Missing Abby (7 page)

‘Look, forget it! This is – I mean, maybe I should just go.’ I started to scramble up, grabbing blindly at my handbag.

‘No, wait!’ Gail held her hand up. ‘Come on
,
Sheila, leave off, will you? She's trying to help us, at least.’

Sheila snorted and looked away.

‘OK?’ said Gail to me.

My heart thudded as I sank slowly back down again. ‘Yeah, whatever. But, um – I have to leave soon.’ Coward! Why didn't I just leave
now
?

Rob let out an impatient breath. ‘Look, let's get back to Abby. The way I see it, one of three things could have happened to her.’

‘Go on, then.’ Gail's pen was poised over the notepad.

Rob ticked the options off on his fingers. ‘Right. One, she ran away. Two, she had some sort of accident somewhere. Or, three – she was, um, kidnapped.’

‘Well, I don't think she ran away,’ burst out Sheila.

Gail and Rob stared at her.

‘Because … she had plans and ever ything.’ Sheila's mouth trembled slightly, and a ferocious scowl darkened her face. ‘And frankly, I don't think what happened with
Emma
was enough to make her freak out and run off somewhere.’

That word again,
freak.
As if on cue, all three of them turned and stared at me. Some tiny part of me managed to hold myself together, and I jerked my chin up, staring back at them.

Gail looked away first. Her voice was husky as she spoke. ‘And – and if she had an accident between the bus and her house, someone would have found her, wouldn't they? It's only a few minutes away, and it's not like it's – wilderness or anything.’

Silence choked over the room. I pressed against the desk, hugging my knees, and suddenly wanted to say something,
anything
, that would help. But I couldn't. I knew the fear that was gripping all of them, because it was my fear, too – that Abby had been shoved into a car by some psycho murderer, that she had been hurt, terrified …

Killed.

Suddenly Sheila swung her feet off the bed. ‘What's the point of this, eh? What's the
point –
come on, let's get out of here.’

Rob swallowed. ‘But I thought we were—’

‘Forget it! It's stupid!’ Sheila lunged across the room to the cardboard boxes, hefting one at Rob. ‘And
you
—’ she spun on me, almost crying. ‘Yeah, why don't you just leave … we're all Abby's friends here.’

So I did; I left the room, and stumbled down the stairs in a haze. As I got to the bottom, the doorbell rang, and a moment later Sheila and the others came pounding down the stairs, carrying the cardboard boxes.

Sheila shouldered past me and wrenched open the door. A boy with longish blond hair and a pierced eyebrow stood there. ‘Thank
god
you're here,’ said Sheila. ‘Here, take this.’

She shoved one of the boxes at him. He clutched it, glancing at me with a startled frown. ‘Um, weren't we going to—’

‘Forget it!’ snapped Sheila. ‘What do you want to talk to
her
for; she's useless, bloody useless—’ Without missing a beat, she turned and bellowed, ‘
Mum! We're leaving!
’

I left, pushing past the boy with the pierced eyebrow. I wasn't about to do the social polite thing with Mrs Langley, when her daughter would happily nail me to a tree.

As I waited for the bus, hugging myself, I saw the four of them fanning out down the street, taping posters to utility poles, walls, sides of houses. Once they had disappeared down the next road, I went over and looked at one. I couldn't stop myself.

Abby Ryzner, 13, missing since Saturday, 4
^th
September … She was wearing black trousers, a black T-shirt, and
silver jewellery … If you have seen Abby, or have any information …

Her smiling face looked out at me from inside a plastic folder. I touched it, thinking, I guess they put the posters in plastic to stop them getting wet or whatever … oh, very clever, Emma, go to the head of the class! I shoved my hands in my pockets, struggling against tears, and turned and left, heading back to the bus stop.

Or that was my plan. Instead, I found myself walking straight past it and down the next road.

I walked down my old street slowly, feeling like I had just landed from another galaxy. It was all exactly the same, and completely different. The big magnolia tree at the bottom had been cut down. Number twelve had paved their front garden to make a parking space.

Abby's house stood across the street from my old house, a few numbers down, a brick mid-terrace just like all the others. Seeing it again felt like slipping into a favourite old jumper. Abby and I used to practically live in each other's houses, running back and forth across the street a dozen times a day.

