Pretty Twisted (19 page)

‘That’s a beefeater,’ Rosalind said. ‘It’s the Tower of London.’

I swallowed. ‘I never saw this picture. Do you know what that means?’

‘What?’

‘She’s been playing the bunny game with this bloke. It’s ours – this daft little thing that no one else understands –’ This hurt far more than I could say.

Here’s Bunny sightseeing,
Freya had written.
Next it’s your turn to take her somewhere fun. I dare you to try the Houses of Parliament. Bunny’s always wanted to meet the Prime Minister!

F xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

PS – My friend saw that text you sent me yesterday. She was shocked. :)

I scrolled down, feeling sick as flirty lines and nicknames jumped out at me. The new boyfriend seemed to know Freya pretty well for someone who’d presumably met her recently; worse, she obviously really liked him. She’d even sent across a few paragraphs from one of her favourite astrology websites:
See, Libra and Gemini are a perfect match!
In one email the bloke asked
So when are you dumping Jonnyboy?
This one didn’t seem to have been answered; maybe just as well.

This is the last time I hack anyone’s account, I thought. There are some things you just don’t want to know.

Rosalind

3.10 p.m.

Jonathan turned from the screen looking utterly crushed. I fiddled with the hem of my skirt.

‘So she hasn’t sent any emails this week,’ I said.

Jonathan sighed. ‘No.’

‘Maybe she’s staying with him?’

He snorted. ‘That would be classic. Break up with your boyfriend, then go to your new bloke for sympathy.’

‘He didn’t sign any emails, but the sender shows as H. A. Clark – know who that could be?’

‘There was someone around the night Freya dumped me who blatantly fancied the pants off her. Name’s Adam – maybe he goes by his middle name.’

‘Guess it’s worth checking. Is his number on her phone?’

‘We’ll have better luck finding her address book.’ Jonathan rummaged in the desk drawer. ‘Freya gives everyone daft nicknames on her phone.’

We found the address book. There were no guys listed under H – and he wasn’t under C for Clark, either.

‘Should’ve know it wouldn’t be up to date,’ Jonathan grumbled. ‘There’s a landline number for Adam though. Guess I should try that.’ He entered the number into his phone and pressed dial.

‘Hello, is Adam there?’ He paused, presumably listening to the voice on the other end. ‘Right. OK. Could you give me his mobile number? Look, it’s really important.’

After a moment he cut the call, shaking his head. ‘No go. His mum just got shirty with me.’

I pressed my lips together. ‘Freya would have Adam’s mobile number if they were going out.’

‘Maybe this is all a wild goose chase.’ Jonathan blew out a breath that made his fringe rise off his forehead. ‘God, I should be mad at her, but I’m too worried. Just want to do something for her.’

Something that would persuade her to take him back, I thought. He wants her to be a damsel in distress so he can be the knight in shining armour.

If he had been anyone else I would have put an arm round him. As it was, I said, ‘Talk to her friends.’

As soon as it turned half three, I slipped out and called Abby’s mobile. Even though I was only on the street outside, it came as a relief to get out of the house.

‘You got away then,’ she said when she picked up. ‘Did you meet him? Where are you?’

‘We’re at Richmond,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Did the teachers say anything about me?’

‘They asked where you were; I said you had a dentist’s appointment.’

‘Thanks, Abby; I’ll have to forge a note on Monday.’

‘Ros . . . what’s all this about? Are you OK?’

I sighed. ‘It’s complicated. Can I tell you later? Not a good time right now.’

‘OK. Here if you need me.’

At half four, Jonathan put the address book down.

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘No one has a clue where she is.’

There was nothing on Freya’s mobile either. Jonathan had found the charger and checked it, but all that showed on the phone were his calls and some unrelated texts from female friends.

I looked over from where I was sitting by the bed. ‘Did you try every single number?’

‘The ones I could get through to.’

‘What about her home? Maybe she went to see her parents.’

