by Gina Blaxill
CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 2: SAM
CHAPTER 3: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 4: SAM
CHAPTER 5: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 6: SAM
CHAPTER 7: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 8: SAM
CHAPTER 9: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 10: SAM
CHAPTER 11: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 12: SAM
CHAPTER 13: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 14: SAM
CHAPTER 15: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 16: SAM
CHAPTER 17: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 18: SAM
CHAPTER 19: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 20: SAM
CHAPTER 21: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 22: SAM
CHAPTER 23: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 24: SAM
CHAPTER 25: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 26: SAM
CHAPTER 27: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 28: SAM
CHAPTER 29: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 30: SAM
CHAPTER 31: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 32: SAM
CHAPTER 33: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 34: SAM
CHAPTER 35: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 36: SAM
CHAPTER 37: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 38: SAM
CHAPTER 39: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 40: SAM
CHAPTER 41: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 42: SAM
CHAPTER 43: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 44: SAM
CHAPTER 45: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 46: SAM
CHAPTER 47: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 48: SAM
CHAPTER 49: IMOGEN
CHAPTER 50: SAM
EXTRACT FROM FORGET ME NEVER
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT GINA BLAXILL
ALSO BY GINA BLAXILL
COPYRIGHT
To my aunt, Julia Blaxill,
for being my unofficial Dorset agent
IMOGEN
SATURDAY 9 NOVEMBER
When I went out that night, I wasn’t expecting to save someone’s life. Let alone Sam Costello’s.
There was a crowd of us including me, my boyfriend Ollie and my mate Nadina. After fifteen minutes of trawling the high street, we’d grabbed a table in Mmm Hot Chicken. It wasn’t one of the nicer fast food joints Walthamstow had to offer but we liked it for three reasons. One, the owner was usually happy for us to hang out there all evening. Two, it was cheap. Three, the E and the N had fallen off the name sign on the front, making ‘Mmm Hot Chick’ a standing joke. I was ninety per cent certain they’d done this on purpose to draw attention.
This Saturday, Mmm Hot Chick was busy and poorly lit. The light over our table had blown so it was pure chance that I even spotted Sam step through the door. I watched him pause and glance past the queue of people waiting to be served. He was wearing what seemed to be his default outfit of a blazer, shirt and cord trousers – too smart for here. I’d never seen him in anything more casual, despite jeans or tracksuit bottoms being more or less unofficial uniform at our sixth form. Perhaps he dressed that way to make himself look older.
Right now, he was looking lost. Little wonder. From what I knew of Sam, this wasn’t his scene. He’d avoided people ever since he’d started our school in Year 10. Where he went at lunchtime I didn’t know. It definitely wasn’t the canteen. And he was always first out of the form room at the end of the day. If he had friends, they didn’t go to our school. As form rep and then head prefect I’d done my bit to try to include him because it seemed the right thing to do. It hadn’t worked. ‘Give it a rest,’ Nadina had told me. ‘You can’t be everyone’s mate. He’s just stuck up.’ I wasn’t convinced. Who would choose to be a loner? Perhaps he had a reason I couldn’t work out. Something to do with his past. Sam came from somewhere up north and had arrived at our school rather suddenly. No one knew anything else about him.
So what was he doing here now? I soon knew, because Sam started walking in my direction. Then he froze. He was staring at something over my shoulder. I looked back but there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Ollie had just come back from the loos, and everyone was laughing at something he had said.
‘Save my seat,’ I said. Nadina asked where I was going, but I was already making my way over to Sam.
‘All right?’ I asked when I was close enough.
Sam opened his mouth – but no words came out. It struck me how anxious he looked. There was sweat on his forehead and he was fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag. I gave him a friendly push.
‘Earth to Sam!’
Sam’s eyes fixed on mine. For a moment I wondered if he’d taken something. They looked glazed over, not quite in focus.
‘Imogen,’ he blurted. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Go ahead. Get a Coke and join us. We’ll shove the chairs up and make space.’
‘No. Not here. Outside.’
