The Roommates

by Rachel Sargeant

  Amber’s eyelids flicker. She snatches a breath but doesn’t speak.

  “Please tell me,” Phoenix says gently, brushing Amber’s limp fringe off her forehead. “Who was it?”

  Amber’s eyes stay closed but she manages a whisper. “Cheryl.”

  She turns her head into the pillow and doesn’t say more, but it’s all Phoenix needs. Confirmation that Cheryl Burdett became the Jane Brown who held Amber in her cellar.

  “Why did Cheryl do it?” Imo asks, but Amber is dozing again. She tries patting her arm. “Amber? Can you hear me? Tell me about Leo?”

  Amber seems to squirm in her sleep when Imo says the name, but doesn’t wake. They’re no nearer knowing who Leo is and why he’s in danger.

  When Tegan comes back, they wake Amber and wash her emaciated body. So much grime comes off her neck, they change flannels again. Her underarms still stink but the skin grows red and tender as they scrub and they have to stop. Phoenix remembers Amber as a curvy girl, but her breasts have shrunk to empty pockets and her pelvic bone juts out. Her upper arms have matching, fading grey bruises, as if someone has gripped and shaken her. There’s a gash on her knee like the kind of trapeze graze Phoenix used to get, but this is bigger, angrier.

  Her heart stops when they turn her over and see the pressure sore at Amber’s coccyx. She steps away, trembling. It’s like the flash burn of black, weeping skin that ended her mother’s career. Who wants a fire-eater with scorched, puckered flesh across her belly? Trying out a new trick, her father’s error. The catering van is the constant symbol of how Cloud’s life changed forever.

  “Let me,” Tegan says, taking the flannel from her shaking hands.

  “Here.” Imo hands her a sheet of paper towel. “I think we’re all in shock,” she says weakly.

  Phoenix realizes she’s crying. Blinking away the tears doesn’t work and they keep running. She cries for the career that the accident took away, from her as well as Cloud. As her mother shrieked with pain, Phoenix’s acceptance of risk spiralled away. From then on, she saw danger in everything she used to do as second nature. She can never be brave enough to be a circus girl again and yet homesickness is crushing her.

  There’s a knock at the door: Riku back with provisions. He’s a welcome distraction. Phoenix dries her eyes and takes him into the kitchen to unpack his bags: milk, soups, baby food jars, yoghurt, instant mash packets, hot chocolate powder, and antiseptic dressings.

  “I got this bottle of multi-vitamins,” he says. “It’s meant to be for kids but I thought, because it’s a liquid, she’d be able to swallow it.”

  Tegan comes into the kitchen waving the soup mug they gave Amber. “She’s drunk it all.” She puts the plug in the sink and runs the tap. “I’ll give her some now,” she says, spotting the vitamin bottle. She smiles an acknowledgement at Riku as he leaves the kitchen.

  “Do you think a spoonful of that kiddie juice is going to be enough?” Phoenix says. “Amber needs an intravenous drip.”

  “I don’t think she’s as starved as we thought,” Tegan says, grappling with the child-proof lid on the vitamin bottle. “It’s probably just the last few days she’s stopped eating and we’ve already managed to rehydrate her a bit.”

  “That leg could go septic and there’s a bad wound on her head. Only a doctor can deal with that.”

  “No,” Tegan snaps, slamming the bottle onto the worktop. “Hospitals ask questions. You heard her. Someone else is in danger.”

  “Exactly. The police would help find this Leo.”

  “The police never help.” Tegan narrows her eyes and then looks away for a moment. “My mum called the police sometimes. It only made things worse.” She rocks against the sink as she washes the mug. Imo and Phoenix both stare at her. “Once it went as far as having her wrists and shoulder photographed. But my father knew her mental pressure points, as well as the physical. The police weren’t enough to protect her.”

  The words trigger Phoenix’s memories again. In the big top, sitting on an audience bench, resting her forehead on the back of the bench in front. The cold wood is rough against her skin. Her eyes are closed but she can’t block out the sound. In the ring, her mother moans in agony. Her father, voice frantic with panic and regret, says over and over it was an accident, a rehearsal gone wrong. But the policeman, first on the scene before the ambulance, keeps on with his questions.

  Tegan turns around, her eyes red-rimmed. “I’m not like my father despite what you think.”

