Blood Ties

  But my feet kept on walking me forwards. The bus-stop really wasn’t that far – maybe nine or ten metres, but it felt like a mile. As I got closer I caught sight of Phoebe, chattering and smiling at someone inside the bus shelter.

  No. No, no, no. There was Jemima. That settled it. Definitely a wind-up. I stopped walking again, just as Phoebe turned and looked up the road. She saw me. No. I couldn’t move. Phoebe pointed at me. Jemima scowled. Then they stood aside, like they were making way for someone.

  And this boy stepped out of the bus shelter.

  He was tall, kind of rangy-looking. Wearing really nice jeans. Loose, but not too baggy or anything. He had dark hair – quite long round his face. He was turning, following Phoebe’s pointing finger, looking up the road. At me.

  Oh, God. He was fit. He was really fit. The way his hair framed his face, falling down round his eyes. His skin was olive and . . . and the lines of his face were all clear and strong.

  Why did he want to talk to me?

  It could still be a wind-up. Maybe Jemima had got some boy to pretend to like me or something. But it was too late to walk away now. The boy was coming towards me, staring intently at my face. Jemima and Phoebe were right behind him. I could feel other girls standing all round, watching us.

  I fixed my gaze on the boy’s top. It was dark blue with a pale-blue neck and sleeves and tiny writing on the chest. He was coming closer. Closer. Here. Now. Right here. Now.

  ‘Are you Rachel Smith?’ His voice was low. Intense.

  I looked up. His eyes were dark brown. Very serious and deeply, deeply gorgeous.

  I nodded. My mouth felt dry.

  ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’ he said.

  I could feel the girls around me shuffling, hear them whispering to each other. Sniggering. My face was burning. I suddenly felt completely humiliated. It was a wind-up. Tears sprang to my eyes. I’d rather Jemima had tipped my school bag over my head or called me any number of names. I started backing away a little, my eyes now on the boy’s shoes. Trainers. Not flashy, expensive ones. But nice. Cool trainers.

  ‘I have to go,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Please.’ There was an awful urgency in his voice.

  ‘Why’re you interested in her?’ That was Jemima. Really scathing. ‘She’s fat and she’s so stupid she doesn’t even know if she’s a virgin.’

  The crowd of girls surrounding us burst out laughing.

  I swallowed hard, forcing the tears to stay down.

  Then the boy reached out and touched my arm. He didn’t grab me or anything, just pressed his fingers against my sleeve. It was like a million bolts of lightning zinging through me.

  ‘I really need to talk to you,’ he said in the same urgent voice. Though he now sounded massively embarrassed as well. ‘Alone.’

  There was a chorus of sarcastic oohs from the girls standing beside us. I looked up into his face. It was bright red. He looked as awkward as I felt. Which really confused me.

  I couldn’t see how this could be a wind-up. The boy seemed so genuine. And yet it didn’t make sense. I must just be too stupid to work out what was going on.

  I stood there, rigidly, unable to talk or move.

  More giggles.

  Then the boy took a deep breath. He drew himself up in this determined way. ‘I’ve got a message for Rachel from her boyfriend,’ he said, a new, don’t-mess-with-me tone in his voice. ‘I need to give it to her in private.’

  There was something so definite, so insistent about the way he spoke, that I wasn’t surprised when Jemima and the others started shuffling backwards. I stared at the pavement around me, watching all the black school shoes turning and walking away.

  The boy let go of my arm. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, quietly. ‘I don’t know your boyfriend really.’

  I stared at the tiny writing on his top. Just try it.

  Did he seriously think I might have a boyfriend?

  Really?

  ‘I’m Theo.’ He smiled. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

  11

  Theo

  The girl – Rachel – said nothing. Just stared at the ground.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, feeling my face get redder. Why had I said that about her boyfriend? It sounded stupid. ‘I’m not . . . I . . . I only want to ask you something. It’s about my dad. He . . . er . . . he died . . . ages ago, but I think he might . . . might have known your dad once.’