Without giving me a chance to reply, Sam hurried out. I called his name, but either he didn’t hear me or didn’t want to.
I felt a hand on my arm. It was Ollie.
‘Why’s he here? What’s he want?’
I shrugged. ‘To speak to me, so he says.’
‘Why? You’re not mates, Im. He’s not your boyfriend. I’ll have a word and stop him bothering you.’ He started towards the door.
‘Hey! It’s OK. I’ll go outside, see what he wants,’ I said, grabbing Ollie’s arm and pulling him round to face me. He looked really pissed off. Well, that explained why Sam had taken off so quickly. Ollie wasn’t usually one of those aggressive types who grilled any guy that went near his girl, but right now he looked far from happy. I was surprised he’d reacted this way. Perhaps if he’d been at the table when Sam had arrived, Sam would never have come over at all.
‘Call out a search party if I’m not back in five,’ I said, grabbing my coat. I could feel Ollie’s eyes burning into the back of my head as I walked out the door. For a moment I thought Sam had run off, but he was waiting there, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. Everyone had been grumbling about the weather this year. There were rumours of snow next week. Whatever Sam had to say, he’d better make it quick. Why he thought talking here was more private was a mystery. We were right next to a group of smokers, and over the road people were milling about outside KFC. Around this time those neon fast-food signs were practically magnetic. Someone was shouting from inside the 24-hour mini-market. Music boomed out of a passing car. To an outsider this street might seem scary, and it was true that there had been some nasty break-ins at some local shops recently. But in the six years I’d been living in north-east London I’d always felt perfectly safe. Besides, I knew how to look after myself.
‘So,’ I said, ‘what’s up?’
‘It’s not easy to explain.’ He didn’t meet my eyes. ‘I was going to put up and shut up, but I can’t. It’s too important. I’m sorry. Really sorry. You’re not going to like this, but you need to know.’
He moved away from the smokers towards the bus stop, stepping out into the road to get past. I was about to follow when I heard an engine rev loudly and looked round. A car appeared out of nowhere. It was hurtling forward. Straight towards Sam.
I didn’t think. I moved, crashing into Sam and pushing him aside. As we hit the pavement, I heard smashing glass. Someone shouted Sam’s name, someone else screamed and pain whammed up my right side. My head swam before zipping into focus. We had to get away – fast. I scrambled up, pulling Sam with me. The car was backing away from the pavement and the bent bus-shelter post and what was left of Mmm Hot Chick’s window, revving its engine.
Bright red blood was splattered all over Sam’s neck and chest. He seemed to have lost the ab
ility to function, staring at the car like a rabbit in the headlights.
‘Run, stupid!’ I shouted.
I grabbed his hand and dragged him out on to the road. I could see the bright lights of KFC and a ring of people outside. People meant safety. Headlights loomed and brakes squealed as a minicab swerved to avoid us. We made it across and through the doors. Warmth, faces, voices, overhead music – someone was trying to push us back, someone else was yelling about police. I fought my way through, focusing on getting to the back of the restaurant.
Noise erupted all around me. Realizing I was still holding Sam’s hand, I dropped it and sat down heavily on the nearest chair.
‘Move!’ Nadina pushed through the people circling me and Sam, Ollie close behind. She crushed me into a hug. Relieved to hold on to something solid, I hugged her back.
‘Am I hallucinating or did that really just happen?’ My voice sounded surprisingly calm.
‘It bloody well did! You OK?’
‘We need to call the police,’ I said, taking out my phone. From the corner of my eye I could see Sam leaning against the wall with a dazed look on his face. Blood was dripping from his chin and soaking into his already sodden shirt. ‘An ambulance too.’
‘For the love of God! Let someone else do that.’ Nadina snatched the phone. ‘D’you realize what you just did, Im? Like, seriously!’
I stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Jesus!’ Nadina waved a hand in front of my face. ‘You concussed?’
‘Stupid question,’ Ollie said. ‘She’s hardly going to say, “Yeah, I’m concussed,” is she?’
