She becomes aware of her short dressing gown and matted hair. He slips past her and knocks on Riku’s door.
“Morning, sonny, I’ve got your mail.”
Riku’s door opens, two hands stretch out to take the parcels and the door closes again.
The man shrugs, says, “Bye, love,” to Imo and leaves the flat, whistling.
Imo knocks on Amber’s open door. A middle-aged woman sits on the bed, an open, empty suitcase at her feet. She looks up at Imo. “Are you Amber’s flatmate? Come in, love. I’m her mum.”
Imo looks at the suitcase. “Are you … Is she …?”
“She’s already gone. Off travelling.”
“When’s she coming back?” Imo’s voice rises, all fury forgotten. Amber’s gone? Who’s going to be her friend now? She silently admonishes herself for being selfish when Amber’s missing her course. That matters more.
The woman shakes her head. “Her text said she’d changed her mind about uni. It wasn’t for her.” She gets up and peels a large poster from the wall and curls it around a roll of others already on the floor. “I thought this time she’d settled down.” She sighs and rubs her hands through her mousy grey hair. “What’s your name? Were you a friend?”
Her eyes rest on the dressing gown and it makes Imo feel filthy.
“I’m Imo. All four girls in this flat hit it off, but we’re not on the same course. Except me and Tegan, we do Business.” She shuts up. Why would Amber’s mother care what her daughter’s flatmates study? Her ex-flatmates. “When did she send the text?”
“I picked it up Tuesday evening when I checked my phone before the ten o’clock news. I tried phoning back but, whenever I try, her mobile’s switched off. I expect she’s got a new phone if she’s gone abroad. It would cost too much to stay on a UK network.”
Inside her dressing gown sleeves, Imo’s arm hairs stand on end. She knows about switched-off mobiles, about calling the same number over and over again. About listening to an answer machine hundreds of times. She swallows. “Did you try the app when you got the text? The one that shows where the sender is. Amber might have downloaded it.”
Amber’s mum gets her phone out and passes it to Imo. “I wouldn’t know about that, love. See what you think.”
It’s the same geriatric iPhone 4S as Imo’s. After scrolling for a few seconds, Imo’s sure that neither Amber nor her mum have the app. She speed-dials Amber’s phone. She’s been calling all week and she gets the recorded voice again, telling her the phone is switched off.
The person you are calling is unable to take your call …
The message clangs with terrible familiarity. Every day she calls Sophia’s number and hears this same message. Same wording, same mechanical voice.
“Are you okay?” Amber’s mum steps towards her, a worried look on her face.
“Sorry, it’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all. I didn’t know she’d left.” Imo sits down heavily on the bed. Calms her breathing, stares at the phone in her hand.
Without thinking, she sends a text to her own phone. It pings in her dressing gown pocket. For some reason she needs to have the woman’s number. She passes the phone back. “I’m sorry she’s gone. Amber’s nice.”
The woman looks straight at her. “Thank you.” She stands up and hugs her. “Thank you for saying that.”
Imo steps back, aware that she mustn’t let her fears rub off on this woman. This isn’t the same; Amber’s got in touch and explained her absence. No need for the cancer of uncertainty to infect another family.
After saying goodbye, she returns to her room and lies on her bed. Eyes wide open, her whole face stiff with fatigue.
Chapter 17
Phoenix
At noon, Phoenix knocks on Imo’s door, sure that she’s awake. She heard her earlier in Amber’s room.
Imo lets her in and heads quickly to her desk. Facebook is open on her laptop, a list of people named Smith fills the screen.
“Thought you only went on Tinder,” Phoenix says.
Reddening, Imo slams it shut.
“Were they relatives? I couldn’t help noticing the surname on those profiles.”
“A hobby of mine, finding people with the same name as me. It’s great fun.” Imo gives a giggle. It sounds forced.
Phoenix smiles cautiously. What’s going on? Imo can’t have got over the audition rejection already. Her hair’s still greasy and she’s in that awful dressing gown. Still pissed off about something, for sure.
“Do you mind if I open your curtains?” Phoenix asks.
“It’s too bright … Okay, if you must.” Imo scrunches her hair into a sloppy bun and tightens her belt.
