SweetFreak

  ‘And when did Carey arrive?’ The officer looks from Mum to me.

  I shrug.

  ‘About ten minutes after me,’ Mum says. ‘Maybe less.’

  The atmosphere tenses. ‘So what were you doing between the time you separated from Jamie at about two twenty and the time you arrived home at roughly ten past three?’ DS Carter asks.

  ‘I told you,’ I mutter. ‘I was looking for Jamie.’

  ‘In Bow Wood?’ DS Carter says. ‘Through the trees, down to the cliff, though you say you didn’t actually get close to the edge?’

  ‘Yes.’ A fresh panic whirls inside me. Why is he asking me again?

  DC Kapoor narrows her eyes. ‘So where exactly were you when you were arguing with Amelia?’

  ‘I wasn’t arguing with her,’ I insist. ‘I haven’t seen Amelia today. I haven’t seen her for weeks!’

  Both officers stare at me. Their silence is somehow more unnerving than their questions.

  ‘Come on, this is ridiculous,’ Mum says. ‘What would Amelia have been doing in Bow Wood or on the coastal path? She doesn’t live anywhere near there.’

  ‘Amelia was last seen by her mother at home this morning,’ DC Kapoor explains. ‘When she didn’t appear all afternoon, her mum went to check on her and found a handwritten note saying she was going out to meet someone – Amelia didn’t say who – and would be back by 3.30 at the latest. When she hadn’t turned up by four her mother called her phone, which was answered by someone who said they were on the coastal path and heard the mobile ringing and found it lying on the ground.’

  ‘Another anonymous witness?’ Poppy asks, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘Not at all,’ says DC Kapoor. ‘The rambler was happy to give all her details to Amelia’s mother, who naturally became very concerned that Amelia wasn’t with her phone. At about the same time as Mrs Wilson was speaking with the rambler, we received our anonymous call about two girls arguing near the cliff edge.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ I protest. ‘You need to be trying to find whoever was there. You need to be looking for Amelia.’

  ‘Well, the eyewitness described you perfectly,’ DS Carter says with a sigh.

  ‘What exactly did he claim Carey was saying?’ Mum asks. She stares at DS Carter, her grip on my hand tightening. I squeeze her fingers, my throat tight with fear.

  DS Carter exchanges a glance with his colleague, then gives a self-conscious cough as he looks back at me and Mum.

  ‘The eyewitness said you were yelling at Amelia, saying that you hated her.’ He pauses. ‘And that you were going to kill her.’

  22

  Mum gasps. ‘Oh, Carey,’ she breathes.

  ‘No!’ I’m on my feet now, unaware of anything except this latest attack on my innocence. ‘Somebody’s set me up. Again. There couldn’t have been an eyewitness because there wasn’t anything to witness. The call was a hoax.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I can see Jamie in the doorway. He must have heard us and crept closer to see what was going on.

  ‘I’m telling the truth,’ I say, desperate for them believe me. ‘What about Taylor? Maybe he did all the SweetFreak stuff and Amelia found out. He could have gone to Bow Wood to meet her and—’

  ‘Knowing Amelia’s feelings for and previous relationship with Taylor, we’ve already been in touch with the Lockwood family,’ DC Kapoor interrupts. ‘Taylor was with the daughter of family friends in East Cornmouth all afternoon.’

  So Taylor was with Abi? Jealousy flares inside me. I fall silent. Mum turns to me. There’s terrible pain in her eyes.

  Worse, there’s a flicker of doubt. ‘Carey?’ she whispers.

  I shake my head, too overwhelmed to speak.

  ‘I’m afraid we need to take Carey to the station,’ DS Carter says. ‘The existence of previous threats linked to Carey plus the fact that Amelia is still missing make this a very serious situation.’

  ‘But Carey can’t be involved in something like this,’ Mum protests. ‘Anonymous threats and upsetting gestures like the dead bird are one thing but this . . .’ She trails off.

  ‘You should be out looking for Amelia.’ I insist, my voice cracking with emotion. ‘Not wasting time here with me.’

  ‘We just need to ask you a few more questions,’ DS Carter says smoothly.

