What You Left Behind (20 page)

“What’s wrong, Jo? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s Freddie. He’s gone.” Jo was panting, her chest heaving in and out. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees, her hair falling over her face. “He’s not anywhere in the house and the back door was wide open. It’s not like Freddie. He never goes anywhere unless I force him to.”

“Maybe he thought it was about time he did go somewhere,” Lorraine said calmly. “Freddie’s eighteen. He’ll be absolutely fine. Come on, let’s get back to the barbecue.” She hooked her arm through Jo’s and eased her upright. “Did you find Gil?”

“You don’t understand.” Jo pushed her fingers through her hair. “His backpack’s gone, and some of his belongings too.”

“Jo, you need to calm down.” Lorraine felt the first surge of worry creep through her. “Let’s give him a call, shall we?”

“You think I haven’t tried that already?”

Jo slid her phone from her back pocket and dialed Freddie’s number again, biting her lip as it went straight to voicemail.

Lorraine put her hands squarely on each of Jo’s shoulders. “I need you to calm down,” she repeated. “You’re no good to anyone in this state.”

To her surprise, Jo nodded.

“Freddie will be absolutely fine. If he has gone off somewhere, it’s probably to stay with a friend. Maybe he left you a note and you missed it.”

Lorraine had learned many years ago that you could never say anything with certainty, that people rarely behaved the way you would expect, even the people you thought you knew.

“Come on,” she continued, coaxing Jo back to the Manor. “He’s probably just doing it to annoy you.”

“Why would he do that?” Jo asked.

“Why? To get back at you for leaving Malc, of course.”

S
URPRISINGLY
,
THE REST
of the evening was enjoyable. Lorraine managed to convince Jo that Freddie would come to no harm and would more than likely be home by the time they got back. Even so, Jo couldn’t resist calling him a couple more times, leaving another message on the last attempt. Gil had at last materialized and was tucking into several sausages stuck into a long bun, which left a ring of tomato sauce around his mouth.

“We came looking for you,” Lorraine said to Gil with a grin. She decided not to mention the drawings she’d seen.

“I’m good at hiding,” Gil said through a mouthful of food. He laughed and a small piece of bread fell out of his mouth, sticking to his T-shirt.

“Please,” Sonia said to her guests, “have seconds. We can’t have any leftovers.”

Adam had already piled his plate with kebabs and scallops and was making quick work of the homemade accompaniments. The salads Sonia had made were delicious and were being devoured by everyone.

“Freddie had better not lose my phone,” Stella said.

“That’s a good point,” Jo said. “I should have looked to see if he’d taken it. Where was it, Stell?”

She thought for a moment. “I left it on your coffee table.”

Lorraine could see that Jo was itching to get back to the house to check.

“I saw Freddie before dinner,” Gil said, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. His face shone out earnestly. “He was in a hurry and I said ‘Hello Freddie would you like to come to our barbecue?’ but he told me to fuck off that’s a rude thing to say and if I had a girlfriend I would never say that to her.”

Jo stood up. “Oh dear,” she said, swiping at the hair that had blown across her face. “I’m really sorry, Gil.” She looked anguished. “That’s not like Freddie at all.”

“Jo, it’s OK,” Lorraine said. “I’m sure he’ll be home by the time we get back.”

I
T WAS A
quarter to eleven when they left the Manor. Stella was tired and begged for a piggyback, so Adam hoisted her onto his back and galloped off, making silly noises. Even at her age she still loved messing about with her dad, Lorraine thought. Jo had already raced off ahead. When they finally caught up with her she was standing outside the front door in the light of the porch.

“He’s not here. And Stella’s phone isn’t here either. What the hell do we do now?”

“You should probably phone Malc,” Lorraine suggested, watching her sister’s face transform from worry to anguish. “He might have gone to see him.”

Jo lunged for the phone and made the call.

At midnight they were all still awake, sipping coffee around the kitchen table, waiting for news. Malc hadn’t answered and several messages had been left, as well as a few more for Freddie, and even some for friends of his.

“I’m so worried, Lorraine,
really
worried,” Jo said for about the tenth time that evening.

Lorraine sighed and looked at Adam. “We know how you feel. Grace took leave of her senses last year and decided to move out. It was all over a boy.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.” For a moment, considering someone else’s troubles seemed to calm Jo, and she almost managed a smile. “Kids, eh? What did you do?”

“In the end, absolutely nothing. We were lucky. She came back.”