Phoenix explains why she’s come. “Tegan and I are going back to the Freshers’ Fair and would like to take you with us. Seeing as you didn’t get a part …” She pauses, resets her tact-ometer. “Now you’ve got more time for hobbies, you could sign up for Bhangra. Tegan and I have joined. It should be a laugh. Maybe you’d like to come too. And Amber – now’s she’s back. I heard you talking to her.”
But Imo looks away and explains it was Amber’s mum in her room. “Amber’s jacked in uni and gone travelling. I just don’t get it.”
“Already? I sussed the girl was a bit, you know, unstable, but I thought she’d give it more than a week.”
“It’s not even a week. She texted home on Tuesday saying she’d left. If only she’d told me her plans, I could have talked her out of it.”
Phoenix looks at the laptop. “Have you tried her Facebook account? Or maybe some of the other Theatre Studies students are in touch with her. Come with us to the Freshers’ Fair and we can ask around.”
“Do you think anyone will remember her?” Imo looks past Phoenix, her eyes moving out into a squint. “Did you see her after we were at the fair together on Tuesday?”
Phoenix trawls her memory. Amber had had one of her funny wobbles and went outside the Great Hall. “I don’t think so, even though I knocked on her door a few times. We can ask Tegan on the way. I’ll call for you in twenty minutes. Does that give you time to shower and dress?”
Thankfully Imo ignores the clumsy hint, her mind still on Amber. “So neither of us saw her go.” Her skin grows pale. “Apart from her bracelet by the side of the road, she left without a trace.”
Chapter 18
Phoenix
Phoenix understands when Tegan offers to drive to the Freshers’ Fair. She must have taken one look at Imo and decided the girl is fit to drop. The hollows under her dull eyes are deep and grey. She smells better than she did earlier, but showering hasn’t extended to washing her hair. It hangs limply down her back. And yet she has surprising energy for discussing Amber. As they hunt for a parking space behind the Great Hall, she quizzes Tegan about the last time she saw their flatmate.
“Can’t remember.” Tegan stops speaking to make a three-point turn at the end of the tiny car park. “Not since the fair, I don’t think.” There’s another pause as she crawls forward, checking for spaces. “That must be when she did a bunk.” After she’s reversed expertly into a narrow space between a Ford Ka and an old Nissan, she switches off the engine.
Imo continues: “I thought she was my friend. I thought she trusted me.”
“Maybe she dropped us a hint that she was unhappy, but we didn’t pick it up,” Phoenix suggests as they walk round the building to the entrance. “Are you sure she didn’t mention the idea of leaving when the two of you talked?”
Imo slows her pace and falls behind, a look of concentration on her face. “There might have been something, but I was too drunk to remember. It was that night when she looked after me. She seemed troubled, but I could have just imagined it.”
Phoenix pushes open the Great Hall door. It’s much quieter inside than when they were here on Tuesday. No more than a dozen freshers wandering round. As sad as a Christmas market in the drizzle. Phoenix wonders how they can keep the fair going for much longer, but remembers that it’s Refreshers next
week when the second years come back to party.
Imo strides off, asking loudly if anyone does Theatre Studies. A boy in a brown poncho says yeah, but shakes his head when he sees the image of Amber on Imo’s phone. No one else comes forward.
“I knew this wouldn’t work,” she says, coming back to Phoenix and Tegan. “I talked to a Theatre Studies girl yesterday who thinks Amber didn’t turn up to the first department meeting. If that’s the case, none of the drama students will know who she is.” She squints into the middle distance, her expression unreadable.
Phoenix takes her arm, hoping to distract her. “Let’s get you signed up for Bhangra. We can ask about Amber after that.”
They head to the aisle with the dance societies, but Imo stops after a few paces. “Something happened here to upset Amber. We need to find out why she left.”
Tegan folds her arms. “To be fair, Imo, lots of things upset Amber. I only knew her for two days and I already had to avoid talking about gender and tomatoes.”
Imo turns to Phoenix. “Will you help?”