  I held my breath.

  Rachel grunted something – I couldn’t make out what. Then she started walking away, still staring at the pavement.

  I followed her down the hill, taking short strides so as not to walk faster than her.

  Crap. Now I was here, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. I was ridiculous. Taking all these risks and for what?

  I’d escaped from school again – over the tree in the courtyard like before, but earlier on in the afternoon, to give myself time to change clothes and find my way across London to Rachel. I knew I’d be in massive trouble later – I was missing school and skipping the detention I’d been given for going over the wall the first time.

  Plus I was running away from Roy. Again.

  But I had to find the girl and talk to her face to face. I couldn’t see what else to do. I’d hardly slept last night thinking about it all.

  And now, here she was. Rachel Smith. I glanced at her. My heart sank. I’d hoped that she’d be a tomboy kind of person. Easy to talk to. Straightforward. Confident. Though maybe not too confident.

  But Rachel wasn’t like that at all. She was all hunched over and awkward. Man, she couldn’t even look me in the eye.

  We walked for a couple of minutes, along a leafy road, to a roundabout in the middle of a fairly quiet intersection. There was a wooden bench underneath this big oak tree in the middle of the roundabout. Rachel sat down near one end. I sat at the other and looked at the sky. It was heavy with grey clouds, like it might rain any minute.

  ‘Your friends were kind of embarrassing there.’

  ‘Nahm af enz,’ Rachel mumbled.

  I stared at her. Her head was still bent over, staring down at the grass. I suddenly wondered if she was mentally retarded or something.

  ‘What’s that?’ I said.

  She looked up a little, not meeting my eyes.

  ‘They’re not my friends,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ Of course they weren’t. They’d been ripping the piss out of her. Get a grip, Theo. ‘I . . . I’m really sorry to just show up like this. I didn’t know what else to do.’

  Rachel nodded at the ground.

  Somehow I managed to explain how I’d found her dad’s name through my internet search. She didn’t know about the explosion at the clinic, so I told her what the newspaper report had said.

  ‘I think our dads must have worked together, at that clinic, before . . . before mine died,’ I said.

  Rachel looked up. Right up, at last, right into my eyes. I smiled. She was actually okay-looking. A bit shy and nervy maybe, but her eyes were bright and clear. As sane as I was, at least.

  ‘So why did you come to see me?’ She blushed. ‘How did you even know where I was?’

  I was ready for this. I knew I couldn’t explain about Max hacking into the school records without landing both of us in trouble, so I’d made up a cover story.

  ‘My dad mentioned you in these notebooks he kept,’ I said. ‘Mostly they were records of scientific conversations and stuff. But he also put in . . . things from when you were born, just after me. Like how your dad had everything planned out for you. Where you were going to school even.’

  I ran my hand through my hair. Saying it out loud it kind of sounded ridiculous.

  But Rachel was nodding. ‘Sounds like my dad.’ She shot me an embarrassed smile. ‘He’s a bit of a control freak. So’s my mum. But . . . um . . . I still don’t see why you’re here . . .’

  ‘I . . . er, I thought if I could find you, then . . .’

  ‘. . . You’d find
my dad?’ Rachel looked at me hesitantly. ‘You want to meet my dad, then? You want to talk to him about your dad?’

  Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I want.

  I shrugged. ‘If you don’t mind me coming home with you.’

  She started. ‘What. Now?’

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘It’s just I ran away from school to come here. And my mum’ll go mental when she knows what I’ve done. I’ll be grounded for weeks.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘Why . . .? I mean . . . I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just ask your mum about it all? I mean, if our dads were friends then . . . maybe they all knew each other.’

  I stared at her, my head whirling. What the hell did I say to that? I blushed. Think, Theo. Come on.

  ‘Er . . . er . . . I can’t talk to Mum about anything to do with my dad.’ Inspiration struck me. ‘She gets . . . er . . . really upset whenever I mention him. She was so in love with him, she can’t say his name without crying. Even now.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful.’ Rachel pressed her lips together sympathetically. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘James Lawson.’ I’d decided to lie about my school and home address – just to be on the safe side. But, obviously, I had to use Dad’s real name in order to find out what Richard Smith knew about him.