  And I’m not like mine. Phoenix loves her dad, but it was a stupid trick. At twelve years old she could see its flaws, hear the nerves in her mother’s voice. Her dad couldn’t see it. She did. It’s why she had to get out. That raw, dangerous need for perfection left her that day.

  “I know you’re not like your father,” she says, wiping her tears. “If Amber improves tomorrow, I’ll rethink the hospital. And I understand why you don’t want the police involved, but we can’t ignore what Jane’s done. What else is she capable of?”

  Tegan slowly puts the mug on the drainer. She keeps her back to Phoenix. “Marlon’s still meeting me tomorrow. We can take another look in Jane’s flat.”

  A shudder runs through Phoenix. She doesn’t want to join forces with Tegan’s hired thug, but she’s torn. They left Jane’s flat with a broken door and took away her prisoner. If the psycho woman hasn’t already fled, she’ll be ready and more than a match for them. Marlon might be their only hope.

  “Do you trust him?” she asks.

  She expects Tegan to fly at her, accuse her of not understanding the ways of the real world, but Tegan speaks softly, eyes watering. “I don’t know how to shake it off, all of it. Marlon’s always there. I thought I could turn it around and use him. But it’s not the way, not the person, I want to be. What can I do?”

  Phoenix studies Tegan’s quivering shoulders. So this is her other side. And it’s taken Amber’s trauma for her to show it. Amber’s brought something that was hidden out of all of them. “Where are you meeting him tomorrow?”

  Tegan blows her nose. “Geography tower. Why?”

  Phoenix has an idea so strong it burns her tongue, but she keeps it in. “I’ll come with you,” she says instead.

  Chapter 65

  Friday 14 October

  Imogen

  “Pressure sores?” Imo’s mother sounds sceptical down the phone. “You’ve called to ask for nursing tips?”

  “And to see how you are, catch up.” Imo kicks herself; she should have made time for small talk first. Now her mother’s suspicious. “It’s just that my friend’s grandmother has bedsores and her mum’s worried, so I said I’d ask.”

  “Have you got a lecture?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m surprised you’re up this early.”

  “I thought it was a good time to catch you, before your shift.” Assuming it’s a good day and her mother will make it into work.

  The truth is that Imo hasn’t been to bed. She sat with Amber through the night, coaxing plain yoghurt and baby food apple puree into her at midnight and then waking her at intervals to drink water. Phoenix came in at 3 a.m. to take over and offered Imo her room. Imo stayed under Phoenix’s shower until her fingertips pruned. The stench of Amber’s fragility and her dank basement prison had seeped into every pore. Afterwards overwhelming hunger sent her to the kitchen instead of bed. She ate two cans of baked beans, cold and straight from their tins, as if her own liberal consumption would compensate for Amber’s privation. She’s been in the kitchen ever since.

  “Imogen, are you still there?”

  “Sorry, Mum, you’re right; it’s a bit early for me. I’d better go.”

  “You’ll ring again later, won’t you?” A hint of anxiety. How would she cope if Imo disappeared too? A double tragedy would corrode her from the inside out. It reminds Imo that they need to tell Amber’s mother what’s happened. If anyone’s going to aid Amber’s recovery, it’s her mother. But how can they tell her and expect her n
ot to notify the police?

  “Imo?”

  “Sorry, bye, Mum. Love you … Wait, how do you treat bedsores?”

  ***

  When Imo goes back to her room, Phoenix is spooning more baby food into Amber, who is propped on a pillow with the Groovy Chick duvet pulled up to her chest. She shifts her glazed expression from the advancing spoon to Imo. “Have you seen Leo?”

  Imo and Phoenix exchange a glance. Leo was the soundtrack of Imo’s night-time vigil and it was probably the same for Phoenix. The pfff, pfff of her delirium in the cellar returned. In moments of lucidity she called the name Leo, over and over. But slipped away whenever Imo asked who Leo was. Imo remembers Verity, the girl at Chadcombe Bridge, mentioning it too, and Amber’s sister Jade thought Leo was another junkie. Why would Amber’s old neighbour kidnap two people from the bridge crowd? Amber’s memory must have become muddled. Yet something nags at Imo.

  “Leo,” Amber whispers again, slipping down the pillow into another doze.

