Pretty Twisted (9 page)

‘Yeah.’ I squeezed past him. ‘See you later.’

‘Rozzle, wait. I want to know how you started talking to this person.’

I closed my eyes a second, thinking that even visiting the aren’t-artists had to be better than an interrogation. ‘He messaged me on MyPlace.’

‘Oh,
he
did, did he? What were you talking about?’

‘Just stuff.’

‘Can you promise it was nothing that would worry me?’

My father and I have different ideas of what’s worrying, so I dodged that question. ‘He’s not a dirty old man, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s sixteen.’

‘So he says. Be careful, Ros.’

‘I am,’ I snapped. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘Yes, it is – you’re still a kid, and this is serious. Has he asked you to meet him?’

‘No.’

‘He has, hasn’t he?’

‘I said no!’

Olivia’s door opened. ‘What’s all the yelling about?’ she asked.

‘Rosalind’s been speaking to strange men online.’ said Dad. ‘She doesn’t seem to realize how dangerous it is.’

‘Freak,’ said Olivia.

I ignored her and turned to Dad, trying to keep my temper.

‘All I’m saying is not everyone you meet on the Internet is dodgy.’

‘Of course not – but they could be. Look, Rosalind, I don’t like thinking the worst of people before I’ve met them, but too many vulnerable kids have been preyed on over the Internet for me to let this go. Do you understand what I’m saying? I worry about you sometimes.’

I didn’t answer. Olivia snorted, and I rounded on her. ‘If you want someone to worry about, try Livy! She’s the one who came back at half one last weekend from a date with Mr Wonderful.’

‘Sneak! You’re just jealous because no one would ever want to date you.’

‘That’s enough!’ Dad rarely raises his voice, so we shut up, Olivia giving me a furious look as I escaped downstairs.

‘We’ll talk more about this later,’ Dad shouted after me. ‘Make sure you’re back by eleven!’

‘Gladly!’ I muttered under my breath.

The entire journey I felt like I wanted to throw up. Abby sat chatting to Claudia on the other side of the carriage, wearing her best jewellery and fully gothed out in a beautiful lace shirt over a black strappy dress. Claudia was her usual tarty self in yet another titchy outfit. This time I hoped she really did get cold. I hadn’t bothered to dress up, though I was wearing my retro cap. There was no way I could compete, and the less attention I got the better.

Another problem was our eleven o’clock curfew. If I counted walking from home to the station, the journey was an hour and twenty minutes, plus the time it would take us to walk to Gabe’s. I’d told Abby we’d have to leave at half nine, but I wasn’t sure she’d been listening. Dad would probably be back late, but I couldn’t bank on that, and he’d hit the roof if he found out I’d lied to him.

At least Jonathan was on my side. Somehow that didn’t feel as comforting as it ought to. Though I’d been defiant with Dad, his words had struck a nerve – because despite myself, there had been moments I’d wondered if I was right to place so much trust in Jonathan. After all, his first message had just appeared on my screen. Me, out of billions of Internet users. And he’d changed me. I’d never been the kind of girl who fell for people quickly, but I’d certainly fallen for him. Had that just happened – or had Jonathan encouraged me? Nothing had been said directly, but I couldn’t help remembering how he’d asked to see my photo. He hadn’t exactly hidden how pretty he thought Olivia was either. Sick old guys who targeted teenagers would know how to draw girls in without it seeming obvious . . .

Oh, shut up! I thought, angry with myself. All I seemed to do was worry these days – I wished I could lighten up.

When we got out at High Street Kensington, my phone vibrated. The text was from Jonathan:
Remember to miscall me and I will fly to your rescue
I’ve got the address on a Post-it.

‘This area’s classy,’ Abby said as we stepped through the station barriers. It had upmarket coffee shops and trendy clothes stores – exactly what you’d expect to find on a well-to-do high street. I assumed we’d be led down a grubby alleyway, but Claudia took us to a respectable-looking road with tall terraced houses, the five-storey kind that have basement entrances. Gabe’s was tattier than the others, but I had no doubt that it was worth a small fortune. Perhaps I’d been wrong about him after all.

‘Hi, girls.’ Gabe answered the door, yet again in shirt and tie. ‘Great to see you; come on in.’

I gave the street a last look then stepped inside. The hall was bare, with faded patches on the old-fashioned wallpaper where paintings might once have hung, and there was a naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. The staircase creaked as we made our way to the next floor and into a big room with long windows. It was sparsely furnished, with empty takeaway cartons and dirty cutlery on the floor. Brian and Hugh were sprawled across a sofa watching TV. Between them sat a grubby-looking Jack Russell. Seeing us, he jumped off the sofa and started barking, wagging his stubby tail.

‘Will someone shut that animal up?’ Gabe levelled a kick at the dog, who dodged and retreated behind the television. He did, however, stop yapping.

Hugh and Brian shuffled up to make room for Abby, and Claudia spread out on the second sofa with Gabe. Seeing no other seats, I hovered where I was.

Hugh gave me a wave. ‘Hey, Ros. You don’t have to stand. There’s a beanbag over there.’

I picked up the beanbag and pulled it up by Abby, settling down gingerly.

‘Great house, isn’t it?’ said Gabe. ‘Used to be an upstairs-downstairs kind of place, servants and all. It’s so large that there are rooms up top I haven’t even found uses for yet! All mine too.’

‘Don’t you three share?’ Abby asked.

‘Nah, the guys are just human furniture. Get us some drinks, will you, Bri?’

Brian went out of the door grumbling and returned with a pack of beer cans and a bottle of vodka. Gabe opened the vodka and gave it to Claudia, who acted as though he’d given her the most amazing present. When the bottle got to Abby, she looked at it doubtfully, but took a long swig, probably not wanting to look a kid. I tried a sip, grimacing at the strong burning taste, and quickly passed it on.