Phoenix sighs. It’s not what she had in mind, but maybe it’s best to let her make her enquiries and get it out of her system. She goes with Imo as she holds out her phone to show the stallholders on the political stands the picture of Amber in the red wig. One or two remember her outfit but nothing more. The punk girl from the human rights charity smiles when she sees the photo and recounts the gist of their debate. But she offers no clue where she might have gone.
It’s the same story on the Drama Society stall. The boy shakes his head. “Shame, I really think she might have persuaded us to try Epic Theatre.”
The beautiful Indian girl on the Bhangra stall remembers them and offers her tray of bhajis. Phoenix smiles and takes one. She explains that they’ve brought Imo along so that she can join, but Imo holds out Amber’s photo on her phone. When the girl shrugs and says she hasn’t seen her, Imo thanks her and moves straight on to the next stand. Phoenix throws up her arms and apologizes.
“Why didn’t you sign?” Tegan hisses when she reaches Imo.
“In a minute,” Imo says. She presses her phone. “I’ve sent you Amber’s picture. If all three of us ask at the stalls, it won’t take long.”
Tegan gets out her phone. “I came to university to become the next Alan Sugar, not Sherlock.” She heads for the chess stand.
Phoenix watches Imo go to the student from the Deaf Society. He looks at her phone screen and shakes his head. Phoenix wonders if she should go after Tegan; she’s bound to be terrorizing the poor chess boy. But she realizes that the girl at the LGBTQ stand is looking at her. The one who was on duty last time they came. Black hair and blue, blue eyes.
After a breath, Phoenix approaches her. The young woman takes Phoenix’s phone and studies Amber’s Geisha Girl picture. “Is she Trans?”
Phoenix swallows a laugh. That was one of the few things Amber hadn’t claimed. “Not as far as I know.”
The girl rubs her chin. Neat nails. Long slim fingers. “You know, I think I do remember her. She was standing just over there, staring this way. Was she thinking of coming out?”
Phoenix feels herself blush. “Who knows?” She gives what she hopes is a casual shrug. “She never said.”
The girl places the phone back in Phoenix’s hand and closes her fingers over it. “I’m sorry she left before we got a chance to speak. But come back if you want to ask me anything else. I’m Keren by the way.”
Phoenix can’t hold her gaze and tells the floor her name.
“Any luck?” Imo asks behind her.
Phoenix takes herself away from the stallholder, grateful for Imo’s interruption.
The last stall in the aisle is the Parents’ Group. Imo approaches the same dark-haired woman who was manning it on Tuesday. There’s no sign of her little girl today. The woman smiles politely.
“Did you see this student here a few days ago?” Imo shows her the phone.
The woman’s eyes stay on the image, apparently studying the red wig and white make-up. Then she looks up, shaking her head. “Sorry. I don’t remember her.”
Imo moves close to the woman’s desk, invading her space almost. “Are you sure? It would have been on Tuesday.”
The woman moves her leaflets so they are in a pile between her and Imo. “The Parents’ Group doesn’t get many takers in Freshers’ Week. We’re just here to speak to the odd mature student who’s a parent. I tell them about the uni crèche and the family barbecue we’ve got next Saturday lunchtime. But I don’t know why we bother for so few people. Posters around campus would be more effective.” Her eyes move over Imo’s left shoulder. “I went off rota around four o’clock on Tuesday. Perhaps your friend came after that?”
Imo shows the woman another photo, of the four of them in the kitchen on the first day. “That’s what she usually looks like.”
But the woman scarcely glances at it, shaking her head again.
Imo doesn’t budge and holds out the bangle they found outside after their last visit to the fair. “Perhaps you saw a girl wearing this?”
The woman screws up her face, as if she wants to say something patronizing, but instead lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid not. Should I?”
“It’s all we’ve got left of her.” Imo pushes the bangle over her knuckles and watches it slide down her wrist.
Phoenix ushers Imo away before she declares the bangle a sacred relic. She gives the woman what she hopes is a conspiratorial smile: Kids, eh? and picks up a leaflet for the family barbeque. “I’ll spread the word.”
Imo needs the loo and Phoenix goes with her. They pass Riku on the stairs. He has his back to them, forearms over the banister. Imo says hello but he doesn’t hear, or so he pretends.
When they come down, he’s still there, staring intently at the fair below.
