He's After Me (21 page)

We get out of the car and run towards Wharfside. As I peer up at the roof I can make out a small figure looking down at us.

‘It’s Livi!’

There’s a small flash of light. I wonder what it is until a second figure appears beside her. It’s Jem with his camera.

A guy holding a megaphone who seems to be in charge comes over to greet us.

‘My name’s Phil,’ he introduces himself, and starts explaining to Mum and Dad what’s going on. I look back up at the roof at the two figures silhouetted against a background of stars. Suddenly Jem’s favourite song floods into my mind and I’m drowning in terror.

And when no hope was left in sight

On that starry, starry night.

You took your life

As lovers often do
…

Jem raises his hand and waves. He can see me. I wave back at him. I don’t know what else to do.

A van appears and police in flak jackets spill out of it. Phil mentions a ‘hostage situation’. I stare at the guys in horror. This is crazy; they look like a riot squad. For all I know, these guys have got guns.

‘He’s not armed!’ I interrupt.

‘Can you be sure of that?’ Phil turns to me. I shake my head in disbelief.

‘He hasn’t taken her against her will!’ I explain, but no one’s listening.

‘Oh my God!’ Dad points up to the roof.

Jem is leaning over the edge, his head and upper body dangling in mid-air. The crowd gasps.

‘Where’s Livi?’ screams Mum. My sister has disappeared from sight. ‘Livi!’

‘It’s OK! Shhh!’ I grab Mum’s arm to calm her down. ‘He’s tagging, that’s all.’

‘What?’ Mum clings to me in terror.

‘He’s doing graffiti. She’ll be hanging on to his legs. She’s fine.’

Mum sobs. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I’ve done it myself.’

We watch with our hearts in our mouths, as, upside down, Jem sprays an F on the warehouse wall. Then he wriggles his way back up to the roof, moves along a bit, and does the same manoeuvre again, only this time it’s a U.

The tension lifts and a ripple of amusement passes through the crowd as it becomes obvious what he’s writing. When he’s finished, the crowd bursts into applause and Jem stands up and takes a bow. Livi appears beside him and he raises her hand in triumph.

It’s OK. He’s loving this. So is she. There’s nothing sinister going on. He’s just being a bad boy.

‘He’s a graffiti artist,’ I explain, weak with relief. ‘He was pissed off. That’s all. Now he’s got it out of his system.’

‘As far as we’re concerned, he’s dangerous,’ says Phil curtly and walks away to confer with the heavy squad.

Jem plays to the crowd and they egg him on, enjoying the free entertainment. Better than telly, this.

Using the megaphone, Phil tries to talk him down. He responds by dangling upside down again and spraying his opinion of him and the police in general on the front of the building. The crowd love it.

I gulp. Watching Jem’s antics from this angle, with a crick in my neck, unable to take my eyes away from the drama unfolding on the roof above me, I can see clearly what a dangerous game he is playing. One slip and he’d be dead. That’s the thrill of it. He’s having a ball, up there, taunting the police, sticking a finger up to them.

Be careful, Jem. Don’t fall. I know you’re the maestro, I know you’re as agile and sure-footed as a cat, but even cats have only nine lives.

Then, to my surprise, he adds his signature, Fin, for all the world to see. Finally, he’s come out. He’s revealed his identity. Why would he do that?

My blood chills as I recall the words of Jem’s poem, the one he dedicated to me.

I would go down for loving you

But if I did, I’d bring you too.

And if you sent me down to hell

I’d take you there with me as well.

But that was meant for me, not Livi!

High up on the rooftop, my sister is having a wonderful time. She’s never had such a spellbound audience before in her life. The excitement is getting to her; she’s leaping about now with a spray can in her hand.

She wants a go.

Instantly, cold with fear, I snatch the megaphone from Phil’s hand.

‘NO! DON’T LET HER, JEM!’

I shouldn’t have interfered. No one tells Jem Smith what to do. Though I think, for a moment, he hesitates.

But it’s too late. Livi is already down on her stomach and has disappeared from sight and automatically he drops to his knees to hold her legs. Her head appears above the parapet, commando style. She waves the paint can at us, milking her audience, and the crowd cheers.

Beside me Dad yells, ‘GET BACK, LIVI! GET BACK!’ But this is her moment and nothing is going to spoil it. Mum presses her face into his chest, afraid to look, as Livi leans over the edge of the building and hangs upside down.

I watch, afraid to breathe, as, concentrating hard, she laboriously executes a perfect-shaped heart, the right way up, with the spray can. I know, I just know, her tongue will be sticking out between her white teeth with concentration, just like it did when she was a little kid. The crowd is silent. Heads back, everyone bar Mum watches her like a hawk as, inside the heart, she painstakingly writes Sweet Livi. Her only fault ever was to love people too much.

He’d seen Anna down there and without thinking he’d waved. His heart had flipped over when she’d waved back.

She still loved him. She understood. Of course she did.