‘Hey! Don’t call me stupid. I’ve seen hospital dramas—’
‘Knock it off, you two!’ I snapped. ‘I’m fine. OK?’
Ollie knelt in front of me and tentatively took my hands, giving them a squeeze. He’d been hanging behind Nads and only now did I see how ashen his face was. He was shaking his head as though he couldn’t take this in, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. I’d never seen him frightened before.
‘Did you see who did it?’ he asked. I shook my head. ‘You coulda been killed. Just sit here, yeah? We’ll take care of the rest.’
I squeezed his hands back.
‘Im, you saved Sam’s life!’ Nadina said, her expression earnest. ‘It was him that car was heading for. He totally froze. He’d be pulp if it wasn’t for you. Hear that? You’re a bloody hero!’
Within minutes the emergency services arrived. While it was clear I hadn’t sustained any physical injury, the paramedics still checked me over. Maybe I was in shock. I did feel as though I was passing in and out of reality. Sam was in a worse state. Someone had fetched some napkins to hold to his chin while we were waiting, but it hadn’t stopped the bleeding. The paramedics were talking about stitches and plastics. They were worried about his wrist too. It was only after they’d taken him to A & E that I realized no one had gone with him.
Mmm Hot Chick’s window was a mess. The police had put a cordon around the front. That’s gonna need a lot of repair work, I thought. Ridiculously, I wondered if the owner would get the E and N on the sign replaced while he was at it. The police were keeping everyone who had witnessed the incident in KFC to interview. Ollie was reluctant to leave. He said something about ‘looking after me’, but the police didn’t want too many people milling around. Only Nadina had been allowed to stay. Not that anyone could have stopped her if they’d tried.
A police officer came over to me. I told her what had happened, Nadina filling in the blanks.
‘Sounds like you and your friend were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Even as the officer said the words I knew she was wrong. Everything had happened in such a blur it was hard to remember precisely, but someone had called Sam’s name. Someone inside the car. I could’ve sworn it. And I’d instinctively shouted at him to run, feeling on a gut level that we were in danger.
So what did that mean? That this wasn’t random? Was this a murder attempt? That was insane. Totally out there! This was Sam Costello we were talking about, for God’s sake. Completely ordinary, if a bit secretive. A good kid. Not the type who got involved in violence.
Who on earth would want to kill him – and why?
SAM
SATURDAY 9 NOVEMBER
I hate hospitals. As in really, really hate hospitals. I spent far too much time in them when Mum was ill. All the whiteness and the serious-looking people marching down corridors, the horrible watery vending-machine coffee and the rattle of trolley wheels, and knowing that, nearby, people are dying and there’s nothing you can do. Hospitals bring back a whole load of bad feelings, and remembering was the last thing I needed right now.
‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ the paramedic kept saying as the ambulance sped towards Whipps Cross. ‘We’ll be at the hospital in a jiffy, and the doctors are going to patch up your chin. It’s going to be OK.’
It wasn’t my chin that I was worried about. I was a bit freaked by all the blood, and my wrist was throbbing – sprained, fractured, even broken? – but there was only so much I could take on board, and at this precise moment, I was far, far more worried about them.
There was no going back from here. They’d worked it all out. Who I was, what I’d seen. They knew. They’d tried to kill me. And if Imogen hadn’t been there, the police would be scraping my remains off the pavement. I’d be chalked down as just another hit-and-run victim and at my funeral people would be saying things about what a short and tragic life I’d led.
Another even more frightening thought, one that turned my entire body cold, crossed my mind.
They’ve tried to kill me once. What’s to stop them trying again?
I hadn’t thought tonight out properly. I’d thought I’d be safe. Next time I couldn’t bank on getting away with it. Not with people this ruthless on my back.
Next time.
I might as well be dead.
‘Where’s my phone?’ I struggled up from the stretcher-bed. ‘Please. You need to give it to me.’
‘I didn’t see a phone in your bag, Sam,’ the paramedic said.
