by Bali Rai
Not that I wanted to. Occasionally I wondered whether I was being unfair – after all, it was only a picture – and I started to feel bad about it. Maybe I was being a killjoy; maybe it was just a bit of harmless fun. Thing is, it didn’t feel that way. It felt wrong, and added to the webcam appearing out of the blue, and the odd messages that I’d shown Kane, I was a bit creeped out by my American friend.
I found a bench, sat down and took out my phone. I went into the Facebook app, but it took ages to update. When it finally loaded, I felt like throwing it away. Benedict had left nearly thirty messages. I blinked when I saw the amount. Blinked again and shook my head. I could have ignored him but I decided to stop being so lame and reply. I thought about how lovely he’d been at first, how I’d started to have feelings for him. So what had changed? Why was he suddenly being so needy and odd? It felt like he was letting me down – throwing away something wonderful – and that made me sad. He’d made me believe in him but now it just felt wrong. And so quickly too – no wonder I was confused.
Hey Benny – that’s a lot of messages.
His reply was instant.
WTF???????
You angry?
No – I’m happy that you’ve ignored me.
Things are bad here – I told you.
I know. We have media too. I read about Max – I’m sorry.
Why? You didn’t know him.
Yeah – well I’m sorry anyway.
I didn’t like that pic you sent.
I guessed. Why not?
Because I’m not that type of girl.
That’s very judgemental. Am I that type of boy?
I don’t know.
Thanks for that. I thought we had a connection, Lily?
We don’t even know each other. Not really.
That’s why I sent the pic. Why I talk to you on here. Thought we were making a connection. Guess I was wrong.
That’s not fair.
How could he say that? Making a connection was about trusting each other and becoming better friends. It wasn’t about showing each other naked selfies. Well, not in my world, anyway.
What’s not fair? That I spend time on you, and you don’t reciprocate? That I send you pics of me and you don’t return the favour? Thought you liked me?
I do like you. I just don’t send pics like those. I’m not Molly Cooper.
I can see that.
I felt myself grow angry. What could he see? That I wasn’t half naked and posing for a webcam?
Meaning?
Meaning you’re like a nun, Lily. At least girls like Molly know how to have fun.
So message her instead.
I was fuming now – really hot and wound up. If he’d been sitting next to me, I would have screamed at him.
I already have.
What?
Well – did you think I’d sit around waiting for you? I’m not some asshole needs to be treated that way.
Why are you being so mean?
Me? I’m not mean. You’re the mean one.
Is that all you wanted – some slutty pics?
The thought made me feel ill. It upset me too. Was that all I meant to him?
I wanted to be your man. I could have any girl in the world, Lily. I chose you though. Big mistake, I reckon. Molly wouldn’t have treated me this way. She knows how to enjoy herself.
The anger came back and my grip grew tighter around my phone. Who did he think he was? He knew I was insecure and he knew that his words would bother me. He had to know. All the things I’d told him about – like my self-confidence issues, and how I felt about my looks and even my dad . . .
I had trusted him and he was a dickhead. He had told me I was special, nearly convinced me, and now, with a few words, he’d taken it all away. I wanted to cry but I forced myself to be stern. I forced myself to be more like Tilly.
Love yourself much?
See? You are mean. I was just being honest. I’m a teenage boy, Lily. What’s with the old-timer attitude?
My friend just died?
I know – all the more reason to let off steam.
I can’t.
Well, I’m not sitting around waiting. You wanna play – wanna live your life – let me know. Otherwise, I’m done with this crap. I’m not being ignored by no girl.
Mum sensed my mood immediately. I hadn’t even stepped inside. Part of me was gutted by Benedict’s words – the way he’d just reinforced so many in securities. Yet I had a sense of relief too. Like I was getting away from something. I can’t even explain what or why. It was just how I felt.
‘What’s up?’ asked Mum.
I shrugged. ‘Just thinking about Max,’ I told her.
Mum shook her head. ‘There’s more, Lily – I can see you’ve been crying.’
I had. Only my tears had been about Benedict, and not my dead friend. And knowing that brought on guilt, which led to more tears. I was angry with myself for caring what Benedict thought. For wasting my tears over him. He was just some anonymous boy online. He wasn’t real, not like Kane. He wasn’t Max.
‘Nothing, honestly,’ I insisted.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, ‘but I’ll let it go. For now.’
‘Great,’ I replied. ‘Nothing like the third degree when I get home – cheers me up no end.’
Mum glared at me. ‘Dave’s here,’ she told me, ‘so lose the attitude.’
‘Yeah.’
Mum shook her head. I could see that she was annoyed with me. I was being spiky and I knew it. ‘Just come and say hello to Dave. He’s staying for dinner.’
‘Did I hear my name?’ asked Dave from the living-room door. He looked tired and his face was pasty. The dark green Leicester Tigers top he wore didn’t help.
‘Hey, Dave,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful.
‘Lily,’ he replied. ‘I’m ever so sorry about Max – I know you were close.’
I ran upstairs before any more tears came.
22
Over the next two days, school brought back images and memories of Max. Every room, every corridor held his spore. Even saying it sounds stupid, but it felt that way.
