The Sleepover

by Samantha King

  “Do you believe them?”

  “No.” It’s only as I speak the denial aloud that I realize the stark truth of it. “I just get the feeling they’re hiding something, you know? I can’t believe they didn’t hear Nick go. Or have any idea why he left. Even if they don’t know where he went. It’s like they’ve made some kind of pact, or something.”

  “A pact of silence, you mean? I suppose it’s possible. Kids sometimes have strange codes of honor. Perhaps they think they’re protecting Nick by keeping quiet.”

  “More like protecting themselves.” I take a deep breath. “Sorry. That probably sounds harsh. I don’t mean to be. It’s just that Nick hasn’t had much luck with friendships. I thought these boys were different. I really did. But now . . .”

  “Totally understood.” Sean nods vigorously. “Especially after what happened last year. Nick getting beaten up, and everything.”

  “A year ago yesterday.” I look at him in surprise, trying to recall when I’d told him about that. “I think it might have been playing on his mind, too. He looked pretty thoughtful right before I dropped him off for the sleepover.”

  “He chatted to me about it as well. Little horrors. It’s no wonder Nick’s still having nightmares about it.”

  “He told you that?” I wish he’d told me.

  “Only in passing. He hung around for a bit after our book group yesterday. I did tell the police officer all this on the phone,” he says anxiously, as though I might think he’s withheld information. “DS Clarke, I think her name was.”

  “Yes. She’s leading the investigation.” I feel a stab of hurt that Nick has opened up to this young man about feelings he no longer shares with me, then remind myself that it’s good he’s at least found someone he trusts to talk to. “You say he mentioned the bullies yesterday. Was he worrying about them? Or other stuff? Did he say anything else?”

  Sean sits back in the armchair, looking thoughtful for a moment. “You know, looking back, I think he might have wanted to. But no, he didn’t. Nothing major, anyway. He said something about people being like sheep. Doing what everyone else does. Never thinking for themselves. I’m afraid I assumed he was still talking about the bullies.”

  “It does sound like it.”

  “That’s the horrible thing about bullying. Even when it stops, it never leaves you.”

  “Exactly. And if Nick was picked on last night, it could have brought it all back. Even a bit of teasing from one of the boys might have tipped him over the edge. Don’t you think?”

  “One of them. Let’s be straight. We’re talking about Jason, right?”

  Sean flicks back his hair, and his floppy blond bangs suddenly remind me of Nick. I think of the funky sneakers and psychedelic skateboard on the porch, and reflect that it’s little surprise Mr. Newton gets on so well with his pupils. He’s trendy and easygoing, and he can’t be much older than some of them. Jason may have told him where to go, but he clearly likes him enough to stay in the book club. Maybe Sean feels like a big brother to him; I know how much he’s always wanted one.

  Katie and I first met at a school fund-raiser, but what really bonded us was discovering we’d both been teenage mums. Her baby had tragically died, and I used to feel sorry for Jason when he pretended his big brother was away in the army with his dad. I thought spending time with Nick would soften his hard edges, and that Nick might absorb some of Jason’s confidence. Only Jason was clearly far more influenced by his father: Nathan is bossy and controlling, and so is his son.

  “There’s definitely history between Jason and Nick,” I say, without going into detail. “If he teased Nick, goaded him into running off . . . The other boys are clearly in awe of him. Maybe they’re too frightened to tell tales.”

  “It takes a brave kid to speak out,” Sean agrees, then suddenly sits forward, frowning. “Damn. Perhaps that’s what Nick meant to do yesterday. Maybe something had happened, and he wanted to tell me about it. I’m so sorry. I should have picked up on it.” He jerks out of the armchair and paces toward the window, hands hooked anxiously behind his head.

  “It’s not your fault. Really. There’s plenty I’m realizing I should have picked up on.”

  “I do feel bad, though. Nick deliberately stayed on after book group, but I was too busy prepping my next lesson to talk for long.” He crosses the room to sit next to me, his youthful face creased in apology. “It probably took a lot of guts, too. Nick’s a quiet lad, but he’s actually braver than he knows. Dance to your own tune. That’s what I tell all my boys. And it’s exactly what Nick does. Quite literally.”

