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03:55

Friday 6 November

Account Suspended

Freddie came to. Her head was resting on someone’s shoulder. Ajay? She slipped her hand round his soft coat. That wasn’t right. She sat up. She was in a car. She’d been asleep, leaning against Nas, whose head lolled to the left, a faint vibration across her lips as she, too, slept. It all flooded back. The tweets. The photos. The helicopter. The gunshot. The fear. It thrummed through her.

She rubbed her eyes. Outside, the reassuringly tall, lit buildings of East London swam by in pools of orange street light. Tibbsy was driving; the car found, rented, borrowed – she didn’t know. The young girls had to be interviewed. The helicopter had to return to London. She’d slept on a row of plastic seats in the tiny Airwick-fragranced police station in Hereford. They must have left about midnight. Moast stirred in the front passenger seat: a snail trail of drool had worked down his face. Tibbsy signalled. Turned. They pulled into the car park of the Jubilee Station, the lights on inside: the ever-ready Met. Her throat was dry. ‘What time is it?’ she croaked.

Moast groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. Nas started next to her; half a snore caught in her throat, turned into a cough, a swallow.

‘Five to four,’ said Tibbsy. ‘I’m knackered.’ He opened his door. A blast of cold air flooded into the car, slapping her in the face.

Freddie rubbed at her neck. Rolled her shoulders. Next to her, Nas was taking the coat she’d laid over herself and hanging it over her arm. Freddie opened the door, took a gulp of air. Now what? She’d have to get the night bus. ‘I still don’t understand why after all that they weren’t charged.’ Freddie slammed the door shut behind her.

‘Well done on the drive, Tibbsy,’ Moast said. ‘I’ll see if one of the PCs is around to drop us all home.’

‘Cheers, guv.’ Tibbsy stretched his arms up and back. ‘I could do with a cuppa, anyone else?’

‘Sounds good,’ said Nas.

‘Seriously, guys.’ Freddie balled her hands up into her sleeves to protect them from the cold. ‘Are we sure there’s no link?’ All that work, all that time, and for nothing.

‘It was just a copycat, Freddie.’ Nas shook her fingers through her long dark hair as she walked. ‘They’re just kids. They’ve been cautioned. We don’t want them to end up with a criminal record because of some idiotic prank.’

How could she be so forgiving? All the times she’d had a go at her for wasting police time. All that self-righteous guff about jeopardising the case on that first night at Mardling’s, and now Nas was all shoulder shrugs and
they’re just kids!
Oh yeah, she was so forgiving when it wasn’t Freddie screwing things up.

Freddie watched them walk to the back door, stamping pins and needles from their feet, blowing warm air on their hands, like they hadn’t just wasted nearly a whole day chasing kids while a serial murderer was still out there. Waiting. ‘Seriously, am I the only one who is fucked off by this?’

Nas had her hand on the back door to the station, her shoulders fell. ‘These things happen, Freddie.’

Freddie hated her at that moment. A few hours ago she thought she’d been shot. Dead. Gone. All her love for Nas from when they were kids had detonated through her body. She wanted to hug her, scream that she was sorry. Sorry for everything she’d ever done wrong. But for perfect Nasreen Cudmore emotions were messy. Beneath her. She didn’t look like she’d had no sleep, she looked like a fucking Disney Princess. A Disney Princess with her fucking two-up-two-down house that Freddie would never be able to afford. And her suits. Those tiny nipped waists. The smart black that never looked creased or had milk spilt on it. Those disappointed looks, the patronising half-sighs at silly little Freddie with her silly little ideas. ‘Not all of us are happy to roll over when Moast tells us to,’ Freddie said.

Tibbsy froze. Moast turned, his eyebrows raised.

‘Leave it, Freddie. You don’t understand how these things work,’ Nas said, her voice unaffected. Calm.

Freddie tried to stop herself, but she felt the blistering heat of emotion. She looked at Nasreen; this was her fault. She’d opened her up to death and blood and tears and she didn’t even care. ‘Oh, yes, I forgot, perfect little Nasreen Cudmore never puts a foot wrong.’

‘Venters, I think we’re all a bit tired, mate,’ said Tibbsy. Nasreen opened the door and stepped inside.

Oh no you don’t.
Freddie walked quickly after her. ‘Don’t you dare walk away from me, Nasreen Cudmore. You think you can do that again.’ She grabbed at the door, jerking it back, stepping into the corridor of the station. A fucking police station. She should never have been here. If Nas had stuck up for her in the first place none of this would’ve happened.