Plus we had loads of special places, dotted around the area like pirate treasure. We even made a map of them once – like the cluster of birch trees in the park two streets over, which we decided was a portal to other worlds, and the fence outside a crumbling old house down the road. We'd peer in and make up stories about it …

‘Emma?’ called a man's voice.

I whirled around. Our old next-door neighbour
was standing outside his house, looking quizzically at me.

‘Hi, Mr Yates.’ I straightened my shoulders, trying to look casual. Right, like I just
happened
to be strolling past.

Mr Yates came over and leaned against the gate, his bald head gleaming in the sun. ‘Aye, I thought that was you. How's your mum doing? Enjoying America?’

So there was a bit of small talk – yes, she's fine, she loves it – and all the while I was dreading the conversation turning to Abby, inevitably, like an earthquake. Sure enough, finally he said, ‘Come to help the Ryzners with their posters, have you?’

I glanced over at their house again. It looked so weirdly silent, like a relic from a ghost town. I shrugged, swallowing hard. ‘Yeah … I thought I could help.’

‘Good for you! I've put some up myself, but it's a bit hard to fit in with work. Still, you want to do whatever you can, don't you?’ Mr Yates shook his head. ‘Such a terrible thing … well, Charles is in now, I think, if you want to pop across.’

He turned away, dead-heading pink and purple flowers from the hanging basket beside his door. I just stood there, gulping like a fish.
How
had I got into this?

He glanced back at me, eyebrows up. ‘Go on, pet; he's in.’

No, I can't, I have to leave now. I made a mistake; I didn't mean it!
I couldn't say any of it, not with Mr Yates staring at me.

‘Yes, OK. Thanks.’ And before I could think about it, I turned and crossed the street.

The closer I got to Abby's house, the spookier it seemed. It was just … silent. I could practically hear the forsythia bush rustling in the wind.

The Ryzner's house used to be anything but silent. You could hardly approach it without being deafened by the wall of sound that was Abby's music, or being flattened by Greg and Matthew as they came roaring out of the house.

The Terrible Twins. We used to have mini-wars with them, plotting these elaborate campaigns in Abby's playhouse.
Ten Things to do to the TTs.
Boiling oil, we decided, and cascaded dead leaves and twigs over them the next time they tried to invade.

Feeling Mr Yates' eyes still on me, I took a deep breath and rang the bell.

‘And this was taken last summer … I think you had moved away by then, hadn't you?’ Mr Ryzner rubbed his stubble-laden chin as he stared at a photo of Abby on a beach. His throat moved, and he passed it to me quickly, diving back into the stack of photos in front of him.

‘This is on the Costa again … she and Greg got very into building sand castles …’

‘Wow, that's really artistic,’ I said weakly.

I was sitting, trapped at the Ryzner's massive dining table as photo after photo of Abby piled up beside me. When I had asked whether they needed any help putting up posters, Mr Ryzner had started out talking
very matter-of-factly about how many posters they had, and how they had decided which photo to use, and then somehow this had drifted into him bringing out their holiday snaps. And now he looked like he was about to cry.

‘This was a nice one … we almost used this one, actually, except she wasn't … wasn't wearing the sort of clothes she usually wears …’

I nodded, clutching a mug of almost-cold tea that I hadn't wanted and couldn't drink. In the kitchen, I could hear Abby's grandmother moving about, talking softly to herself in Polish. I longed to be in there with her, smiling and nodding and not understanding a word she said.

Mrs Ryzner and the twins were out putting up posters. ‘I'd be helping them, but someone has to be here to catch the phone, you see … if it rings …’ Mr Ryzner had tried to smile when he said this. It was horrible.

‘And this is one of Abby and her mum … it's amazing; she's as tall as Ann now, isn't she …’

Suddenly I knew that I would disintegrate if I sat there another moment. I jumped up, scraping my chair back. ‘Um, Mr Ryzner – I'll be right back, I have to go to the loo.’

He nodded, frowning down at the photo like it held the answer to a cosmic puzzle.

After I used the upstairs toilet, I washed my hands in cold water, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked hunted. I didn't want to go downstairs again, not for anything. But I couldn't stay up here, could I?