  ‘Before you arrest her?’ Poppy snarls, striding over.

  ‘Come on, Carey,’ DS Carter insists.

  ‘No.’ I clutch the edge of the chair in front of me. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice,’ DC Kapoor says.

  Meaning that if I don’t go with them willingly, they will arrest me.

  Mum’s face pales. She picks up her handbag. ‘Let’s go. The sooner we finish answering all these questions, the sooner we can get back home again.’ She turns to Poppy. ‘Will you mind Jamie until I’m back?’

  Poppy nods. She touches my arm. ‘It’ll be OK.’

  I shake my head, shot through with panic. Thoughts pile into my mind, one on top of the next. I must look guilty as anything: first the death threat from my laptop, then the dead pigeon from our bin and now an eyewitness saying I was threatening Amelia right next to the cliff edge. I close my eyes, imagining the waves smashing against the rocks at the bottom. I’ve heard all the local rumours about people falling – or jumping – from that cliff: occasionally, when the tide is out, their bodies can even be seen mangled on the rocks beneath. Nobody ever survives.

  Terror for Amelia sears through me. I can’t bear the idea of her being hurt. Or worse.

  ‘Do you think Amelia might be dead?’ I ask, my voice shaky and small. ‘Do you think this is SweetFreak, carrying out their death threat?’

  ‘Right now Amelia’s status is missing,’ DS Carter says. His voice is softer than DC Kapoor, almost kindly. ‘We’re just following all possible leads in order to find her.’

  Missing. My best friend. Gone. Fresh pain twists the terror in my chest.

  I take a step towards the kitchen door, away from the two officers. I can’t let them take me to the station and arrest me. I’ve been set up, right from the start, but nobody believes it. Nobody apart from Poppy even really thinks I’m innocent. Killing Amelia will seem to everyone like the next step, something I planned to do. I’ll go to prison.

  Which I can’t, I just can’t.

  ‘Carey, we need to go.’ DC Kapoor’s voice is stern and forbidding.

  I stare at her in blind panic. I want to run, but she would catch me before I reached the front door.

  There’s no way out. I’m trapped.

  ‘I’ll get our coats,’ Mum says. She walks past me into the hall, avoiding my gaze.

  ‘Carey?’ Jamie runs across the room and hurls himself at my legs, giving them a big squeeze. ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I bend down and kiss the top of his sweet, blond head. ‘I love you, Baby Bear.’ I haven’t used that name for him in years. Jamie hated it once he started Big School, but now he submits with another hug.

  As he releases me, Poppy takes his place.

  ‘Stay strong,’ she whispers in my ear.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ I whisper back, my voice cracking.

  ‘There’s cash under my mattress, at the bottom of my bed,’ Poppy whispers. ‘Take it.’

  I draw back and look her in the eye. What is she suggesting?

  She meets my gaze, her eyes intense with meaning. And in that moment I see what I need to do next.

  I turn to the officers. ‘Can I use the loo before we go?’ I say.

  DS Carter nods. ‘Be quick,’ he says.

  I give Poppy another squeeze and pat Jamie on the head, then I turn and race upstairs. I go into my room, snatch my phone from its charger and a jumper from the floor, then into Poppy’s next door. I feel under the mattress at the end of the bed. There. My fingers curl around a thick roll of notes. I shove them in my pocket, then race along the corridor to the bathroom. I’m out the window in
seconds, easing myself onto the shed roof, then over the fence to next door. Moments later I’m tearing along the pavement, jumper swinging from my hand. I run until I’m in the heart of Lower Cornmouth, well away from the main roads, then I stop to catch my breath.

  There’s a chill wind and now I’ve stopped running I’m cold, but I barely notice. I pull Poppy’s money out of my pocket and count the notes: it comes to £220. How far will that get me?

  I gulp.

  What on earth do I do now?

  23

  I count the money again then take stock. I’m on the run from the police, with just over two hundred pounds in cash and the clothes I’m wearing. I don’t even have a jacket and the wind is bitterly cold.

  What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?

