Pretty Twisted (20 page)

‘Calm down.’ I pulled out the computer chair. He sat, not quite meeting my eyes.

‘Sorry. Wouldn’t be so worried if it wasn’t for those two girls on the news.’

I shook my head. ‘You’re just being a good boyfriend.’

‘I was dumped. Can’t be that good a boyfriend.’

‘Freya isn’t right about everything,’ I said.

He muttered something I didn’t catch. Seeing my sketchbook on the desk I handed it over, though usually I hate showing people my pictures – there’s a bit too much of me in them. ‘You could look at this while I’m downstairs. Be right back.’

Jonathan

9.50 p.m.

I leaned back in the chair as Rosalind went out and I let out my breath slowly. What the hell was I doing in this pink room, with these ghastly china figurines of women in ball gowns? Today had started off like any other day – oversleeping, knocking my specs off the bedside table, nearly missing the zombie bus. Yet now Freya was cheating on me, had vanished and was maybe in a really bad place.

I flicked through the sketchbook. Ros was definitely talented, I thought, studying a portrait of an attractive woman I recognized from some film. No wonder she wanted to go to art college. I turned the page and found – myself. For a moment I was stunned by the likeness. Then I noticed that my hair was neater, my nose straighter, my cheekbones more pronounced.

‘You’ve made me look like an action hero,’ I said when Rosalind reappeared with a plate in each hand.

‘Oh.’ She sounded a little flustered. ‘Here. Cheese and tomato.’

‘It’s awesome,’ I said as I took the sandwich, ‘but I’m not that good-looking.’

‘I think you are.’

‘Maybe if I ditched the specs and worked out, but right now, no way.’

‘Don’t you like your glasses? They’re cool.’

‘Freya chose them for me. Suppose they’re OK, but they make me look like a cliché: speccy swot.’

‘You should be proud of being clever.’ Rosalind was nibbling off her sandwich crusts. ‘All I’m good at is art.’

‘Believe me, being top of the class hasn’t done me much good. People take the mick out of you’

‘When did you start playing the guitar?’

We talked about everything from music to her figurines. I was surprised by how quickly the time passed, and how easy it was to forget Ros was only fourteen. In a weird way I was reminded of how it had been at the beginning with Freya. We probably could have talked all night if I hadn’t started feeling tired.

‘You sleep here,’ Ros said, getting up. ‘I’ll go in Dad’s room. I said goodnight to Livy when I was downstairs, so she won’t come in. She and her mates are sleeping in the sitting room and watching DVDs. I would get you a toothbrush, but I don’t think we have a spare. Do you want pyjamas? Because I could bring Dad’s—’

‘Nah, I’ll get by.’

She pulled out a nightie from under the pillow, quickly stuffing it behind her back. ‘Night.’

When she was gone I stripped down to my underwear, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, and climbed into bed.

Someone was hammering on the door.

‘Ros, I want that tenner you borrowed; I’m going shopping. You can give me my top and skirt while you’re at it.’

I came awake with a start.

‘Don’t pretend you’re asleep. I know you’re not.’

Disorientated, I looked around. The room was a pink blur.

‘You’ve got five seconds. Five . . .’

Glasses. Where had I put them?

‘. . . four . . . three, two, one.’ The door opened as I found my specs. It was Rosalind – at least, the girl I’d thought was Rosalind, and she was absolutely gorgeous. We stared at each other a moment, me in admiration and her in shock; then the girl’s face contorted.

‘Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my sister?’ she shrieked.

‘This isn’t what you think,’ I said. ‘I’m your sister’s friend. She’s sleeping in your dad’s room—’

‘Ros!’ Olivia yelled. ‘Get out here now!’ To me she said, ‘If you’ve done anything you shouldn’t, I’m calling the police.’

‘Promise nothing’s happened—’

‘I’ll only believe that when my
sister
says so.’

‘Everything’s OK!’ Rosalind appeared, wearing a faded and rather short nightie. Her eyes widened when she saw me and I self-consciously pulled the duvet up to my armpits.

