Missing Abby (2 page)

She shrugged, standing up. I could hardly even see her eyes, with the amount of black eyeliner she had on. ‘Same ol', same ol' … the teachers are all idiots, as usual. How's life at the wonderfully-rated St Seb's?’

‘Oh – great.’ My flush deepened.

The bus came just then, lumbering into the station like a prehistoric beast. We shuffled along in the queue together, surrounded by Saturday shoppers clutching plastic bags.

‘How's your mum doing?’ The bright sunlight showed the green flecks in Abby's eyes. ‘Does she like it in America?’

Thank god, a neutral topic! ‘Yeah, she loves it. I spent three weeks in Chicago with her last month.’

Mum remarried a couple of years ago, to this bloke called Paul. He's OK, I guess. Except that right after they got married, he got this offer to go work in Chicago for three years. Mum kept talking about what a
fantastic opportunity
it was for me, so she was a bit narked when I told her I didn't want to go. Then there was this big conference with her, Dad and Jenny, and the upshot of it was that Mum would have the fantastic opportunity on her own, and that I'd live with Dad and Jenny for three years.

Weird as it was to think about now, I had actually been sort of gutted to move into Dad's house when Mum left – because it had meant not living across the street from Abby any more.

We showed our passes to the driver. Abby took a seat about halfway back, shoving her rucksack down by her feet. And I couldn't keep walking down the aisle and sit somewhere else; it would be too rude, too obvious. I sank down beside her, willing the journey to go faster than usual.

The bus lurched away from the stop. It felt like a sauna on wheels. How could Abby bear to wear black in this heat? Well, I suppose the Goth Fashion League would kick her out if she wore anything else.

Guilt pierced me. This was
Abby,
even if we weren't friends any more. I took a breath and smiled at her. ‘Um, how are Greg and Matthew?’

She grimaced, wrinkling the spray of freckles across her nose. ‘Little terrors … they get worse all
the time.’ She glanced at me, and something like her old mischievous expression played about her mouth. ‘Remember all the wars we used to have?’

A flash of memory hit me, and I snorted softly, smiling. ‘Yeah … like the time Matthew got hold of Sparkles. I was ready to kill him.’

‘Oh, yeah! I had forgotten all about Sparkles. And I had Zeus, didn't I?’ Abby deepened her voice: ‘Fly away to the crimson forest! Away!’

I almost laughed as it all came back. Playing My Pretty Ponies with Abby had been like playing it with no one else in the world. I bet no one else's green pony turned evil and would have destroyed all ponykind, if we hadn't captured it and put it through elaborate healing rituals. We played that game, in instalments, for the better part of the whole year that we were nine.

Freak.
The word slithered into my mind, breaking the spell.

There was an awkward silence. I shifted on my seat, praying for the bus to go faster.

Suddenly Abby leaned over to root about in her rucksack. ‘Here, look at this,’ she said, prying open a long, white box.

There was a chunky gold necklace inside, made up of golden-striped stones. Completely gaudy, but beautiful in a way, like a garish sunset. Just the sort of thing we would have loved to pretend was magic when we were about ten.

‘Isn't it great?’ Abby turned the box from side to side.

‘Yeah, fantastic.’ I looked away, wondering whether she was
allergic
to normality, or what.

‘They're called tigers’ eyes – they're supposed to symbolize courage.’ Abby tried to get the box into her backpack again. As she shoved aside a two-litre bottle of Pepsi, I saw a sleek blue and gold book with
Monster Manual
on the cover.

Abby grinned. ‘Don't worr y, I haven't started keeping gargoyles in the back garden. It's for Dungeons and Dragons. I play with some friends of mine.’

She pulled the book out and leafed through it. Drawings of bizarre creatures, with descriptions about each one.
Troglodyte. Yellow Musk Creeper and Zombie
.

I stared at the book as the creatures flipped past. The artwork on its glossy pages was incredible.

Abby's brown eyes glinted at me. ‘You've heard of Dungeons and Dragons, right? D&D?’

‘Ah – no, actually.’ I looked away from the book, picking at a bit of embroidery on my jeans. But her voice just kept enthusing on, not noticing that I wasn't exactly enthralled.

‘Oh Emma, you'd love it! See, you invent a character that you play, and then a Games Master takes you through a pretend world – it's fantastic! I'm just about to start GM-ing myself, actually; I've written the story and everything.’

