Missing Abby (10 page)

‘So hang on, miss,’ said Scott Price. ‘You have this poor monster, grieving because this bloke's
already
killed her son, and now—’

Suddenly a piercing bell tore through the lesson. Everyone jumped, except Mrs Patel, who suddenly
turned brusque and businesslike. ‘Fire drill! Everyone out, quickly now. Don't stop to get your things, just go!’

Everyone ignored her, scooping up their bags as they filed out of the room. Doors were popping open all up and down the corridor as people streamed out. The alarm kept bleating, pulsing around us.

Outside on the front lawn, teachers were shouting and herding everyone about. ‘Year Nine, get in your form rooms!’ shrieked Mrs Newman, our form head. ‘Alphabetical order, quickly, quickly!’

I had forgotten about that bit of the fire drill. Suddenly I felt like I had just gained twenty stone. Debbie's surname was Traner. Mine was Townsend.

‘Hi.’ I tried to smile as I took my place beside her in the line, just as if I hadn't been avoiding her and Jo at all this week – saying I had to go to the library for lunch yesterday, rushing into classes late so I didn't have to sit with them.

‘Hi, Ems.’ Debbie's smile was uncertain.

Mrs Newman paced up and down the line, ticking off names. ‘Holman, Kate – where are you, Kate? Get in
line,
you silly girl, hurry now! If there were a fire you'd be crisped by now. Ingram, Matthew—’

‘How was babysitting last night?’ asked Debbie suddenly.

That's what I had told her I was doing last night, the reason why I couldn't go over to her house with Jo. I lifted a shoulder. ‘OK, I guess.’

She watched Mrs Newman for a second, and then
glanced back at me, her mouth tense. ‘Look, Ems … my dad saw you on TV. At the vigil, I mean.’

I winced. But why should
I
feel guilty? She and Jo were the ones who were too busy cosying up to Karen to notice the first thing about how I felt!

‘Why did you lie to us about it?’

‘I don't have to tell you everything I do, do I?’

‘No, but—’

I spoke wildly, flinging the words out. ‘Look, I just need some time to myself, OK? I mean, I've been really upset about Abby, and …’ I stopped and folded my arms over my chest, watching the long lines being counted like it was totally fascinating.

‘And what?’ Her green eyes looked hurt, angry.

I shrugged, keeping my gaze on the counting.

Suddenly the alarm stopped, like someone turning off a tap of noise. Mrs Newman clapped her hands. ‘Right, well done, everyone. Back inside, now!’ The form groups drifted towards the school, laughing and shouting to each other.

‘So … you don't want to be friends any more? Is that it? Or what?’ Debbie's voice sounded like a rubber band about to snap.

‘Don't be so dramatic. I didn't say that.’ I grabbed up my rucksack from the ground.

Jo appeared
.
A worried frown creased her face as she took in our expressions. ‘Um … is everything OK?’

Why don't you ask your new friend, Karen?

‘Everything's just great,’ I said.

Debbie let out a short breath. ‘Ems, you're being really—’

‘Really
what
?’

‘I don't know!’ snapped Debbie. ‘But I'm getting bloody sick of it! You've been completely avoiding us for days, and acting like we can't possibly understand anything, and—’

‘So what? Why can't you just leave me alone, the pair of you!’

Jo's eyes were wide. ‘Ems, what—’

‘Just
go away
! Leave me alone!’

Debbie's chin jerked up. ‘Fine, if that's how you want it. Come on, Jo.’ She took Jo's arm, and they started off across the grass. Jo glanced back at me before their heads drew close together, talking.

My head swirled hotly. But I had every reason to be less than thrilled with them, didn't I? And it wasn't like they'd still
want
to be my friends, once they'd had a few conversations with Karen.

I walked alone across the playing-fields, remembering that day in the girls' changing rooms. Remembering a hundred other days.
Don't you dare go crying to Mrs Evans, Freak, or you'll wish you were dead … Ooh, look, Freaky's fallen down again! … Aw, poor widdle Freak – it's all just too much for her. Boo-hoo-hoo.

What would Jo and Debbie think when they found out? Stupid question! What would
anyone
think, if they found out someone they knew had been such a pathetic kick-bag? A headache spiked my temples. I scanned the crowd of girls ahead of me and watched Jo and Debbie go up the stairs into school together. And decided that I was relieved to be rid of them.