Rosalind tugged at Olivia’s arm. ‘Livy, let him get dressed—’

‘Why’s he
un
dressed in the first place?’

‘Slept in my underwear, that’s all,’ I said, fishing around on the floor for my jeans and T-shirt. ‘No need to panic.’

‘Who is he?’ Olivia demanded. ‘He doesn’t go to our school.’

‘He’s a friend.’

‘Where from?’

‘The Internet.’

‘You mean you don’t even know the guy?’

‘Yes, I do, we just haven’t met face to face before.’

‘Oh my God! You’d better not have done anything with him, because Dad will kill you—’

‘He’s not like that! Not everyone you meet on the Internet has to be a paedo or a rapist. Is it so hard to believe that I might just have made a friend?’

‘OK, so he’s not some pervy old man, but you’re insane to invite him over. And everyone calls you the sensible one!’

‘I haven’t
not
been sensible. I know what I’m doing.’

‘That’s obvious! You planned this very carefully – sneaking him up here . . .’

‘She was helping me.’ I must have spoken loudly because the sisters stopped rowing and stared at me. Now I saw them together, I realized that they really did look quite alike. ‘My girlfriend’s gone missing. Wouldn’t have got Ros involved if I thought it would get her into trouble. She’s done nothing wrong.’

‘He’s done nothing wrong either. I can show you our online conversations if you don’t believe us,’ said Rosalind. ‘I save them all.’

‘Sad little freak,’ said Olivia. ‘You ought to make some real-life friends.’

‘How is Jonathan not a real-life friend? He’s right there.’ Rosalind clenched and unclenched her hands, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘You pick at everything I do!’

‘Look, this isn’t a big deal,’ I said. ‘Ros, if you’re going to help me again today, we should get going soon, right?’

‘Right,’ said Rosalind, and gave Olivia a glare that could have killed.

‘Do what you like, weirdo,’ Olivia snapped. ‘See if I care.’

She stomped off, no doubt to tell her mates about the strange guy she’d discovered in her sister’s bed.

Rosalind shifted from foot to foot. ‘That wasn’t meant to happen,’ she said. ‘Thanks for sticking up for me.’

‘Sorry if I embarrassed you.’

Rosalind sighed. Not looking at me, she went over to the wardrobe and took out a pair of dungarees. ‘I’ll get changed in Dad’s room,’ she mumbled. ‘Fifteen minutes and we can go.’

Rosalind

Saturday 25 October, 10.10 a.m.

Olivia stepped into the bathroom as I was doing a quick toothbrush.

‘Are you really going off with that guy?’ she asked.

‘He has a name,’ I said. ‘Jonathan.’

‘Whatever. Leave your mobile on, OK?’

I swished my mouth with water. In the mirror, I saw her sigh. ‘Sorry I shouted at you. Got a shock, that’s all. If your friend had turned out to be an axe murderer or something, Dad would have blamed me.’

I turned, wiping my chin with a flannel. ‘We really are just friends.’

‘You’re missing a trick there.
I
wouldn’t be “just friends”.’

Even when she was apologizing, Olivia couldn’t resist getting in a jibe. ‘See you later,’ I said, pushing past.

We caught the tube. This time it wasn’t busy and we sat opposite each other at the back of the last carriage.

I was wearing my retro dungarees and cap. At first I’d been hesitant, wondering if this was a step too far, then I’d reminded myself that Jonathan liked girls who dressed this way. It hadn’t exactly paid off; he’d noticed what I was wearing, but only to comment, ‘Freya has a hat like that’ – which wasn’t really what I wanted to hear.

‘What’s the plan?’ I asked Jonathan.

‘Contact the people I didn’t yesterday. Only ones I’m hopeful about are Freya’s neighbour back home in Norfolk and her mate Emma. Can’t get through to Emma, but I know where she lives.’

‘Still don’t get why you don’t phone her parents.’

