By Any Other Name (13 page)

But the wind was too strong and it battered the door up out of my grasp again, slamming it against the top of the mechanism with an echoing crack that made me think it was going to come off its
hinges. It shook violently and I took a step back, sucking my fingers. It felt as if my fingernails had been wrenched off. ‘Stupid,
stupid
thing!’ Now what did I do?

Someone walked round me, who reached up and grabbed the door. I took another step back as I recognised him – Emo. He was with an older boy, who stood behind, waiting for him and looking at
me with interest.

Emo pulled the door down with annoying ease and settled it back into place. He gave me a brief nod and walked off back to his friend without a word, and they went off together down the
street.

I couldn’t decide how to feel. Part of me was mad that I’d needed his help, especially when he was so . . . GRRR! But then part of me was pleased I wasn’t still there trying to
get the stupid door to close either. Like I said, kind of strange.

That boy is so, so weird.

T
he next day after school, Mum sends me to the baker’s to pick up some French bread to go with dinner. On the way back, there’s a knock
on the glass as I pass the coffee shop. I jump a mile until I see Lucy inside. She waves at me. Gemma’s sitting beside her and smiles, though I think she looks unenthusiastic about it, and
Cam is with them, with her back to me.

Lucy beckons me in, waving her coffee cup as if she wants me to join them. I manage to slow my breathing as I go in, but my heart’s still thumping from the shock. So many little shocks
make me jittery still. Maybe they always will.

‘Hi, Holly,’ she says as I go over to their table. ‘Want a latte or a cappuccino or something? My big sis is working here this afternoon so we get free drinks while her boss is
out.’

‘Oh, thanks. Cappuccino then, please.’

‘So what are you up to?’

I wave the loaf in its paper bag as I sit down, noticing Camilla is stirring her latte too loudly not to be making a point that’s she unhappy about me being here. Gemma looks a bit sour
too, probably to keep in with Cam. She was perfectly fine with me in school earlier. ‘Went to the shop for my mum. How about you?’

‘Just met Cam for coffee and then I’m going home for dinner. I’m grounded tonight because Dad thinks I’m not working hard enough.’ She makes a glum face at me.
‘If I worked any harder I think my head would explode.’

I remember what Fraser said about her dad being strict and nod sympathetically. ‘How about you, Gemma?’

She shrugs non-committally as Cam stirs the spoon so it clanks against the coffee glass. ‘I don’t know really. Not sorted it yet. We’ll probably go out later. Hang out around
the village or something.’ She hesitates when Camilla glares at her. ‘Are you doing anything?’

Judging by Cam’s face, she’ll suffer for that later. Has that girl really got enough power to stop everyone wanting to be around me after school? No, she can’t have. Power like
that over Gemma perhaps, because Gemma seems to idolise her, but not the rest. Surely? They have minds of their own. They must do.

‘I don’t know,’ I reply, keeping a careful eye on Camilla. ‘Revising, I guess.’

‘Yeah.’ Gemma grins and looks relieved. ‘I’ve got a load of homework I have to do before I go out. My mum’s getting really naggy about checking my planner and
making sure I’ve done it all.’

Camilla snorts and finishes her coffee. ‘I’m going across to the playing fields later. Revision can wait.’ There’s a challenge in her voice to me, daring me to invite
myself where I haven’t been invited.
Nobody wants you there
, she says with her eyes.

‘I should make it there eventually,’ Gemma says, casting nervous looks between us while Lucy fidgets uncomfortably.

‘So how do I find you on Facebook? I keep meaning to add you,’ Lucy asks. I guess it’s to make me feel better because you can’t miss the negative vibes coming off Cam. Is
her change in attitude just about Katie? How pathetic. But . . .
oh
! I focus on what Lucy actually said and my skin turns cold.

Facebook?

Um . . . how do I get out of this one?

‘Oh, er, I’m not on Facebook.’

It’s impossible. To suddenly activate an account for Holly Latham with no friends, no past. No messages on her page. No posting history. It couldn’t be done. Way too suspicious. And
that was one of the things I’d been warned against by Tim W-P.

‘Oh! Have you got Twitter then?’

‘No.’ They stare at me and I feel myself flush. ‘I’m not really into all that stuff.’

They’re still staring at me, like I’m a bearded woman in a freak show.

‘I prefer to text or do my social life face to face.’

‘Jeez,’ Camilla drawls. ‘How twentieth century.’

I sniff. ‘You think?’

She curls her lip in return. ‘It’s kinda weird.’

‘Yeah, well, whatever. People should just do what they think and act how they feel. Live how they want and not do what everyone else expects. That’s what I think.’

Camilla gives me a sickly-sweet smile. ‘Of course you do.’

My heart is pounding in my chest with the effort of lying and it’s making it harder to breathe. I get up. ‘I should get back with the bread. Thanks for the coffee, Lucy. And you two
have a good time tonight if you do go out.’

‘Any time,’ Lucy says, and Gemma gives me a placatory smile. But Cam glowers.

Why is she suddenly being like this? It can’t just be Katie. There must be something else going on.

I shrug at her and smile at the others, then leave.

It takes until I’m home for my heart to calm down. Why wasn’t I better prepared for that question? Stupid, stupid,
stupid
.

But no matter how witness protection prepares you, the first time something happens you never do know how to deal with it. I guess that’s where the danger lies. Why so many people mess
this kind of deal up, or at least that’s what they told us. Too many people get careless and compromise their identity.

