Is Anybody There?

by Jean Ure

  I didn’t want them to be clear! I wanted them full of traffic, and hold-ups.I had to get out of that car.

  “You must admit,” he said, “it’s one of the advantages. And just look at the countryside!” He gestured out of the window, at the dark shapes of pine trees, and the woods looming behind. “I love it out here. You can drive for hours without seeing anyone. It’s hard to believe the town’s just a couple of miles away.”

  I knew why he was starting to talk: it was to make me think that everything was normal. But everything wasn’t normal!

  In a small, tight voice, I said, “I really do need to ring my mum. If I don’t ring her she’ll wonder where I am. She’ll get really worried if she doesn’t hear from me. She’ll do something stupid, like call the police. I really do think I ought to go back and get my phone!”

  “And I really think,” he said, firmly, “that it would be better to get you home first and set your mum’s mind at rest. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “But I want my phone!” I could hear my voice coming out in this panic-stricken wail. “I need it!”

  “You can always call the restaurant when you get in. I’m sure they’ll keep it for you. I’ll even drive back into town and pick it up for you, if you like. But let’s just get you home first. We don’t want your mum being worried.”

  “Please!” I said. I was begging him, now. “I need to go back! I want my phone!”

  “Joanne,” he said, “mobile phones are not that important. Your mum’s peace of mind is at stake here. But OK. OK! If that’s what you want, I’ll take you back.”

  I wanted to believe him. I did so want to believe him! But I knew he was only saying it to keep me quiet. If he had really been going to take me back, he would have slowed the car and turned round. Instead, he continued straight on, barrelling down the hill towards the gravel pits. It was the most terrifying moment of my whole life. You just can’t believe, until you find yourself in it, that you could ever get yourself in such a situation. This was something that happened to other people! It couldn’t be happening to me!

  The thing that saved me was the traffic lights. The lights at the intersection with the main Benbridge Road. They were on red, and he was forced to stop. I was out of that car so fast I almost fell over. Coming towards us, up the hill, heading back into town, was a bus. I regained my balance and hared across the road towards it. I got to the stop just in time … another second and I would have been too late.

  I heard him calling after me, “Joanne! I’d have taken you! I was going to go round the roundabout!”

  But the roundabout was at the bottom of the hill, where the gravelpits were. I somehow didn’t think, if we’d gone that far, that I would ever have come back …

  It was twenty past nine when I finally arrived home. I rang Mum from the cab to tell her that I was on my way; I said I’d had trouble getting through to Albert, and that when I had finally got through, he didn’t have a spare cab (keeping fingers firmly crossed that he and Mum would never talk together about it). Mum said rather sharply that that was no excuse, I obviously hadn’t rung him early enough.

  “I knew you couldn’t be trusted! I knew I should have booked in advance.”

  Then she added that she didn’t have time to tell me off right now.

  “Miss Allardyce has just called round, she’s in one of her states. I’ve got to go, I shall speak to you later.”

  By which time, with any luck, she would be too tired to make the effort. Three cheers for Miss Allardyce! Though I have to say that I have never understood how Mum puts up with her. When I was little I used to call her the Handkerchief Lady, because she was always turning up on the doorstep in floods of tears with a handkerchief pressed to her face. In my view she is a total pain, and personally I couldn’t be bothered with her, but Mum seems to have masses of patience. She says that she is “a fragile personality”, and this, apparently, excuses everything.

  Anyway, for once I blessed her – the Handkerchief Lady, that is. I hadn’t been looking forward to getting home and having Mum lay into me. I was still feeling quite shaky after my narrow escape. When I’d got back to the Pizza Palace all the others had left but luckily someone had actually picked up my mobile and handed it in, which was not only a major relief (’cos I’d already lost two of them) but also somewhat amazing, since all you ever hear about is mobile phones being stolen. But then I rang Albert, and my hand was so trembly and quaking that I had to have three goes at putting the number in. Even when at last I managed to get through I was terrified that my voice would give me away, because that was all trembly and quaking, as well. The last thing I wanted was for Albert to start doing his mother hen act.