He mimed slicing across his throat. ‘Her dad’s ill and he’ll worry, and I bet you anything her mum will blame me. I’ve upset Freya enough without getting them on her back.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe this is all a waste of time and Freya’s been caught by the
Death Line
cannibals.’

‘The what?’

‘
Death Line
– seventies horror film. There are these people living in the underground. They pick off lone passengers late at night and eat them.’

‘That’s gross!’

‘When I was about ten I sneaked down to watch it after my parents had gone to bed – made me absolutely sick for days afterwards.’ He paused. ‘Of course, it’s more likely Freya’s dead in a ditch somewhere.’

‘Jono, don’t! Anyway, there aren’t any ditches in London.’

We traded humourless smiles.

As the train entered the tunnel it struck me just how bizarre this all was. It could be a chick-flick tagline: ‘Girl likes boy but keeps it hidden as she helps boy search for the girl he loves’. At first I’d felt Jonathan was making a fuss over nothing, but Freya’s non-appearance at the restaurant was worrying. If she was just staying with friends, why hadn’t she called work to let them know she couldn’t make it? And skipping college was a bit strange too: surely she loved her music classes.

Jonathan got through to Freya’s neighbour just as we arrived at Emma’s.

‘She’s not in Norfolk either!’ he exclaimed as he cut the call. ‘I just hope Emma can tell us something, or I really will call the police.’

‘I’ve been worried too,’ Emma said. She was sitting on the couch hugging a cushion to her chest, looking tired and pale. ‘There are cautions in the papers about girls going out alone. Freya knows it’s stupid; she even said so.’

‘Where do you think she is?’ asked Jonathan.

‘No idea. I wish I knew.’

‘We know Freya was cheating on Jonathan,’ I said. ‘We found some emails, and a waitress said a guy visits her at work. Know who he is?’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘She never told me anything.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Well . . . the other day she did show off some flirty texts.’ She looked at Jonathan. ‘I assumed you sent them, but now I think about it, they were kind of dirty – and you don’t strike me as that sort of guy.’

Jonathan opened his mouth, then closed it.

Quickly I said, ‘Have you met any guys who you thought seemed keen on Freya?’

‘None she liked back. If Freya does have a new guy, she’s kept it very quiet. I really hope she hasn’t done anything stupid. She was so upset on Saturday.’

Jonathan sighed. ‘Yeah . . .’

‘You were out of order shouting at her, you know.’ Emma narrowed her eyes at Jonathan. ‘I don’t know your history, but I do know her, and she’s kind and generous and totally none of the names you called her. All she wanted was a bit of space.’

‘Well, that went well,’ Jonathan said as we left.

‘Maybe Emma just brings out the best in Freya, and you bring out the worst,’ I said.

Jonathan shrugged. ‘Weird, Emma not knowing about the new bloke. The emails Freya’s been sending to Clark date back to early October, so presumably she only met him recently.’

‘She could be keeping him secret because everyone knows about you and she doesn’t want people to think she’s a two-timer.’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t think that would bother her. Got to be another reason.’

‘Maybe she’s just enjoying having a secret?’

‘Maybe. Dunno.’ Jonathan looked pale. ‘I’m phoning the restaurant to check she didn’t turn up after we left, and then it’s police time.’

‘Maybe we should look some more – check out places she went a lot.’

‘What good will that do? No, we’ve waited too long already.’

The call to the Italian drew a blank. Jonathan took a deep breath. ‘You know what – I’m gonna go to Richmond. There’s a police station there – I’ve seen it. They’re the people who’ll be investigating this anyway, so I may as well tell it to them. Can’t exactly phone 999 for this, can I?’

I shook my head.

Jonathan

11.45 a.m.

The journey to Richmond went too quickly. Before I could blink, I found myself at the police station.

‘You going in?’ Rosalind asked.

I knew there was no going back now. Ros wanted to come in with me, but I made her stay outside – I didn’t want her getting tangled up in this. Inside I told the policeman at reception what had happened. He asked a few questions, noted down my details and Freya’s parents’ number – and that was it. When I asked if there was anything I could do, I was simply told to ‘get on with things as normal’.