‘I’m trying to get hold of a friend who lives a few doors down; Freya would kill me if I kicked up a fuss with her parents.’

‘Do you want to go and wait for her at the restaurant?’

‘Not much else to do, is there?’

We took the train up to Hammersmith, where we had to change. As we were early and Jonathan needed to buy more phone credit, we found a newsagent. When we returned to the station, it was teaming with activity and the trains were packed.

‘Is it normally like this?’ Jonathan asked as we squashed on to a carriage.

‘At this time, always. People are getting home from work.’ A businessman squeezed in just as the doors closed and I found myself pressed up against Jonathan. Oh, help – he’s even better-looking up close, I thought, aware that I could feel his ribs. I didn’t know where to look – if I glanced away it was as though I didn’t want to be there, if I gazed straight ahead all I could see was his chest, and if I met his eyes I knew I would blush. In the end I moved my head so I could see over his shoulder.

‘Hope you’re not claustrophobic,’ I said.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him smile. ‘Nope. Hope you took a shower this morning.’

I had to fight not to lean against him as the train gathered pace. I wanted so much to rest my head against his chest. Deciding I’d better concentrate on being practical, I said, ‘We’re on this line until Green Park, then we need to change.’

‘I’ll leave directions to you. I’m still pretty clueless – I’d only been to London a couple of times before Freya came here.’

‘How do you like it?’

‘London itself is great, but the underground does my head in. It’s far simpler where I’m from – you get in the car and drive from A to B. First thing you do when you turn seventeen, learn to drive.’

I hadn’t even thought about driving lessons yet. Turning seventeen seemed a long way off.

‘While you were on the phone I did some thinking,’ I said, taking care not to give away that I knew more about Freya than I was supposed to. ‘Freya doesn’t sound like the kind of girl to keep quiet when she’s upset.’

‘She yelled at her friends to go away – but I guess she might have been embarrassed. They overheard more or less everything.’

‘So maybe she went to another friend. She’d be feeling bad and want to speak to someone who’d take her side and tell her she did the right thing. That may mean someone who doesn’t know you.’

Jonathan tilted his head. ‘Hmm. Reckon you have something there. Freya’s a sucker for sympathy.’

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I took out the mini
A–Z
I kept in my bag and showed Jonathan where Freya’s restaurant was. He thanked me for being patient with him.

‘You’re really organized,’ he added, and it wasn’t just my imagination telling me he sounded impressed. ‘Freya and me always got lost when we went new places. Her brain’s cotton wool with directions and mine’s not much better.’

‘I just like to know where I am,’ I said. ‘Is it an Italian Freya works at? Sounds like it from the name.’

‘Yup. Hungry?’

I glanced at my feet. ‘Yeah, but I’ve no money on me.’

‘I have.’ Jonathan flashed one of his lopsided smiles at me. ‘Fancy a bowl of spaghetti?’

As it happened we arrived before Freya was due, so we really did sit and eat spaghetti. The only problem was that it was quite pricey, so we ended up buying one bowl between us. Spaghetti’s messy enough when it’s your own, but sharing is a recipe for disaster. We kept flicking tomato sauce everywhere. Maybe because we were so tense, it all seemed very funny – especially when Jonathan said it reminded him of the famous scene in
Lady and the Tramp
.

‘Good job we didn’t order meatballs, else I’d have to push the last one across the plate towards you with my nose,’ he said.

I giggled and was about to say that we’d better not both accidentally start eating the same strand of spaghetti when I heard someone say Freya’s name. A man in a chefs jacket was talking to our waitress. She was shaking her head; the man walked back into the kitchen looking annoyed.

Jonathan caught the waitress’s eye, and she came over.

‘Has Freya arrived yet?’ he asked. ‘I’m her boyfriend and I need to have a word with her.’

‘No, she’s late, but that’s nothing new.’ The waitress looked him up and down curiously. ‘And there was me thinking that other bloke was her boyfriend.’

‘What other bloke?’ said Jonathan instantly.