* * *

‘Where's Nat?’ I asked when I got home.

Jenny glanced up from her maths book. ‘At her swimming lesson … it's Tuesday.’

‘Oh. Right.’ I wasn't really hungry, but I took an apple from the fruit bowl and crunched into it, feeling like a piece of string that's fraying at the ends. What was the use of having a little sister if she wasn't around to distract you?

So I went into Dad's study to use his computer, perching on the edge of his black leather desk chair and logging onto the Internet. Moving the mouse, I clicked ‘TeenzOwn’ from my favourite places folder.

Not that it's one of my favourite places – it's all bright colours and bubble-shaped letters, like they think teenagers are just the tiniest bit thick – but it's one of the only sites I'm allowed on. And I really felt like an hour or so of mindless clicking and reading, just then.

But I didn't get it. The first thing I saw when the website flickered onto the screen was Abby's photo.
Have you seen this girl?
It looked like a close-up of one of the holiday photos Mr Ryzner had shown me: Abby's smiling face in front of a blue, blue sky.

My throat swelled. I felt like sobbing, or punching the computer image, shattering it into oblivion. I couldn't escape it, no matter what. Abby was always there – always missing.

Suddenly all I wanted to do was talk to Mum. I dived across the desk for Dad's phone, jabbing in the international numbers. A pause, and then I heard the different-sounding ringing of an American phone, going off in an art gallery in Chicago.

‘The Benson Gallery, may I help you?’ The man's flat American drawl sounded artistically bored.

‘Um, hi – this is Emma Townsend. Could I speak to my mother, please?’ I tucked a leg under me, hugging myself with one arm.

‘This is who?’

A flush galloped up my cheeks. Didn't she ever
mention
me, then? ‘Emma Townsend. My mum is Rhea Antoni.’

‘Oh, you want
Rhea
! Sorry, hon, I didn't understand. Rhea's out with a client; I don't expect her back for another hour or so. Do you want me to tell her you called?’ The voice seemed to get more American the longer he talked, like any second now he was going to chirrup
Have a nice day!
at me.

‘No, um – that's OK, I'll ring back,’ I muttered.

‘Try her around twelve. Bye, hon.’

I hung up, feeling like a limp balloon a week after a kids' party. Even though I knew it was pathetic of me. Mum had a job – I couldn't expect her to be there for me every second. I shouldn't even
need
her to be; I'd be fourteen in February!

But I still wanted to cry.

The phone rang suddenly, making me jump. Had Mum's boss rung her on her mobile, maybe? I snatched up the phone, leaning forward. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Emma … um, it's Sheila.’

It took me a second to speak. ‘Oh … hi.’

‘Look, I just wanted to say that – I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time. I wanted to tell you that at the vigil last night, but it was too …’ Her voice dwindled
to nothing, and she cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, I guess – I guess you care about Abby, too. So I'm sorry.’ I stared blankly at the Executive Stress-Buster toy that Dad has on his desk. ‘Yeah, um … OK. Thanks.’

Her voice took on its usual spiky edge, like needles piercing into my ear. ‘Anyway, that's really all I wanted to say. So-o … see you around, I guess.’
Click
.

In slow motion, I rested the phone back on its stand. I could still see Abby's face staring at me. Grabbing the mouse, I quickly closed down the computer, and let out a breath as the screen went dark.

Maybe it should have felt good to have Sheila apologize, but it didn't. It made ever ything worse, somehow.

‘Look, who's that?’ Nat bounced on my bed in her dinosaur nightgown, pointing at a picture in the
New Player's Handbook
. I was flipping slowly through it, looking at the pictures and reading bits here and there. The little dragon from Abby's room sat on the duvet beside us.

‘That's …’ I glanced at the caption. Apparently it was a half-orc, half-human warrior. ‘Um, that's Gorg. He's Jasmine's personal valet. That's like a butler. So when we were summoned to her castle—’

‘He answered the door!’ breathed Nat. She walked the dragon over Pippin's softly snoring side. ‘But with the help of our dragons … we will save the day!’

I fell silent, reading about the game. It was so
real.
And at the same time, it was the ultimate game of Let's Pretend. No wonder Abby loved it; it was right
up her street. I turned a page, thinking about a Family Fun Fair at Clarkson Chemicals, two years ago.