Of course! I’d left it at home. My brain wasn’t working properly, but the one thing I did know was that I had to say nothing, nothing at all, until I figured out what on earth I could do to get myself out of this mess. Myself, and Imogen too. She needed to know about what was going on. She wouldn’t thank me for it, but she’d be safer if she knew.
I realized that there were tears in my eyes. I brushed them away angrily. I shouldn’t be in this situation, on the way to hospital, stuck with this awful dilemma about what to do. As if I hadn’t had enough crap to deal with over the past couple of years.
The ambulance finally arrived and the paramedic took me into A & E. She said something about plastic surgery and sedatives but all I could hear was the voice in my own head.
They tried to kill me and they’ll try again.
IMOGEN
SUNDAY 10 NOVEMBER
When I sat up in bed my whole body screamed. Man, these bruises were going to be a right pain. I scrabbled on the bedside table for my glasses. The display on my mobile showed midday. Great. So much for making my ten o’clock volleyball practice. I had – crazily – set my alarm. Maybe that was the kind of thing the ambulance staff had meant when they said I might be in shock.
We’d got home at about 2 a.m. ‘We’ meant me and Nads, who’d managed to wangle us a lift from one of the police officers. She’d called Mum on my behalf but Mum hadn’t been able to make it over. Perhaps she hadn’t understood what had happened or perhaps coming out that late had been too much bother. I wasn’t surprised either way. This wasn’t the first time.
My mobile also showed a text from Ollie.
U OK? Feeling better? Been worried. Proper glad u weren’t hurt bad. Will come over later & cheer u up. X
Despite myself, I smiled. Ollie hadn’t been so great at texting me recently. I’d wondered if he had something on his mind. Although we weren’t usually soppy, it w
as nice to know he still cared.
I wondered if Sam was OK. I wondered what it was he’d come to tell me yesterday and why it was so important. Had someone really been trying to kill him? In the cold light of morning it seemed too insane to be true.
They were waiting in the kitchen when I finally made it downstairs, Mum, Nadina and Benno. From the number of cups on the table it looked as if they’d been waiting a while.
‘Here’s the hero!’ Mum sang. I was almost surprised there weren’t party poppers – but then there was hardly space for them. Though the open-plan kitchen/dining area was the biggest room in our tiny council house, it became full very quickly when more than two people crammed around the fold-out table. Not that it mattered. My family rarely ate meals together. Mum worked days and Dad worked nights, and even when they were in the house at the same time, they were too shattered to cook. Most of the time I put together meals for me and Benno, which usually meant sandwiches. As in the rest of the house, paint was beginning to flake off the walls, and the wooden cupboards crammed with mismatched plates and cutlery had seen better days.
‘So how are you feeling?’ Mum asked.
Wrecked, I thought. ‘Fine,’ I said.
‘Let’s get you some nice strong tea and toast. I know it’s lunchtime, but never mind that. Benno, pop something in the toaster and fill the kettle, please.’
‘I can make my own tea,’ I said, though I knew no one would listen. ‘Don’t make a fuss.’
Mum squinted at me. ‘Are you sure you feel fine?’
‘Yes. Absolutely. Just ache a bit.’
‘Hmm, paracetamol might be in order then. And honey. Honey’s good for shock. We’ll put a spoonful in your tea.’
I don’t want honey in my tea, I thought. All this attention isn’t making the fact that you didn’t come to help last night any better. I needed you then, not now. You weren’t there. I didn’t say anything though. What was the point? Mum would only get self-righteous about how hard she worked and how tired she always was and how I ought to be able to look after myself. Sometimes I wondered how true that was. Mum managed to turn out pretty well for someone so overworked. She looked a good deal younger than forty, but not quite enough that people thought we were sisters, thank God. We did look very alike. I’d inherited Mum’s slightly pointed chin and dark blonde hair which I usually also wore up. At least our glasses were a different shape. Mum’s friends teasingly referred to me as her ‘mini-me’, which I couldn’t stand. Benno was turning into a bit of a mini-Mum too, though he was a boy and only eleven.