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me to hear that.” I rest a tentative hand on his arm, sensing him beating himself up. I know how that feels, and Sean is only young—he can’t have been teaching that many years. I also feel a little overwhelmed at the affirmation I’ve so rarely heard about Nick. It’s exactly how I see him, but I’ve never heard anyone else speak of him in those terms. “Thank you for caring about him.”

  “I do. Really. You know, teachers meet a lot of kids. Some just pass straight through your classroom. In one door and out the other, as it were. Zero impact on either side. Some you feel a real connection with. Nick’s one of those kids. Maybe because I teach drama and he . . . God, this is awful.” He rubs his hands over his face. “If I feel like this, I can only imagine how you . . .”

  He leans closer, giving me a quick hug, and as I catch a waft of his aftershave it unleashes a memory of Nick a year ago, trying on his stepdad’s cologne to feel more grown-up before running off to school—straight into the arms of bullies. I’m hit by a wave of need to hold my son; it’s so powerful that for a moment I find myself clinging on to his teacher. “Sorry,” I say, feeling awkward as I finally manage to pull back.

  “No need to apologize. Or thank me. I’m only speaking the truth. You’ve raised a good kid. I know you’re doing it alone, too. Nick always talks very fondly of you.”

  “He does? Did he mention me yesterday?” I root inside my sweater for a tissue, using the sleeve itself when I don’t find one. Briskly wiping my eyes, I try to pull myself together. “I’m guessing not. He was probably far too preoccupied with the sleepover.”

  “Well, he—”

  “No, wait. What am I thinking? I didn’t tell him he could go until after school.” Feeling flustered, I think through what DS Clarke told me. I know she’s been phoning Nick’s teachers to tell them he’s missing; I’m not sure if she will have mentioned the exact context, or if the sleepover—the involvement of the other boys—is even a confidential part of the investigation. “You mentioned the sleepover.” I look anxiously at Sean, hoping I haven’t just been carelessly indiscreet. “The police told you about that, right?”

  “Actually, no.” He rolls his eyes. “Kids and their apps. Every lecture about privacy settings seems to go in one ear and out the other.”

  “What? Are you saying someone posted about the sleepover online? On—”

  “Facebook. The sleepover’s pretty much all over it.” He gives me a curious look. “Not just someone, though. Nick posted the pictures himself.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The room seems to tilt. “You’re not serious? You’ve actually seen photos of last night?” I feel even dizzier as Sean nods. “Show me. Please.”

  “I’m really sorry.” He dips his head, hiding behind his bangs, looking more like a mortified teenager than a teacher as he pulls out a rose-gold iPhone and swipes at the screen. “I guess I just assumed everyone’s on Facebook.”

  “No. Not me. I had no idea Nick was, either. I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he says, looking up from his phone. “Most parents haven’t a clue about half the stuff their kids get up to online.”

  “But I’ve set up so many restrictions. For apps, Internet sites.” I shake my head, picturing Nick at his desk, on his laptop; I wish I’d never left him alone with it for a second.

  “I’m sur
e you have.” He sighs. “Kids usually find a way around them, though. Setting rules is like throwing down a gauntlet for most of the pupils I teach.”

  “Nick’s not a rebel. He’s sensible. He’s—”

  “A bright boy. But at his age, all kids are trying to figure out who they are. Or, more importantly, decide who they want to be. Social media lets them do that, you know? Create their own myth. Reinvent themselves. Put out the image they want the world to see. It’s page one of the school survival handbook: wheedle your way into being one of the cool kids.”

  The cool kids. That’s how Beth referred to the boys. I assumed she was being ironic; I’m so used to people regarding my son as the odd one out. But maybe she wasn’t; maybe that’s how Nick has presented himself to her—the image he’s been trying to cultivate.