The Family Fun Fair was the yearly summer torture, where Abby and I got dragged along with our dads and the rest of the families and everyone else who worked at Clarkson – hundreds of people who probably didn't even like each other at the office, but they all had to show up at the FFF and wander around naff rides together.

Abby and I had to smile while our fathers stood on the grass chatting – Abby's father at least having grasped the idea of ‘casual’ in his shorts and T-shirt, and mine looking as starched as usual in his chinos and polished shoes. And we had to be polite to all their colleagues, who'd pop up and say things like, ‘Why, is this really Little Emma! You'll have to watch out, love, you'll be beating the boys off with a stick when you get a bit older, ho ho ho!’ Then they'd all stand around and talk about their dreary jobs for a hundred years.

Finally the oldies would suss that Abby and I were frothing with boredom, and let us go off and experience the joy of the fair. Which took about three seconds, and then we'd sneak off and explore the rest of the plant, skulking around the miles of buildings and offices.

The year just before we started Year Seven, we pretended that we were novice mages, on the run in a hostile city. It was our Esmerelda game – the one we had played for years, adding to the story until it had a whole history of its own.

‘Shh!’ hissed Abby. She peered around the corner of an office building, just barely poking her nose out. And she wasn't wearing cut-off shorts and a T-shirt; she was wearing a long, ragged cloak, heavy with dust from many days of travel.

She shoved her hair back, dark eyes glinting with fear. ‘I think the coast is clear … do you have the spell ready, just in case?’

‘I think so,’ I whispered back, pressing tight against the wall. ‘But you know we've never used it before – the power may be too much for us—’

‘We have no choice; we have to find the scroll! Now run!’

It sounds pretty cringe-worthy, but it
wasn't,
it was the most fantastic fun. Abby always threw herself right into any pretend game, playing like it was for real.

So we really were mages, for a couple of hours that day. And we found the scroll in the end – an old paper napkin – and managed to defeat Esmerelda the Evil Enchantress in a spell-sizzling battle that lasted for days, practically.

It was the last really good time with Abby that I could remember. I turned another page, lost in thought.

‘What happens next in the game?’ demanded Nat, pulling at my arm. ‘What does the book say?’

‘Let's see …’ I flipped through it, pretending to read. ‘Well, actually, it says – oh no! That can't be right!’

‘
What?
’ Her eyes were dinner-plates.

‘Nat, we're in more danger than we ever knew,’ I
whispered. ‘Have I ever told you about an evil sorceress

called – called Esmerelda?’

She shook her head, mouth slightly open.

‘Well, she's even more powerful than Jasmine. She's the queen of ice and fire, and we thought we had defeated her years ago … but it turns out that Jasmine is her daughter, and now Jasmine has found her mother's old book of spells.’ I could see the book as I spoke – old, cracked leather, crusted with evilly glowing rubies.

Nat hopped to the floor, clutching the green plastic straw that was her wand. ‘We'll have to go after her!’

‘But remember, she escaped from us last time, and we don't know where she is … we'll have to travel to

– to the plains of Ganet, and consult with the wizardsthere.’

We looked gravely at each other. Nat nodded, and I motioned for her to sit beside me. She climbed back up on the bed. ‘Right, just close your eyes, and we'll be there …’

There was a sudden knock on my door. ‘What?’ I called, flopping quickly across the bed so that I was lying on top of the dragon. Its wings dug into my ribcage.

Dad stuck his head in. ‘So this is where everyone's hiding! Nat, it's almost time for bed. And how's the homework coming along, Emma?’

‘I haven't exactly started yet …’ I tried to casually shove the
New Player's Handbook
under a pillow. It was a bit difficult to be casual about it, since I was
lying down and the pillow was at the opposite end of the bed.

Predictably, Dad came into the room. ‘I know it's hard, love, but you can't let yourself get behind. What's that you're looking at?’

He picked up the book. Little lines sprouted on his forehead as he flipped through it. ‘What
is
this?’

‘Just a D&D book. I, um, bought it at this shop in town.’ I felt Nat's hand digging under my side, and then the dragon was gone. I sat up in relief and smiled at her, and she winked solemnly back. She's pretty cool sometimes, for a six-year-old.

Dad looked up. ‘What's D&D, then?’ So I had to explain about Dungeons and Dragons, and it was completely painful.
See, you pretend to be an elf, and …