  I take out the mobile Taylor gave me. Apart from him, only Poppy has the number. The police are bound to ask her if there’s any way of contacting me but I’m sure she won’t give me away. Taylor, on the other hand, might – which means the police would then be able to trace me. Still, I reckon I’m safe using it for the next few minutes.

  So what? The thought descends on me like a dense fog, swamping all hopefulness. What am I going to use my phone to do? Who am I going to contact? My life has been so miserable and lonely lately, none of my actual former friends are even online friends with me any more. And it’s clear that Taylor no longer wants anything to do with me.

  I still have to try. I log on to NatterSnap. Maybe there’ll be someone there I can turn to . . . someone who might help me. The news of Amelia going missing has spread like wildfire, it’s all over the public messages. My heart sinks as I follow thread after thread and discover that all the people I know from school have made comments: Rose. Both the Rose Clones. Heath. Even Lauren.

  I reckon Carey knifed her.

  She must have been planning it for months.

  Total psycho . . . Amelia’s dead FOR SURE.

  At first I don’t understand why they are all so convinced I must be responsible, then I find the source: two posts from Rose, the first saying (truthfully) that there’s a police car outside my house and the second (completely made up) that I’ve been arrested and charged with Amelia’s abduction.

  My hands tremble as I scroll through more messages. The level of hate against me is overwhelming. I put the phone in my pocket and slump against the wall behind me. Part of me wants just to turn around and go home. But of course, I can’t. The police are convinced I was with Amelia this afternoon thanks to the person who lied about seeing us arguing. Could that have been Rose? No. They said it was a man.

  Whatever. All the venom directed at me doesn’t matter. Amelia is missing. That’s what really counts. I wipe my face, anxiety rearing up again, mingling with the fresh hurt of being accused. I am powerless to help Amelia. In fact, I’m totally alone. And the police aren’t even looking for whoever might have actually hurt her, because they think I’m responsible. I shiver as a light drizzle begins. And then, just as I’m thinking things really can’t get any worse, they do.

  ‘Hey, Curly Wurly!’ a voice calls, muffled by the wind and rain.

  I look up. A car has slowed to a crawl on the road in front of me. A young guy in a silver shirt is hanging out of the window, waving at me.

  Blinking, I turn and hurry away.

  ‘Hey, come back!’ Laughter from inside the car. My heart beats fast. I quicken my pace. ‘You have amazing hair!’ More laughter.

  With a crunch of gears the car stops. I hear the engine switched off then footsteps running up. The guy in the silver shirt is grinning, walking beside me. Another man with spiky hair and a half-bottle of vodka dangling from his hand hurries into place on my other side. I speed up again, but they are far taller than me and have no problem keeping up.

  ‘Where are you going, Curly Wurly?’ Silver Shirt slurs.

  ‘Yeah, we’re going to a club,’ Spiky Hair adds. ‘Wanna come?’

  ‘No,’ I mutter. Age-old warnings about getting into cars with strangers flit through my head. At least these guys are smiling, but I’m aware how easily the situation could turn. I want to face them down, tell them to leave me alone, but they’re grown-up men, not like the boys from Poppy’s class. I’m scared.

  ‘For God’s sake, you two, get back here!’ someone shouts from inside the car.

  Silver Shirt and Spiky Hair ignore him. They’re talking rapidly over the top of each other, trying to convince me to go with them to their stupid club. Suddenly I feel like crying. All I want to do is go home and let Mum look after me. But if I go home I’ll be arrested and maybe even sent to some awful juvenile prison. By running away I’ve made myself look even more guilty than I did before. The thought sends a throb of fear and anger spiralling up through me. The two guys are still walking beside me, talking and laughing.

  ‘Go away!’ I yell so loudly that they are shocked into silence.

  I break into a run, tearing away from them. I race across the road – thankfully there aren’t any cars because I don’t look before I dart out – and down the street opposite. I don’t stop to see if the two guys are following me, I just run as hard as I can.

  A few minutes later it’s clear that the men have given up their chase – and also that I am utterly lost. That is, I know I’m in Lower Cornmouth but otherwise I have no idea, though I’m possibly close to the bus stop where I waited for Taylor last night. That seems a lifetime ago.