Nas spun on her heel and looked straight at Freddie. ‘It’s been an emotional night, Freddie, I can understand you’re a little over-tired…’

‘Don’t fucking patronise me. You know what I felt tonight when that gun went off? Terrified. I thought you were dead. Lost again. For good. It broke my heart. But you felt nothing. You felt nothing then and you feel nothing now.’ She was aware of Tibbsy and Moast hesitating behind her.

‘Don’t Freddie,’ said Nas.

‘Don’t…don’t what? Talk about what you did?’ Freddie’s words hissed and crackled in the air.

‘What I did?’ Nas threw her hands in the air. ‘What you did! I was a kid. I was fourteen. I hero-worshipped you, Freddie. I’d have done anything you said.’

‘Oh yeah, blame me. Like you’ve always done. I saw it in your eyes that night at St Pancras. I was fourteen too. We were
both
kids.’

‘Guys.’ Tibbsy put a hand on her shoulder.

‘Fuck off!’ She shrugged him off and stepped toward Nasreen. ‘You know all this changes nothing. All this perfect hair. Perfect policeman crap. We’re as guilty as those Welsh girls. If not more so. Both of us.
You
are as guilty as me.’

‘Ha! I love it. The great Freddie Venton, the girl who works in Espress-oh’s and sleeps on a fucking sofa – that’s right Jamie told me. We had a good laugh at that.’ Nas’s eyes blazed.

Freddie’s cheeks burned. ‘You…’

Nasreen stepped toward her and put her face right up to Freddie. She smelt of breath mints and coconut shampoo. She spoke so quietly Freddie was sure only she heard. ‘You are the one who can’t get over it, Freddie. You are the one who never faced up to what we did. I can sleep at night. I am happy with my life.’ She turned and walked down the corridor. Walked away.

Moast whistled through his teeth. ‘Wowee. Cat fight.’

‘Freddie, they were just kids back there, one’s parents are going through a divorce. No point giving them a criminal record,’ Tibbsy was saying.

‘Gemma Strofton.’ Freddie kept Nasreen in her sights, detonated the bomb that had hung between them since that first night on Blackbird Road.

Nasreen froze mid-stride.

‘Has the great,
happy with her life
,
Nasreen Cudmore told you about Gemma Strofton?’ Freddie was aware of people gathering in the background. Heads poked round doors to see what all the noise was about. Officers stopping en route from the canteen. An audience. She felt the power of her words. She wasn’t frightened of Gemma anymore. ‘Oh yes, Saint Nasreen Cudmore, Miss Goody Two Shoes suck-up…’ Someone giggled. ‘…bullied Gemma Strofton. Tell them what Gemma did, Nasreen? To escape you! Tell them what you did!’ she screamed.

‘Enough.’ Moast had her under her arm.

‘Oww, stop.’ She tried to shake him off.

Everyone started talking at once. ‘What the hell?’ ‘Bullied?’ ‘What happened?’ ‘What did she say?’ ‘Gemma Strofton.’

The name reverberated through Freddie. She’d not
said
Gemma’s name since then. Her mouth felt bruised.

‘In here.’ Moast shoved her toward the door of an interview room; she twisted. Caught sight of Jamie, his mouth open. Watery eyes wide.

‘That’s it! Show’s over,’ Tibbsy was calling.

Moast kicked at the door and pushed her through. He let go of her and leant back against it.
‘Bloody women
.’

Freddie was shaking. She hugged her arms around herself, gripped her coat with her fingertips. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore. No more.’

‘Okay,’ Moast was saying. ‘I’ll speak to Gray. I’ll get you taken home. I should have got you that counsellor.’

‘I can’t do this any longer. I quit.’ Freddie’s chest shook. Mardling. Phillips. Hamlin. Paige. Troll hunter. Apollyon. The Hashtag Murderer. The eyes in the Instagram. A terrified thirteen-year-old.
They were only kids
. Poor Gemma. Poor Nas. Poor her. The tears came. And Freddie Venton broke.

16:35

Monday 2 July

‘Gem’s just such a drama queen, you know?’ Nas sat on Freddie’s bed, bouncing her heels against her Fame Academy duvet.

‘I know, what was that turn in maths? I mean who cries in double maths? Obviously we all hate it.’ Freddie picked at the blue polish on her nail.

‘I quite like maths actually,’ Nas giggled, tugging at her ponytail.

Freddie rolled her eyes at her. She’d been friends with Nas and Gem since Infants, but recently they’d been really getting to her. They were so immature. ‘Whatever. You and Gem can be geeks all your life. I’m getting out of this dump.’