‘Last couple of weeks a guy’s been coming in every night Freya works. She’s always wandering over to his table to chat.’

‘What’s he like?’ I asked.

‘Early twenties, longish dark hair, good-looking, bit scruffy. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but I got the impression they were together.’

‘When Freya comes in could you let me know?’ said Jonathan. The waitress nodded and moved on. Jonathan circled his empty glass on the tabletop. ‘Why do I even care? She’s cheating on me, and yet I’m worried as hell about her.’

‘Bit like me and my mum. You care because you can’t pretend she didn’t happen and you can’t help how you feel.’ And I could say the same about you, I thought sadly.

‘I was wrong about that Adam. He isn’t Freya’s new boyfriend; doesn’t fit the description. Christ, how many blokes has she been flirting with?’

‘Dunno. If she turns up you can ask her.’

Jonathan grunted. ‘Look, you should go home. Your dad’ll be on the warpath soon.’

‘It’s OK. He’s gone to Paris with Petra for a long weekend.’

‘Everyone seems to be on holiday at the moment.’

‘Well, it is half-term next week. Anyway, Olivia’s in charge, but she’s probably out with Mr Wonderful, so no one will care what I’m doing.’ After hesitating a second, I placed my hand on his arm. ‘This is the plan. We wait here a while. If she doesn’t show, you come and stay at mine and we pick up the search tomorrow.’

‘You sure?’

‘Of course,’ Even as I said it, I wondered what on earth I was doing. Olivia would be furious if I brought a strange boy home.

‘Thanks. I don’t fancy dragging myself all the way back. Oh, shit!’ Jonathan gave a start. ‘Never told my parents where I am. They’ll be wondering why I haven’t come home from college.’ He fumbled with his phone. ‘Hi,

Mum? It’s me. Look, um, this is gonna sound odd, but I’m actually in London at the moment, so I’m not coming home tonight . . . What? . . . No, it’s OK. I’m – I’m with Freya. We’re working stuff out. Spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. No, won’t go out alone again, promise. OK? Bye.’

He put the phone down, looking sheepish. ‘They wouldn’t like me staying with someone they don’t know.’

It was odd seeing Jonathan get flustered about his parents. I’d always seen him as so grown-up, above that kind of thing.

It was half six now – and there was still no Freya. We waited until eight, checked with the waitress to see if she’d called, and, finding she hadn’t, conceded defeat.

By the time we came out of West Finchley station it was half past nine. As we approached my road I said, ‘Don’t think Olivia will like me bringing you home, so when I open the door we’re going to sneak right up to my room.’

Jonathan gave me a look and I felt more childish than ever. ‘You said this was OK.’

‘It is. Kind of.’

‘Look, if this is a problem, Ros, I’ll go.’

‘We’re here now.’ The lights were on; Olivia was home after all. And judging by the noise, so were most of her friends.

I unlocked the front door. The hall was empty. The chatter and music came from the living room.

‘Quick,’ I pushed Jonathan forward. I hovered behind, preparing an excuse in case someone came out, but we made it to my room without seeing anyone.

‘Dad told her no throwing parties,’ I said, closing the door. ‘At least I’ve got something I can use against her if she spots you.’

Jonathan kicked off his shoes, looking around. I felt oddly exposed as his eyes swept over my figurines and old teddies and bookshelves.

‘Your room’s very . . . girly,’ he said. ‘Didn’t see you as a girly girl somehow.’

‘It’s only pink because pink was my favourite colour as a kid and Dad hasn’t got round to redecorating.’

‘Even Freya doesn’t have a pink room.’

I wished he would stop mentioning her. ‘Want something to eat? I know we had spaghetti, but that was a while ago. I could make more pasta – or a sandwich.’

‘Either’s fine, long as there’s no celery in them. The canteen meals at sixth form – dunno why, but they’ve always got celery, whether it’s curry or pizza or soup. Stuart reckons college owns a celery farm – Why the heck am I telling you this? What’s wrong with me?’