I tried to bury my emotions. Like, if anyone mentioned his name, I’d change the subject. Or when people discussed his death around me, I’d find something urgent to do elsewhere. Tilly got me – she understood my reactions – even if we weren’t getting on so well, but I wondered whether everyone else just thought I was a heartless, cold bitch. Not that I cared. I knew what Max had meant to me.
By Friday afternoon form time, things got too much for Tilly. She’d been cracking jokes all week, pretending to the world, but I could see the anguish in her eyes. It was something more too – maybe the strain of keeping her secret hidden.
As we came in from lunch, she burst into tears with no warning. When I tried to comfort her, Jamie Walker started taking the piss and Manisha joined in.
‘What’s she crying for?’ asked Jamie. ‘Was she shagging him?’
‘Shut up!’ I yelled.
‘She fancied him, for sure,’ Manisha added.
‘Crying over some dirty wanker,’ said Jamie. ‘Man was a nonce.’
‘JAMIE!’ yelled Mr Warren from the door.
Manisha crawled back under a rock, like the cockroach that she was, as Jamie went red. I wondered what DC Evans had done with the names I’d given her after Amy died. Looking at the two idiots in my class, the answer was obvious. Nothing. So much for taking the bullying seriously, I thought.
‘I suggest you shut the hell up!’ continued Mr Warren. He was livid – actually shaking with rage.
‘You can’t talk to me like that,’ said Jamie, looking around at his friends for support. ‘I’ll tell my old man – get you done.’
Mr Warren shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t care who you tell,’ he said in a calmer tone. ‘I’m sure your father will be delighted to hear that you’re besmirching the name of a dead pupil. Shall we call him now?’
Jamie went quiet a
nd lost his bravado.
‘Any more of that,’ said Mr Warren, ‘and you’re in serious trouble, do you understand?’
‘Sir,’ Jamie replied sulkily.
‘That goes for anyone else,’ our form teacher added, looking directly at Manisha.
She scowled and turned away.
‘Tilly,’ said Mr Warren. ‘You come with me – OK?’
Tilly nodded and I stood up too.
‘No – just Tilly,’ Mr Warren told me.
They walked out, and across the corridor to Mr Dhindsa’s office.
‘Stupid bitch!’ whispered Manisha.
I turned round.
‘Yeah – you,’ she said.
I said nothing, but then Mr Warren came back. ‘Is Tilly OK, sir?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he told me. ‘Just upset. I think recent events have shocked us all. Tilly’s calming down in Mr Dhindsa’s room.’ He sat, flipped open his laptop and took the register.
Tilly went home early, so Kane and I walked back together after school. We cut down past the local supermarket but didn’t stop for coffee. The car park was packed with Friday shoppers and lots of pupils from school.
‘Why shop on a Friday?’ Kane asked.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s always so busy,’ he explained. ‘Like, why not shop when it’s quiet.’
‘You think about some random stuff, Kane.’ I looked at my reflection in a parked car, just to make sure my hair was OK. After my last spat with Benedict, I’d lost the confusion I’d had over him and Kane. Even if nothing came of it, I knew now that Kane was real. Benedict was just weird and I was still angry with him, and with myself for caring what he thought of me.
Kane stopped to watch a black sports car fly past on the A6. ‘Audi R8,’ he said softly. ‘Max loved his cars.’
‘I know,’ I told him. ‘He had all those posters on his wall.’
Just thinking about it made me tearful. Max would never sleep in his bed again, or read his favourite books. He’d never get the chance to live out his dreams. If I had been his mum, I think I might have died of grief.
‘It doesn’t feel real,’ continued Kane. ‘Like – him being gone and that.’
‘I know that too.’
‘Can’t get my head sorted, y’know?’
I nodded. ‘It’s like a nightmare,’ I said.
Kane paused before continuing. ‘I keep thinking about that woman, Charlotte,’ he added. ‘The one he was chatting to online. Like, maybe I should have listened to him more?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Just that it was weird,’ he said. ‘He was proper into her, but he didn’t even know what she looked like.’
‘Really?’
‘Well – he did,’ Kane replied. ‘But only ’cos she sent him photos and stuff. I don’t think they ever met. I keep wondering if she made him – y’know . . .’
‘I can’t see it,’ I replied. ‘What could she have done?’
‘Max wouldn’t kill himself,’ said Kane. ‘He just wouldn’t.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe not in normal circumstances,’ I said, ‘but after that video and all the shame – who knows?’
‘That’s just stupid, though,’ Kane replied. ‘People would have forgotten about it – eventually.’
‘Yeah, but imagine the shit Max would’ve taken.’
Kane shook his head again. ‘I’d rather be embarrassed and alive than dead,’ he told me. ‘I just can’t understand how people can kill themselves. Doesn’t make sense.’
It made no sense to me either. Was getting caught like Max really the worst thing that could happen to a boy? Like, really? Kane’s words made complete sense. Surely it was better to be alive?
‘You think the newspapers are right?’ he added.
‘About what?’
‘Amy and Max – in some suicide pact?’
I shook my head. It felt like a stupid theory. ‘No way,’ I told him. ‘It’s ridiculous . . .’