They retrace their steps, scouring the room for Tegan on their way. Phoenix is relieved she’s not still with the boy from the chess club. Like a child who pulls legs off an insect, Tegan might have taken similar pleasure with her very own chess pawn. When Phoenix spots her in the sport clubs’ aisle, they go to fetch her.
“Something happened to Amber before we got this far,” Imo tells her. “These sportspeople have nothing to do with her decision to walk off. Let’s go back to the flat. This was a waste of time.”
“We should still ask, you never know.” Tegan makes eye contact with a clean-shaven student in a Raging Bull polo shirt. Reluctantly she peels away when Imo heads to the exit.
Phoenix taps the family barbecue leaflet against her lips, mulling over what she’s observed. At least two people acting weird. Maybe something, maybe nothing.
Chapter 19
Saturday 1 October
Imogen
The lecturer’s parting shot at the end of the Business Culture lecture is to thank them for attending the optional Saturday session. The word optional causes the students around Imo to squawk, some even dropping Fuck offs under their breath. Tegan’s eyes become heat-seeking missiles trained on the man’s smug mouth. But he shrugs off the protest, as if he instigates it every year and lives for the moment.
When they get out of the lecture, Imo suggests to Tegan they hang around outside the academic block. “We can show Amber’s photo to anyone who walks past.”
“You’ve got five minutes. I’ve wasted enough of my Saturday already.” Tegan speeds along the corridor. “So what if people do remember her? That doesn’t mean they’ll know where she is.”
“Thanks, Tegan. I appreciate it.” Five minutes is better than nothing. There were plenty of new students walking about the campus on Tuesday. Someone must have seen Amber when she came out of the Freshers’ Fair. Did she say anything? Which way did she go? Was she with another student? A cold shadow crosses Imo. All the parallels with her own family flood her thoughts. But she dismisses them, forcing a lid on her imagination.
She steps ahead of Tegan and reaches the exit. “Perhaps we can ask around the halls when we g
et back. It won’t take long to cover our block.”
Tegan sighs noisily. “If she managed to leave without us noticing, I doubt our neighbours will have seen her. Besides, Phoenix has already asked around. No takers.”
“What? When did she do that?” Imo looks closely at Tegan. Is it a lie to fob her off?
“After we got back from the fair yesterday. She was in a mood weird enough to match one of Amber’s. Said she wanted to see if anyone in the block had seen her. I’m not going to that fair again in case I get possessed as well.”
Imo feels a rush of excitement. If Phoenix took the trouble to knock on doors, she must be anxious about Amber. Maybe Imo hasn’t got it wrong.
Tegan walks away so Imo calls after her. “You said I could have five minutes.”
To her surprise Tegan comes back. She scrolls through her phone and finds the image of Amber in her kimono and wig. “They’ll think I’m a pimp if I tout this about.”
Two boys, turning into the Business Centre, falter when they hear the word pimp. Tegan brandishes her phone at them. “Think you can afford that, do you?”
But her sneer vanishes and her eyes freeze on something over Imo’s shoulder. A car crawls past and the driver leans over the passenger seat for a better look. Imo’s insides lurch when she recognizes the driver, still with his hood up, wearing sunglasses even though it isn’t sunny.
“I’m leaving.” Tegan’s voice is hard as she sets off to her car.
Imo catches her up. Safety in numbers, even though the man has driven off. “That was him. That creepy older student. Maybe he has something to do with Amber. I know you said he can’t be a stalker, but why do I keep seeing him everywhere?”
“Fuck should I know,” Tegan snaps.
They travel in silence, Tegan’s white hands gripping the wheel.
Back at the flat, Imo toys with asking round the block whether anyone saw Amber with the stalker. But she doesn’t know which neighbours Phoenix has already spoken to and she isn’t in her room to ask. Imo goes on Facebook for much of the afternoon, checking periodically if Amber has signed in. She hasn’t. Nor has Sophia. And she hasn’t set up a new profile in her name. Imo lies on her bed, her mind in turmoil. Get me, won’t you? Thoughts of Amber make her shiver. History repeating itself. The answer phone message rings through her mind: The person you are calling is unable to take your call …
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