostandFound debut authors, Olivia Levez, Kathryn Evans, Patrice Lawrence and Eugene Lambert – you are fabulous and kind.
Huge thanks to Cath Howe for helping me so much with plot and life crises.
Thank you to many other great friends for cheering me on.
To my family – I appreciate you immensely.
Phoebe, Maia and Sophie – I love you.
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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2017
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2017
Text copyright © Sue Wallman, 2017
The right of Sue Wallman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her.
eISBN 978 1407 17951 3
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