by Nicci Cloke
She lets out a small, hard laugh. ‘Yeah. You could say that.’
‘She might get in touch,’ I say, even though the words sound hollow even to me. ‘She might contact you. Or me,’ I add, even though I’d be last on her list.
‘Maybe,’ Marnie says, an eyebrow twitching. ‘Maybe she will.’
So how you feeling?
better now
It’s been horrible
yeah you didn’t look the best!
can’t believe I missed the last show
did it go well?
it was fine
as good as it could be without the star lady in waiting
haha
Im so bored
have you been in bed all this time?
yeah
stupid glandular fever
just been watching tv?
yeah and sleeping
sleeping sooooo much
So are you in London now?
yep
at my dad’s
weird to be back
aww nice though
yeah
saw some old mates tonight, that was cool
bet they’re glad to see you
yeah
When are you off to Spain?
day after tomorrow
excited?
ummm sort of
it’ll be nice to get some sun
especially cos ive been in bed for like three weeks!
but two weeks of Cheska
:-s
ahh it’ll be ok
just hang out with Evie
yeah
bless her she’s so excited
love to be on a beach right now
yeahhh
that part is good
my dad’s place has got a balcony but we can’t fit a chair on it :/
aww
So what’s new in old Abs Grey?
ummm
Ok
don’t tell anyone
what what what???
cheska got cast in spoilt in the suburbs
…
Say something
…
come on
sorry but
NO WAY
that is
…
Wow
I know
i can’t believe she’s done it
WHY??
my parents don’t even care
they have no idea
they’ve never seen any of those shows
hey don’t worry
she probably won’t get much airtime
you don’t know her like I do
she *will*
Anyway
whatever! it’s up to her isn’t it
yeah
You don’t fancy it then?! lol
haha no chance
i’m staying right out of it
wise choice
As a serious actress
ha
Oh hey, are you still going for that drama club?
yeah I think so!
it’s pretty full on, 2 weeks 9-7 every day
wow
that’s great though, you’ll love it
hope so!
weird though, by the time holiday and that are done, summer’s almost over
yeah
it used to seem so long when we were little
I know
like too long to even imagine
I’m kinda looking forward to going back though
yeah? how come
i dunno
I’ve just got a feeling this year is going to be good
;)
I really wish she’d been right.
SUNDAY. ONE WEEK since the police knocked on the door; one week and one day since Lizzie was last seen. And I keep looking back, all the way back, to when we were just getting to know each other, when everything was fun and flirty and full of possibility – and then I have to fast-forward to now, a year and a half later, when Lizzie is just a word whispered round school, a stranger.
And I can’t stop thinking about what happened in between.
A conversation bubble pops up at the bottom of my screen: Scobie.
hey
how’d it go with SuperBitch Barbie?
weird, man
that girl is – I don’t even know
Thinking of Cheska makes me think of yesterday morning, seeing her and Deacon… Unexpected. And extremely disturbing. I don’t know if two people as self-obsessed as they are can get together without the universe imploding.
ha
yeah, she’s pretty much the worst kind of human
See? This is why he’s my best friend. It’s like two guys, one brain, I swear.
how’s your weekend?
pretty quiet
Frank’s decided he’s vegetarian
hahaha really?
This is surprising because for the last three years of his life, Frank Scobie has survived solely on a diet of chicken nuggets, fishfingers, and, weirdly, swordfish steaks. That’s Abbots Grey for you.
yeah
as you can imagine, it’s left him quite limited
chips it is?
for every meal
lol
occasional bit of toast for variety
dunno what you’re on about, sounds like he’s got all the food groups covered
lol
It feels good to be joking, to be talking about normal, everyday stuff; like stretching a limb you haven’t realised has gone numb.
you heard anything about Lizzie?
Yeah, thanks, Scobes.
no
my brother said his copper mate Paul was saying they’ve had a sighting
Whoa. My heart just did something I don’t think it’s done before.
what?
apparently someone who works at the station says she got on a train
where to?
London
London. Where she thinks ‘Hal Paterson’ lives. No. She can’t. She wouldn’t.
shit
I know
I feel sick. I click back to my homepage and scan through the status updates without really reading them. Cheska Summersall is excited for the weekend, baby!!!. Jack Ciszewski is pissed off. Jorgie Mitchell is eating cupcakes with her bestie J. Cheska Summersall can’t wait for tonight’s episode… It’s a big one peeps!!! (Cheska Summersall has Facebook diarrhoea). Scobie’s chat bubble bleeps at me.
Shark Week tonight… I’m ready!