I glanced longingly at the window. There was a tree outside … Oh, right! Ems makes her great escape, scampering nimbly, squirrel-like, to the ground. I sighed and dried my hands on a soft red towel. No.
Ems
wouldn't even be here. It was just me, Emma, completely awkward as always.

Finally I couldn't put it off any longer. I opened the door and stepped back into the familiar corridor. Family pictures of Ryzners stretching back four generations covered the walls like a patchwork quilt.

Abby's room was the second on the right.

I didn't mean to go into it. It was the last thing I wanted to do, actually. But it drew me like a magnet. I walked the few steps to her room, and put my hand on the doorknob.

I paused, glancing down the corridor towards the stairs. And then I eased open the door.

The familiar riot of colour jumped out at me. It looked just the same. I slipped into the room and closed the door, plunging back in time as I took in the overflowing bookshelves, the walls covered with fantasy images.

If you added up all the time I had spent in here, I bet it would be months. Years.

She had a
Lord of the Rings
poster; that was new. I looked at the gorgeous guy who played Legolas, with his liquid dark eyes, and remembered how entranced I had been by the first film when I saw it last year. Or would have been, if I hadn't been so worried about Jo and Debbie loathing every second. They were actually
laughing
in parts of it. Gingerly, I sat on the bed, staring
around me. I used to sleep over here practically every other weekend. We'd sit up and talk until three in the morning. I saw Abby lying in bed with her arms crossed under her head, her thick dark hair fanned out across the pillow.

Imagine you could build your own private world – what would it be like?

Um, let me think. It would be a water world, with lots of tropical islands, as far as the eye can see … turquoise blue water shimmering everywhere.

And warm, right? It has to be warm!

Oh yeah, blazing sun. And you'd ride to other islands on sort of like unicorns, but they'd swim …

What, like mer-unicorns?

Yeah, why not? Mericorns.

Sounds great. Plunging through the water …

Galloping over the waves … And there'd be palaces rising up out of the water, too, built of – you know, that glisteny stuff inside of shells …

Emma, you should write a story about this! It sounds fantastic, really great …

I swiped angrily at my eyes and jumped from the bed, ready to dash downstairs and throw some excuse at Mr Ryzner,
any
excuse as to why I had to go home, right now. But then my gaze caught on Abby's dresser. In the middle of a display of photos of family and friends, there was a photo of the two of us, in a carved wooden frame.

I walked over and picked it up.

The photo looked lushly leafy and green, with Abby and I both barefoot, smiling into the camera
with our arms around each other's shoulders. I remembered that day – it was when Mum had taken us to the New Forest when we were eight.

It was all so simple then.

As I put the photo back, it bumped against a silver dragon figurine, knocking it over with a tiny clatter. I started to straighten it – and instead my hand closed around it, and I picked it up. Small, but heavier than it looked. It sat coiled in my palm, its wings flared open.

A door banged shut downstairs, and my heart went berserk. I leapt for the corridor, closing the door behind me.

Downstairs, Abby's father was still just sitting at the dining table, staring at photos. The door to the lounge had been shut; the sound of a TV drifted out.

Abby's gran. My shoulders sagged with relief; I had thought that Mrs Ryzner and the twins might have come home. And if
Sheila
hated me, I could imagine how Greg and Matthew felt.

‘Well, um … I should probably go now, Mr Ryzner.’ My smile felt pasted onto my lips. ‘But if you have any spare posters that you'd like me to put up, just let me know, OK … ?’

The hair lifted on my arms as Mr Ryzner glanced at me with a confused frown, like he didn't know who I was for a second. Then his face cleared and he stood up, clearing his throat. Suddenly he was Mr Efficient, all bustle and purpose.

‘Posters, yes, of course. Just wait a second, I'll get you a box.’

As he went into the other room, I realized that I
was still clutching the little dragon. I knew that I should turn around and put it straight back in Abby's room. Or at least chuck it on the piano or something, for someone to find later.

But instead, I tucked it in my jeans pocket.

As I rode the bus home, the posters sat perched on the seat beside me like a mute passenger. I stared at them, feeling like my stomach had been tied into one of those complex sailor's knots. Apart from everything else, I was supposed to be in Brookfield in about twenty minutes, to meet Jo and Debbie at the shops!