  I glance surreptitiously at Sean as he looks down at his phone again. I thought Nick was growing his bangs out for his next dance role; now it seems more likely that he was modeling himself on this young, trendy teacher—reinventing himself in order to fit in at secondary school. It would only have taken a scathing response from Jason last night—or teasing comments from other kids online—to drive him out again.

  “And you’re quite sure it was Nick who posted the photos?” I say, watching him scroll through a seemingly endless succession of selfies.

  “Not just photos. There were a couple of videos, too.”

  “Videos?” I’m used to Nick being on stage, but a sleepover with friends is private. Filming it feels so invasive; sharing it publicly is the complete opposite of everything I would expect of Nick. “Isn’t he too young to sign up for all these websites, anyway?”

  “Probably.” Sean rolls his eyes again. “But since when did legal age limits ever stop a kid from doing something they really want to do? Especially if everyone else is doing it.”

  “Peer pressure, you mean. Yes, Nick’s had plenty of that. I never thought he’d put himself up for more. Social media. God. It’s just another vehicle for bullying, isn’t it? One-upmanship. Sorry, I’m not a fan.” Over the years, I’ve tried my best to shield Nick from other people’s comments, rather than inviting them. And I’ve never felt the need to live my life in a fishbowl. Craig felt the same. Our family, our memories, he always used to say.

  “Me neither. But we have to know the world our kids live in. Know it and adapt to it,” Sean adds, sounding more like a teacher again. “It’s been my book club theme of the month, actually. To reimagine a classic novel to reflect the digital age. Just a ruse to get them reading, really. They’d pick up War and Peace if I told them we could relate it to Fortnite.”

  “I’ve banned that, too,” I say faintly, wondering if being so strict about Nick’s online activity has pushed him to secretly rebel after all. I only wanted to protect him; maybe I’ve put him in a box he’s felt compelled to break out of.

  “The photos were pretty innocent. Honestly. Just four boys hanging out. Pulling faces at the camera, eating pizza, playing Xbox. Generally clowning around, you know? A typical sleepover, I guess. A bit crazy, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “They weren’t doing anything stupid, were they?” I rack my brains to think what that might be as I watch his fingers continue to swipe across the screen, frustrated now that I can’t spot Nick amid the sea of grinning faces.

  “No. Really. If I’d spotted anything worrying, I’d have called their parents. I’m sure they upload worse stuff, of course. Thankfully, I don’t get to see it. I only looked at public posts. I’m not friends with any of them. Not in Facebook terms, anyway.” He looks up with a wry smile. “It’s only because of this month’s book group theme that I was looking at all. I just did a quick check of the boys’ online activity to feed it into our next discussion.”

  “And this was last night?” I remember lying in bed wondering how Nick was getting on; it never occurred to me that I could simply log on to my computer and check.

  “No, this morning. Ten-ish, I think. I’d just had breakfast, anyway. I did mention the photos to DS Clarke. As soon as she told me Nick was missing. She hadn’t seen them.” He continues swiping. “Which right now doesn’t surprise me. I can’t seem to find anything.”

  “Really? That’s so frustrating.” I wonder if the boys have changed their settings to private after all. But if the sleepover photos were public long enough for Nick’s teacher to see them, who else was looking? Strangers who get a kick out of ogling children? Or maybe the bullies who attacked Nick last year. . . . And if they were on Facebook last night, too, they’d have known exactly where to find him. I reach for my phone. “I need to speak to the police.”

  “Of course.” Thankfully, Sean takes the hint and immediately stands up from the sofa, moving swiftly to the living room door. “God, I’m so sorry. I came here to help. Instead, I feel like I’ve dropped a bomb on you. Internet safety is such a minefield.” He sighs. “And don’t get me started on secret apps.”

  “Secret apps?” I stare at him in horror as we head into the hall.

  “Dummy profiles. A calculator that’s really a chat room. That sort of thing. Yeah, scary. I’m forever warning kids about the dangers. Plenty get sucked in, though. Especially if they’re feeling lonely or misunderstood, which is pretty much every teenager I’ve ever met. The Internet gives them a form of escape, I guess. A way of pretending to be someone else.”