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I keep getting this feeling like there’s more . . .’
‘More to what?’ I asked, intrigued by what he meant.
‘More to Max’s death.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s just a feeling . . .’
I realized then that Kane had his own coping strategy. It was different to mine, but that didn’t make it better or worse. He was just trying to make sense of Max’s death. We didn’t say much else, and at my house he kissed me on the cheek. He’d never done that before. The feel of his lips against my skin made me light-headed. I started to think those silly thoughts again – that he really did like me, that I was his type of girl . . .
‘Kane?’ I said.
‘Huh?’
I smiled. ‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘Just – call me later – if you like.’
He smiled back. ‘OK,’ he said, before walking off. In my head, my emotions rocked back and forth between sadness and excitement, and that tweenie version of me squealed again.
23
I started my Saturday eating peanut butter on toast, and watching crap telly in my PJs. When the latest idiot boy band appeared, I swore and flicked channels. As each channel flashed by, BBC News 24 caught my eye. They were showing a photograph of Max . . .
‘New details have emerged in the case of Leicester teenager Max Jones. Max, who was fifteen, was found dead just over a week ago, in what appeared to be a suicide. However, Leicestershire Police confirmed this morning that they are widening the scope of their enquiry, and cannot rule out the possibility of foul play. We can cross to Maya Khan, in Leicester . . .’
Putting my plate down, I turned up the volume. My head was spinning. Were they saying that Max had been murdered? I grabbed my phone and called Kane. He answered at the first tone.
‘Are you watching—?’ I began, but Kane cut me off.
‘Yeah. It’s on every news channel,’ he said.
‘I guess you were right, then,’ I told him.
‘I knew something was wrong,’ he replied.
‘Call you back in a mo,’ I said.
‘Or come round?’ he suggested.
‘OK.’
The BBC reporter was standing by the main gates to school.
‘Teachers described Max as a model pupil, and a huge loss for the school. The sense of shock here is palpable. That shock is bound to increase now that investigators believe Max may have been the victim of foul play and are widening their enquiries. The Hi-Tech Crimes Unit has been called in, a specialist group experienced in cyber-crime, and a fresh appeal has gone out for information.
‘DI Meadows, who leads the investigation, told reporters this morning that nothing will be ruled out. But he also refuted claims, in some of this morning’s daily newspapers, of links between this case and that of fellow pupil Amy Wiggins, who died just over a month before Max Jones disappeared. DI Meadows urged media outlets to steer clear of fanciful theories and to concentrate on the facts.
‘However, the BBC has learned that in Amy Wiggins’s case, enquiries are still ongoing. That her death has not yet been declared a suicide, nor a death certificate issued, will only lead to more speculation about possible links between the two cases.’
Foul play had to mean murder. The idea made me feel nauseous. Who would want to kill Max, and why? And if Amy had committed suicide, why were the police still investigating? It had been weeks since she died – surely that was long enough to decide? It just didn’t make sense.
I ran upstairs to shower and get dressed. Were the deaths of Amy and Max really linked? How was that even possible? As soon as I was ready, I did some digging on the Internet. My PC was playing up, so I used Mum’s laptop. She had blocked Facebook and a couple of other social media sites so I didn’t have to face any more of Benedict’s messages either, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to deal with him again – not after the selfie and the hurtful comment about other girls being more fun than me. An
hour later, I’d printed off a stack of information. I left the house and headed for Kane’s. It was a fifteen-minute walk – long enough to think things through.
Kane lived in a terrace with his family. The house had a little courtyard front garden filled with plants and brightly coloured flowers. Kane opened the door, and half smiled. He was wearing a white T-shirt that strained against his arms and chest, grey jersey shorts that fell just below his knees and blue flip-flops. His hair was un-braided again and stood tall.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Is it OK to be here?’ I asked, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden.
He shook his head. ‘Nah – my mum is going to kill and cook you,’ he joked. ‘Course it’s OK, you nutter.’
I smiled and followed him down a narrow hallway, to the right of the stairs, and into the kitchen at the rear. The room smelled of spicy chicken.
‘Jerk,’ he said, nodding at the oven. ‘Mum always makes it on a Saturday.’
‘Smells great,’ I told him. ‘I might have to steal some.’
‘You won’t even make the kitchen door,’ he replied. ‘Alfie will get you first. Man nyams chicken like vampires suck blood.’
An open Apple Macbook Pro sat on the wooden kitchen table. ‘This is lovely,’ I said, running my fingers across the smooth metal case.
‘It’s my brother’s,’ Kane told me. ‘He’s got four computers.’
‘What does he do?’ I asked.
I’d known Kane since Year Six, but didn’t really know his brother. He was a lot older than us and always busy. His sister, Carmen, was Year Eight, so I saw lots of her, and Kane’s parents knew my mum.
‘Alfie’s a systems analyst. Does computer programming and that too.’
‘Sounds boring,’ I replied.
‘Yeah, it is,’ said Kane, ‘but it pays good and he can do anything with a computer. Gives us his old ones too.’
‘Still sounds boring,’ I joked.
‘See the new Mercedes C250 outside – the red one?’