My shoulders tensed. She hadn't changed at all, then, with her weirdness and imaginary games! God, I was
so
glad I'd left Balden.

Abby turned a page. ‘Usually you play it sitting around a table, but that's kind of boring, compared to the great stuff you and I used to do.’

‘Mmm, yeah.’ I stared out the front window. Almost there, almost there.

‘So I'm about to get my group into live action gaming instead … not that they realize it yet.’ She glanced at me almost shyly, playing with one of her silver chains. ‘Um … you know, you could play with us, if you wanted to. I bet you'd love it.’

I couldn't
believe
she was suggesting this. I'd have to be frothing-at-the-mouth mad to get involved with her again, after everything that happened at Balden!

‘Great,’ I said tightly.

‘We're playing tonight, if—’

Oh,
god,
no! ‘No, um – Dad wants me home for this sort of … dinner thing.’

‘Well … what about coming along with me this afternoon, then? That should be almost as much fun. Remember the Esmerelda game? It's sort of like that, but even better.’

I felt hot and cold at the same time. ‘Sorry, but Jenny and I are going swimming.’

There was a long, stiffening pause. Finally Abby clapped the book shut, shoving it back into the rucksack. ‘Oh, right. Well,
that
sounds interesting. Never mind, then.’

‘Maybe sometime …’ I said, and then wanted to tie and gag myself.

‘Yeah, that's OK.’

‘I'll, um, ring you,’ I heard myself mutter.

Her dark eyes met mine steadily. ‘Right.’ And it was obvious that she was saying,
We both know you won't, so why bother lying about it?

I let out a breath, looking away. How awkward could something get before you just
died
?

The next stop was mine. I leapt up like a Jack-in-the-box, grabbing my stuff. ‘Well, I've got to go … see you.’

Abby propped a knee to her chest, looping her arms around it as she looked out the window. ‘Yeah, see you.’

‘Bye.’ I tried not to seem like I was in a hurry, but I stumbled as I made my way down the aisle, knocking my shopping bag against the other seats. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered to an old lady with blue-rinsed hair.

‘Hey, Emma …’ called Abby.

What now? I winced and turned around. She smiled at me, but it didn't reach her eyes.

‘You know, you'd really love D&D … or at least, the
old
you would have.’

‘Right,’ I said. And I scarpered off the bus as fast as I could, bursting into the September sunshine like an escaped prisoner.

I sat moulded to the kitchen chair while Jenny spoke to the police. ‘My stepdaughter, Emma Townsend … yes, that's right, she says she saw her Saturday afternoon, around one o'clock …’

In the front room I could hear the TV going, and Nat murmuring to herself as she played some sort of game. It all sounded unreal, like noises beaming down from Jupiter.

Finally, Jenny hung up the phone.

‘What did they say?’

She turned the kettle on, looking a bit pale. ‘They're going to come talk to you at school this morning.’

‘At school? But—’ I bit off the rest of my protest as about a dozen different emotions swept over me. Fear of what had happened to Abby,
anger
at Abby for running away or whatever she had done, ruining my first day back – sudden terror that she had done it because of me, because I had hurt her feelings so badly on the bus …

‘Are you all right, Emma?’ Suddenly Jenny was at my side. She handed me a fresh cup of tea. ‘Here, drink this, love.’

I looked at the clock. ‘I'm – I'm going to be late.’

‘I'll drive you. I have to take Natalie to school anyway.’

I drank the tea, feeling cold, and wondered what Jo and Debbie would say when police officers turned up at school to talk to me.

‘Ems, look at your
hair
! You look fantastic!’ cried Jo when I walked into school. She and Debbie were waiting for me by the trophy cases in the foyer, as usual. Jo was almost as tall as me, with sleek blond hair and a wide smile, and Debbie was just the opposite – small and dramatic-looking, with wavy dark hair and big eyes.

I rushed over to them, and we all hugged. We had zapped texts and e-mails back and forth all summer, but it had been weeks since I had seen either of them.
Jo had been visiting her aunt in Shropshire, and Debbie's family had been away on holiday.

‘It looks great!’ breathed Debbie, touching an auburn-tinted strand on my shoulder. ‘
Ver y
sultry. Did you get it done in Chicago?’

‘No, here.’

‘But I thought your dad—’

I managed a grin. ‘Jenny and I ganged up on him, and he caved in eventually.’