No one could prevent them from loving each other, no one could tear them apart. They’d had their best moments on rooftops, like this. They were king.

He wanted to call down to her then, to tell her this, to tell her it was going to be all right.

But the next minute a van had pulled up and the riot squad spilt out.

It was too late.

That’s when he got down to business.

I
t all happens in a flash.

Livi finishes off with a flourish and throws her arms out in triumph, as graceful as a trapeze artist. The crowd whoops and applauds.

You show-off! is my immediate sour thought. You’re loving every minute of this.

She dangles upside down for a few seconds, savouring her moment of glory.

At this point I’m actually jealous.
I’m
the graffiti artist, not her; I’m the one who’s been out tagging with Jem night after night! I’ve been up on that very roof with him myself, only minus the audience.

But I never had the nerve to go over the edge like she did. So Livi hogs the limelight, as usual, and even though I know she’s going to get hell for this, part of me wishes it was me up there.

I say something to my mother like, ‘It’s OK, Mum, you can look now.’ Mum peers upwards, terrified, her knuckles pressed against her mouth.

Above us, Livi twists and jerks, like she’s trying to heave herself back upwards but doesn’t quite know how. She stops and hangs there for a moment, out of breath, like a crumpled balloon, and I start to feel uneasy. The crowd waits, all attention again.

It’s obvious it’s going to be harder to get back up than she thought it would be.
If
she thought at all. She’s tired now.

I can feel cold fingers of fear clutching at my throat. Beside me, Mum is stiff with tension.

‘Careful, Livi,’ I whisper.

She flops about a bit and I can sense her panic, even from down here. I can hear Jem’s voice shouting instructions and suddenly she does one massive, desperate, convulsive movement, and arches her body upwards. Jem’s head and shoulders appear, his hand reaching out to grab her, and at the same time there is an almighty explosion of noise and police burst on to the roof behind them.

And I don’t know what happens next.

Maybe he missed her altogether.

Maybe the noise made him jump and he let go.

Maybe he couldn’t hang on any more and she just slipped from his grasp.

But she’s hurtling towards us and she lands on the road. It’s all over in a second.

As simple as that.

End of story.

She wanted to …

I never meant…

It wasn’t me …

She wanted to!

W
here are you, Livi?

My beautiful, blonde, bursting-with-life baby sister?

Where have you gone?

It’s so quiet here without you. Quiet as the grave.

I can’t bear it.

Though for weeks it was manic. Your smiling face was on the telly, you see. And the front page of the paper.

So many flowers left at Wharfside. The traffic couldn’t get through. You had no idea how popular you were.

So many cards. Hundreds of them. From family, friends, neighbours, teachers, dinner ladies, shopkeepers … People I never even knew you knew. Little kids you stopped and spoke to; old people you said hello to … They all loved you.

Shame they waited till you were gone to say how amazing you are.

Were.

I can’t believe you’re dead.

Your friends set up a Facebook page for you. They’ve called it:
Livi: the brightest star.
You lit up the lives of so many people, you see. I wish you could see what they’ve written. I spend hours on it, reading the comments.

Zoe wrote:
I miss your smile.

I do too.

Ben wrote:
I loved the laughs we had together.

I never thought about you when I dumped him. Sorry, Livi.

Ferret wrote:
You were the best.

Bit late for that.

Some of your teachers have joined your page and said what a lovely student you were.

Who’d have thought you had so many fans? Seems like you were everyone’s best friend.

Even Cora’s. She wrote how she will never take off the bracelet you gave her. She added a picture of herself wearing it.

That was my bracelet, Livi. I wondered where it had gone.

It’s OK, I don’t mind. She can keep it.

Everyone’s posting pictures.

Most are recent, of you with your cropped hair and your cool clothes, arms flung round someone’s shoulders, beaming or pouting into the camera.

Some are years old, when your hair was long, your knees were scuffed and your smile had a gap in it.

I’d forgotten how sweet you were.

I thought you would live for ever. Now all I’m left with is a page on a website and a folder full of cards and newspaper articles.

I miss you, Livi.

One day someone posted a picture of you that took my breath away. You were laughing out loud in it, your blonde head tilted back, your mouth open wide, displaying your perfect white teeth. Even with your eyes practically closed, your face sparkled with life and energy and mischief. You were glowing.

It was you, completely you, in a way the hundreds of other posed pictures failed to be.

And I knew. Even before I saw his name, I knew who had posted it.

His parting gift to me.

It was the last one he ever took of you. Up on the roof. You were having the very best time of your life.

Minutes later, you were dead.

Jem caused chaos wherever he went. But he never meant that to happen, Liv, not for a minute. I’m convinced of it.

It’s my fault. All of it. For falling in love with him. And you’re the only one who could understand, because you did too.

In the confusion Jem got away. I stared at you lying there like a broken doll and I couldn’t take it in.

I still can’t.

I looked up and saw him gazing down at you. Then he leapt into space and landed on the roof of the next building, one storey down.