  Rachel nodded. ‘My dad doesn’t get home until late, so you’ll have to stay for a while.’ Her cheeks reddened again. ‘I mean, if Mum says it’s okay.’

  Drops of rain fell on our shoulders.

  ‘Thanks.’ I stood up. ‘I really appreciate this.’

  Rachel shot me this nervous little smile. ‘No problem. I just hope my dad remembers him.’

  We crossed the road away from the roundabout and headed down a long, broad street with big trees lining either side.

  Rachel looked round at me. ‘I can’t wait to hear what my dad says when he realises your dad wrote down all that stuff about him planning my life.’

  I stopped walking. Oh, man. The chances of Rachel’s dad having actually gone on and on about his plans for Rachel’s life seemed so remote as to be totally laughable. Which meant Mr Smith would know there was no way I could have tracked him down through any notebooks recording those plans. Then I’d have to explain about Max hacking into the school records.

  Why hadn’t I thought this through better?

  ‘D’you know what?’ I said, thinking fast. ‘I’m not sure we should say anything about the notebooks. For my mum’s sake. Your dad might want to get in touch with her or something. And then she’ll just get all upset about the past again.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘But what if my dad asks how you got his name?’

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  I breathed out slowly, trying to push down the panicky feeling rising in my chest. There was only one way out of this. ‘I won’t say James Lawson’s my dad,’ I said. ‘I’ll say I’m doing a science project or something on the . . . on the history of genetic research. Get your dad to talk about the research going on at the clinic they both worked at back when they knew each other. Once he starts talking, I’ll bring my dad into the conversation.’

  Rachel was staring at me as if I was crazy.

  ‘Right.’ She looked away. ‘But that means there’s another problem.’

  ‘What?’ Bloody hell. This whole thing was turning into a gigantic nightmare. Now I wasn’t going to be able to explain to Mr Smith why I wanted to know about James Lawson. And I was already unsure exactly what lies I’d told Rachel.

  ‘Well,’ Rachel stammered. ‘How are we going to say you know me? I mean, it’s okay me taking a friend home, but my parents might think it’s a bit weird you turning up like this. I go to a girls’ school. And you’re a . . . a boy.’

  ‘Oh.’ I attempted a weak smile. ‘Not much I can do about that.’

  Rachel dipped her head. ‘You know they’ll think that we . . .’ She stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Her face was the colour of a tomato.

  I suddenly saw what she was saying. Her parents were going to assume we liked each other. As in ‘like’.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, thinking how much Jake would have loved being in my place. And how much I wanted to die, right now.

  Rachel was staring down at the pavement again. ‘Why don’t we say we met at last summer’s school disco. At my school. And that we bumped into each other just now. I mean, I’m not actually going out with anyone, so . . .’

  ‘Okay.’ I was staring at the pavement myself now.

  The rain was getting heavier. Rachel sped up. We walked the rest of the way in silence.

  12

  Rachel

  There was only one thought going through my head as I turned my key in the door.

  I’ve got an almost boyfriend.

  Okay. So he was a pretend almost boyfriend. But he was fit. With those lovely, serious brown eyes. And sweet. Trying to find out about his dead father like that. And not wanting to upset his mum.

  Who knew what might happen?

  I felt excited. Awake. Alive. Like I hadn’t for . . . well, for as far back as I could remember.

  13

  Theo

  Rachel’s house was enormous. Red brick and detached with a huge brass knocker on the front door and smart bushes in the garden.

  Inside, the hall was bigger than the whole of our ground floor. I followed Rachel across the criss-crossed wood floor. My trainers squeaked as I walked. We stopped as a door in the corner opened.

  ‘Hiya, sweetie.’ This weird-looking woman stepped out into the hall. She peered into the mirror opposite her. She didn’t look at Rachel or notice me.