  “What’s wrong, poppet? Tell your Uncle Albert! ’fess up … something’s happened.”

  Albert is a darling man and I love him to bits, and so does Mum, but I desperately, desperately didn’t want Mum finding out what I’d done. Partly this was because I felt so stupid, and embarrassed, and ashamed; and partly, of course, because I felt guilty. Not to mention the fact that Mum would never let me out of her sight again.

  When I got in, the door of her consulting room was closed, so I guessed that she was with the Handkerchief Lady. Dear, sweet, Handkerchief Lady! If Mum gave her a full hour, it meant I could be safely tucked up in bed before she was through.

  While I was getting undressed, my mobile rang. It was Chloe, eager to chat about the night.

  “What did you think? Did you enjoy it? I thought it was great! I think we ought to do it again. Only in future,” said Chloe, “we’ll just ask a few people.”

  I said, “Yes, and Mel Sanders won’t be one of them.”

  Chloe agreed that Mel Sanders would definitely not be one of them. “That girl is just so disgusting. She was even making eyes at the old guy behind the bar!”

  “He was encouraging her,” I said. “They always encourage her. All of them! It’s like she has this spell that she casts.”

  “There isn’t anything magic about it,” said Chloe. “Anyone could do it if they wanted. It’s just that some of us happen to have a bit better taste.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Is that what it is?”

  “Well, what did you think it was?” said Chloe.

  Glumly I said, “Lack of sex appeal?”

  Chloe snorted. “Doesn’t strike me as very sex appealing, going round like a bunch of animated candyfloss.”

  What on earth was she talking about?

  “That hair,” said Chloe. “All puffed up. And that ridiculous top! I couldn’t decide whether it was meant to be on the shoulder or off.”

  Mostly it had been off. Quite a long way off. I had watched Danny’s eyes, going round like Catherine wheels.

  “And did you see those boots?” Boots? I froze. What boots?

  My boots?

  “What was wrong with them?” I said.

  “Tart boots,” said Chloe. She giggled. “That’s what my mum called them!”

  Chloe’s mum was obviously an idiot. What did she know? I huffed, grumpily, into the phone.

  “What’s going on?” said Chloe. “You sound all humpish.”

  I said, “I’m tired.”

  “Tired? Really? I’m so wide awake I could stay up all night! Listen, I was thinking, if Dee’s out of hospital—”

  “She is,” I said.

  “Oh.” Chloe sounded surprised. “How do you know? Did you ring?”

  “No, I mean … she’s probably out of hospital. I mean, she usually is. When she goes in. She usually comes out next day. I mean, like – well! She’s never in for more than one night. You know?” I was growing more flustered by the second. I didn’t want even Chloe to know how stupid I’d been. If Chloe knew, she would tell Dee for sure, because Chloe is quite incapable of keeping a secret, and I certainly didn’t want Dee knowing. It would only upset her.

  “Well! I’ll ring and find out,” said Chloe. “If she’s home, shall we go and see her?”

  I mumbled, �
�Could, I s’ppose.”

  “We ought,” said Chloe. “She’ll be dying to know how it went!”

  “You could both come round here,” I said.

  “It’d be better if we went to her place.”

  I sighed. “All right.”

  “You’re sounding all humpish again,” said Chloe. “It’s not Mel, is it? You’re not letting her get to you? She is just so nothing. She’s rubbish! Don’t worry about her.”

  I wasn’t worried about Mel, I was worried about going round to visit Dee and bumping into her brother. What would I say? What would I do? I didn’t ever want to set eyes on him again!

  “Let’s go tomorrow morning,” said Chloe. “I’ll text you.”