‘You’re fourteen, Freddie,’ Nas scoffed. ‘You’ve got no money. Where you going to go?’

‘I don’t mean now. I mean soon. When school’s done, I’m out of here. I’m going to London.’ Freddie held her hand out as if she were admiring her nails. She’d heard her cousin say that about London. If she could get a proper grown-up job, she could earn enough to get a place so Mum could come and stay while Dad was bad. She felt guilty thinking of Dad like this, but he was getting worse. If she had money then maybe he wouldn’t be so stressed. Maybe he wouldn’t go out so much.

Nas stopped bouncing. Freddie felt her look at her, felt the warm glow of approval. ‘My aunt took me to London last year,’ Nas said. ‘We went on the Underground – it’s like a train underground.’

‘I know what the Tube is.’ Freddie scraped her hair off her face and peered in the old bathroom mirror that now lived in her room. The spot on her nose was getting worse. Stupid toothpaste: it didn’t work.

‘Yeah, but you’ve never been on it, have you?’ Nas said triumphantly.

Freddie thought of the time dad had promised to take her last year. He’d never made it back from the pub. She’d sat on the doorstep until it grew dark. Waiting. Mum had come out with a hot chocolate for her. Telling her dad had obviously got stuck talking about work. She wanted so hard to believe her. It hurt to think about it. ‘When I’m older I’m going to live in London and take the Tube every day.’

‘Maybe I’ll live in London too,’ said Nas.

Freddie would love that. She and Nas living together like sisters. ‘Unfortunately someone’s got to stay here and look after Gem. She’s not cool enough for a big city.’ Freddie turned her head from side to side. Did she have a best side? They both looked pretty bad.

Nas’s face appeared behind her. Waggling her glasses by scrunching up her nose. ‘I don’t think it’s Gem’s fault. Perhaps she’s on her you know what.’ Nas mouthed
period
.

Freddie felt her face flush. She hadn’t started yet. Of course she’d told Nas and Gemma she had. She’d seen them whispering, passing sanitary towels to each other in the bathroom. Freddie had always been first. First to climb the monkey bars. First to go to the shops on her own. Always been the leader. Now suddenly she was lagging behind. What if they got a boyfriend first? Because they were women now and she was still a little girl. Would they even want to be friends anymore? She’d be alone. Her and mum while dad was out drinking. Waiting up till the early hours to hear him crash in through the front door. That was when the shouting would start. She couldn’t bear for this to be it. ‘I think we should teach Gemma a lesson.’

‘What?’ Nas picked up a lip gloss from next to the mirror. Freddie could smell her vanilla Impulse body spray.

‘Teach her to toughen up a bit.’ Freddie snatched it out of her hand. Nas looked doubtful. She needed to win her over. Needed to make sure she was on her side. She couldn’t be left behind. ‘Remember what she said to you yesterday about your ribs sticking out more than your tits?’ Freddie knew how hurt Nas had been; she was painfully aware of her flat chest.

Nas winced. ‘Well I guess that
was
a bit mean.’

‘Right. She can’t say things like that and expect us to hold her hand in maths class when she’s crying all over the place. She can’t have it both ways,’ Freddie said.

‘I guess not.’ Nas hugged her knees to her chest.

‘First, we won’t call for Gem tomorrow on the way to school,’ Freddie said.

‘But she might be late for class?’ Nas said.

‘You’ve got to be cruel to be kind. It’s like when you train a dog. Then we won’t speak to her.’ She was gathering steam now.

‘At all?’ asked Nas.

‘For the rest of this week,’ said Freddie. ‘That’ll teach her not to take us for granted.’ Her mum always said that about Dad in the mornings, when she flung the curtains open and turned the radio up loud.

‘Really?’ said Nas.

‘It’ll be good for her,’ Freddie adopted her mother’s tone. ‘Remind her of her priorities. And we should defriend her.’ That’d show Gem. Remind her what she had.

‘What?’ Nas said.

‘On Facebook. It’ll be funny. We can write on her page and then she’ll be all like
waaah! I can’t write back!
’ Freddie pulled a funny face and waved her hands manically round her head.

Nas laughed.

‘She’ll be all like
oh my God what’s happening? Where’s my friends?
And then next week we’ll be like
boom! Only joking!
She’ll be mega grateful. We’ll poke her and send her a friend request, like next Tuesday.’

They were both giggling now. Freddie grabbed her laptop.

‘What shall we say?’ asked Nas.

‘We’re so over it drama queenie!’ Freddie said as she typed.

‘We can’t!’ Nas was screaming with laughter now.

‘Let’s post that picture of her where she’s pretending to scream at Seth on The OC.’