  “Who is it?” Imo asks.

  But there’s no answer. Amber opens her exhausted eyes and settles them plaintively on Imo.

  “We’re working on it,” Imo says. She knows she’s giving Amber false hope, and yet she’s been grinding Leo around her head all night. There’s a pearl there somewhere, just out of shot. If only Imo could make the connection.

  Phoenix puts down the baby food jar and feels Amber’s forehead. “You’re a bit warm. I think we should bathe you again and I’ll fetch you another nightshirt.” The Mickey Mouse T-shirt that Imo grabbed out of her drawer last night hangs off Amber’s shoulders. The Amber of Freshers’ Week wouldn’t have got it over her chest.

  “Did you ask your mum about …” Phoenix trails off. Amber’s still awake and she probably doesn’t want to alarm her.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” Imo says calmly. “They use specialist dressings at the hospital but the best thing is to get the patient on their feet.” She touches Amber’s thigh. She can feel the muscle wastage, even through the duvet. “Do you think you could manage to walk?”

  The duvet flings back with a determination that Imo doesn’t expect and Amber slips her feet out of bed. There’s a grimy indent in the pillow where her dirty hair has been. The peroxide crop of her first few days at university has disintegrated into a pale, rusty thatch. Imo wonders if they’ll be able to get her in the shower later. Can she cope with standing still for a few minutes? There’s a dressing over the gash on her knee but the ankle wound is bare.

  Phoenix bends down for a closer look. “Keep it open to the air today.”

  Amber tries to stand, but needs to rest her weight on Phoenix. With Imo’s support on the other side, she gets up. Her pallid skin goes a shade lighter and her eyes lose their focus. They stand still a minute until her dizziness has cleared. She moves forward gingerly and they walk her to the bathroom. Her steps are slow and shuffling, and she favours her undamaged leg, but she keeps going. Sits on the loo and wees. Both Imo and Phoenix inspect the bowl as they help her up. The urine is pale and carries little smell. Good; she’s rehydrating.

  Amber sits on the bed while they wash and dress her in clean nightclothes and they help her walk to the kitchen for something to eat.

  “As long as it’s not baby food,” Amber says and there’s a flicker of a smile.

  Phoenix whips up runny mash potato from a packet mix. Tegan comes in and makes everyone a hot chocolate. She cools Amber’s with extra milk. Amber drinks it straight down and finishes the potato.

  Afterwards they walk her around the flat. When they get to Phoenix’s room, Amber points at the poster of her fire-eating parents. “Cool. Where did you get that?” And Imo feels a twinge of regret. Amber hasn’t ever been in Phoenix’s room and knows nothing of her circus background. She’s missed so much.

  Tegan looks at Phoenix in her onesie. “You’d best get dressed now.”

  “Let me help Amber first.”

  “We’ll be late getting to Marlon.”

  “We still have time.”

  Tegan and Phoenix face each other in a silent battle of wills. Phoenix blinks first. “Okay, I’ll get ready.”

  Tegan takes over supporting Amber.

  Imo, clueless about what has passed between her flatmates, takes Amber’s other arm, and she and Tegan walk Amber the length of the hallway.

  Riku hears them and comes out of his room.

  “I remember you,” Amber says. “Parcel boy. From Thailand.”

  “Things have moved on,” Tegan says. “He’s from Hemel Hempstead and the parcels are export trainers. He’s an entrepreneur.” There’s admiration in her voice.

  “He helped us yesterday to get you out,” Imo explains.

  Amber thanks him blankly, but clearly has no memory of her rescue. Then her eyes go wide and she grips Imo’s arm, pinching the skin. “Yesterday? I’ve been here a day? I have to see Leo.” She looks at Tegan. “You’ve got a car, haven’t you? Can you take me to Cheryl’s?”

  Behind her back, Imo and Tegan swap an incredulous glance. Why would Amber want to return to that hellhole?

  “Who is Leo?” Imo asks.

  But Amber ignores her, speaking instead to Tegan. “Can we go now?”

  “You’re not in a fit state to go anywhere,” Tegan says. She leads her towards Imo’s room. “Phoenix and I will go back for another look. You stay here with Imo.”

  “You’ll find Leo?”

  “Is Leo at the house?” Tegan asks.

  Amber lifts a hand to her mouth. “Yes.”