  I said OK, but my brain was whirring furiously, thinking of what excuses I could make. I would have to be ill! Or going somewhere with Mum. Or the dentist, or the doctor, or just anywhere.

  I couldn’t face the thought of seeing Dee! Except … I would have to see her some time. We were always going round to each other’s places. I couldn’t just suddenly stop. She would think I didn’t want to be friends with her any more. I didn’t know what to do!

  Seconds after Chloe rang off, the phone started up again. It was Dee …

  “Oh!” she said. “You’re back!”

  Trying hard to sound bright and cheery, I said, “Nine o’clock curfew.”

  “Yes, but what happened? Paul was worried about you! He said he was giving you a lift and you jumped out of the car. What d’you go and do that for?”

  She sounded reproachful. More than reproachful: she sounded quite cross.

  She had some nerve! She’d only got his side of the story; what about mine? “Jo? What d’you go and jump out of the car for?” I swallowed. “I s-suddenly realised … I’d left my phone in the restaurant.”

  “I know, Paul said. But he was going to take you back there! You might have given him a chance. He said you frightened the life out of him, tearing across the road like that.”

  How could I tell her that he had frightened the life out of me? He was her brother, and she probably loved him. When she’d introduced him to us, me and Chloe, that one time, she’d seemed, like, really proud. Like he was something special. Even if I told her why I’d jumped out of the car, she probably wouldn’t believe me. She wouldn’t believe that her beloved brother could kidnap someone. Because that was what he’d done. Dee would say I was imagining it. But I wasn’t! He’d deliberately driven the wrong way. How would she explain that? And the screwdriver in the glove compartment? And pretending not to have a mobile phone! Everyone had a mobile phone. If I hadn’t left mine in the restaurant, if I’d had it with me and I’d tried to use it, he would never have let me. He would never have let me ring home! If it hadn’t been for the traffic lights being on red, I would never have got home. Mum would have waited and waited for me, getting more and more distraught, until in the end she would have had to call the police. And then it would have been on television, and in the papers. Has anyone seen this girl? And poor Mum, weeping, as she begged whoever had taken me to let me go. Only by then it would be too late. And one day somebody walking a dog round the gravelpits would come across a body, and it would Mum’s worst nightmare come true. But how could I explain any of this to Dee?

  “Jo?” The way she said it, it was like … accusing. Like I was the one who’d done something wrong, upsetting her brother. I was quite surprised that he had mentioned it to her. I would have thought he’d have wanted to keep quiet about it, but no doubt he’d decided it was best to get in first and make like he was the injured party, in case I reported him, or anything. Not that I would. I still desperately didn’t want Mum finding out.

  “Jo, are you there?” She was getting impatient, now. “Say something! Don’t just go all quiet on me!”

  “Look, I’m really tired,” I said. “I want to go to bed.”

  “Just tell me why you ran off like that!”

  “I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking. I just saw this bus and … I had to get my phone! I’ve already lost two, Mum would have gone spare.”

  “But Paul would have taken you.”

  “I didn’t want to put him to any trouble,” I said. “Anyway, it’s OK, ’cos I got the phone back. I’ve just been speaking to Chloe, and she said she’s going to ring you and see if you’re home. Which you obviously are,” I said, brightly, though I wasn’t actually feeling bright, I was feeling quite limp and weak; with shock, I suppose. Thinking of Mum sitting at home waiting for me had brought back all the horror of being in that car and knowing that I had made this terrible mistake. “You are home,” I said, “aren’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I am!” snapped Dee. “Paul told you I was.”

  “Oh. Yes! So he did. Well!”

  “Well what?” said Dee.

  “I hope you’re feeling better,” I said. But Dee just made an exasperated sound and rang off.