  I stared at her. She was really old. Really thin. And her face was all stretched and shiny, like she was wearing a mask.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ For a second, just as we’d come inside the house, Rachel had looked more normal. Less hunched over. But now she was shrinking down into herself again.

  Her mum looked round and saw me. She jumped and gave a high-pitched squeal.

  ‘Rachel, for goodness’ sake. Who on earth . . .?’ She stared at me, her eyes like little pebbles. ‘What?’

  ‘This is . . . er . . . this is Theo,’ Rachel stammered.

  I stepped forward and held out my hand. It’s not that I’m used to meeting girls’ mothers. Just that my school makes a big deal out of shaking hands – with teachers, before and after sports matches. That kind of thing. So I know what to do.

  The woman took my hand. Hers felt like wire covered in thin foam padding. ‘Mrs Smith,’ she said. She gave my palm a brief squeeze then dropped my hand again and frowned. ‘How do you know Rachel?’

  I glanced at Rachel, but she was back to her whole staring at the ground thing. So I launched into the cover story Rachel had come up with, emphasising how we’d just bumped into each other on the street.

  Mrs Smith led me into the kitchen – another massive room with lots of clear, pale wood surfaces. She sat me down at the table and started asking me questions. Where did I go to school? How come I’d been at the school disco last summer term when I didn’t go to one of the invited boys’ schools? She was all smiley and bright, but her voice sounded hollow.

  My answers got shorter and shorter as I lied about my surname, the name of my school and where I lived.

  I guess Rachel must have seen how awkward I felt, because after a few minutes she gave this nervy little cough from the doorway, where she was still standing.

  ‘Theo said he would help me with my biology homework,’ she said. ‘He’s doing a big project on genetics.’

  Mrs Smith nodded. She had the weirdest eyes. They were set almost flat against the stretched-out skin around them.

  ‘Fine,’ she chirped. ‘I’ll leave you both to get on, then.’ She narrowed her spooky eyes at me. ‘I’ll just be next door. Let me know if you need anything.’

  She trotted out of the kitchen. I breathed out heavily.

  ‘Sorry.’ Rachel came and sat down opposite me. ‘My mum’s a nightmare
.’

  I shrugged, privately agreeing, but sensing it might be rude to say so. There was a big clock on the kitchen wall above Rachel’s head. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet.

  ‘When does your dad get home?’ I said.

  ‘Not for a few hours.’ Rachel looked up at me apologetically. ‘Maybe we should work out what your project’s about. Then I’ll go and ask Mum if you can stay for tea.’

  I groaned inwardly. At this rate I wouldn’t be home until ten or eleven. Mum would be going mental. She might even call the police. Still, I was here now. I had to make the most of it.

  My eyes fell on a framed photograph of a girl on the wall underneath the kitchen clock. She was smiling. Really pretty.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I said.

  Rachel stiffened. ‘My sister,’ she said, staring down at the table.

  I raised my eyebrows, imagining what Jake would say if he was with me. ‘When does she get home?’ I said, trying to sound casual.

  ‘She doesn’t. She’s dead.’ Rachel got up and shuffled over to the fridge. ‘D’you want a drink? I’m getting an orange juice.’

  ‘Er . . . yeah . . . thanks.’ I looked away, embarrassed.

  After Rachel brought over our glasses, we talked through what my school project should be about. Still barely looking me in the eyes, Rachel explained more about what her dad did. It didn’t sound as if he’d been involved in any kind of genetic research for a long time.

  Mrs Smith came back into the kitchen and Rachel asked if I could stay for tea. Her mum looked annoyed.

  ‘But won’t anyone be expecting you at home, Theo?’ she said.

  I told her my parents were away on holiday and I was staying with cousins who were easy-going about what I did.

  After so many other lies, I figured, how could one more hurt? Mrs Smith reluctantly agreed I could stay for tea.

  Rachel’s dad came home at about six-thirty. Rachel looked up, surprised, as his voice drifted through from the hall.