Pretty Twisted (5 page)

They both looked very grown-up. I was glad I’d lied to Jonathan about my age. He probably wouldn’t have stayed online with a fourteen-year-old, and I really liked talking to him, even if I had to Google some of the things he talked about. I’d had to think fast when he’d asked about my A levels, so I listed the subjects my sister was taking, adding art because it was my favourite.

I realized I hadn’t typed a reply for a couple of minutes. I’d been too busy examining the photos.
yeah shes pretty,
I said.

I’m really lucky. There are way better-looking guys who fancy her.

ur not bad looking.
In fact, I really liked the way he looked, especially his smile – genuine, but a little shy. Different from most of the guys I knew, who were all too full of themselves.

That’s debatable. I’m definitely not in Freya’s league.

guess u have lots in common.

Music, mostly. We do – did – an act with our guitars, writing music and singing. Photo’s actually one we used for publicity. Making something and sharing your ideas with someone – that’s the best.

i bet.
I’d never really shared my drawing with anyone who understood. Abby and people in art class were impressed by my stuff, but they didn’t really get it.

So, you’ve seen me. Do I get to see you?

brb.

I swivelled round in my chair, heart beating quickly.

I hate the way I look. I’m not hideous, but there’s nothing about me that would make anyone look twice. Olivia, my sister, has exactly the same eyes and nose and mouth as I do, but on her face they’re beautiful. Her hair is a lovely bright brown – mine is mousy and cut like a boy’s. She has long eyelashes – I don’t. Worst of all, while she has a nice figure, mine has no curves at all. In fact I could be mistaken for a boy. When I wear skirts and jewellery and make-up I look like I’m in drag.

I remember last Christmas when Dad took us up to Nottingham to stay with Gran and Granddad. Olivia and I were both given fifty pounds, and as there wasn’t much happening on Boxing Day we went to the shops. It was an agonizing morning. Everything Livy tried on fitted perfectly, whereas I just looked like a kid who’d broken into her mum’s wardrobe. I eventually spent most of my money on a figurine. She was wearing a ball gown like the one I graffitied on the wall.

Was it silly that I didn’t want Jonathan to know all this? On the Internet I didn’t have to be me. I could be whoever I wanted.

I searched through My Pictures for photos and found one taken of Olivia and me this summer in Greece. It showed Livy at her most glamorous in a strappy top and tiny shorts. I looked childish in combats and a dumb cartoon-character T-shirt.

bak,
I said.
sorry, was findin a photo. sendin now. the kid is my sis. shes a pain.

I awaited his verdict anxiously.

You got all the looks then.

Even though I’d asked for it, I felt crushed.

After we logged off I looked at the photos again, in detail. Jonathan had sent me a few more pictures of Freya – he seemed sickeningly into her. What did she have that made her so attractive to him? OK, she was good-looking, sang and played the guitar and the violin, but what was that special thing? He’d told me they’d been going out for six months. Maybe it was the clothes – not even people in my fashion magazines wore outfits like Freya’s. I wondered where she did her shopping – the Internet, maybe.

I switched on my printer, chose the nicest shot of her and ran it off When the ink was dry I carefully inserted it into a plastic wallet and put it in my ring binder.

Jonathan

9.45 p.m.

I’d just closed the chat window when there was a knock on my door.

‘Jonathan, what are you doing in there? Are you all right?’

Why do mothers have to ask such stupid questions? What did she think I was doing, hosting a cabaret? ‘Fine. Just mucking about.’

‘I thought you’d be out with friends.’

‘Obviously not.’

‘Can I come in?’ Without waiting for an answer, Mum pushed the door open. ‘Isn’t there anything going on tonight? I’m sure everyone else at college isn’t sitting in front of the computer.’

‘Nothing I know about.’

She perched on my bed, picking up my pyjamas from the floor and stuffing them under the pillow. ‘What happened to the people you used to see on Saturdays?’

‘Guess they were more Freya’s mates than mine.’ I’d seen a few people on the zombie bus and around college, but none had stopped for a catch-up.

Mum frowned. ‘Then you need to show them you still want to be friends rather than sitting around waiting for them to contact you.’

‘Look, if you must know I was talking to someone online.’

She gave me one of her looks. It was sympathetic, despairing and warning all at once. ‘I thought we were past this stage. You know how happy your father and I were when Freya brought you out of your shell. We were worried that all you ever seemed to do was watch things on the computer.’

‘Well, maybe life doesn’t unfold in neat stages! Last I looked, I wasn’t made of assembly blocks and no one wrote any instructions saying how I should be put together.’

‘I know Freya’s not here now and it’s hard doing things by yourself, but you have to try.’

‘Maybe I’d feel more like trying if you’d let me go to music school.’

Mum sighed. ‘You know why we didn’t, Jonathan. It would be very expensive and there’ll be plenty of time to study music later, when you have A levels to fall back on.’

‘If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have bothered getting good grades.’

‘That’s a silly thing to say and you know it.’

‘I bet when college is over you’ll push me to go to university and tell me music is a waste of time all over again. I heard Dad telling Mr Morrison I was good enough to try for Oxbridge.’

‘Your dad gets carried away. It’s only because he’s so proud. We didn’t go to university, so . . .’

‘You want me to get the qualifications you didn’t. Yeah, figures.’

Mum shook her head. ‘The world’s very different now, Jonathan. Anyway, you might not have enjoyed music school as much as you think. I’m not sure it would have been the best thing for you – living in London, away from home, having to take out loans to pay your way.’

‘Freya would have looked after me.’