I don’t think they realise how hard it is. They might be professionals, but they don’t have to live it. I remember that first day we were in the hotel in Norfolk and we had to be our
new selves . . .

We were getting ready to go out. There was a supermarket within easy driving distance, we’d been told. The new driving licences weren’t ready yet, but if Mum or Dad got stopped by
the police they were to tell them to contact a certain number and that would deal with the problem. We put coats and gloves on, all being very careful to use the correct names and ignore
Katie’s utterly bewildered face. ‘Boo?’ she said.

‘No, angel – Holly,’ Dad corrected.

She frowned. ‘Boo!’

‘I did tell you,’ Mum said to him, wrapping a scarf round Katie’s neck. ‘You’re wasting your time. She won’t understand.’

We got into the car and Dad drove us to the supermarket. I sat in the back with Katie. ‘Where’s
our
car?’ she grumbled.

I don’t know, Katie.
‘This is our car for now. We’re having a change.’

Predictably, she screwed her face up.

Mum skewed round in the seat to glare at me and distract her before she cried. I bit my lip and looked out of the window at the strange streets flashing by.

When we walked round the supermarket, nothing was where we expected it to be. It took ten minutes to find the eggs and in the end Mum had to ask an assistant where they were. Katie’s face
crumpled when the sweets weren’t where they should be. And I knew exactly how she felt. Every time we turned down an aisle and it didn’t have the produce that our usual shop at home
did, I felt like crying. It was stupid – when we went away on holiday I didn’t feel this way. When I looked at Mum, there were tears glistening in her eyes. Dad strode ahead, filling
the trolley stoically. ‘It’s so stupid,’ Mum whispered, ‘to get upset over a strange supermarket, but . . .’ She didn’t need to finish.

Dad took us in the café for coffee and cakes, the way we always did at home if Katie had been good and not whined. The white cups were the same as the ones in our supermarket at home.
Such a stupid little thing but . . . Mum and I gripped our hands round them gratefully. I saw her do it and I knew she’d seen me too when she gave me a tight smile and then looked away out of
the window, blinking hard.

F
raser recruits his dad to act as chauffeur and drive us to the ice rink, which is on the outskirts of the city, about half an hour away. I suffer
his father’s stony face all the way. He doesn’t approve of me, I can tell, from the moment he picks me up outside my house. I’m not quite their kind of people.

I feel cold inside with a shame that I shouldn’t have to feel because it’s not my fault we live here. A tiny, quiet voice tells me I shouldn’t feel ashamed anyway and I’m
being a massive snob for caring what he thinks about my house at all.

Outside the rink, the buzz of
city
hits me. And it’s awesome. I close my eyes and let the traffic noise and the voices batter my ears.

So good.

Like home.

I’ve missed this so badly.

The foyer of the rink is busy and we have to queue for skates. Fraser slips his arm round my shoulders and then as we wait and wait, he slides it down my back so his hand rests on my bum. It
feels like an invasion of my space. I tolerate it to examine the strangeness of this. Uber-hot boy getting touchy with me . . . and nothing . . . I’m just not interested.

I wish I could speak to Tasha’s sister about this. She’d know the answer. Or maybe Mum would? But that would be verrry strange, talking to her about boys like that.

We collect the skates and make our way to the rinkside to change. ‘So when you said you could skate a bit, how much is a bit?’ Fraser asks, looking suddenly worried that I might
eclipse him on the ice.

‘I can not fall over too much. Don’t worry, I’m not going to start racing you round the rink. How good are you?’

He laughs. ‘I’m not bad. I used to play ice hockey before it started messing with my cricket because I was picking up too many injuries.’

He holds my hand while I edge on to the ice. ‘Hold on to the side until you find your balance again,’ he tells me and pushes off to glide along, before he whirls round in a loop to
come back to me.

A few staggering steps and I let go of the rail and try to skate. His hand hovers under my elbow in case I fall, but I don’t, and after another few attempts I find my ice legs and take off
properly. When he sees I’m stable, he relaxes and takes my hand. ‘Hey, you’re not bad at all,’ and he sounds proud. I’m not as good as him so that’s OK, but
I’m not going to make him look bad either.

Was it like this with me and Dan? All about appearances and power play?

I know it was, deep down, and I’m not sure I’m happy with that. It seems so . . . oh, I don’t know. Tasha and I used to think we were so great for keeping a boy dangling. We
loved the game.

When you’re not operating at the top end of the league though, it’s a lot less fun. A little voice in my head suggests it might have been less fun too for the ones that Tasha and I
played with.

I never meant to hurt anyone. It was just a game. Being tough. Being in control. The buzz of having a new power and using it. The power of being a girl that boys wanted.

Fraser laughs as a fat girl loses her balance and crashes over. ‘How did she not crack the ice?’ he says with a snigger. I laugh with him but I don’t find it very funny.

We skate around for a while and it’s kind of fun. Or is it? It’s like I feel it should be but it just isn’t making the grade. Once I’d have flirted like crazy with Fraser
because he’s cute, but I’m just not getting any buzz from it. I keep remembering how he looked at Katie and I can’t bring myself to smile at him in
that
way.

When he suggests taking a break and getting a drink in the café, I agree with relief. Forcing out laughs as if I’m having a good time is a lot easier when I’m sitting in a
café with a shot of caffeine than it is wobbling around on blades. He cocks an eyebrow when he asks me if I want food and I order a triple choc-chip muffin.