‘Oh my God! Perfect!’ Nas giggled.

‘And tag everyone from class!’ Freddie said.

03:02

Monday 9 July

The telephone woke Freddie. It was dark. Was Dad out late again? No, she heard his voice. Then her mum’s. What was going on? She rolled over. Closed her eyes. The hall light went on. Her door opened.

‘Love, did you hear the phone? Are you awake?’ Her mum was pulling her pink dressing gown around her.

Freddie swallowed. Was it Granny May? ‘Yeah.’

‘Love, I’m sorry but I need to tell you something. I’m going to put the light on.’

‘Okay.’ Freddie’s eyes burned as the light bulb snapped on. Her room, the posters, her school kit hanging over her chair, the missing patch in the curtain where her hamster had got hold of it and chewed a fluff-edged hole.

Her mum came and sat on her bed. She ran her hand through Freddie’s hair like she did when she was little.

‘Freddie I’m so sorry, love. But Gemma’s been…found…she…Well, she got hold of some of her mum’s medicine. Cut herself. They had to break the door down to get to her. That was Mr Wilkins from school.’

Freddie began to shake, as if each word were firing tiny electric shocks at her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean…Is she?’

Her mum’s voice caught. She put her hand over her mouth. Freddie felt her shudder. ‘The poor girl. Her poor parents. She’s at the hospital. Unconscious. Love, they don’t know if she’s going to wake up. I know you girls are all so close. We’ll see if we can take you in tomorrow.’

Tears shook out of Freddie. A pain deep inside her chest felt like it was going to pull her apart. Her mum pulled her close and rocked her, resting her face on her head.

‘Shush. Shush. It’s okay, love. It’s okay. Let it out.’ Freddie’s chest heaved and the tears of her mum washed over her cheeks.
What had they done?

The telephone rang again. Freddie froze. Her mum squeezed her tight. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to hear more. Her dad answered the phone, his gruff voice, muffled by Mum’s dressing gown, raised and suddenly cut off. She closed her eyes as she heard him approach.

‘Dirty bastards,’ his voice sounded gravelly.

‘What is it, love?’ said her mum.

‘That was some hack from the local paper, he says they received a tip-off that our Freddie and Nasreen were bullying that Gemma lass.’ Her dad’s words sliced into her like broken glass. Freddie thought she might be sick
.

‘No.’ Her mum was still gripping her tightly. ‘They’re friends. There must be a mistake?’

Her dad had her by the arm and yanked her away. Her mum reached for her. Freddie let out a cry as he shook her. ‘What did you do, you stupid girl? What did you do? It’s going to be in the papers! Happy now!’

‘Stop it!’ her mum cried. ‘She’s just a child!’

Her dad let go and Freddie crumpled to the floor. She felt the bruise ripening where his hand had been.

‘This is all I fucking need.’ He slammed out of the room.

Freddie closed her eyes as she heard his receding footsteps and the familiar crystal tinkle of the drinks cabinet opening.
What had she done?

Eight years later

06:00

Friday 6 November

Account Suspended

Freddie pulled the duvet back over her head. Closing the world out. The noise. The smell. The fear. Her phone vibrated on the windowsill above. Reaching up, she grabbed it, sliding her finger to the power button. Holding it down. Force close. Don’t look. She couldn’t do this anymore. Her limbs felt heavy and tired. Her insides were coated with dust. It was claggy: sticking her together, turning her into a solid block of wood. Petrification. She was frightened. Truly, deeply, madly frightened. She eyed her Mac plugged into the wall. With a burst of energy, she leapt at it and ripped the plug from the socket, panting like an animal. As if a dead battery – silence – could save her. She crawled back into bed, still in her clothes from the helicopter. She curled into a ball and cried. Fitfully she slept. Dimly aware of time and life shifting, the other side of her curtains: the rise of the sun, the darkness of night. Her flatmates coming and going. Life had no place for her. Time was nothing. Her duvet was a heavy black mass upon her. The air thick as treacle. There was no rising for her. Only the darkness of the night.

There was a bumbling, muttering at the door. Her flatmate, P-something, Pete, whispered: ‘Sorry, milk.’

She dug herself further into her duvet. Closed her hands over her ears as a spoon scraped against a teacup. Freddie screwed her eyes and mouth shut. Dust. She was turning to dust. Pete passed back out, crunching silver foil over leftovers. Gradually, her hands, her toes, her calves, her arms, her back, her stomach, her neck, relaxed and she fell asleep again; dreaming of Gemma and Nasreen dancing and laughing by Pendrick’s outside pool in summer.