He sends a photo of a bag full of Iceland snack platters, samosas and spring rolls and skewers and I have to smile. We did the same last Shark Week, but I know that this time he’s making a big deal of it to take my mind off this whole Lizzie thing. It’s not going to work, but it’s nice of him.
Good work
just what I need
Another bubble pops up. Marnie Daniels.
Hey
hey
you ok
yeah
thanks for yesterday
no worries
I should tell her what Scobie’s just told me. I should tell her that it’s true; Lizzie did leave by choice, she did run away to meet a stranger without telling anyone. But sitting here staring at the screen, I can’t bring myself to type the words.
you ok?
Do it, I tell myself. Get it over with.
Scobie just told me there’s a witness who saw L getting on a train to London
The seconds until she replies seem like hours.
what?
…
how does he know?
his brother’s friend is a policeman
…
…
oh
at least it’s something
…
it’s a step closer
yeah
And that’s true. At least now we have something solid, a place she was. The not-knowing has been worst. And yet I’m so scared to know.
the police came to my house yesterday
they were asking about you
My heart is doing strange things again.
About me?
yeah, just what i knew about you two
…
…
don’t worry, they asked about other stuff too
Right. That’s fine then.
Not.
what time you coming over dude?
I check the clock. 14:23.
6.30ish?
cool
Marnie’s bubble blinks at me.
you ok?
yeah
just thinking
Thinking about Lizzie. Boarding a train. Not coming back.
Gotta go, Marnie writes after a while, and even though I feel bad, I’m relieved.
K. I’ll call you tomo x
I say goodbye to Scobie too, and I’m about to log out when a little red icon appears at the top of the screen. New friend request. There’s a couple there, actually – I’m a bit lazy about checking it, since most people at Aggers think it’s normal to add you on Facebook even if they’ve never spoken to you, or never intend to. I skim through them; a couple of guys from football, a girl from my maths class. The newest is another girl, but I don’t recognise the name: Autumn Thomas. I click on her and have a look at her profile. It says she lives in Clapton, so I probably do know her – she must go to my old school. I click ‘Accept’, and immediately a message pops up from her.
Hey! Wasn’t sure you’d remember me ;)
Erm, awkward. Do I admit that I don’t?
Apparently, my silence speaks for me, because after a while, she ‘…’s, and then:
How’s Gerber treating you this year?
Oh. Mrs Gerber was my GCSE English teacher – at Aggers. So she’s not a London friend. Hmm.
I don’t have her this year, I write, playing for time. Then,
you living in London now?
yeah
my dad got a new job at the end of yr10
Looking at her profile photos again, she does look really familiar. Reddish-brown hair, pale skin with freckles. Pretty, but not, like, in-your-face pretty. And then it hits me.
wait – you used to sit two seats behind me, right? next to
Next to Lizzie.
yeah
its so weird what happened to her
so sad
Nobody seems to really know the right word for the situation. Weird. Sad. No one’s sure.
yeah, it’s really bad
were you guys still friends?
kind of
we talked on here sometimes
not lately though
Yeah, well, you and me both, Autumn Thomas.
Gotta go. Nice to hear from you.
you too
speak soon x
I log out of chat but not out of my profile. And I click back onto my messages, and carry on living in the past.
hey
You ok?
yeah
SO embarrassing though
everyone’s talking about it
it’s all over my newsfeed
yeah well let them
it’s nothing to do with you
just cos she’s your sister doesn’t mean you have to feel embarrassed
i know but i do
and it’s school tomorrow and it’s all anyone’s going to be talking about
what was she thinking??
Someone else’s boyfriend is bad enough, but on tv…
come on, you’re the one who said it isn’t real…
they probably talked her into it
I’d love to believe that
but…
urgh
SISTERS!
:/
sorry
If it makes you feel any better, i didn’t watch it
didn’t you?
that does make me feel better
how did you know about it then?
Scobie
ahh I keep forgetting you’re back here
yep
back in the hood
how’s it feel?
good I think
yeah good
you don’t want to stay in London?
nah
not just yet
i can stick it out here :p
so you feeling 100% now
yeah
finally!
Can’t believe i was ill all summer
yeah really bad luck
what a waste
at least you made it through drama club
yeah that was the best part
well I look forward to hearing all about it in person
yeah we’ve got english 4th and drama 5th, right?
you’ll be sick of me
haha it’ll be a novelty for a bit
Been a long time!
i know…
I haven’t played Candy Crush all summer
ahh I’m touched
lol
so you ready?