‘You look
so
sophisticated … what kind of tints could I get done, do you reckon?’ Jo flipped up a strand of her own hair, grimacing at it.

‘Don't be daft, yours is perfect the way it is! Mine needed a lift – oh-so-boring brown isn't exactly a fashion statement.’

Jo and Debbie laughed, and a feeling of confusion rushed over me. What was I
doing,
babbling away about fashion statements? I opened my mouth to tell them about Abby … and then shut it again. I didn't know where to start.

The first bell split the air, saving me.

‘Right, where do we go, then?’ Jo fished her schedule out of her bag.

‘English block, room 12A,’ said Debbie, reading over her shoulder. ‘Mrs Conway – excellent!’

We grabbed our bags and started heading towards our new form room, jostled in the stream of green uniforms.

‘Right, Ems, tell us about Chicago!’ Debbie walked like a dancer, light and bouncing on her toes. ‘You're
so
lucky. My family just went to France again – this
completely lobotomised village where the most exciting thing is the bread van coming around twice a week.’

‘Oh, can't we hear about that instead?’ Jo's mouth was solemn. ‘It sounds really educational.’

‘It's boring enough to be educational. Come on, Ems, entrance us.’

‘Yeah, let us live vicariously through you.’ Jo bumped me with her arm.

‘Um …’ My hand tightened on the strap of my bag. It felt like I was travelling further and further from being able to tell them about Abby. But – oh, so what? She was probably safe and sound at home by now! Probably the police wouldn't even turn up.

We got to the English block, and leaned against the wall with the others while we waited for Mrs Conway to open the door.

‘
Ems …
’ whined Debbie. ‘
Talk.
’

I shoved Abby away. ‘Well, it was completely amazing. Mum works at this gallery near the lake, and we went to all these really arty shops shops there – you know, places where you stare at everything and think yes, it's nice, but what is it? Then we did the tourist thing and went up the Sears Tower – it's wild; it's so high that you feel dizzy just going up the lift …’

I didn't mention the other stuff that had struck me – like the way the lake looked like a cold, exotic sea, so that you could almost imagine a Viking ship cresting over the horizon, or the way the wind howled around the skyscrapers. I had learned a thing or two at Balden.

‘It sounds fantastic!’ breathed Jo. ‘All those shops!’

I flipped my hair back. ‘I know! Oh, and then Paul, that's my stepfather, took us to a Cubs game. Baseball is
completely
mandatory in Chicago. Paul says if you don't go to the games, they tar and feather you and throw you over the border into Canada …’

My voice faded away as I saw Mrs Gates from the office hustling towards us, plump and determined-looking.

‘Emma, you're to come to Mrs Ottawa's office immediately.’

Mrs Gates kept giving me strange looks over her glasses as we walked down the empty corridor. Suddenly I realized that she thought the police were there for
me
. Like I had been stealing cars or something.

A wild urge to giggle swept over me. But then we got to Mrs Ottawa's office, and the laugh died in my throat.

Mrs Gates knocked, opening the door. ‘Here's Emma.’

The headmistress stood up from behind her desk and came over to me, beckoning with her hand. ‘Emma, good. Come in, dear.’

Mrs Gates shut the door behind her, giving me a final hard stare.

I could see the police constables, a man and a woman, sitting in a pair of office chairs in a blaze of white and black. I swallowed, suddenly feeling as guilty as if I
had
been stealing cars.

‘Here, Emma, have a seat.’ Mrs Ottawa steered me
to a chair. ‘This is PC Lavine and PC Morton. They just need to ask you some questions – nothing to be afraid of.’ She nodded encouragingly at me as she sat back down, her round face kind.

‘I'm PC Lavine, Emma,’ said the woman, smiling at me.

I tried to smile back, shifting on the uncomfortable plastic seat. I was surprised at how pretty she was – she had soft milk-chocolate skin, and sleek blackhair. She even wore lipstick.

‘We understand that you saw Abby Ryzner on Saturday, is that right?’

‘Yes, um – we were on the bus together, coming home from town.’ I rubbed my palms on my skirt.

‘Are you sure it was Abby?’ asked PC Morton. He was about Dad's age, with receding blond hair and a bit of a paunch. He flipped open a notebook and scribbled something down, just like on TV.

‘Yes, I'm positive. We – used to be friends. I mean, we used to go to school together … anyway, we sat together and talked. I'm totally positive.’