Jo’s phone beeped as a text came in. She read the message eagerly, then her shoulders dropped a couple of inches. “It’s James,
Freddie’s mate. He hasn’t seen Freddie since Tuesday last week. Oh God, what if he’s going to sleep rough or has been in an accident or got in a fight?”

“In our experience, that’s unlikely,” Adam reassured her. “Most teenagers turn up soon enough. He might well spend the night in a farmer’s barn or a neighbor’s shed, yes, but that’s character-building.”

“I can’t stand the thought,” Jo said, her eyes filling with tears. “And it’s all my fault.” She turned to Lorraine. “You know it. And I do too.”

17

It is messy so I gather up all but one of the drawings and pack them away in a box. I don’t want anyone to see them. They are my secrets. I like secrets. I’m good at keeping them, although sometimes they burn the inside of my head until there’s nothing left to hold them in.

Tonight my pockets have secrets, too, so I turn out the contents, laying both things next to each other. The iPhone is better than mine, white and shiny with a pretty pink sparkly cover. I won’t steal it. That would be wrong, even though it’s the latest model, but I can’t help reading through all her texts, looking at her pictures, taking one of myself looking handsome for her. Stella is my friend now. I know she likes me.

Then I pick up the little pebble, turning it over and over between my fingers. It’s shiny and has special green bits on it. Stella gave it to me. She was playing with it at the barbecue tonight, chucking it from one hand to the other, looking bored. When she saw me watching her, she threw it at me. She was smiling and her hair was hanging down, looking all pretty. I said thank you for the stone and now that must mean she is my good friend because she gave me a present.

I kiss the pebble in case it’s like one of those fairy tales where something amazing happens. I close my eyes and wait, but when I open them again everything is still the same. There is no beanstalk or fairy godmother or golden carriage, or even Stella standing in front of me. I put the stone on the table beside the phone.

I make a cup of tea and put the television on but I can’t concentrate. My legs are everywhere tonight, jiggling and annoying me, so I decide to go for a walk. I put on a lightweight jacket. Sonia says it’s best to do that, even in the summer, so I don’t catch my death, she said. If anyone threw my death at me, I told her, I would let go of it, not catch it. Sonia laughed for ages, but that was before Simon died. She doesn’t laugh now.

Thinking about Simon makes me feel cold so I zip up my jacket right up to the neck. I don’t feel any warmer. Poor Simon. I am alive and he isn’t. I can do my drawings but he can’t. He can’t do anything anymore.

Before I leave, I stare at my new picture, the one I left out on the table. I squint at it. It’s making me cross. It won’t go the way I want. Stella is riding one of Lana’s ponies, but the pony has collapsed beneath her and is dead and Stella is screaming from the swarm of flies that is on her face. Then I think: if I just put Freddie in the picture, if I draw him being angry and running away, if I draw snakes coming out of his mouth, then it will be better and it will be finished.

T
HE LANE IS
bright from the moon. I like walking at night. People don’t come up to me and say, “How are you today, Gil?” as if I am ill. If I had a girlfriend, she wouldn’t think I was ill and ask me questions all the time. She would watch television with me and hold my hand. That is why I need to get one although I probably won’t find one tonight.

I go down into the village and stop when I get to the crossroads. I look right then left then right again. If you go out of the village for about a mile it takes you to where Dean died. But you can also go over the fields if you want to get to Devil’s Mile. It’s quicker that way. I sometimes go and watch the kids on their skateboards or scooters down there. I don’t have a skateboard or a scooter. I’m shivering again.

The lights are still on in Jo’s house even though it’s late. I creep up to the front hedge and watch them all sitting at the kitchen table. Jo has her head resting in her hands and her hair has fallen over her face. I glance at the upstairs windows but they are all dark. Stella will be asleep now. I would like it if she came for a walk with me. I would take care of her. She is my friend and now Jo is standing up and sitting down again. Her sister and that other man are the police. I am not scared of the police even though Sonia is because of what happened to Simon. She gets upset every time she hears a siren.

I go round the back of Jo’s house, stepping carefully over the gravel because it makes a noise like that beach we went to. People sometimes get cross if you go into their gardens at night.

I stop. I hear voices. A man and a woman. The police detectives have come outside. I recognize their voices. Then I smell cigarette smoke.

Shouldn’t do that … don’t be stupid … she’s panicking for nothing … I’m not so sure. Listen, Adam …

Then it goes fuzzy like a radio going out of tune. Someone coughs.

… 
concerned about what Gil said … someone else on that bike … How would he know?… Not your problem … No, I know that … that dick Burnley … not a murder inquiry for heaven’s sake …