  I really hated falling out with Dee, but I just didn’t know what to say to her. Also, to be honest, I couldn’t understand what her problem was. So I’d jumped out of the car and leapt on to a bus. So what? It hardly seemed any good reason for her to be mad at me. What could he have said to make her so mad? Maybe he’d told her how I’d nearly made him crash the car. That would make her mad. The thought of me, putting him in danger. Me, putting him in danger! It was sick. Sick, sick, sick. And there wasn’t a thing I could do to put it right. I couldn’t tell Dee that it was him, her precious brother, leaning over me, opening the glove compartment. Reaching for the screwdriver. If I hadn’t lurched sideways and thrown him off balance –

  “Jo?”

  Oh no, it was Mum calling up the stairs! She’d obviously got rid of the Handkerchief Lady. I sprang into bed, trying to make like I’d gone to sleep and forgotten to switch the light off, but Mum is almost never fooled by any of my ruses. She can see straight through me! I guess it’s what comes of having a mum who’s psychic.

  “Jo?” She stuck her head round the door. “You still awake?”

  Of course she knew I was! But I made this big production of suddenly waking up with a start.

  “Oh,” I said, “has it gone?”

  “Miss Allardyce? Yes. She only needed a little pepping up. Now, then!” Mum folded her arms; a sure sign she meant business. “What happened, young lady?”

  “Woman,” I said.

  “Girl,” said Mum. “Teenage girl. Gave me her word she would be back by nine.”

  “I got back by twenty past,” I bleated. “And I did ring you!”

  “You think that makes it all right?” said Mum.

  “I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t get through. I told you … they were engaged!”

  “For half an hour?”

  I blinked. “Well … y-yes.”

  “Rubbish! You’re not telling me the line was busy right through from eight thirty till nine o’clock?”

  “Maybe not quite from eight thirty,” I mumbled.

  “Joanne, just be honest! You didn’t even try ringing until nine o’clock, did you?”

  I huddled down beneath the duvet, trying to escape the wrath that was to come. Mum is actually quite tolerant, but oh, boy! When she blows, she really blows. I braced myself for the tirade. The last time I shall trust you, in future you’ll be treated like a child, never allowed out by yourself at night again …

  “Oh, I can’t be bothered!” said Mum. She threw her arms into the air, then pressed both hands on top of her head, as if to keep it from blasting off. “I’ve had a really tiring day. The last thing I need right now is my own daughter giving me a load of hassle.”

  I wriggled my way back out of the duvet. “I’m sorry, Mum! I am … really I am!”

  “Bit late for that,” grumbled Mum. But she was softening, I could tell. I crept closer and stretched out a finger, trying to wipe away her frown lines.

  “You won’t get round me like that,” said Mum. “You seem to think I’m just a stupid old fusspot, but the fact is, it’s not safe
out there for a young girl on her own at night. And don’t start pulling faces at me!”

  I wasn’t pulling faces. I’d learnt my lesson! I wouldn’t pull faces ever again.

  “Mum.” I settled myself, cross-legged in the bed. “You don’t think you’re working too hard, do you?”

  “Well, of course I am,” said Mum. “It’s the only way I know how to make a living.”

  “But Dad pays you something!”

  “Yes, your dad is quite generous.”

  “It’s not like we’re on the breadline, or anything.”

  “No; but I have to contribute my share.”

  “You don’t have to wear yourself out!” I’d seen Mum at the end of some of her sessions; she would emerge looking absolutely drained. “I just don’t know why you keep seeing that woman,” I said.

  “Who? Poor Miss Allardyce?”

  “She’s a neurotic!”

  “She can’t help it. She pays her money, the same as anyone else.”

  “Yes, and she wears you to a frazzle! She’s like a leech. I can’t understand why you bother with her.”

  “Someone has to bother. You can’t ignore people’s suffering.”

  “I can,” I said. “When it’s people like her, that latch on to you and take advantage of you and turn up at all hours of the day and night expecting you to just drop everything at a moment’s notice and patch up their pathetic messy lives for them. It’s just so selfish!”

  “It is selfish,” agreed Mum. “But that’s all part and parcel of the condition.”