‘Why don’t you see if college has a music club?’

I snorted. ‘It’ll probably be full of idiots who think Girls Aloud are the pinnacle of modern music.’

‘Do you want me to leave you alone?’

I shrugged, glancing at the wall. The mattress made a noise as Mum got up, followed by the creak of a door. I wished she hadn’t come in; all she’d done was make me feel angry again. I found myself wondering about Rosalind’s parents. She hadn’t mentioned them. Despite these wonderful new people I was supposed to have met at college, Ros was the best thing that had happened all week.

Jonathan

Sunday 26 October, 5.30 p.m.

When I left the police station I felt physically sick. Could they really think I’d had something to do with Freya’s disappearance – and with those other two girls’? I realized exactly how serious things were when the police rang later that afternoon. They wanted to talk to me again.

The interview took place in the sitting room at home. If that was meant to put me more at ease, it had the opposite effect. Shaw and Turner sat facing me, Mum and Dad on the sofa I usually lay on to watch TV, sipping tea from mugs I used myself. Worst of all were the family photos. When I saw Shaw and Turner looking at the frames on the mantelpiece I felt deeply uncomfortable and, somehow, exposed.

And then the questions started. There were so many I started to become confused.

‘We’re interested in February’s incident, Jonathan. We’ve had a look through our files but perhaps you’d like to run us through what happened.’

‘I don’t remember it that well.’

‘Really? I find that hard to believe.’

‘I don’t remember any details. Everything happened quickly.’

‘OK, let’s go over this. There was an incident with a boy in your year, Tom Copeland. How did it start?’

‘He went for me.’

‘That’s not what his friends said.’

‘They were lying! His gang had it in for me.’

‘We only have your word on that.’

‘It’s true – like I said, they lied.’

‘Are you sure there wasn’t more to this than you’re telling us?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Was this the first time something like this had happened?’

‘Well, I used to take karate, but that’s different.’

‘Have you ever lost your temper and hit anyone before?’

‘No.’

‘Positive?’

‘I said no!’

‘Have you ever hit Freya, Jonathan?’

‘What? Of course not!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’d never hurt Freya. I’m not that kind of person.’

‘Not even if you lost your temper with her?’

‘No!’

‘But you’re capable of hurting someone. You hurt Tom. Hurt him badly.’

‘That has nothing to do with this!’

‘What about the night Freya disappeared? You were upset and angry. You’ve told us that already. Perhaps you couldn’t help yourself.’

And on it went. Mum and Dad became angry with all the questions, demanding to know how all this was helping the investigation. I got more and more flustered – and I began to feel guilty too, though I wasn’t sure why. It was a relief when Shaw and Turner left. I felt exhausted. If I’d been worried this morning, that was nothing to what I felt now.

Rosalind

Thursday 11 September, 3.35 p.m.

I was getting my sports bag out of my locker at the end of the day when Abby caught up with me.

‘Rozzle, can we talk?’

It had been over a week now since I’d put my feelings to Abby. We hadn’t exactly fallen out, but things between us had been frosty, and we hadn’t met out of school. I’d spent my time at home, mainly chatting to Jonathan. He’d been such good company that I hadn’t really missed Abby at all. We talked about old sci-fi and traded links to funny music videos. I’d never had a decent conversation with a guy before, let alone another girl’s boyfriend. That bit made me feel a little weird.

‘I never wanted things to get like this, Ros,’ she said, and I knew she meant it. She’d been caught wearing eyeliner today and had been made to take it off. The smudged circles round her eyes made her look like she’d been crying – and I was pretty certain she had.

‘Neither did I,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to make you feel bad. I guess that was childish, but you didn’t seem to listen to anything I was saying. I was hurt.’

Abby nodded. ‘Sorry if I’ve been ignoring you – I truly didn’t mean to. Why don’t we just make up? I miss you.’

We hugged each other, and the mood lightened.

‘There’s another reason I’ve been rushing to get home. I’ve been chatting to a boy online.’

Abby’s eyes widened. ‘Ooh! I want details.’

‘His name’s Jonathan, and he’s just started sixth form. I’ve talked to him nearly every day since he randomly added me to his contacts list.’

‘Wow. What do you chat about?’

‘Old sci-fi. Music and art. Pretty much everything really. It’s easy to be open with him, maybe because he’s more mature than the boys we know, and doesn’t just talk about football.’

She was looking impressed. ‘Is he fit?’

Picturing him, I nodded.

‘You sly thing, Ros. Talking to good-looking boys and not telling me. Are you going to meet up with him?’

‘Um, maybe. I mean, it might be hard, as he lives in Norfolk,’ I said quickly.

Abby laughed, clapping her hands. ‘Ros has a boyfriend!’ she crowed. ‘You’ve gone all pink, it must be lurve!’

‘Ros has a boyfriend?’ Poppy and Kirsten, two girls from our class, came up behind us. Gleefully Abby explained. To my surprise, neither looked too thrilled.

‘You realize he’s probably not who he says?’ Poppy said. ‘More likely he’s some dirty old man who gets his kicks from picking up teenage girls. You say he just started chatting to you?’

Now I really did go red. ‘I know he’s genuine. I’ve seen his photo.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ said Kirsten. ‘Even if he sounds like he’s sixteen, he could just be pretending.’

‘Why do you have to be so mean?’ Abby demanded. ‘Can’t you be happy for Ros?’

Kirsten and Poppy huffed. ‘All I’m saying is that you should be careful,’ Poppy said. ‘And you definitely shouldn’t meet up with him if he asks. You can’t trust people who hide behind screens.’