  “You have to tell us who Leo is.” Imo tries again.

  But Amber starts to cry. “Go now, get Leo,” she sobs.

  Tegan sighs. “We’ll try.” But from the tone of her voice, it’s clear she doesn’t expect to find anyone at Jane’s flat. She probably thinks it’s another Amber fantasy. Yet Imo senses there is someone else involved. Chances are Jane will have fled, expecting Amber – or whoever broke her out of the cellar – to have called the police. But what if there’s another victim in the flat, still locked away, close to death? No way is she letting Tegan and Phoenix carry out a half-hearted search.

  “Riku, would you mind staying with Amber for a while? I have to go with Tegan,” she says.

  Tegan opens her mouth to argue, but Imo shakes her head emphatically. She’s going too.

  ***

  A siren sounds somewhere outside. A student’s chip pan is probably on fire in another hall. The sound pricks Imo’s conscience, imagining that other sirens won’t be far away if they get Marlon involved. What if Amber’s confused about there being another prisoner? But somewhere in the memories of the last few weeks, Imo is sure she’s seen something.

  “Hurry up. You’ll make us late,” Tegan shouts outside Phoenix’s door. “You can’t be still in the shower.”

  Eventually Phoenix emerges from her room with damp hair. “Sorry, I dozed off. Shall we go? It’s best if we walk. We don’t want anyone remembering your car’s parked next to Marlon’s.”

  “Don’t be daft. There’s no CCTV.” Tegan checks her phone. “Besides, we’ll be late if we walk.”

  The Mini’s parked by the dustbins at the back of their hall, but it isn’t going anywhere.

  “Sod it,” Tegan shouts, bending down to the front tyre. “People need to aim better for the bottle bank. Too much glass round here. I’ve got a flat.” When she has a closer look, she finds a paper taped to the hubcap. “Bastards. When I find out …”

  Imo’s blood runs cold as she reads the note. I warned you. The tyre’s been deliberately slashed.

  Phoenix takes the piece of paper. “Do you want to call the police? I’m sure Marlon will wait, if we’re a few minutes late.”

  “Marlon can deal with this. No one vandalizes my car and gets away with it,” Tegan snarls and sets off at a brisk pace along the path towards the geography tower. She’s swapped her usual designer sandals and palazzos for hiking boots and leggings. Clothes for every occasion, even fo
r hiring henchmen and confronting kidnappers.

  A police car screeches past, siren blaring, and overtakes a white Fiat with an Abbey Student Union sticker in the back.

  “Wonder what’s happened,” Imo says.

  “Don’t know.” Phoenix slows down.

  Tegan’s ahead of them. “Get a move on. We’ll run out of time if we don’t hoof it.”

  Imo catches sight of a blue flashing light through the bushes. A few more paces and the geography tower comes into view. Two police cars and a police van block a car in the disabled bay. A black Mercedes. Students outside the police cordon hold up mobiles and take selfies.

  Tegan stops in the middle of the road, staring at the scene. Lights flash across her face as she sees the black car. She strides towards a thin boy with ferrety features at the edge of the crowd, leaving Imo and Phoenix in the street.

  “What’s happening, Josh?”

  He colours and scratches his ear. “My name’s John.”

  “Well … John?” Tegan demands.

  “They’ve arrested a man carrying a firearm. From the look of him I don’t reckon he’s a student.”

  Tegan’s face becomes so rigid it’s as if she’s turned to stone.

  “Sounds like Marlon won’t be able to help at Jane’s. We should get out of here,” Phoenix says as she and Imo catch her up. “If we belt back, we can put on your spare and still get to Victoria Lane.”

  Tegan turns slowly to face Phoenix. Her jaw clenched. “You. You tipped off the police, didn’t you? You had it all planned. Running late in the shower, dawdling.” Venom in her eyes.

  Phoenix stays calm. “You should be pleased that you’ve finally shaken him off.”

  Tegan’s face bulges with rage. “Did you wreck my tyre?”

  “What? You seriously think I’d do that?”

  Tegan pauses, has the grace to shake her head. But she isn’t done yet. “How dare you interfere? I told you no police.”

  “That was for Amber, not Marlon.”

  “No police ever.”

  Some of the students turn their attention from the police vehicles to Tegan’s raised voice.