  That sounds exactly like Nick, I think, looking up at dozens of framed photos on the hall walls—shots Craig has taken of Nick on stage. I stop in front of one, staring into his eyes. As always when he’s dancing, Nick appears so lost in the part he’s playing that he barely looks like himself; he lives and breathes every role until it’s like he becomes them.

  “This book you asked the boys to read,” I say, a thought taking hold as I recall the boys saying that Nick was reading last night.

  “They each picked their own, actually.” Sean zips up his hoodie and pulls a beanie hat out of his pocket. “I get the boys to read their books, post comments on our website. Then we all sit around in the book group and try to guess each title. Nick’s posted a few thoughts on his. I haven’t figured out yet what he’s been reading. Why, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure. Just that . . . maybe Nick was so engrossed in a character—a story—that he decided to act it out?” I watch Sean’s face, trying to gauge from his reaction whether he thinks it’s a silly idea. “The boys said Nick was reading last night. I didn’t find a book anywhere. It seems odd that he’d take it with him and not his backpack. Don’t you think? Unless he was trying to follow in some character’s footsteps.”

  “Could be.” Sean wrinkles his nose as he pulls on his beanie, completing the skater-dude look I now see Nick has been emulating. “Sorry.” He sighs. “I’ve been no help at all.”

  “No, really, you have,” I tell him honestly. “It’s been good to talk. Thank you.” I shiver as I open the front door. Snow twirls in sparkling drifts from the black sky, and the freezing air steals my breath. I try not to think of Nick out there, struggling to breathe, too.

  “If it’s any help . . .”

  “Yes?” I stare at the young teacher as he bends to put on his sneakers, willing him to produce a rabbit out of a hat.

  “I’ve read some of the stuff Nick’s written for this month’s book club,” he says, straightening up. “It might not be the book he was reading last night, of course. But if you were to ask me to guess . . .”

  “Please.” Any clue might be helpful.

  “Well, my sense is that it’s a story about a little boy who lost his dad.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “The tech guys are already on it, Izzy. That’s why I was late getting over here. I’ve just been talking to them about the photos. If it’s digitally possible to retrieve them, they will.”

  DS Clarke slides a mug of tea toward me across the kitchen table, positioning it deliberately next to the plate of toast she made for me after finally arriving, an hour after Sea
n left. I haven’t touched it; I don’t have any appetite at all. The emptiness inside me can’t be filled by any amount of food.

  “I hope so. I know they won’t hold all the answers, but I just want . . . I really need to see them for myself.” I can’t stop tormenting myself that those images might be the last I ever see of my son.

  “Absolutely. And I’m hopeful we’ll retrieve something. Whatever we do online leaves a digital footprint. It rarely disappears completely. Even though some might wish it would.” She pulls a face. “Plenty of people get caught out by their online history.”

  The detective reaches into her suit jacket for her phone, and as she flicks through a bewildering array of social media sites, I catch a glimpse of the Instagram logo. It reminds me of Beth saying that’s how she keeps tabs on Adrian. I wonder if she was aware that the sleepover was being broadcast for all the world to see, and how she feels about that. I realize I have no idea, and fresh guilt washes through me that I left my son with a virtual stranger.

  I lean closer as DS Clarke loads her own Facebook—photos of her with friends, dressed up in party clothes with cocktails lining the bar behind them, arms around each other and big smiles on their faces. The images are the polar opposite of the smartly dressed young woman sitting next to me, hair neatly scraped back in a ponytail, eyes dark with concern.

  Photos only tell part of the story, I think, wondering if Nick’s pictures were deliberately staged to show the world he’s finally fitting in. Maybe he has, or maybe it was all an act to cover up what was really going on between the boys. I’m convinced I’ll be able to read the truth in his eyes—if I can just see those photos . . . But it’s more than that.

  “It’s not just that I want to see the pictures,” I say quietly, “to see what the boys were getting up to. It’s the fact that they’ve disappeared. And not just the photos. Nick’s entire profile has gone. Sean—Mr. Newton—couldn’t find it again. And I’ve checked, too.”