Year 11? Last year? decisions decisions?
yeah thanks for that, no pressure!
yeah I’m ready
a-level choices this year
you gonna choose drama?
maybe
not sure
i want to
you should
well let’s see if I get a better part than ‘Tree/Nymph #5’ in the show this year!
hahaha
you will
I’m sure you will
we’ll see
well I better go pack my bag and stuff
i’ll see you tomorrow…
yes you will
Sleep tight x
you too x
THE GYM IS pretty deserted; Sunday lunchtime, everyone at home eating happily with their families, bitching happily about other people’s families. I feel a little bit guilty, actually, because I’ve left Mum essentially home alone; Kevin’s been holed up in his office all weekend working on a new project, door closed. When a new business comes along, we don’t see much of him, and when we do, he’s totally distracted. You can practically hear the fans whirring in his brain as he processes everything, and even when he’s talking to you he’s pretty much looking through you half the time. When there’s a problem in front of him, that problem is the only thing that exists until it’s solved. And given that I’m feeling pretty distracted myself, I can imagine that the two of us aren’t exactly the most fun people to share a house with right now.
But being out feels good, and being in the gym, with its purring machines and pumping dance music, feels even better. I run intervals on the treadmill until I feel like I’m about to throw up, pushing the speed up, making myself run an extra hundred metres each time. After the last one, I jump my feet onto the plastic sides of the treadmill, hit the stop button and watch the belt chug to a stop, my breath coming in hard and ragged and hot in my chest.
The main room of the gym is long and thin, with rows of cardio equipment and the windows overlooking the café on one side, a mirrored wall on the other with mats and exercise balls stationed along it. There’s only me and three other people in there; two women of about Mum’s age, who have cross-trainers next to each other and spend the entire time chatting away, and a girl I recognise from Year 13 power-walking on a treadmill at the opposite end of the row to me. Tucked off to one side is a weights room, and I head for it, rubbing at my face and neck with the rough strip of towel I keep in my kit bag.
The weights room is small and square, packed with equipment. It’s darker in there; the windows that look over the car park are tinted so that the light they let in is blueish and dim. The music’s quieter in here too, and there’s the rhythmic clanking of someone doing reps on the chest press.
I’m still under strict instructions to keep working my injured leg, so I head for the leg curl, where I’ll have to sit and do a hundred hamstring stretches. It’ll be boring, and I’m already flicking through my phone, looking for a podcast or something to fill the time, when I round a corner in the maze of machines and come face to face with the person at the
chest press.
It’s Deacon. Of course it is.
He’s sweating, his tight grey t-shirt soaked through, lifting a stack of weights far heavier than anything I would attempt. Not because I’m weak; because I’m not an idiot. He’s still wearing his diamond earrings, and his long, baggy shorts and neon Air Max look brand new. He looks up and clocks me just as I register that it’s him.
We look at each other. We don’t say anything.
I find the leg curl and sit at it, and of course, obviously, it’s directly opposite Deacon’s machine. He begins pulling his reps in earnest, letting out a grunt each time. I start on my stretches, feeling – and hating the fact I’m feeling – kind of self-conscious. Deacon finishes with a clang, and stands up abruptly. I tense, waiting for him to come over, telling myself to keep calm, but instead he heads for one of the abs machines by the window and starts doing rapid crunches. I can’t tell if the silent treatment is because it’s no fun to pick a fight with me without an audience, or if it’s something new he’s trying out, but I’ll take it. I settle into my stretches and try to forget that he’s even in the room.
After a couple of minutes, the girl from Year 13 – Emily, I think her name is – comes in and sits at one of the machines near mine. I see Deacon’s eyes flick over her long, tanned legs and up to her face, then he looks away again. I remember him getting out of Cheska’s car, the way his hand tangled in her hair, and I smile. I glance up to find him looking at me, eyes narrowed. I look away. I don’t let the smirk off my face.
A phone starts ringing somewhere in the room, and Deacon gets off the machine and fishes his iPhone out of his pocket. As he answers, he turns his back to me, but that’s okay, because I’ve already turned my music off to hear him better.
‘Oh yeah?’ he’s saying, and he stretches to look out of the window. ‘Cool, babe. Down in a sec.’
He hangs up and stoops to pick up his towel and water bottle from the floor. As he makes his way out, he passes just that bit too close to my machine and makes a quick, almost imperceptible gesture with his hand, one that’s meant just for me. Wanker.
I count to twenty, rushing through my stretches, and then I get up and head for the window. I look out just in time to see Deacon coming out of the Rec’s doors below me, the sweat on his back like a dark bird, its wings outstretched. He pauses to tip water into his mouth, a long, showy stream, like he thinks he’s on the pitch, and then he jogs over to a car that’s idling in a space at the front of the car park.