  I don’t recognise the street where I’m standing. There’s a church on the corner. I hurry towards it, my head clearing slightly. I can look up the church’s name on my phone, work out where I am, maybe even find a cheap place to stay. I should try and get a message to Mum somehow, before it gets really late, let her know I’m OK.

  As I get closer to the church I see it has a long, dark porch. It’s still drizzling and, though the rain is light and misty, I’m starting to feel damp through my jumper. Maybe I should just take shelter under the porch. It’s dark there, I’ll be completely hidden from the street – and I can work out what to do next.

  I hurry up the steps and along the brick path. The church looms overhead. Under other circumstances I’d be scared, spooked by the silence and the gloom. But right now I’m just glad to have got away from the drunk guys and to have found shelter from the rain. And then I reach the porch.

  A soft, shuffling noise echoes towards me.

  What is that? An animal?

  I gulp.

  ‘Hi, please don’t be scared.’ The boy’s voice is vaguely familiar, but it’s the uncertainty of his tone more than its familiarity that stops me from running.

  A second later he emerges from the shadows. It’s the boy with the mismatched trainers and bright blue eyes. He’s smiling – a nervous smile.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, still wary, though reassured by his cautious expression.

  ‘Do you remember me?’ he asks. ‘You were waiting for a bus just around the corner yesterday evening? I freaked you out by mistake.’ He stops, his face flushing slightly in the dim lamplight.

  ‘I remember,’ I say.

  The night air is still, the wind dropping as suddenly as it whipped up. The drizzle is still coming down though, a fine, wet mist on my face and hair.

  ‘I’m Blue,’ the boy says.

  ‘Carey.’

  ‘Hello, Carey.’ He smiles properly this time and there’s real warmth in his eyes.

  Instinct tells me I can trust him but I’m still wary. Anyway, if he’s taken the church porch, then I need to find somewhere else to hide out.

  ‘Bye,’ I say, then turn away.

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ Blue says earnestly. ‘That is, if you were looking for a place away from the rain you can . . . I mean, that’s what I was doing, I just stopped here on my way home so as not to get wet and . . . and to think for a bit.’

  ‘To think?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m living just a couple of streets away but it’s super-crowded, so it’s hard to get any space . . .’

&nbs
p; ‘Oh, you have a big family then?’ I ask.

  Blue laughs. ‘No, I don’t live with my family. It’s a squat.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’m not sure what to say. I’m only vaguely aware of what a squat is – basically a place people stay that they aren’t supposed to, like ‘borrowing’ somebody’s house without permission. Whatever, I’m certain it’s against the law.

  ‘My friend Seti found the place through the main guy who lives there,’ Blue explains. ‘But he let me crash there too. People are always coming and going. I mean, it’s OK, but . . .’ he stops again. ‘Please come under here, you’re getting wet.’

  I shuffle uncertainly from side to side. If I take a couple more steps forward I’ll be out of the rain, properly inside the shelter. Blue doesn’t seem like he’s going to hurt me. Perhaps it’s worth the risk. Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and move inside. In the dim light I can make out the low, wooden benches that run on either side of the porch, up to the church door.

  I perch on the bench nearest me. Blue sits down opposite.

  ‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Other side of Cornmouth,’ I say. ‘But I’ve run away.’

  ‘Really?’ Blue leans forward. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a black jumper with holes in the sleeves. His hair doesn’t look like it’s been brushed in weeks, but he seems clean. I want to ask how come he doesn’t smell, if he lives in a squat, but I don’t want to seem rude so I press my lips together.

  ‘It’s OK if you don’t want to talk about it,’ Blue says. ‘I ran away too.’

  ‘Did you?’ All the tension of the past couple of hours swells inside me. ‘Then would you mind telling me how you managed it, because right now, I’ve got a phone with about twenty pounds credit and not enough cash to survive more than a week or two, even if I sleep rough, and basically I . . . I have no idea what I’m doing. I just need to . . . to disappear for a bit.’ I stop before I burst out crying. Furious with myself for showing so much emotion, I blink away the tears pricking at my eyes.

  Blue frowns, his whole expression darkening.