‘A bit more relaxed now, girls?’ asked Gabe, rolling a cigarette. ‘Having a good time?’

‘Um, yeah. Thanks.’ Abby gave a little giggle. ‘It’s really cool here.’

‘The kid doesn’t look happy.’ I realized he was looking at me. ‘What’s wrong with her? Doesn’t like strange men?’

‘She doesn’t like anything,’ said Claudia. I glared at them both.

Gabe started chuckling. ‘God, if looks could kill! Kid gives me the creeps.’

‘The feeling’s mutual,’ I snapped.

His chuckle turned to laughter. ‘Here, this’ll lighten her up; take this, darling. Want me to show you how it’s done?’

He passed the joint in my direction.

‘I don’t smoke,’ I said.

Ah, but this isn’t a cigarette. It’s something special -good stuff.’

‘I know what it is and I don’t want it,’ I said, hunching my shoulders and wishing I wasn’t there. Luckily Hugh chose that moment to flip on a CD of eighties hits. Gabe forgot about me and offered the joint to Claudia, and Abby started chatting to Brian. Hugh picked up a beer can.

‘You don’t want to be here, do you?’ he said.

‘Someone noticed,’ I muttered.

‘Look, Ros, you may as well try to enjoy yourself rather than sit there sulking. Your mate said you were into art; want to have a look at our photos?’

Couldn’t hurt, I supposed. ‘Sure.’

I followed Hugh into the next room. He perched on a table and took out an A3 file, opening it at a shot of a sunset-bathed beach. I flicked through the pages, taking in a busy Spanish street, beauty spots from across the world and shoots with models. My favourite showed a colourful houseboat docked at the side of a river. Its nameplate, which read
Annabel
, had two mermaids painted either side of it. A white greyhound was lying on the roof, sunbathing.

‘These are good,’ I said. ‘Did you take them?’

‘Yup. The boat’s my dad’s; it’s moored at Little Venice.’ Seeing my blank expression, Hugh said, ‘The canal near Maida Vale – he’s been living there for years.’

‘Oh. Did you grow up on a boat then?’

He laughed. ‘Hell, no! I only go there for the odd weekend; his mind’s off with the fairies, my dad. Here, let me show you some of Graham’s.’

There was another folder on the table. I opened it. These photos were dull by comparison, and looked very amateurish.

I saw that Hugh was grinning. ‘Crap, aren’t they?’

I nodded. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a studio.’

‘Fat chance; Graham’s mental. He’s just a poser who thinks he can play at being in business. Got ideas after his aunt popped her clogs and left him this place.’

‘So you’re not mates then?’

‘Graham’s a pain in the arse.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘I’d move out tomorrow if I had any cash, but he doesn’t charge rent and that’s too good to pass up. Your friend’s making a big mistake with him.’

‘Claudia’s not my friend,’ I said, ‘but he’s far too old for her.’

‘It’s not just that. Want me to tell you a story?’ Without waiting for my reply, Hugh carried on, ‘I met Brian at college when I was finishing off my photography MA. Both of us had itchy feet; he was cut up about his long-term girlfriend dumping him, and I didn’t fancy getting a job straight after graduation – so we decided to go backpacking round Europe.’

‘What’s an MA?’

‘Master of Arts – extra year after a regular degree. Anyway, I decide I’m going to use the time abroad to build up a really decent portfolio so someone might actually want to employ me. For a while everything’s peachy. Then we hit Paris. Ever been there?’

I shook my head.

‘You’d like it – lots of art galleries. Anyway, I’ve got a great angle on the Eiffel Tower when this bloke trips over me – he’s been walking backwards looking through his camera. He apologizes and we joke about it and get talking.’ Hugh shook his head. ‘Paris, the most romantic city in the world, and I meet Graham there. You couldn’t make it up.’

‘What happened next?’

‘We have a drink and a laugh. He’s looking for a place to stay so Bri and I take him to our hostel. Turns out he’s on a photography tour too, financed by a wealthy aunt who was fond of him as a kid, only he’s pissed the money up the wall and is trying to get by on a shoestring till it’s time to go home. Starts sponging off us the moment he can, the bastard.’

‘Starting to see why you don’t like him now,’ I said.

‘The real crunch comes a few nights later,’ said Hugh. ‘I come back to the hostel to find that someone’s been through my stuff. See, I’ve been storing my photographs on memory cards and copying them on to my laptop, only the piece of junk hasn’t been working properly, so not all my stuff’s backed up. And guess what, the memory cards have been nicked. Three weeks’ work gone, just like that!’

He paused to take a drag on his cigarette. ‘I had it out with Graham right away. He denied it – said he was in his room with a headache – total shit. I reckon he knew he was a crap photographer and was panicking about having something to take back to dear old auntie, who’s arty and knows how to tell good from bad. Want to hear the best bit?’

‘I think you’re going to tell me anyway.’

Hugh laughed. ‘Sorry, am I boring you? Graham’s a bad subject to get me going on. Anyway, he gets it into his head to pin everything on these two Polish girls in the next room, probably cos they’re easy targets. So we have this ridiculous showdown, with him going on at them, while all the time I know he did it. We nearly got chucked out of the hostel.’

‘Did you find the memory cards?’

‘No; Graham didn’t have them on him. But I know he nicked them, cos when we got home he entered my shots into a competition.’ He shook his head. ‘Won a thousand quid I could really have done with. It sucks.’

‘Didn’t you say anything?’

‘Got no proof, have I? We were both hanging out in Paris, taking photos of the same things. It’s my word against his.’

Hugh finished his cigarette. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I wondered if these guys thought Claudia, Abby and me were ‘easy targets’ too. I shook my head when Hugh offered me his beer can.